#lets hope that this is coherent and helpful folks!

[wrathofrats]

Sits down cross legged on the floor

Consider; raindrop fucking, lazy and kinda casual about it while just musing about how badly they both wanna get their hands on the new bug. Phantoms so cute and sweet - Rain knows he'd be such a good boy, wants to prove it but Dew is convinced he's absolutely got a bit of a brat inside of him.

Dew wonders if he's weird like Aether and likes to play with his magic, Omega certainly did...Is it just a quint ghoul thing to be a freak??

Rain asks if his dick would be bigger than Dew's (Dew tries to pretend he's offended as if he doesn't share the same sentiment)

Just slightly provoking each other, a little bit of possessiveness hidden in there somewhere, while they talk absolutely nasty about Phantom...idk!

Is this smthn-

-Void

I’m honored I’ve finally been given raindrop writing privileges I hope I did them justice I know how important those freaks are to you

1.6k of exactly what it says on the tin folks. Warnings for degro, size shaming, mentions of physical punishments like bruises and blood, they’re a bunch of possessive freaks.

Ok have fun

Dew reeks of sweat and smoke.

His forehead is shiny, golden hair sticking to it as he tips his head back to allow Rain to suck on the sensitive skin of his neck. They exchange heat in this position, Rain sat in his lap nestled comfortably on his cock while Dew massages his hips. He gets hotter the longer they sit, no real urgency to either of their movements, Dew would gladly burn if it meant being able to continue touching Rain like he’s a deity who has given him the grace of his skin against his own.

“Haven’t you noticed how he looks at us firefly?”

The words barely register in Dew’s brain as Rain lifts up off of his throat to speak coherently. Rain grinds his hips back lightly, causing Dew to suck in a deep breath. His grip tightens as he finally looks back up at Rain with a confused look.

“Who?”

“Phantom. Have you been listening to me or do I need to get up?” Rain sighs while Dew digs his nails into his hips, mumbling out a couple breathy protests.

“I’m listening I promise I- we’ve just been here for hours Rain cloud”

It had been more like an hour. The passage of time slowing as Rain moves at his own leisure. A casual pace to the roll of his hips even as Dew attempts to move them faster. Rain had already soaked the sheets below them anyways, can’t help himself, but Dew’s eyes cross every time Rain sits back to add another comment about whatever he had decided was the topic of conversation.

“Could get up if you’re not feeling it, thought you enjoyed it when I sit sweetly in your lap. Thought you wanted something pretty to look at”

“I do baby-“

“Then stop complaining”

Dew lets out another breath he didn’t know he was holding. He readjusts them in an attempt to relieve something about their position. At least enough that he can focus on what Rain is saying to him.

“Anyways, Phantom just looks so sweet doesn’t he? Probably would drop to his knees in the common room if we asked him” Rain repeats, a soft hand caressing Dew’s chin to force his gaze. He studies Dew’s eyes for any hint that he’s not fully with him, enamored with the way his pupils dilate. Finally Dew rolls his eyes and bats Rain’s hand away, grumbling about how he’s still there.

“You really think that freak is obedient?”

“More obedient than you are” Rain chides “besides, if he listens when you send him on stupid errands to annoy Swiss, I wonder what else we could make him do.”

Phantoms eyes spark when he sees Dew and Rain. A mischievous glint that has Rain wanting to drag him between them and use him as they please. A finger beckoning him over, pointing at the floor, hell Dew barely had to motion to the stage before Phantom had eagerly dropped to his knees while on tour. Something Dew has not forgotten, or let Rain forget.

“I’ve heard the opposite. Swiss gets chatty when he’s high” Dew snickers. There’s a hint of jealousy to his voice as Rain praises the new summon while seated on his cock. A petulant tone that only makes Rain bite his lip in curiosity.

“Is that so?”

“Said he’s a fucking brat, that he’s got an awful mouth on him” Dew groans as Rain bounces lightly just to hear that tone of his go breathy again.

“Well considering how often I let you get away with it, I’m not concerned”

Rain adjusts again with a wicked look. He loves watching the cocky attitude in Dew melt away as he clenches down on his cock. Dew is adorable when he’s jealous, Rain could work him up for hours if he didn’t think Dew may burn down the abbey about it.

“He’s greedier than you are princess, Swiss could spank the stupid toy raw and he would beg for more”

“Guess I enjoy the challenge. Swiss encourages the bratting though and you of all ghouls should know that”

More than once had Swiss worked Dew up enough to get smoke coming out of his ears. Laughing in his face before sending him back to Rain covered in bruises after taunting the one ghoul who usually couldn’t control himself. Always quiet and docile, but they all knew the work it took to get him there. Swiss dishes his punishments hard, that fucking sadist, purely encouraging a bad habit so he can have his own fun.

"Sometimes Swiss has to subdue him with quintessence just to get him to shut his mouth. Poor thing will apparently just talk and babble until he's fucked stupid"

Oh that idea intrigues Rain more than it should. The idea of Phantom being so loud and disobedient that even Swiss can't handle him sometimes? He licks his lips, quickening his pace bouncing up and down on Dew just thinking about it. His thoughts are awful really, the terrible sadistic part of him wondering if he could get Phantom to submit without having to use magic.

He knows how hard Swiss can go, he's left plenty of cuts and bruises on Rain to make that point clear. But Rain wonders if Phantom will allow him to go harder.

“I think we could take him firefly. Could just tie him up until he wants to be good if the bug gets out of hand.” Rain muses. Dew pants and curses beneath him, trying to grab at Rain to slow him down.

“Fuck baby-“ Dew moans. There’s an internal debate of whether or not to force him to still his hips, loving the way he looks bouncing up and down. His dark hair framing his face as he tilts his head back blissed out on Dew’s cock, small tits bouncing slightly, he looks ethereal like this and if Dew wasn’t about to completely ruin the moment he would've been more than grateful to continue to watch.

There’s a small pause that lingers in the air as Rain finally stills. He leans forward into Dew’s chest against, panting right by his ear.

“Hope he’s a bit nasty for us, hope he makes me fucking claw at his skin until he sobs. Get him real marked up and docile, see a bruised bloody thing at our feet hanging onto our every word” Rain huffs, breathy and a cocky lit to his voice that has Dew whimpering at the idea. One of Rain’s claws drags down the side of Dew’s abdomen for emphasis as he just nods and gasps at the sting.

“Do you think he’s got that awful quint trait of being a fucking freak with his magic? Do you think he uses it to get what he wants?” Dew screws his eyes shut as Rain clenches down on him again. Omega certainly has an awful streak of using his magic to his advantage, they’re sure that’s how aether got to be so bad. Just a taste of power and Dew’s convinced the kid will be hooked. Will play dirty just to get a cock in him.

“I think we can make a sweet boy out of Phantom. Won’t need any magic to get what he wants if he listens”

“And how do you expect to do that?”

Rain smiles almost maliciously at Dew, his sharp teeth almost reflecting the low light in the room. A sweet hand comes to caress the side of his face, a stark contrast to the filth Dew knows Rain is thinking.

“Oh I was hoping you’d be a bit generous droplet, I was thinking I could offer him the opportunity to fuck my cunt if he’s a good boy. Maybe if you’re good too you can watch”

Dew practically growls, “Id just have to fuck you afterwards. He can’t fuck you like I can, would love to see him try though”

“Oh is that so? You don’t think he’s bigger than you are?” Rain reaches below him to grab at Dew’s cock, showing how easily it slips out when he’s not actively grinding down on it

Shame burns in Dew’s gut, his face going bright red seeing how Rain’s fist almost covers him completely. A spurt of pre dribbles down his fist only adding to the embarrassment, not only feeling of seeing Rain actively coo over how small he is, both of them knowing how aroused it makes Dew.

“Shut up” he grits.

“Seen and heard a couple things that tell me otherwise. I think he could fill me up nicely” Rain sits back on Dew’s cock again, tsking in mock disappointment. He reaches down to rub between his folds, biting his lip as he circles lightly on his clit. Dew can see how wet he is, more slick leaking out of him as he touches himself.

“That’s even if I let him near you. Don’t even want him to look at your pretty cunt, should be all mine”

Rain spreads himself at the words, two fingers showing off his pink little clit, completely engorged. Strings of his own arousal connect his fingers as he shows himself off. Dew wants to drool, to beg to get his mouth on him. Needing the salty, heady taste of Rain on his tongue.

“Don’t get jealous on me now. Besides, you’re not in charge Dewdrop” Rain sneers.

Dew whines, Rain’s hand coming to wrap lightly around his throat. A final grasp at power that Rain knows will leave him helpless and quiet for him.

“If you’re so jealous I could just have you both fuck me. Get both of your little cocks in me and see if It even stretches me out. Sure mountain or aether is bigger than you two combined, would be a really sweet sight to watch you two try though.”

#I hope I made u proud #cw degradation #cw humiliation #the band ghost #ghost #nameless ghouls #ghost bc #fanfic #wrath writes #phantom ghoul #rain ghoul #dewdrop ghoul

[stardewsnail]

Can I get head canons of the reactions of the bachelors visiting and seeing your sex toy sitting on your nightstand? Thank you✨✨✨

You most certainly can anon!

I tried to keep the anatomy gender neutral except when I saw a specific plot opportunity (there’s no plot I just thought it would be funny if one of them didn’t recognize the specific kind of toy lol)

MINORS DNI SEXUAL CONTENT it’s exactly what it says on the tin folks

Harvey

“Do you see my earrings over there?” you called over your shoulder, haphazardly pulling on your boots.

Harvey glanced over at the cluttered nightstand. Tissue box, a mug, a glass, lotion, chapstick. Something pink caught his eye and he froze. It was small, dainty even, but there was no mistaking the item—he knew a vibrator when he saw it.

Look, Harvey is a doctor and is totally sex positive, getting off is good for you

But seeing yours sitting there had heat rising to his cheeks immediately and he couldn’t help the images that flooded his mind at the sight—you spread across the comforter, toy between your legs, breathing heavily as you got yourself closer and closer…

If you’re not together he definitely won’t bring it up so he doesn’t embarrass you or reveal how much he wants to know exactly how you use it

A little embarrassed at the fantasy since he’s a gentleman but not guilty enough to stop him from letting his mind drift on occasion

Sam

“Head on in, I’ll be there a second!”

Sam flashed you a thumbs up and headed into the one room cabin. He set the cooler on the table—he knew you were planning on adding a kitchen soon, but in the meantime he was having fun getting the chance to make snacks for the two of you. He glanced around, admiring the large geode you’d place next to your nightstand—what was that.

- Stares for a minute just not quite comprehending

- He’s never seen a dildo in person before but there’s really no mistaking the purple silicone

- The sparkly purple silicone

- He swallows, trying to stop his mind from wandering—you were right outside, and even with his probably obvious crush on you, he really didn’t want you to walk in on him staring at your sex toy with a hard on

- Immediately starts thinking of something gross and goes right back outside to chat with you. He makes an excuse to linger outside when you go in, hoping you notice because he doesn’t think he’ll be able to form a coherent thought if it’s just sitting there while you hang out

- He’s gonna be thinking about that later for sure

Alex

(This is the only one with specific genitalia)

He stares at the item on the nightstand, head cocked to the side in a manner reminiscent of Dusty

It’s a small object, shorter than his forearm and made of plastic aside from a rubber ring at the larger end. There’s a couple of buttons—one round with a power symbol and two vertical arrows above it

Is it a massager? Is it—

Alex looks away, certain his face would match a tomato

I know a lot of people hc Alex as some kinda Casanova but he was raised in the country by his grandparents he’s a polite young man

But he quickly find himself staring at it again while you warm the cocoa on the electric hot plate that serves as your kitchen

“It’s not gonna bite, y’know,” your voice is teasing but he can see the pink dusting your face as you hurry over, “Never seen a sex toy before?”

“Not like that!” His voice is a bit high on the end and he winced internally, “How does it even…”

Now you looked amused, holding it in your hand as you raised a brow. “How does it what, Alex?”

“Fit?”

You giggled, “It doesn’t go in me,” she explained, “it simulates oral.” You tapped the rubber bit, “this goes on the clit.”

It simulated oral—he’s seen porn, even if he’s never had the opportunity to perform the act himself. He nods, hoping his expression is simply one of someone receiving information that they definitely won’t be fantasizing about later. Because now all he can think about is him replacing the toy between their thighs.

- if you’re together he will absolutely want to watch you use it and let me tell you he will be paying close attention

Elliot

- okay honestly I see him as fifty fifty either he ignores it completely if you’re not together or has an extremely casual conversation about the pros and cons of different toys

- Elliot is into some stuff and I think he would treat it like any other discussion tbh

- if you’re together though, he is definitely bringing it up and asking what you like about it. He’s absolutely down to incorporate it in your sex life and frankly he’s got a few things of his own he wants to bring in

Sebastian

“I think I’ve got a lighter on my nightstand? You can go grab it.”

You’re hanging out on the porch when he realizes he forgot a light. He’s focused on his quest and he does find the lighter—but he also finds something else sitting right next to it.

The dildo is veined, a deep shade of blue, and has a suction cup on its base. He snatches up the lighter but then pauses, making the split second decision to put it away in the top drawer. No way he wants to ever address the fact that he saw it. How is he supposed to look you in the eye when you bring it up, and all he can think about is you on all fours, thrusting yourself back against it—he ducks back outside, his baggy sweater pulled a bit lower than before.

- if you’re together then he might mention it but only as a hypothetical “how would you feel about experimenting with some toys in the bedroom” kinda way absolutely hoping you whip that bad boy out and fuck yourself on it while sucking him off. It’s gonna take him a while to work up to that one, though

Shane

He’s just sitting on the bed, cola in hand, waiting for you to finish turning off the sprinklers in preparation for the storm rolling in. And sue him, he’s a little nosy so he’s not exactly hesitant at examining the cluttered surface of your nightstand. The minute he spies the unmistakable silicon of the vibrator his head snaps around to look back at the paused TV. He only peeks at it from the corner of his eye, trying not to dwell on what you did with it for too long.

He sips his soda, suddenly too warm.

#stardew valley #sdv #sdv shane #sdv sebastian #sdv sam #sdv alex #sdv harvey #stardew headcanon #stardew Valley smutty headcanons #sdv farmer #stardew bachelors #snailwrites

[ryehouses]

Hi! Do you have any Jedi POVs that you could share? I really liked your take on them.

OK I'm sure I'm missing a few of the requests for various Jedi POVs, but here's a handful of different folks looking at Din and going "wow, we wonder what's up with THAT guy."

Bon appétit!

in which din djarin is an intergalactic man of mystery, and several people are confused about it. 

quinlan vos. 

“How have you been feeling?” Quinlan asked, pressing three fingers to the side of Din Djarin’s head. Djarin let him do it without any fuss. The first time Quinlan had reached out to Djarin to help him heal, Djarin had been warier than a Wayland wood-hopper. Trying to take off the edge of Djarin’s concussion had been like trying to dodge lightning during an electrical storm on Jabiim.

But now Djarin trusted Quinlan fine and he hardly flinched at all when Quinlan reached for him through the Force, and Quinlan was able to brush carefully against Djarin’s mind without needing to warn the other man first. 

Djarin’s mind met Quinlan’s easily. Quinlan had always thought of the Force as wind, sometimes a breeze and sometimes a hurricane, but he’d been told that his presence in the Force felt more like an ocean than the wind. A warm sea, Aayla’d once called him. 

Din Djarin, in the Force, was not an ocean. He wasn’t the wind, either. He wasn’t the star-bright of a Jedi or the cold black hole feeling of a Sith. But he was there, in the Force, and he recognized Quinlan. Djarin’s mind flickered. Not quite a proper Jedi’s greeting, clear and coherent, but at least an impression of welcome.  

“Better,” Djarin said, relaxed even as Quinlan put a little bit of the Force into his fingertips and started to map out Djarin’s head, feeling around for any lingering pain, for swelling or damage or darkness that would lead Quinlan to a wound that hadn’t yet healed. The Mandalorian had taken a few good hits on Tatooine. He’d had a few weeks to recover from that now, but still. 

I want to make sure that he’s okay, Quinlan thought. He liked Djarin. Most of the Jedi liked Djarin. He was a good sort underneath his armor, and Quinlan knew that as soon as the man’d finished cleaning up the Hutts’ mess on Tatooine and joined Quinlan on a freedom run or two, Quinlan would be happy to call Djarin his friend. 

Djarin was still some weeks out from being able to help with a freedom run, though. Tatooine was still a mess. Djarin and his friends had started to put things back together, but still. 

At least the palace was in better shape than it’d been when Quinlan and the rest of the Jedi had landed on Tatooine. Most of the debris had been cleared away, the great jagged holes in the ceiling patched with canvas. When Quinlan had landed this time, Djarin had brought Quinlan to a small courtyard that hadn’t fared too badly. A small, hardy tree grew in the middle of the courtyard, its narrow blue-green leaves turned up towards the suns, and the shape of the palace cast the courtyard into a deep, comfortable shade. 

There was still plenty of work that needed to be done. Quinlan hadn’t ever spent much time on Tatooine but he knew that ferocious sandstorms often tore through its deserts, and he was sure that Djarin and Fett both would want to patch over the holes in the roofs and cracks in the walls with something a little more sturdy than canvas before the next howler came through. 

“Not too much pain?” Quinlan asked, feeling his way carefully through Djarin’s head. He’d never been a great healer, Quinlan. War had taught him a bit, twenty years on the run a bit more, but he wasn’t anywhere close to the level of skill a Temple healer’d had back in the old days. 

Djarin’s mind flickered around Quinlan’s. Here and there Quinlan found a spot of pain, spitting sparks like a broken circuit, and Quinlan did his best to soothe what old injuries that he found. 

A few days in a bacta tank had done Djarin more good than Quinlan’s fumbling had, though. Quinlan’d put him into a healing trance – or what he’d hoped was a healing trance, anyway – at the sarlacc pit, but the other Mandalorians had spirited both Djarin and Boba Fett off pretty quickly after that. 

None of the old, dim hurts that Quinlan found felt life-threatening. Instead, he found a steady well of strength. Conviction. Djarin had shored up the inside of his mind with beskar, Mandalorian iron. 

“Since the fight?” Djarin asked. It was strange to hear his voice and feel his presence at the same time. Djarin wasn’t especially Force-sensitive. He was old enough to have been picked up by the old Order, which meant that he’d probably been tested as a child and had come in under the Order’s threshold, or Djarin was an Outer Rim kid who hadn’t ever been tested but who also hadn’t shown enough sensitivity to be caught later by the Empire. Who had learned how to hide it. 

Quinlan wasn’t sure how it was for Mandalorians, now that he thought about it. He didn’t know what Mandalorians had taught their Force-sensitive children. He rifled around in a few of his old memories, trying to remember if Obi-Wan had ever said much about Mandalorians and the Force, but couldn’t come up with anything distinct.

Mandalorians are weird about Jedi, I remember that. Maybe they’re weird about the Force, too. They’d hardly be the only ones. Djarin could just be a little odd in general. War did that to people.  

Djarin was sensitive enough to the Force to feel Quinlan moving around in his head, though. Even though he was welcoming enough of Quinlan now, the first time Quinlan had reached for his mind, Djarin had thrown him out. Quinlan had learned then that the trick with Djarin was to move carefully, like holding a very sharp sword. 

Quinlan found another frayed flicker of pain and quieted it, encouraging old hurts to heal. Djarin – Din, it was hard to think of the man only by his surname when he was so easy with Quinlan poking around in his head – relaxed even further. 

“Sure,” said Quinlan, rolling his eyes. Din was avoiding the question, which meant that he did have frequent headaches, but didn’t want to complain about it. 

Maybe he should have been a Jedi, Quinlan thought, amused, remembering several of his friends who’d used the same conversational trick to avoid talking about their physical or emotional well-being. “Since the fight.” 

Din shrugged. Amusement flickered through him too. He knew that Quinlan knew what he was doing, but was grateful that Quinlan was playing along anyway. 

“My head’s been fine,” Din said. “Thanks for your help, by the way.” 

Sincerity sank through the Force like a stone in the sea. Quinlan smiled and pulled back, retreating into himself, though he didn’t slide his shields all the way into place. Quinlan wasn’t afraid of Din poking around in his head, looking for secrets. Din was too polite. 

Din was going to be fine, most likely. He’d healed past Quinlan’s ability to help him, anyway, and that beskar strength ran all the way through him. Din would be fine.   

As he pulled back, Quinlan felt Din’s mind brush against his curiously. The air crackled with faint static, a strange feeling in a place like this. The touch made Quinlan think of rain. 

“Happy to help,” said Quinlan, matching Din’s sincerity. Din was a good sort. Many Mandalorians played the part of the ruthless hunter, as cold and unfeeling as the armor that they wore, but Din couldn’t fool Quinlan. 

Aside from the fact that the kid, Grogu, loudly and openly adored him, Din had been just as outraged by the slaving operation in Mos Eisley as Quinlan had. He’d let the kids at the temple climb all over him. He ran freedom runs for the ahra of Mos Eisley and, Quinlan thought, would’ve done the same for Force-sensitive younglings moving down the secret paths in the days of the Empire. Din was a good man. 

He fights like Obi-Wan, Quinlan thought. He’d seen Din use his strange Mandalorian lightsaber in that cantina, facing the Zygerrian and her crew. When Din’d pulled the blade up into the familiar opening stance of Soresu, Quinlan had been so surprised that he’d nearly taken a blaster bolt to the face. 

“Can all Jedi do that?” Din asked, tapping his own temple. Din had quick, dark eyes. He was sharp and observant. He leaned back against his sandstone seat, turning his face up towards the sky. The shadows were too deep in the courtyard for much sunlight to break through, but the stones were still warm.

“What?” Quinlan asked, mirroring Din and tapping a finger against his own temple. “Heal?” 

Din nodded. “Grogu can,” he said. “Never thought about using him to clear up headaches, though.” 

Gorgu could do just about anything that he wanted to do. Kids were like that. “Most of us can heal a little, at least,” Quinlan said, thinking Din’s question over. “It’s been pretty necessary, the last few years.” 

Really, Quinlan probably should’ve spent more time with Gungi and Chase, picking up healing, but Quinlan was a venerable Master now, and he didn’t pick up new skills as well as he used to. 

Din’s a quick learner, though, Quinlan realized. K’Kruhk’d said that Din had taught himself Makashi using a Padawan’s old lineage holocron. Din might not be particularly strong in the Force, might be a little strange, a wrinkle in the Force that was hard to smooth over, but he’d probably be able to manage a little bit of healing. 

“You get headaches?” Quinlan asked. “Regularly?” 

Din snorted again and pressed his knuckles against his temple. “Hazard of the job,” he said, which was enough of an answer. Despite the helmets that they always wore, Mandalorians did seem to get hit in the head pretty often. Din hadn’t been the only Mandalorian that Quinlan’d put in a healing trace after the fight by the sarlacc pit. 

Quinlan hesitated for a moment. 

The new Jedi Council, the one that Luke had painstakingly put together on Yavin-4, head-hunting Jedi survivors from all over the Outer Rim, hadn’t actually ever sat down to build a code of conduct. To lay out just who could learn which techniques, and when, and why. 

Din wasn’t a Jedi. He could touch the Force, but that only meant that he could touch the Force; it didn’t make Din a Jedi Knight. In the old days, the Jedi had kept the secrets of their techniques among themselves. The Force was dangerous, sometimes. A fire that could burn. A sea that could drown. A sword that could cut or slip from the hand, biting the one who’d lost control of it. Quinlan knew that better than most. 

But Din is a good man, Quinlan thought again. A Mandalorian, but not an enemy. 

Kark it, Quinlan said to himself, smiling a little, leaning forward to catch Din’s attention. It caught quickly; Din focused on Quinlan, the faint brush of his mind against Quinlan’s own still curious. 

Din’s an ally. He wasn’t strong enough in the Force to heal another, Quinlan didn’t think, though maybe Din was hiding the Force deeper inside his mind than he realized. As far as Quinlan knew, Din hadn’t approached any of the Jedi Masters at the temple to talk about it. He probably didn’t trust the Jedi like that yet. Connecting to the Force had been a dangerous secret for a long time. 

But the Force was there in him. 

“I know a few tricks that you don’t have to be a Jedi to use for that,” Quinlan said, propping his elbows up on his knees. “Luke – Master Skywalker – he had you meditating a few weeks ago, didn’t he? When you came by to pick up Grogu for the Mandalorian thing?” 

Calling whatever Din had been doing with the other Mandalorians – a rowdy lot, Quinlan’d learned, though they’d all been willing to join forces with the Jedi in the ruins of Boba Fett’s palace to go off and help Din defeat a Hutt – a ‘Mandalorian thing’ made Din laugh. He had a bright one, when he was out of his armor. 

“I don’t know if you could call it meditating,” Din admitted, grimacing. “I didn’t, uh, do it very well. Took a good nap, though.” 

Quinlan grinned. “I wasn’t very good at it when I first started either,” he said. “My head was too loud.” 

“Mine too,” Din said, wry. He tapped his knuckles against the side of his head almost absently. “It takes a lot to get it quiet, sometimes.”

Quinlan could relate. “Still,” Quinlan pressed. “Meditation – it’s good for taking care of small hurts. Anyone can do it, as long as they’re patient enough. It’s not gonna help you if you’ve got a concussion or a brain injury – you’d need a proper Jedi healer for that – but a headache – ”

Din hesitated, but Quinlan had him now. He could feel it. Din leaned forward. “Alright,” he said. “Show me.” 

k’kruhk. 

“You’ve been practicing,” K’Kruhk said, studying the new lightsaber burn scored into the sleeve of his robes. 

Djarin colored, looking strangely sheepish for a man who could hold his own against a temple-trained Jedi, at least for a few minutes. K’Kruhk hadn’t been keeping time in his head, but he knew that one of the younglings must have been. They were all crowded around the edge of the platform, watching K’Kruhk and Djarin with bated breath. 

It had taken K’Kruhk at least five minutes to disarm Djarin this time. Djarin was getting better and better with his strange Mandalorian lightsaber. He’d been good enough the first time K’Kruhk had ordered the Mandalorian to demonstrate his lightsaber skills, but now Djarin moved with the darksaber like he’d been born with it lit in his hand. 

“Sorry,” Djarin said, looking at the burn in K’Kruhk’s robes, and he sounded sincerely apologetic. 

K’Kruhk just shrugged. Djarin’d been careful enough. He had only singed K’Kruhk’s robes, not K’Kruhk himself. Djarin had good control; K’Kruhk had never seen him cut or burn something that he didn’t want to cut or burn. 

“I’ll live,” said K’Kruhk, dryly. He reached out with the Force and tugged Djarin’s lightsaber back from where it had fallen when K’Kruhk had disarmed him. He caught the strange hilt in his hand, then offered it back to the Mandalorian. 

Djarin hesitated, still clearly apologetic, but took the weapon back. 

“You’ve been practicing,” K’Kruhk repeated. “You opened the holocron I gave you, then?” 

He’d given Djarin one of the Makashi training holocrons the last time Djarin had visited the Jedi Academy. He came by fairly often now, stopping in at least once or twice a month to visit with young Grogu or help Master Kestis and Master Vos on one of their missions. 

The holocron that Djarin had started to learn with – a lineal record, an assignment that Jedi Padawans had once done as part of their training, before the Clone Wars and the Purges – had taught Djarin well enough, but those sorts of holocrons weren’t really proper training tools. Padawans had built lineal records to learn more about the Jedi in their line. To learn about their Master’s Master, and to see how the Force and the techniques for touching the Force had been passed down from teacher to student. They were not comprehensive records of lightsaber forms. 

The holocron that K’Kruhk had given Djarin last month was a proper training tool. Makashi had not been commonly practiced in the last days of the Jedi Order, but K’Kruhk still remembered watching the duels at the Mid-Year Fete, impressed by how gracefully – how cleanly, with no movement wasted – the Makashi duelists had fought. 

So he’d gone digging into the archives that Master Skywalker and some of the other Jedi had been cobbling together, and K’Kruhk had found a holocron that held all of Form II’s katas, and he’d given it to Djarin mostly just to see what would happen. 

Djarin nodded, guilt and embarrassment fading now that he realized that K’Kruhk was alright. 

“I did,” he said. He said it easily, too. K’Kruhk tried not to twitch, triumphant. 

So he is Force-sensitive, he thought. 

It had been hard to tell, with Djarin, and the matter had been one of some debate among the Jedi of the temple since Djarin had first shown up. One Jedi could usually feel out another, even one who wasn’t particularly strong in the Force. Usually, finding someone else who could touch the Force was just a matter of focus. The Force was in all things, after all. 

But trying to focus on Djarin enough to feel the Force moving through him – in him, around him, binding Djarin to the galaxy – was like trying to touch sunlight or trying to hold water in a cupped palm. Possible, but tricky. K’Kruhk didn’t know if it was because Djarin was Mandalorian or if he was just not particularly strong in the Force or if he’d had some rudimentary training in how to shield himself. The Force was easy to feel in a youngster. The young were born open to the Force, and only closed themselves off from it to shield themselves from pain. With an adult – a warrior, who had known his share of pain and more, if what K’Kruhk knew of the Mandalorian purges was anything to go by – finding the Force could be trickier. 

But if Djarin had opened a holocron – one that K’Kruhk knew hadn’t been tampered with, either, one that only opened to Jedi who asked it to open through the Force – then Djarin was Force-sensitive. 

“It took me a little while,” Djarin added, rubbing the back of his neck. He’d left his armor off today and was even faster without it weighing him down. He held his lightsaber comfortably in his hand. “And I might have, uh, whacked it a few times, but I didn’t break it or anything. The demonstrations were good.” 

K’Kruhk did twitch then, just a little. A few of the Initiates who’d been watching the bout saw him twitch and edged away. “You didn’t – you didn’t meditate with the holocron?” K’Kruhk asked. 

Djarin looked at him, puzzled. “Meditate with it? No,” he said. “Was I supposed to? They’re just puzzle boxes, right?”

Puzzle boxes, K’Kruhk thought. The most precious artifacts that were still left to the Jedi. The repositories of thousands of years of knowledge. The tools that helped a Jedi grow in the Force, that taught patience, and focus, and clarity. 

“A puzzle box,” K’Kruhk repeated out loud, to see if the words sounded less absurd when spoken. 

They did not.  

Djarin winced.  

Communing with a holocron was one of the many and myriad tests that the Order of old had used to assess sensitivity to the Force in a youngster. Jedi holocrons were not always gentle teachers, but they could be, especially when approached with respect. 

However, sometimes holocrons followed their own wishes, or bowed to the will of another. Sometimes holocrons opened because they wanted to. Other times, they stayed shut. 

Another test – this one somewhat more reliable, and easier to apply in a time-sensitive situation – was to gently lob an object, usually something small, at the child, and see if the child would instinctively catch it. 

Din Djarin was not a child. The rock that K’Kruhk pitched at his head was not small. 

Djarin didn’t catch it with the Force, either. He swept his black lightsaber up, neat as Yan Dooku had ever been, and slashed through the rock like it was made of water instead of good Yavin stone. 

He narrowed his eyes at K’Kruhk. K’Kruhk narrowed his eyes back. All of the Initiates pressed closer to the edge of the platform again, eager to see what would happen. 

Maybe Djarin wasn’t Force-sensitive. Maybe he was just stubborn. 

One way to find out, K’Kruhk thought, and lit his lightsaber. 

bo-katan kryze. 

In general, Lady Bo-Katan Kryze, second-to-last scion of House Kryze, soldier, general and sometime-leader of what was left of the Mandalorians, was too busy to wonder about just what was wrong with Din Djarin. There was plenty wrong with him, and she had too much to do: Fenn Rau had managed to coax Djarin into acting as he ought and except the responsibility that he’d so thoughtlessly picked up off the floor of Moff Gideon’s light cruiser, and that meant that Bo-Katan’s days had quickly fallen into a breathless rhythm of traveling and hunting and politicking, spreading word of Mandalore’s new king to even the most far-flung, secretive clans. She was more than happy to leave the day-to-day minutiae of king-wrangling to Rau. He’d volunteered himself for the job, as far as she was concerned, and Rau liked strangeness anyway. 

It was easy to forget Djarin’s strangeness while she was out in the galaxy. The mand’alor that the people needed was strong and honorable and cunning, loyal to his allies and unsparing with his enemies. Djarin was all of those things – or at least most of those things – and it was easy for Bo-Katan to forget that Djarin was often annoyingly stubborn too, that he was wary, that he thought that Boba karking Fett had personally strung all of the stars in the sky. 

None of that fit the shape of the mand’alor that Mandalore needed, so Bo-Katan bundled all of Djarin’s strangeness away at the back of her head and went about the business of trying to unite a bunch of blaster-happy, nervous, grudge-carrying or’diniise under one banner. 

She was pretty good at it, if she did say so herself. Most of the clans Bo-Katan’d sought out had eventually agreed to at least meet Djarin and judge for themselves whether or not he was a mand’alor they wanted to follow, which was how Bo-Katan found herself leaning against a rock in the middle of the desert on karking Tatooine, clinging to the only bit of shade she could see for miles around, watching Djarin spar politely with the best fighter of Clan Orar and trying to figure out what Djarin was doing that was bothering Bo-Katan this time. 

It wasn’t the darksaber. 

Well, she thought grudgingly, watching Djarin parry one of the Orar fighter’s gauntleted fists with a neat, economical flick of black light, it’s not just the darksaber. 

Seeing the darksaber in Djarin’s hand had stopped making Bo-Katan want to rip Djarin’s throat out with her teeth, mostly. She’d gotten over that on Krownest. It wouldn’t be very satisfying to kill Djarin if he didn’t try to fight back, and Bo-Katan had believed him when he’d told her that he wouldn’t fight her for the darksaber. 

Since he wouldn’t fight and Bo-Katan wouldn’t let go of the last few scraps of honor she’d managed to salvage since the Fall of Mandalore, Bo-Katan had resigned herself to the fact that Djarin carried the darksaber now. It belonged to Din. Bo-Katan would never carry it again. It was disappointing, but haar oya’la taab’e. The living kept marching. 

The Orar warrior – a truly massive man in piecemeal yellow and green armor – swung at Djarin again, a vibro-knife crackling in one hand. Djarin slid out of his way, graceful as a Dashta eel, and punched the hard durasteel hilt of the darksaber into a gap in the Orar’s armor. 

The Orar stumbled back, wheezing. 

Bo-Katan narrowed her eyes. 

There, she thought, looking at Djarin as he took a few steps back too, his stance loose and open. Someone had finally gotten around to forging him a new helmet and it gleamed in the suns. Djarin hadn’t painted his armor yet. The only color on him was one green vambrace. Bo-Katan was sure that Fett had a silver gauntlet around his own wrist, and grimaced at the thought. 

She fixed her attention back on Djarin. Something about the way he was moving prickled underneath of Bo-Katan’s armor like an itch she couldn’t reach, and she didn’t know why. 

The Orar fighter recovered, rubbing at the sore spot underneath the edge of his cuirass. The vibro-knife in his hand snapped and sparked. The spectators – more Orar warriors, a handful of robed and masked Tuskens, Rau himself and a small coterie of Mandalorians already won over to Djarin’s cause – whooped and jeered, depending on who they were supporting. 

Djarin’d refused to accept any formal challenges, but he could still be persuaded to spar. He liked to fight well enough. That, at least, wasn’t strange. Djarin had plenty of proper Mandalorian feeling. Mandokar. 

The Orar lunged a third time, trying to use his size against Djarin. Djarin eeled away again, armor glinting in the suns, and lashed out with a quick horizontal strike that scored across the Orar’s chestplate, spitting sparks. 

Bo-Katan and Djarin both knew that the darksaber couldn’t cut straight through pure beskar. Djarin hardly would’ve moved like that if it would have – he was very careful with the darksaber, in control of it all of the time, as graceful as a Jedi. 

But the Orar didn’t know that the darksaber wouldn’t cut, and he flailed back with a shout of surprise, breaking his form and nearly falling on his shebs to get away. 

His flailing gave Djarin the opening he needed to finish the spar. Djarin pounced, lunging forward too fast for the Orar to dodge, and with a flick of his wrist Djarin disarmed the other fighter and brought the snapping, snarling edge of the darksaber up to the Orar’s throat in the same move. 

Impressive, Bo-Katan thought, a little smugly. The Orars had been a little too proud of their own skill. Watching Djarin manage this one so neatly was satisfying. Proof that Bo-Katan had backed the right warrior for the throne. Even if Djarin was a little odd, he was – 

Wait, Bo-Katan thought, her mind skipping backwards several seconds, catching on a stray observation. 

As graceful as a Jedi? That can’t be right. 

Bo-Katan had watched Pre Vizsla fight with the darksaber. He hadn’t fought like a Jedi at all. He’d fought like a Mandalorian. Forward and direct, not ungraceful but certainly not as light on his feet as a Jedi was. As Djarin was. 

Bo-Katan had never stopped to ask herself where it was that Djarin’d learned to handle the darksaber. She hadn’t seen him use it on the light cruiser, but she had seen him hold it. He’d held it out from his body. He’d held it like any Mandalorian held a weapon they didn’t know much about – carefully, so they didn’t kill themselves with something that they didn’t understand. 

But he’s not fighting like a Mandalorian. He’s fighting like a Jedi. 

Bo-Katan knew quite a bit about the Jedi. Aside from Satine’s unfortunate attachment to one, the Jedi had been Mandalore’s ancient enemies. Any self-respecting clan heir had learned about them. 

The Jedi had been such dangerous enemies because they had been able to touch something that most Mandalorians couldn’t. The Jedi could feel things, sense things, move things, influence them; they were one with their lightsabers, Bo-Katan had learned, because using a lightsaber well required a Jedi to tap into the Force. Lightsabers weren’t proper kad’e. They had no weight to them. To direct one with skill, real skill – 

Several explanations for Din Djarin’s strangeness fell into place all at once. Bo-Katan’s eyes widened. 

Oh, she thought, no. 

arza.

Arza bounced on the balls of her feet, nearly shaking out of her skin with impatience. Master Chase’s shuttle groaned as it descended out of space, a red, dusty planet growing in the viewport just past Arza’s nose. 

Beside her, Huzin and Valka, the other two Initiates who’d gotten permission from Master Skywalker to come and visit Tatooine, watched the planet grow bigger and bigger with wide eyes, though they weren’t as obviously as excited as Arza. 

Their loss, Arza thought. She squinted out of the viewport, trying to see where they were going before they got there. Master Skywalker said that Master Djarin, who the Initiates were visiting, lived in a place called Mos Eisley. He didn't live in a temple, like the Jedi, or in a house, like Arza’d lived in with her parents before she’d gone off to train, but in a palace. Arza’d never seen a palace before. 

“Arza,” Huzin said, rolling his eyes. “Relax. We’re gonna be there in a minute.” 

Arza ignored him. Huzin didn’t get it – he’d been on what Master Chase called ‘research trips before,’ but Arza hadn’t. This was her first time out of the temple since she’d arrived there three years ago, and she was going to see Master Djarin, who was wizard. He wasn’t a Jedi Knight, but he could fight with a lightsaber and fly with a jetpack. He traveled all over the galaxy. Even though he wasn’t a proper Knight, Arza still wanted Master Djarin to be her teacher. She bet that if he was, she’d learn all kinds of things that the other Initiates could only dream of. 

“Look!” Arza said, pointing. The mass of red and yellow dust had turned into huge, towering cliffs, deep canyons, miles and miles of sand. And there in the sand, getting bigger and bigger as Master Chase steered the shuttle towards a landing pad, was a funny-looking building, round and stony, with three or four tall, round towers rising up into the air. “That has to be the palace!” 

All of Huzin’s studied calm went out the viewport. He and Valka both rushed to join Arza there, pressing their noses to the thick glass as they dropped from the sky.

“Woah,” Huzin breathed, his eyes huge and round. “Wizard.”

Master Chase was a pretty good pilot. She brought the shuttle down in between a green and red ship and the battered, sleek ship that Master Djarin visited the temple in.

“There’s Master Djarin!” Valka added, pointing. 

Sure enough, Master Djarin was waiting for them at the edge of the landing pad, his silver armor bright and glittering in the suns. 

There was another man beside him, too. A Mandalorian. He was shorter than Master Djarin, but just as broad and strong, and his armor was painted green. He had something in his hand, a datapad, maybe, and was looking at it while Master Djarin looked at the shuttle. Arza wondered who he was. No other Mandalorians had ever visited Yavin-4 with Master Djarin. 

Master Chase docked the shuttle and Arza was out and bounding down the ramp almost before it had fully dropped to the sandy ground. The heat of Tatooine hit her all at once, but Arza didn’t mind. Yavin-4 was hot too, sometimes, and she’d gotten used to it. 

Valka and Huzin were skidding behind Arza close on her heels. Master Chase followed at a calmer pace, shaking her head. 

Arza remembered her manners, though, and when she reached the bottom of the ramp, she bobbed a quick bow and said, “Hi, Master Djarin!” 

“Hello,” Valka and Huzin chorused, bobbing their own bows too. 

“Hello, Arza,” said Master Djarin, warmly. Some of the Initiates had been a little scared of Master Djarin at first, because he wore a helmet a lot and it could be hard to tell what he was thinking or feeling, but Arza could hear the smile in his voice. She grinned back. 

“Initiates,” said Master Chase, catching up to the trio of young Jedi. “Manners, please. Djarin, hello.” 

“Hello,” said Djarin, still sounding warm. He tilted his helmet in the direction of the green Mandalorian. “This is Boba Fett. He’s in charge of the palace. Boba, these are some of the young Jedi, and this is Master Chase Piru.” 

“Knight Chase Piru,” Master Chase corrected, cheerfully. “I’m not ready to be a boring old master yet, right, kids?” 

Huzin rolled his eyes again, but Arza and Valka smiled. Arza peered closer at the green Mandalorian. 

Boba Fett, she thought. She’d heard of him. Master Skywalker had told Arza and the other two Initiates to be very nice and very respectful around him. He was a Lord of Tatooine, a powerful man, and he’d once been a famous and very dangerous bounty hunter. Arza’d gotten the impression that Master Skywalker hadn’t liked the idea of the kids going to see Lord Boba Fett, but Master Djarin was Lord Boba Fett’s friend, and spent most of his time around Lord Boba Fett on Tatooine. 

If Master Djarin liked Lord Boba Fett and didn’t think he was dangerous, Arza wasn’t too worried. Everyone at the temple knew, through Grogu, that Master Djarin wouldn’t let anything hurt a child of the temple. 

“Hello, Lord Fett,” said Arza politely. 

Lord Boba Fett twitched a little, like he was surprised that Arza would say hello.

“Hey, kid,” he said, gruffly. His voice wasn’t quite as warm as Master Djarin’s, but he didn’t sound mean or frightening. “You can – you don’t have to call me Lord Fett. Just Fett’s fine.”

Arza, Valka and Huzin exchanged glances. It was important, Master Skywalker often said, for a Jedi to be polite. In the old days before the Empire – however long ago that had been – the Jedi Knights had been dip-low-matts. They’d spent a lot of their time talking to people who had problems, and helping to fix those problems. Being rude made more problems than it fixed. 

“....Mister Fett?” Arza ventured. 

Mister Lord Fett shifted a little, but nodded shortly. “You’re – welcome here,” he said, still gruff. Master Djarin was looking down at Mister Lord Fett, and Arza could feel Master Djarin in the Force. It was harder than feeling Master Skywalker or Master Chase, but Arza could do it if she concentrated. Master Djarin felt – light. Happy.

“This is Mister Fett’s palace,” Master Djarin explained. “You’ll be seeing him around while you stay here. You guys want to take a look around?” 

Arza, Valka and Huzin all looked at each other again, their eyes wide, and nodded rapidly. Huzin and Valka hadn’t been inside of a palace either. Arza bet that the palace of the Lord of Tatooine had all kinds of interesting things in it. 

“C’mon, then,” said Master Djarin, tilting his head towards a cool hallway that branched off of the landing pad. “I’ll show you around before lastmeal’s ready. Master Chase?” 

Master Chase waved Master Djarin off. “They’re yours for the week,” she said. “I’ve got a thing over on Arkanis to look into.” She said it lightly enough, but both Mister Lord Fett and Master Djarin’s focus sharpened. 

“Comm me if you need anything,” said Master Djarin, tone firm. “We’ve got a few extra hands around this week.” 

“Will do,” said Master Chase. She looked down at the Initiates, fixing all three of them with a no-nonsense look. 

“You’re Master Djarin’s – and Mister Fett’s – guests for the week,” she said. “And you’re here to learn about different cultures and peoples. Be on your best behavior, yeah? No Force food fights.” 

That had only happened a few times. Arza nodded anyway.

“Good,” said Master Chase, ruffling Huzin’s already-untidy hair. “Then I’ll see you in a week!” 

Arza and the others turned their attention back to Master Djarin. Master Chase went back up the ramp. Master Djarin held out a hand, gesturing the three students into the palace, and Arza went. Master Djarin led the way, with Mister Lord Fett taking up the rear. 

Inside, the palace was cool and fascinating. Arza looked everywhere, still nearly vibrating with excitement. She couldn’t wait to learn something new. 

“You guys have a good trip over?” Master Djarin asked, peering down at Arza. Arza shrugged. She hadn’t been in hyperspace enough to tell what was a good trip or not. 

“It took a while,” Arza admitted, nearly skipping down the hall. She could smell something warm and spicy in the air, and she could hear noise further down the hall. The walls were all stone, like the temple’s walls, and light spilled in through windows cut deep out of the rock. “We – hey!” 

Something – someone – small and sturdy darted across the hallway in front of Arza, dodging Master Djarin nimbly but crashing into Arza like a pouncing tooka. Arza fell sideways with a startled “oof!” 

“Mirda!” Master Djarin called, but the shape – which had also toppled over, and revealed itself to be a small girl a few years younger than Arza, who had a Mandalorian helmet over her face – was already moving, scrambling back up to her feet. 

The other little girl was a Jedi. 

No, Arza corrected, looking up from the floor. Not a Jedi. Jedi lived at the temple. They trained with Master K’Kruhk and Master Chase, Master Cal, Master Luke. This was Tatooine. There were no Jedi here. 

But the other girl – she was bright in the Force. Arza could feel her. The other girl was unguarded and happy, bright as a star, and was already up and hurtling off down another hallway that sat cross-ways to the one that Master Djarin’s been bringing them down.

OUCH, Arza said into the Force anyway, aiming it at the girl. 

Hibyeseeyoulater! Then the smaller Mandalorian girl rounded a corner down the other hallway and disappeared, though Arza could still feel her in the Force like an echo bouncing off the hallways of the temple. 

Master Djarin sighed. “Sorry,” he said, helping Arza climb back up to her feet. Arza and Huzin were peering after the Mandalorian girl too. Mister Lord Fett was studying his datapad, but Arza thought that he was probably paying attention. “Are you okay?” 

Arza dusted herself off, more surprised than hurt. Master Djarin’s concern brushed against her face like a gloved hand. “I’m okay,” she said. She grinned. “We get knocked over in the temple all of the time.” 

Master Djarin snorted. Arza’d seen him wrestling with some of the younglings before. He knew how rowdy they could get. 

“Still,” he said. “That was Mirda. She’s – she doesn’t always pay attention to where she’s going. I’ll make her apologize later.”

“I’m okay, really,” Arza said. She reached out through the Force and poked at the small Mandalorian girl. It was hard to do now that there were a bunch of walls in between Arda and the girl – Mirda – but Arza managed it. Arza felt a flash of surprise, and then a cautious, wary poke back. “She didn’t mean it.”   

Master Djarin looked Arza up and down. Huzin and Valka looked between Master Djarin and Arza, their confusion unfurling like a leaf in the sun. Arza wondered if they’d felt Mirda in the Force too. 

“Still,” Master Djarin repeated, slowly, “you’re our guest. Your teachers wouldn’t let one of the younglings knock over a guest without saying ‘sorry,’ would they?” 

Behind them, Mister Lord Fett made an approving noise. He still hadn’t looked up and most of his attention was on his datapad and the Force around Mister Lord Fett felt – scattered, like his attention was being pulled in half a dozen places. 

He didn’t say anything, though, and Master Djarin was looking down at Arza patiently, like he expected an answer to his question. 

Arza thought for a moment. Master K’Kruhk would make Arza run laps up and down the side of the Academy’s tallest pyramid, without the Force, and he’d make her apologize. But that was because a Jedi had to be careful; a Jedi could hurt someone by accident very easily. Arza could feel and touch and pull on the Force, but she had to be responsible with it too. 

Maybe Mandalorians are the same, Arza thought. Everyone at the Academy said that Master Djarin was a fighter. Maybe it was easy for him to hurt someone too, even by accident, so he had to be extra careful, and extra responsible. 

“Is Mirda your youngling too, like Grogu?” Valka piped up, her head cocked to the side. She must’ve felt Mirda in the Force, then. Valka was also trying to figure out why Mirda felt like Master Djarin. 

Master Djarin shook his head, then paused. “Well – she’s not my youngling,” he said. “We – Mandalorians – call our children foundlings. Grogu is my foundling, but Mirda’s my brother’s.” 

“Oh,” said Arza, nodding. She poked Mirda through the Force again, helloi’marzajedifriend, pushing an image of the gardens of Yavin-4, warm sunlight, dappled leaves, laughter bubbling up from the creche, and Mirda got the idea. She prodded Arza right back, clumsier and somehow sharper, a prickle of whohowi’mmirda, a flash of a safe dark bunker underground, a big man in blue armor, the suns scorching the sand dunes of Tatooine. 

Arza wrinkled her nose. Mandalorians were weird. 

“We’re part of the same clan,” Master Djarin added, like he remembered all at once that he’d agreed to teach the Initiates about Tatooine and Mandalorians while they were here. 

That made sense. Master Chase’d talked about children inheriting Force-sensitivity from their parents, sometimes. Arza’s mother had been able to touch the Force, and Master Luke’s father had even been a famous Jedi. 

Wizard, Arza thought. 

“So are all Mandalorian clans Force-sensitive?” Arza asked, looking up at Master Djarin. “Or just yours?” 

Behind them, Mister Lord Fett dropped his datapad. 

#ast tag #ast 'verse pov tag #a lot of this is just different characters going 'wow what a weird little man. what the fuck.' #and din going 'wow what a weird little x. wonder why they're looking at me funny.'

[oftenlyshitposting]

alright, let's do this one last time folks

i'm oftenlyshitposting! you can call me offie or osp!

i'm not new in tumblr, but i have been inactive for years, and i've only recently revived and rebuilt my blog. sadly, due to absolute fuckery accident, that said blog was terminated, with most of my work in it. so, here i am now, audaciously gay and rebranded.

i'm still gonna use the same tags as i did on my old blog, before the catastrophic purge lol. listed, below:

- oftenlyposts: when offie post some type of media contents, mostly pictures with little commentaries, a la oftenlyshitposting of course

- oftenlyspeaks: this tag is used for whenever offie has some Thoughts to talk about, but not entirely coherent enough to form a full length meta-analysis, headcanon, or fics

- oftenlywrites: offie uses this tag to archive and sort their mostly full and coherent pieces such as a full/mini fics, headcanons, or meta-analysis; sometimes used hand in hand with tag:oftenlyspeaks

- oftenlyreblogs: schtuffs i reblog, of course, either with commentaries or none

- oftenly'sthoughts: this tag should be used interchangeably with oftenlyspeaks or oftenlywrites because it's mostly about my own sporadic Thoughts

- *oftenly'svid: self made videoclips!

- *oftenly'sgif: self made GIFs! (disclaimer: i am FAR from being an editor so pls forgive me if my GIFs are absolute dogshit quality 😭)

- oftenlygrumbles: this tag is used for whenever i (inevitably) rant lol

- [oftenly is reblogging their old posts]: ...traumatic but this is where i will store a lot of my contents from my old blog! so past hcs, fics, and thought pieces will be archived here

feel free to slide in my ask box if you'd like to request writing prompts about the fandoms i'm in, or knock on my messages for any discussions! :D

oh! and i read all of your comments, tags and all the hijinks in your reblogs because hey, they are funny! and i too, unashamedly put my thoughts/comments in the tags like a chaotic writer that i am lol

hope this lil guide helps!

#about oftenlyshitposting #oftenly's tags! #hope this mini guide helps lol i'ma chaotic tumblr used #USER #i'm mostly in sapphic star wars fandoms #so if thats not really up your pallate #just kindly whoosh me away

[setaflow]

Find the Word/Manuscript Search Tag

Tagged by the ever-lovely @ghostoffuturespast (read her answers here and give her works some love!).

Words I had to play with were quiet, sound, dark, and here. Three of these passages were picked from published work and 1 was picked from a WIP.

Quiet

The quiet pulls taut like a rubber band— first person to let go gets snapped. His foot thumps the pavement, a tic only found in musicians and people with more words than they know to use, but V continues to hold her tongue. She's waited roughly eight hours for this; she figures she can wait a little bit more.

Sound

The record spins a few times, searching aimlessly for sound. Then, as though awakening from the deepest slumber imaginable, it crackles to life: "Lost another day, to pointless drudgery…the slow chippin' away, of my autonomy…" It's about what V imagined out of a bootleg Samurai tape. The audio sounds like it's been ground through a woodchipper, music hardly hearable at times over the rowdy crowd they're playing for, and it's not helped by the fact that no one in the band sounds the least bit cohesive together. This is a recording from one of their many spur-of-the-moment reunion concerts in the 2010s, meaning everyone is playing this version of Buck Ravers to their own beat— both metaphorically and very literally. Henry struggles to match the others' tempo, Nancy hits a few errant keys here and there; even the usually steadfast Kerry is somewhat rusty, V wincing whenever she hears a note that's a bit too high or a touch too flat. The only one who doesn't miss a single step is Johnny. He screams every word into the mic as if it's holy gospel, feeding off the will of the crowd as they preach his lyrics right back to the pulpit. The collective energy reaches such an insane fever pitch that Johnny seems to singlehandedly drag the rest of the band back towards coherency, and by the time their opener wraps up, all five of them've fallen back into their familiar sync.

Dark

Night descends upon the city the same way it always does— abruptly and silently, the quick puff of air that blows out the candle. V's got a decent stretch of the 101 to herself now. She's parked off on the side of the road, weight propped against the seat of the Kusanagi, her back to the NC skyline in favor of studying the assortment of oil wells and pump jacks just beyond the chain link fence she'd stopped in front of. The sky above V's head is a blank black slate, no chalk-white stars shining or bleary-eyed satellites blinking through the clouds. Out here, it's just her, a red bike, and thousand little flames burning in the dark.

Here

It’s stupid to say, it’s so fucking stupid to say, but V can’t stop herself, “Guess I meant…I-I dunno, a…a h-happier ending? For everyone involved?” Johnny only turns away, his expression clouded. “We were born under bad signs, kid,” he quietly reminds her. “Happy endings? Here, for folks like us? Wrong city, wrong people.”

I'll tag @clusterfxckedbysirens @beammeupbroadway @trashcatsnark @skippygiraffee @glitchinginthegarden @ladykatie512 @seraphfighter @wanderingaldecaldo and anyone else who'd like to try! But no pressure at all if not :3

Your words will be wait, wind, teeth, and hope

#Personal #Long Post #writing #Thanks again for tagging me! This was a lot of fun! #What was less fun was sifting through the 300+ instances of me using some of these words across 238k lol #But I liked the challenge! Still lowkey kinda proud for the rubber band line I love combining metaphors with puns

[coffee-in-veins]

The Character Bingo for Damian👀? Also, thoughts on the redesign?

thank you for the ask!

i really should save drafts of those, when will i learn...

here's Damian's dd1 bingo:

frankly, i didn't think much about flagellants since i rarely used them in dd1 the game. i thought about Damian since my dear friend liked him, and he even got a supportive character role in RRR since i can easily see him hunting Bloodsuckers with single-minded religious zeal. he makes a nice foil for a decent amount of folk - Rey, Junia and Baldwin for their religiousness, Tardif for their inability to comprehend their own feeling, Sarmenti for singlemindedness. there's a lot one can play with, genuinely. i like the concept.

in-game, my biggest issue was that my flagellants always failed their very first death door checks despite their supposed high rez (hell, they had martyr's seal and it didn't flipping help in the slightest!), so i just sighed and resolved to a bunch of hwms and jesters for all my bleeding needs.

anyway, here's the same bingo for dd2:

hope it explains a lot, including my attitude towards the redesign. please bear in mind, i don't own the game (and now i doubt that i will unless it gets a nifty sale.. but i'm derailing here), so my attitude is based on text descriptions and three screenshots i've seen.

but if we want to be technical:

as i mentioned above, my flagellants died more than any other class (save for maybe vestals because i didn't play with occ as healers), so seeing literal Death chasing him is frankly hilarious;

i hate zombie characters when they are played as straightforward zombies. if they are more or less creative (fungal artillery my beloved - the yell i let out when i realized what exactly was going on with this thing was and still is priceless), then they get a pass, but you can't get any more zombie-y than a mummified guy who "refuses to die because of his will";

also the snobbery of that statement. i get that it was a magazine interview but just... others are pussies, i suppose, if they fail death check and die? wonder what does it make a non-candlefed flagellant when he inevitably bites an L and dies...

also WE ARE KILLING DEATH; no, for reals. it's Death. not a monster. not some eldritch being. not corporeal demon. DEATH. the literal aspect of it. how? why? since when it's a thing?? we are the motley crew of fuckups and social rejects; yes, they (supposedly) stopped The Heart of Darkness in DD1, but there it was more of the benefit of the estate and the looping nature of the land surrounding the titular Darkest Dungeon than anything, with a dash of Sleeper's time fuckupery and the Heir heavily implied to be cursed to keep the loop going and the Heart sleeping. and then again - you are supposed to lose a minimum of two heroes in that fight. are we supposed to perma-lose someone "Come Unto Thy Maker" style each time we fight Death? I highly doubt it, because Damian will become a liability quicker than he'd appear on a character select screen; here we are supplexing literal "i'm in my horsegirl phase" Thanatos AS A ROAD MINIBOSS; let's see what road minibosses are: a canon, a greedy woman with PTSD from her former expeditions, a pack of bandits and LITERAL DEATH; am I the only one who sees a "what the fuck are stakes" problem, here...?

also also seeing a fanatically zealous character having a move to desecrate corpses/graves is very odd, imo. yes, Baldwin/Leper has one too in dd2 - but in dd2 he is canonically no longer religious;

this is more of my quirk of trying to biologically explain eldritch fuckupery - but if Damian has coherent lines in DD2, this is a fuckup on RH part. he has no lips. he physically cannot speak as a human would, since lips and cheeks are a big part of how we form sounds to make words. if he groans, moans and wheezes only - my bad, you can ignore this point completely;

he no longer has his tooth gap. why? why, RH, why? his CC set trinket is literally Chipped Tooth. his background comic highlights him losing it. and yet his "rotting body" somehow got dental work and got it back...?

I dunno man. much like DD2 in general, i want to love it, i genuinely do, but it feels like... how do i put it. imagine amazon "hollywoodifying" DD1 with absurd stakes and literal "we're the only one who can stop the end of the world with our street magic" and making a sequel based on that and... i just dunno. i want to give it the benefit of the doubt, but the more i see, the less hope i have. huh. much like the game itself does, i suppose. it was a dd2 joke. an attempt to make one, at least.

sorry to end on such a downer note ^^' i hope you can enjoy dd2. i genuinely hope you can, i'll envy you in the best of ways. the game looks amazing and sounds decent, and i wish i didn't detest the rest of it. looking at you, gatcha.

and we end up on another rant of mine about dd2... sorry ^^' i'll try to control myself next time.

#my shoebox of letters #character bingo #Grievings of the mountain || discussing DD2 #i wish i could genuinely like dd2 #i genuinely wish i could - i wanted to love this game so badly #but here we are i suppose

[cyanstarlight]

if you are actually doing the ask thing: homer 📖 and piano 🎹? if you want to answer

Oo yes thank you okay let’s see

📖 (is it more important to be brave or to be kind? do you like to read?)

In every major life challenge I’ve had to face, doing the truly kind thing took an immense amount of bravery. I think bravery is even what makes the difference between being “nice” and being truly kind. Nice says the right things and caters to people’s needs. Nice takes helpful actions but is usually doing so out of fear or hope for approval. To be kind is to treat people with a deeper level of respect. Kindness acknowledges their agency as an individual, gives them probably more credit than they give themselves. And it can take a lot of courage to enact that level of kindness. It can mean leaving someone you really don’t want to, because you know it’s what you both really need. It can mean standing up for yourself when you’re terrified of what the cost might be. To be truly kind requires bravery. So I’d say, equal importance. And then, yes, I love to read.

🎹 (what’s your favorite musical genre? do you play any instruments? who’s your favorite artist?)

I’d have to say rock but that includes folk rock, shoegaze, psychedelic rock, etc. Funk & soul are a close second. I play guitar and a bit of piano and I used to play the flute. My fav artist changes a lot but currently Arcade Fire or PJ Harvey.

Thanks for sending these! Hopefully my rambling is coherent ❤️

[lornahansonforbes]

From 21 October 2021

“Well it certainly captures your anger and your hurt, although it be lies the fact that you really don’t know me and this fantasy you’ve had about me since high school is pretty much just that.”

“Well it certainly captures your anger and your hurt, although it be lies the fact that you really don’t know me and this fantasy you’ve had about me since high school is pretty much just that.”

As I drove around today, Pariah Carey’s song, “Fantasy,” came up on my jukebox playlist. It prompted me to think harder. It made come back to these text messages. You’re correct, the hero of a fool, or is it, shake the hand of a brand new fool. Nah. That’ll never happen.

Apparently I’ve been obsessed about being obsessed ergo I’m obsessing over being obsessive and like a Pitbull Terrier, I’ve got lockjaw and I won’t let it go. I’m such a fucking loser and I’m truly galactically stupid. I know I shouldn’t have a blog nor a space to express my feelings. SMDH. 🤦‍♀️🤦‍♀️ I can’t speculate nor assume anything else since there’s absolutely no way in hell etc that the “universe speaks to me.” That’s a crock of shit as it should be and I need to be underneath the pedestal I put you on. I’m far worse than let’s say, TMZ or Perez Hilton. Fuck, dude. Stephen King, Jackie Collins, Hans Christian Andersen nor Isaac Asimov could write this reflection of a word salad. No coherent thoughts. Is it a Dangling Participle or is a Dangling Obscene Pickle? It’s all a fantasy. Nothing with me is consistent. Especially contact. Plus I know nothing about you though I’m thinking that you might know something about me via this blog, which should never be here and my words will come back home to roost and destroy my life. As it should. I’m sure that you aren’t actually thinking about it or me but when you do, yes, my mother should have had an abortion or my twin sister should have eaten me in the womb.

Such sweeping blanket generalizations about my hurt and I put words in your mouth and the amount of bandwidth needed to accommodate your feelings, well now. I’m sorry about that and I violated your space. As I’ve said before I should just stop. I probably should unalive myself but you then would then go on about me being such a fucking drama queen and I want to make it all about me. Certainly you’d never think about that entire experience because you are like a Maga Republican since these things are just things you’d see somewhere, gloss over it and look at, do I need to get some things at Trader Joe’s? I’m sorry about being here and existing. Dude, I’m not having a fucking pity party. I’m only attempting to glean something and how I’ve been in a coma and yes, you know that you should’ve pulled the plug because you were on four percent and your TracPhone is still not eligible for an upgrade. Another one of my fantasies. When I sit here on my couch tapping out words, nothing I’ve ever done is real. Lies. All lies. I’m not an empath. I’m just a sponge who takes, takes, takes and drains people of all their love and emotions. Again, I’m sure you don’t have any of those things. It has been my experience that folks who have your Zodiac Sign specifically are comfortably numb and I don’t know what the fuck I’m talking about since I live in a fantasy world and I expect to live happily ever after.

And the only thing that I can say emphatically without a doubt, you had a perfect opportunity to meet up with me in person and you blew it. Nope. Couldn’t do it. It’s very reminiscent of that infamous slow car chase from back when, it can’t be unseen nor erased. You like my foster son, who’s birthday is the 23rd, just wants me to stop existing and get help. Seek out professional help and process these feelings and get me to stop living my fantasy world. Because I told him that he was loved by me and I the absolute fucking audacity to say it out loud. You had an opportunity and he did too but do know this, I’ll be dead one day and I’m hoping that you’d have the opportunity to urinate on my urn and then flush the contents down the nearest toilet. As I’m a piece of shit. I’m not angry or hurt that I can live with myself full well knowing I’m nothing to anyone especially you. The sad thing is that I’m sure you don’t have anyone else who has carried a torch this long. As I conclude my apologies, and as I said in a previous blog, we do share something and it’s not that we went to the same high school and you’ll never figure it out. Just come right out and say it, “Fuck Off and Die, (insert my government name here)!!!! Why, motherfucker, why?”

…post script…as I went out for a little while. I forgot to tell you that the other one in my life is brother and his birthday is the 26th. It came to me that as the blind man picked up his hammer and saw saying what light dawns over marble head, y’all have never ever said that you were sorry or shown remorse and all that rot like everyone else does. However y’all get some shit done but the other person’s feelings aren’t apart of the equation. Y’all just shutdown, walk away and takes zero out of your life to actually get to a resolution. I also know quite well enough that your favorite Light in the Loafers Limp Wristed Fudge Packing Hershey Highway Man Piece of Faggot Trash Cum Gargling Dumpster Diving Pond Scum Sucking Dirty Pig Fucker will know that the universe does indeed speak to me whether I like it or not and I will continue to write whether I know I did deliberately or not but I know I hit a nerve and I was right about something and you will never ever tell me or anyone else what it was. Sadly my foster son, my brother and you, none of us will ever get to a place of either forgiveness or forget about you as it pertains to me. The joys of coming back from a hypomania phase. 🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️

[godswar]

how to create a high fantasy politics reference doc (with a template and guide!)

political fantasy is an extremely fun genre to write in, that is, until you have to actually write the politics. in this semi-requested guide, i'm going to explain to you how i virgo-planned my way to a horribly detailed—though also horribly helpful—political reference doc for my one and only wip, a treatise of tyrants and thieves.

if you too would like to use a similar format to what i did (though consequently you will have to change it to fit your own worldbuilding), i have a template for dropbox paper right here.

as a sidenote, i do recommend already having built up a decent amount of your world before jumping into this; this document is meant to help flesh out pre-existing content in such a way that is really hard to do with a wip that's just starting out.

setting up.

Generally speaking, when I first began writing this doc, I was mostly doing so in relation to the government of the country wherein my WIP takes place and its relationship with other countries (or nations!), with its own people, and within itself. This then lead to my three, aptly-named subcategories; External, Internal, and Personal Relations (I'm very creative as you can see.)

These three subcategories became my main headers, and all of my organization took place within a Dropbox Paper doc—as I am partial to the cleaner interface and very easy creation of a table of contents—but using Word or Google Docs works just as well. With that, and a lot of pain and suffering in the form of preexisting worldbuilding, I started to flesh all the info out.

You should note that the country AToTaT takes place in a country called Vsyhna (vuh-sen-uh) and its government is referred to as the Dual Courts. This is also a forewarning, for the fact that I will probably be talking about my own worldbuilding quite a bit, if not only for purposes of giving proper examples!

So without any more notes from me, let's properly jump into this thing.

external relations.

The external relations between the Dual Courts and all the other governments within Ashvayr (the continent that Vsyhna is a part of), of which there are eleven, can be described in one of the following ways:

✅ = Allies

⚠️ = Allied by treaty, with tensions

❎ = Not allied, but no real tensions

✴️ = Not allied, but with tensions

⛔️ = Enemies

All of these relations should be taken with a grain of salt, and also adapted to fit your worldbuilding, of course, but as a general consensus, most governments will have one of those relationships with another. The emojis are used so that it's easily identifiable (I'm also insane, let's not forget), but emojis don't replace discussion.

Within each section, I discussed the relationship between these governments but also gave a quick list of bullet points that explained important moments in recent history that have created those tensions—or lack thereof—the current political state in each country, certain cultural tidbits, and cultural differences between Vsyhnians and others.

Generally, this isn't the stuff you want to get lazy with, and while it is fine to say something like "Oh they live across the world my mc's won't know this." It's better to have the ability to even subtly suggest other people, cultures, or ideologies. It deepens your world, and more than this, can be super interesting to readers. You should also note that this information should affect your characters in some way, otherwise the politics are going to be very boring (as they don't relate to anyone.)

This alternated between something as complex as gender politics, to things as simple as cuisine or trade goods. Indeed, you don't have to cover every base with these descriptions, arguably, this is the part you should spend the least amount of time on (unless you're braver than a U.S. marine and do, in fact, wish to take on international relations), but you should cover every important base.

For a slightly more simple example, let's look at the Empire of Sansryn. I wrote: "The Empire of Sansryn ⚠️ is an archipelago that is composed of two main ethnic groups; the Sansrynians, who occupy the northern half of the islands, and the Tarimese, who occupy the southern half of the islands." Then continued to briefly describe the relationship between Sansryn and Tarim.

The next two paragraphs were designated to a) their relationship with Vsyhna (which as you can see with the ⚠️ emoji is not great) and b) their relationship with other countries around them, not forgetting why it's so poor in the first place, which, spoiler, has to do with a number of social issues.

Also in the case of Sansryn, one of my side characters is half Sansrynian, which is something I noted mostly for the purposes of clarifying this character's relationship with this part of their identity and culture.

Realism is, quite frankly, optional in fantasy (or rather, you define what "real" actually means) but I do tend to strive for realism within AToTaT's politics, if not only because it's fun. When delving into (rightfully!) complex issues—like ethnic conflict for example—it's necessary to do your homework (and hire sensitivity readers afterward) if it's not a topic you are familiar with or related to. However, that exact process is not something I will be discussing in this post and I encourage you to do your own research.

You also want to take into consideration how these countries are related to each other. For me personally, I almost exclusively did this for the two current conflicts (i.e. actively disputed treaties, current armed conflicts) within the world, but I did briefly touch on how those relationships came to be, as you can see above.

internal relations.

Internal relations is where things start to get more complex and also more specific to the world my WIP takes place in. For this section, you need to have already realized a great deal in regards to major political institutions (if you have them!) and most importantly, cultural attitudes.

I split my internal relations section into seven sub-sections, which included: Social Cleavages, Justice System, Garrison, Navy, Cults vs. Church, Crime, and Trade.

For a Wikipedia definition, a social cleavage is "a historically determined social or cultural line which divides citizens within a society into groups with differing political interests, resulting in political conflict among these groups." AKA sexy, sexy plot tension.

The social cleavages of Vsyhna mostly revolve around social class (in-world called "rank"), an urban/rural divide, and nationality, which I note as being "considerably not a social cleavage." It appears I should have listened to my Wikipedia-defined advice. That said, rank was described at length for its importance to the religion, general structure within government, linguistic flavor (dialects!), and laws. It's one of my largest social themes and connects to almost everything within the book, including the magic system.

Speaking of magic, as I didn't mention it within my seven sub-categories above, I should note that however magic works in your society should also be included. In my case, it's heavily intertwined with religion and social class (access to the information that allows people to use magic, I mean) and so I didn't feel the need to clarify its role with an entirely new section, but how you do this is entirely up to you. It's also up to you to include a magic system, as in reality, you don't necessarily need one. I also have a completely separate Dropbox doc for most of these things anyway (re:knowing stuff before you jump into this.)

The justice system is something I find is often not immediately thought about when it comes to fantasy, but from a very general point of view, this also encompasses subjects such as law codes, the punishment for breaking those codes, and what trials look like, if you have them. This can tell us much about your culture, what they value, and more importantly, how much they value it.

For example, continuing with my themes of classism, sumptuary laws are a large part of Vsyhnian society, i.e. laws that forbid the usage of certain goods to lower classes. Given that it's illegal for someone of lowborn status to have, let's say silk, it creates a) a prime criminal market (trading "illegal" goods), b) a need to crack down on this market, and c) further severs the relationship between upper and lower classes, given that the fairness of the justice system is then put under scrutiny. Indeed, the fact that it's the Church that controls the justice system, you have a similar tension in the department of faith, and I haven't even begun to talk about how the treatment during trials differs.

I often find military to be the greatest emphasis within quite a lot of political fantasy, that being, the mobility of large land armies or prowess at sea. For me personally, I find this to be rather boring (both on accounts of reading and writing) so I did come at this with a lens of interest in the personal relationships of these people and actual organization within the military. Mostly, I used what I knew from external relationships and current conflicts to create something that could be used later on if I needed it, as it's not heavily featured (at least not in the first book!) Treaties, blockades, relationships between commanding officers, and relationships with piracy.

On notes of realism, I went with the very classic These Island People Have A Great Navy, as, historically, they tend to.

We should all know by now how important religion, or lack thereof, is in epic fantasy, and while I could go on about this for several hours, this is a political relations doc, so I focussed on the tension between sects of the main religion. How different leaders within the religion interacted with other members of government is a topic for personal relations, however, if not only because they're heavily featured, and there are several (about nine actual descriptions.)

This culminated by way of cults vs. the Church, differing ideologies within fundamental concepts of the religion, and generally how they're seen by Vsyhnian society (and—you guessed it—social class.) As an example, I wrote, "All of these organizations consider the Holy Book Rovnokh to be canon and true within their faiths, though it is the Codex Drkha that is often disputed in validity. This is the result of their own written dogma, which may convey entirely different personalities and oblation tales, or emphasis on a very specific aspect of the mortal godchild then how they are presented in the Codex."

It is important to consider, before even delving into differences, what the fundamentals of each sect or division within your religion are speaking on. Think of the historical context that may have brought about such a concept, or even fuzzy lines within canon texts. Here's another example, "The seventh mortal godchild is not mentioned within the Codex and therefore not considered a valid mortal godchild, though Vrah’s appearance in the Holy Book and the Children of the Bone’s own text—which are older than the Codex—say otherwise. 'Vrah' is more used as a term to describe magic and not at all a person, when it is mentioned in the Codex."

Crime and trade, as you can imagine in a society plagued by rules that dictate trade—and in many cases make the trade of certain items a crime—is quite important. As I hinted earlier in the justice system section, the "illegal" trade of certain goods, which goes against sumptuary laws. That said, crime happens for a number of different reasons, and I took the time here to think about partner organizations, illegal magic producers, and gangs.

Crime can actually be an excellent tool of worldbuilding, if not only for the fact that it is so specific to the country and history it resides in. Why does something need to be stolen? Fabricated? Spied on? And who is getting the most out of it?

Trade was something I rather lazily did with the above Vsyhnian roadmap—I don't plan on discussing economics at all, nor following merchants as they move goods though the country.

I want to note once more that all of this is extremely relative information; what you need to write about to create political tension is entirely up to you and your story. As a general bit of advice, however, it is helpful to ensure that everything can come back around to your characters—if not now, then at some point within the series or story as a whole. Politics can become boring very easily, especially when not personal.

personal relations.

For our final and most interesting section, I did two, somewhat important things before actually writing anything out; that being creating two charts. The first is a political alignment chart, the second is a chart that defines the different positions of government. While again, this is totally relative, this is what I came up with:

Take the time to think about and research other forms of government, what each "branch" might do, and how they do it. More importantly though, think about how the culture and religion would, can, or do influence the government, and how the government has responded to such action. Look to history especially!

The charts allowed me to very easily place my main characters, their families, and all the previous groups of people (gangs, cults, social classes) into categories that can then, more or less, directly define their relationships with one another. This made the process that I will now describe to you a little less tedious.

I divided this category into three sections: Nobleborn Houses (that being houses of great import and high rank), the Prelacy (leaders of the Church), and Others of Note.

There are ten nobleborn houses, however, I only did mass amounts of details for five of the most important. I should also note that two of my four main characters are a part of two of these houses, and it's for that reason that I felt I needed to be as in-depth as possible. For Houses, the organization went something like this:

House Name:

A general description of the house, its history, and how it rose to power, as well as what they generally control within the government or country and how long they've had this position.

Try to be as diverse as possible within these descriptions—cover a lot of different bases and don't be afraid to do it! A family rising to power as a result of the money they, for example, gained from growing roses says a lot about the culture and commerce of a particular country.

Public Opinion:

What the people think of this family, given all social standings and occupations. Naturally, when I say all, I don't mean think about what every carpenter thinks of the royal family, I just made sure it was a general consensus!

Opinion of the Other Five Houses:

This, I tended to keep as short as possible, but like the external relations above, I wanted to know what and how the relationship was what it was. For several, I already had an idea, but for...so many more I did not (hear the pain in my voice? there's pain in my voice.)

Opinion of the Remaining Houses:

Shorter than even short as possible, but the same idea as before.

Main Members:

Probably one of the more important sections; I listed out all the members of the main part of the family, that is, the immediate family of the person involved in government (or main character.) This not only defines your side characters—of which there are bound to be many—but also clarifies the conflicting motives of the people in charge. And they should conflict, hopefully with the motives of your main characters. Extended family was discussed when important, such as prominent aunts, uncles, or grandparents, but for sake of simplicity, lengthy descriptions were kept for parents and children.

I also included charts after this about minor houses sworn to these noble houses, but to be completely honest, I didn't fill out most. That said, I did repeat this process for all five houses, and the good news, is that after you talk about the relationship with one of the other five, you're done completely, so, yay one less bullet point each time. Also, don't feel pressured to have a name for everyone or everything! In fact, I mostly skip over names of people unless I really have to know them in text, far more characters are simply [BROTHER] or [PARENT], though this could be a laziness thing. Or a conlang one.

A worldbuilding note: I also included house colors, sigils, and heads in this instance, as well as their connection to certain magical oaths.

For the remaining five nobleborn houses, I only listed house heads, sigils, and colors, if not only because I described their relationship with everyone else, earlier. That said, I also included house heir and extra notes, if I needed them.

The Prelacy was organized slightly differently, as important members of the Church, they don't necessarily have family members interacting with them. Instead, I focussed on backstories, their relationships with the Arkan (the monarch, sort of), and once more, motive (and personalities, given that I don't give side characters a full oc profile.)

As shown in the chart above, there is one High Vokhsv and six Vokhvs that work under them; the former had a more in-depth section of text, however, the six got just about as much detail as the lesser five noble houses.

My last and final section was short and sweet (thank God) and covered two topics very briefly, that are so world-specific I won't even bother explaining them. That said! That's what this section is for; anything else that you might have missed.

I won't lie, the personal relations section was probably the most time-consuming part of this entire doc, but in the end, it did pay off. The entire thing took about from the 22nd of February to the 18th of April, and came out to around 30k. Do I suggest you also write this much? Not unless you feel like you need it. I don't really plan out plot, so for me, this was my plan, hence the length and detail.

Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed this far too long breakdown of my political reference doc of my WIP, A Treatise of Tyrants and Thieves and good luck with your own process, writing, and research <3

references.

Some links I found helpful:

The template link, once more ($1).

Brandon Sanderson's 2020 creative writing lectures (YouTube)

Designing a fantasy legal system (Worldbuilding Stack Exchange)

Unpacking Folk Tales/Motif Index (Uni. of Alberta)

Real Inequality in Europe since 1500 (Journal, PDF)

Diplomacy (Wikipedia)

Public Diplomacy in Early Modern Europe (Journal)

The Spy Chiefs or Renaissance Venice: Intelligence Leadership in the Early Modern World (Oxford Brookes Uni., PDF)

Branches of the U.S. military (SOU)

those who were interested.

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#t. guide #tgs. #tgs. govt #iotus. #lets hope that this is coherent and helpful folks! #anyway i hope u enjoy! #there are also reference links at the very bottom of this......horribly length post #and feel free to send an ask/reply/or dm me w questions! i would be happy to clarify anything #also apologies for any spelling errors! #writing advice #writing reference #worldbuilding #worldbuilding reference #worldbuilding advice #worldbuilding resource #writing resource #worldbuilding template

[iridecsense]

𝘱𝘶𝘳𝘱𝘭𝘦 - 𝘮.

⤷ summary: “You’re blue, I'm red, I wanna kiss your neck and make you purple all over.”

ꕥ word count: 33.7k ꕥ pairing: credence barebone | fem!reader  ꕥ genre: fluff, angst, smut ꕥ rating: 18+ ꕥ warnings: mentions of physical and religious abuse, mild violence and angst ꕥ kinks: femdom, masturbation ꕥ author’s note:  Credence’s first time requested by anonymous. Experimenting a new writing style with this one, I hope you still like it! This is very soft, but also sinful. I always suggest using Interactive Fics extension on Google Chrome and Firefox when reading my fics. Enjoy. ;) ꕥ key: (y/n) - first name (l/n) - last name (e/c) - eye color (h/c) - hair color (s/c) - skin color

There are very few moments in life worth living for. Most things in life are mundane and repetitive. Humans aren’t as complex as they like to think. Humans are simple. Without realizing, it they put themselves into a routine. Eat, work, sleep, repeat. Eat, sleep, work, repeat. Eat, sleep, work, repeat.

Albert Einstein once said, “The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again, but expecting different results.” And yet, most humans never fall into insanity. How is it humanity survives such a dreary existence? The answer itself is simple. It is because despite living simple, tedious, monotonous lives, they still have those few moments.

Credence wanted nothing more than to experience one of these moments. Life for Credence was human. It repeated on an infinite loop, no matter how much he prayed for it to stop. Unlike most people’s lives, Credence’s routine wasn’t something to accept comfortably. There was no eat, sleep, work, repeat for him. His day started with an unsavory meal. It was usually porridge or stale bread. Then he would go out and hand out his “mother’s” flyers while she ranted in the streets. After that, they’d return to the orphanage where he’d surely get beat for doing something wrong. After being denied dinner, he would return to his room and cry silently in his bed, trying to dream of a life better than the one he lived. Then repeat.

Today was supposed to be no different. Today, Credence would have to hand out flyers around Times Square until nightfall. He hated handing out flyers in Times Square. It was bright, loud, and crowded, and the rich people from The Eggs always came down to shop and attend the cinema.

Rich people are assholes.

For the most part, Credence was invisible amidst the hustle and bustle of the square. People were too busy chatting amongst themselves or rushing to the nearest store or restaurant to even bat an eye at him. He didn’t mind it. He welcomed invisibility with open arms. Being seen usually ended with new bruises and scars. That's what happens when you’re an outsider, and Credence was an outsider in every sense of the word. He was an outsider to the rich people that pushed past him on the sidewalk, an outsider to the orphanage, and an outsider to himself. 

So, the lowly outsider stood hunched over in the middle of the sidewalk next to a cinema. Above him was a large marquee lit up by five hundred flashing bulbous lights. Mobs of people dappered up in evening dresses and suits, tipping their fedoras and clutching their mink coats excitedly entered the theatre. Credence looked at the flyers in his hands. Mary Lou gave him three hundred flyers to give out, and he barely gave out thirty. Most of the ones he did manage to force into someone’s hand ended up on the ground not ten feet away from him. They couldn't even bother to find a trash can. He wouldn’t dare return home with such a disappointing turnout.

The sun had long since set. The roar of the night became corrupted with wealthy party-goers. The Square was alive with chatter and street music. The streets were filled with intoxicated drivers flashing their fancy topless automobiles and the pretty women that shouted inside them. It was rather scenic, and Credence often found himself staring longingly at all the people whose lives seemed much happier than his own. It was one of the few ways he could pass the time.

He would watch couples walk the street hand in hand, seemingly in love. The woman would occasionally point out something on display she fancied and sweetly coherence her partner to buy it for her—to which they always did. He would observe a gang of college gentlemen around his age hop from bar to bar, obnoxiously laughing and roughhousing in the streets, cat-calling passing dames. In his mind, he was one of them. He pretended he lived in a world where he wasn’t an orphan and grew up in a wealthy family. He would have a mother who loved him and a father who was proud of him. He would go to college and make friends with other boys. Maybe he’d fall in love with a girl along the way. Someone sweet to please the folks back home. Then it would be him parading down the streets with a pretty girl around his arms in Times Square, and some other poor guy would be miserable in his place.

As his eyes wandered the streets, watching the snippets of other people's lives and inserting himself in them, his eyes landed on her across the street. She stepped onto the sidewalk in front of a boutique. Her hair fell around her shoulders in waves, neatly placed under a velvet green beret. She had on a slim fitting wool coat with mink trim over a lace-covered silk dress that shined in the night’s light. When she began to walk, his eyes followed her down the street like magnets. The way she seemed to carry herself was unlike the others around her. She wasn’t pink with liquor, stumbling in her heels on the pavement. Each step she took was one of elegance and confidence. He couldn't look away.

“Hey, watch it, punk!”

Credence found himself shoved to his hands and knees on the ground, the flyers in his hands dispersing in the air around him. He winced in pain and looked up to see a man angrily peering down at him.

“Watch where you’re goin’, freak!” The man cursed at him.

Credence kept his head down. “I’m sorry, sir.”

The man sucked his teeth and purposely stepped on some flyers in front of him as he walked by, pressing them into the wet sidewalk. Only when he was sure the man had gone did he find it safe to move. He ignored the soreness in the palms of his hands and tried his best to salvage as many flyers as he could. Passersby couldn't have cared less about the papers they ripped and crumpled under their perfectly pointed shoes. He picked up what little there was left unscathed—about a hundred at least. He was lucky most of them were still stacked together. He went to collect the last salvageable stack across from him when another pair of (s/c) dainty hands reached for them.

Credence’s eyes landed on a pair of green pumps pointed at him. His eyes trailed up past long legs shielded from the cold by nude stockings, green silk, and tawny fur until they met painted red lips and glossy (e/c) eyes. Up close, she was much more captivating. He could now make out her soft, round features and see how her (h/c) curls perfectly framed her face. Her cheeks were dusted a lush red. Whether it was from the early winter chill, or a detail of her makeup was unknown. Either way, she was stunning. It took him longer than it should have for him to notice the flyers she was holding out for him to take.

Credence awkwardly stumbled to his feet, keeping his eyes trained on the tips of her shoes to avoid her gaze. Even in his slouched state, he towered over her, but somehow he still appeared small.

“I saw that.” Her warm voice filled his ears, catching him off guard.

He lifted his head to look at her once more. “What?”

The girl looked in the direction the man from earlier had left and frowned.  “The prick who knocked you over was half-seas over! He could barely tell his left foot from his right! If he had, he would have seen that it was his fault knocking you to the ground like that.”

Credence didn’t know what to say. That was the most anyone had ever said to him without spewing insults his way. Even more peculiar was that the strange girl talking to him was trying to defend him. His awkward speechlessness didn’t seem to phase her in the slightest. Instead, her targeted vexed expression relaxed into a warm smile.

She urged the flyers towards him once more. “Sorry about your papers. I don’t think there’s much left to save.”

He carefully took the papers from her hands, noting how perfectly manicured her nails were. “It’s okay... thank you.”

“No need to thank me. No sense in being praised for common decency, right?”

Credence found himself speechless. He wasn't sure how to respond to such a statement. It was definitely something he should be grateful for. Most people wouldn’t look twice at him struggling on the street, let alone go out of their way to help.

The girl spoke through his silence. “You don’t talk much, do you?” She chuckled.

He shamefully bowed his head. “I’m sorry.”

“I didn’t mean it in a bad way,” she quickly assured him. “Sometimes, I think people talk too much. I don’t think people should say things they don’t need to, otherwise, words lose all valuable meaning. You know what I mean?”

He nodded slowly. “I think so.”

She seemed pleased with his answer, her smile growing ever so slightly. It wasn’t long before it was replaced with another frown. Unlike before, this wasn’t a frown of annoyance, but concern. Her brows turned upward and her red lips parted to let out a sharp gasp. She looked at him clearly for the first time, her eyes wandered over his slender form and taking in his appearance.

“Goodness! Aren’t you cold?” She asked, her voice laced with worry.

Credence shrugged half-heartedly. He was used to the cold by now. He only had a handful of clothes to begin with. He didn't have the luxury of having clothes that match the changing weather, he could only wear whatever clothes fit him from the donation pile. The warmest garment he obtained this winter was an old navy blue suit best designed for autumn’s chill, but useless against winter’s cold. She found it hard to believe he stayed in the cold for so long without freezing to death. Credence thought that was a bit of an exaggeration. It was a particularly cold November night, enough to keep the patches of ice and snow that had been shoveled to the gutters intact. With every shaky breath he took, a puff of white mist would follow. His nose and the tips of his ears were permanently colored red and, given his natural pale complexion, made him look rather sickly. But, he bore through it because he had experienced far worse.

Without warning, the girl took the liberty of placing her palms on the back of his hands. The gentle action was so alien, he flinched when he felt her warm skin.

“Your hands are like ice!” She gasped. “They’re two degrees short from falling off!”

It must have been true because the feeling of her hands was enough to send a fiery warmth throughout his body. Such affection was so foreign to him, he began to doubt it really happened. It wouldn't have been the first time his mind played tricks on him. Perhaps he was home in his bed, lucidly dreaming about a chance encounter with a pretty woman. In a moment, he would wake up, and the warm feeling of a woman’s touch would turn cold, and he’d find himself alone in his room again.

His theory was swiftly disproven when he felt her hands gently squeeze his. As if she had the brightest idea of the decade, the woman’s face lit up.

She took a step closer. “Say, why don’t I get you some tea to warm you up? There’s a coffee shop still open a few blocks away—I could drive you in my Ford!”

Credence blushed and swallowed. His eyes darted around nervously. “I’m not sure I should...” He mumbled.

“We can stand here in the streets like a couple of gulls if you’d like, but I’m not going to leave you out here to freeze, so you might as well say yes,” she smirked.

He wanted to say yes. But there was a voice inside him that warned him not to go. It was the same nagging tone Mary Lou barked in his ear. His mind spiraled, spewing scenarios of his adopted mother’s fury. He should be home by now. She never liked it when he returned home late. She would beat him again. She might even ice him—something she did when she was truly furious with him. The thought of it made his blood run cold.

“I-I can’t,” he stammered. “M-Mother is expecting me home—she’ll be wondering where I am.”

The woman’s once playful expression slowly faded. Her brows gathered at the center of her forehead and her smile faded. Credence was trembling and stuttering, helplessly trying to explain why he had to return home. His words slurred together into a tremulous speech. Passing pedestrians gave patronizing stares, actively avoiding the pair and whispering amongst themselves. The woman placed a comforting hand on Credence’s shoulder, silencing him almost immediately.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” She said softly. “We don’t have to go if you don’t want to. I didn’t mean to upset you by it.”

She looked him in his eyes and offered a kind smile. There was a skip of his heart. A strange feeling weighed in his chest he had never felt before.

“Why don’t I drive you?” She suggested. “That way you can be home twice as fast!”

Credence took a moment to think about it. He found it increasingly impossible to say no. Against his better judgment, he found himself wanting to extend their encounter, if even just for a minute. He had the smallest inference that if he said no, it would disappoint her. The thought of disappointing her was something he didn't want to do. He felt obligated to appease her. She had shown him a kindness that he may never get again. He thought he could at least keep her pleased.

“Okay,” he relented.

The girl grinned up at him and linked her arm around his. His cheeks grew warm, and he tucked his chin to his chest to hide his blush. Not that she would notice either way. She gingerly led him down the street, trying to engage him with small talk. He tried to listen, but he would get distracted whenever he felt her chest brush up against him. She was so close and so warm. Her touch burned through the thin material of his jacket and made his skin tingle. He could smell her perfume, like lavender and vanilla.

Such an alluring scent it was. It smelled familiar and sweet in its flowery nature. It reminded him of the transition from spring to summer, when the flowers became the most vibrant and fruit ripened to perfect sweetness. He wished he could smell it every day. It would be a refreshing change from the stench of mildew and boiled cabbage he often smelled. He wondered if she always smelled so sweet.

“So, what’s with the pamphlets? Are you a part of that Second Salemers organization?” she asked, pulling him out of his fantasies. He looked down at her and saw her looking up at him expectedly. He couldn’t help but grow hot with embarrassment.

“Y-yes,” he answered.

“Really? So, you believe in witches?” She teasingly wiggled her fingers in his face.

"My mother does,” He answered.

“How interesting,” she thought aloud. “I can’t say that I believe in witches, but if they do exist I wouldn’t mind.”

“You wouldn’t?”

She shook her head. “I don’t think so. I mean, they’re human like us, right? People tend to demonize things they don’t understand. Just because they’re different doesn't mean we have to fear or prosecute them. I think we should embrace each other’s differences and learn to appreciate them, rather than forcing everyone to assimilate to one idea of normalcy. If we do that, then no one would be unique. We’d all be the same.”

He listened closely as she spoke. He was absolutely fascinated by her. It was rather profound, the way she thought. Most people would disagree with her sentiments, especially his mother. The world Credence knew was built on a system of separation. A system that separated classes, races, sexes, and the able-bodied—a system he was a victim to. Never once had he met someone who desired to rid of it just as much as he did, and he certainly didn’t expect to hear such scrutiny from someone who seemed to benefit from it.

When she finished her societal criticism, she stopped in her tracks and craned her neck up to face Credence.

“Excuse my rambling,” she flushed. “I talk nonsense when I go deep in thought. Don’t mind me, I probably sound crazy.”

“I don’t think you’re crazy,” Credence spoke up. “I wish everyone thought the way you think.”

Their eyes locked in a moment of tenderness. His bold sentiments were enough to make her heart skip a beat; unbeknownst to him. Their intimate trance was broken when a passing car flashed its blinding lights in their eyes, causing the girl to release her grip around Credence’s arm. The loss of contact made his arm feel too light; as if someone had taken a piece of his arm away.

The girl let out a sheepish chuckle. “Well, this is it,” she said as she walked over to the luxurious motor car parked on the side of the street. Luxurious seemed like an insult of a descriptor for the magnificent opulence of the machine. The streetlight illuminated the pearl-colored metal that matched the white-rimmed tires. Gold embellishments lined the rim. Tawny leather seats contrasted the exterior and matched the fabric roof. It was something Credence had only seen in advertisements.

“She’s a bit much, right?”

Credence hadn’t realized how apparent the astonishment written on his face was. He expected the girl to laugh at him, but the girl didn’t find joy in his culture shock. She was nervous, as if she were ashamed of her possession, like he had just discovered her most shameful secret.

“She was a gift from my father,” she felt the need to explain. “It’s not that I’m ungrateful or anything, I truly am. It’s just that I would never have bought something so ritzy for myself.”

“I like it,” said Credence.

His words seemed to relax her otherwise tense demeanor. “I’m glad you do,” she smiled as she opened the door. He watched her slide into the driver's seat. He approached the machine cautiously, eyeing the foreign object skeptically. The girl watched him closely, an amused smirk curling her lips.

“You’ve never ridden in a car before, have you?” She asked. Credence shook his head.

“I promise there’s nothing to worry about,” she chuckled. “I happen to be an excellent driver. My father wouldn’t have given me one so expensive if I wasn’t.”

This was true. Such a beautiful car wouldn’t be gifted to someone who would evidently wreck it. The girl pats the empty passenger seat invitingly, urging him to get inside.

Credence slid into the passenger seat, the cool leather seeping through the thin fabric of his suit, sending shivers down his spine.

“Here.” The girl reached in the back seat of the car and pulled out a large grey blanket. “The car will get warmer as we drive, but this should be good for now.”

Credence placed his papers on his lap and reached for the blanket.

“Wait,” she stopped him, a small frown appearing on her features. “You’re bleeding.”

Credence followed her stare to his left hand. He turned his palm upward to find the healing wounds on his palms had reopened. He didn’t notice the sting of the cuts before, but now his hand burned with the slightest movement. He couldn’t help but feel exposed. He hated his hands. They were ugly. Permanently blemished with raised scars that formed from healing and reopening and healing and reopening at contact with his mother's belt. It was unsightly. He shied away from her, mortified. She must’ve found them just as repulsive.

But the girl didn’t seem phased by his calloused and scarred hands at all. She didn’t hesitate to reach inside her breast pocket and pull out a pink handkerchief to wrap around Credence’s hand. Again he could feel her warmth. Her soft hands caressed his skin, pulling him closer. She handled him gently, delicately folding and wrapping the silk fabric around his cuts. She glanced at him as she did so, only to find him avoiding her gaze with his chin tucked into his shoulder.

“I'm sorry,” he muttered as she tended to him.

“You’re sorry?” She let out a breathy chuckle. “And what are you sorry for, exactly?”

“I-I don’t know,” he stammered. “For making you drive me home. For ruining your handkerchief,” he said.

The girl sighed as she tightened the cloth around his hand and tied it into a bow to keep it in place. “Bunny, you’re not making me do anything. I insisted, remember?” She reminded him. Credence felt the entirety of his face grow hot. He turned to face her again, only to be met with the same (e/c) eyes and kind smile she had before. His heart felt as though it were beating a mile a minute.

“And don’t worry about my handkerchief,” she adds. “I have dozens of them. They’re more for looks anyway, I never use them.”

Credence nodded and silently thanked her. She gave his hand another squeeze before leaning back in her seat and starting the car. The car made a sound like a lion and roared to life. The seats trembled beneath them, and the headlights lit the road ahead. When the car jerked into drive, Credence felt uneasy. She drove the car well, and he suspected that she was driving at a slower rate for his benefit, but the feeling of the car moving made his stomach churn with excitement and fear. He walked everywhere he went. He’d taken the subway once before when he was younger, but somehow this was different. He fidgeted in his seat, finding anything to distract himself from the tight feeling in his stomach. His eyes fixated on his hands, brushing his fingers against the smooth fabric of the handkerchief. It was colorfully embroidered with flowers and lacey patterns. He followed the design with his eyes until they came upon two scripted letters embroidered in gold on the corner that wasn’t tied into a knot.

“Are these your initials?” He asked to distract himself with small talk.

The girl gasped dramatically. “I never introduced myself, did I? How rude of me! I’m practically a stranger and here I am driving you around Manhattan without giving you a proper introduction.”

The girl took one hand off the wheel and held it out in front of him. “My name’s (y/n) (l/n).”

Credence took her hand and shook it lightly. “I’m Credence. Credence Barebone.”

“Credence. What an odd name. I like it,” she grinned before pulling her hand back. “So, where am I taking you, Credence?”

He told her he lived in the old chapel on Pike Street. She fell flustered while trying to explain she didn’t know exactly where that was. Credence then told her she was going the right way, and if she kept going straight, he would tell her when to turn. While they drove, she did her best to get to know Credence. He answered every question she asked with a short and vague response. She didn’t ask him many questions to begin with. She mostly talked about herself or the people she knew, like her family and friends. Almost everything reminded her of them.

He figured she did it to make him feel more comfortable. He didn’t mind. He enjoyed hearing her talk. While driving, she saw a dress in a boutique and mentioned that her friend, Darla, would love to have a dress just like it. When they passed a tea shop, it reminded of her mother, who only drank earl grey tea; which, to her, is the most boring of teas. On the sidewalk, there was a stray cat running into an alleyway. She told him how much she wanted a pet cat as a child, but she couldn’t get one because her father was allergic.

He couldn’t help but be enthralled by her. The more she talked, the more relaxed he became. He stole glances at her when she wasn’t looking. Watching her lips move as she talked, outlining the bridge of her nose and the curve of her cheek. He had been staring so intently he hadn’t even realized she’d asked him a question.

“Credence?” Her voice filled his ears.

“Yes?” He answered.

“I asked if I turn here.”

Credence turned to look out the window and saw that they had stopped at the corner of Pike Street. It was a quiet neighborhood filled with old apartments that had dim windows and unfriendly doors. Sticking out like a tabby cat among tigers was the Church of the Second Salemers. A rickety thing dwarfed by the buildings that surrounded it. Credence’s heart sank. If only the ride was a little longer.

“I can get out here,” he told her.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes,” he nodded.

Her lips twitched into a bittersweet smile. “Alright,” she simpered. “Well, it was nice meeting you.”

“It was nice meeting you too,” He said truthfully.

There was a beat of silence. The two sat awkwardly, not really knowing how to say goodbye. Credence stared at his hands in his lap and began to untie the handkerchief.

“Keep it,” she stopped him before he could. “To remember me by.”

Would this really be the last time? He knew that she meant nothing by it, but hoped he didn't have to remember her. He wanted to see her again. He didn’t want it to end.

He gripped the cloth tightly in his hand. “Thank you.”

He reluctantly opened the car door and stepped onto the slushy street, closing the door behind him. She waved at him through the window, to which he returned in a less enthusiastic manner. He took a step back onto the sidewalk and watched as she drove down the street until she disappeared around the corner.

“Goodbye... (y/n),” he whispered.

It had been weeks since Credence’s chance encounter, and ever since his mind was consumed with thoughts and fantasies of (y/n) (l/n). Everything reminded him of her. The melting snow on the ground, the smell of flowers that mimicked her perfume when he passed the floristry, passing women in mink coats and tea shops; they all emulated her.

He often thought about how different things would have been if he did what he wanted that night. Would she be with him now had he gone to the café when she’d offered? Would she have liked to know him? Would she have enjoyed his company? The more he thought about it, the more he wished he’d taken the risk—his mother be damned.

Now all he had were memories and theories of what could have been. Though, fantasizing became his new favorite pass time. Reminiscing about her was one of the only things that gave light to his otherwise dark, mundane life. Like right now, he was thinking of what it would be like to make her laugh while scooping porridge into bowls for the orphans to eat.

He thought her laugh would sound feathery and jovial; the kind of laugh that makes you want to smile and laugh with her.

“You’re smiling.”

Credence was pulled from his thoughts by his sister, Chastity. He looked to the side and saw her smirking into the pot. “What?”

“It’s not just today,” she says. “You’ve been... different lately. Happier, I think. Always smiling to yourself. Did something happen?”

“No.”

“Did you meet someone or something?” She persisted.

Credence scoffed. “How could I have met someone?” He refuted.

Chastity she glimpsed at Credence skeptically. “I guess not,” she hummed, much to his relief.

“Doesn’t explain why you’re blushing, though,” she smirked.

Credence’s cheeks burst into flames as he attempted to sputter an explanation. Chastity giggled to herself, finding amusement in teasing him.

“What’s going on, children?”

The sickeningly sweet voice was enough to raise the hair on the back of their necks and shudder their hearts. They turned around, craning their necks up to the banister. Mary Lou Barebone towered over them just as menacingly as she could in her own prim and proper way.

“Nothing, mother,” Chastity answered for them. “Credence was just telling me a joke.”

“This is no time to be joking,” she scolded. “We have a very important meeting today with Father Blackwell, and I will not allow distractions. We can't lose focus. This is our chance to spread our message to the church— to the city! You should be preparing, not laughing.”

“I’m sorry, mother,” Credence apologized.

“Don’t let it happen again,” she warned, before sauntering away.

Even in her absence, Credence couldn’t find the will to relax the rest of the morning. The threat of her looming presence was far too great. After the orphans had finished their meal and left, Chastity washed all the dishes while he cleaned the dining hall. Once they finished their menial tasks, Modesty came downstairs to tell them Mary Lou wanted them to hurry and dress in their best attire for Father Blackwell.

Father Blackwell was the priest of St. Patrick’s Cathedral. He was the most famous priest in New York City and the priest of the mayor. Mary Lou was very anxious to present her case to him. According to her, once Father Blackwell hears her pleas and shares it with the church, the city would finally begin to take her seriously and put a stop to the heresy festering right under their noses.

So she believed.

It was Sunday. Today they would attend a mid-day service and attempt to get counsel with the priest. Though, Credence doubted Father Blackwell would even see them. As he got dressed, he looked himself over in the mirror. His ‘best’ attire was a dark plum suit so dark it looked black if you weren't paying attention. It made his already pale skin look even fairer and darkened the color of his raven hair and russet eyes. It was the only suit that fit him perfectly and had few blemishes. He’d probably look like a proper gentleman if his mahogany shoes weren't so terribly worn due to them being the only pair he owned.  

He took the matching hat off his dresser and put it on. Hidden underneath it was the pink handkerchief. He took the piece of fabric in his hands and held it up to his nose. It smelled like her. Remnants of her perfume still lingered between its stitches. He was grateful she allowed him to keep her handkerchief. He felt foolish for ever trying to part with it. It was the only proof he had that she existed; that their brief night encounter had truly happened.

“What are you doing?”

Credence instinctively hid the cloth behind his back, turning around to see Mary Lou standing in his doorway.

“I was straightening my tie,” he says, his voice wavering slightly.

Mary Lou looked him over for a moment, trying to find something out of place. “Come now,” she orders, having found no reason to torment the boy. “We’re leaving.”

She walked away. The sound of her heavy footsteps thumping down the stairs was Credence’s signal to breathe again. He pulled the handkerchief from his back and folded it neatly before hiding it underneath his pillow.

On their way to the cathedral, Mary Lou gave each of them a stack of flyers. She wanted them to hand out flyers to the congregation once the service ended while she talked with Father Blackwell. If there was one thing about Mary Lou, she was passionate and determined. When she set her sights on something, she will do everything in her power to execute it. She’d been planning this meeting for weeks. She readied herself in the only way she knew how: through constant prayer and tedious preparation. In a way, Credence was thankful for it. When Mary Lou became enlightened on an alternative approach, she was far too busy focusing on it to bother him. It was one of the few windows of relative freedom he had, and they came once in a blue moon. This meeting could mark the end, or the beginning, of this liberation.

Sitting in the pews during service, he could hardly concentrate. St. Patrick’s was a magnificent building, an authentic replica of the renaissance with its high, arched ceiling, stone engravings, and vibrant stained glass windows. It was the epitome of class and beauty. So, naturally, it would be the one church favorited by the high society. Wealthy families filled the better half of the sanctuary. While Credence and his family sat in the back with the rest of the commoners, they filled the front pews with tailored suits, mink coats, and Sunday hats. As Father Blackwell preached to the congregation, Credence searched the pews for a familiar face.

He knew his chances of seeing her were low, but he couldn't help but hope one of those Sunday hats would turn around and reveal those sparkling (e/c) eyes. His leg shook nervously, his eyes darting from one aisle of pews to another. It only stopped when a firm hand tightly gripped his thigh.

“Pay attention,” Mary Lou whispered, malice laced in her tone.

Credence swallowed, his body tensing immediately, afraid of even moving an inch in her presence. He turned his attention from the pews to the altar. Father Blackwell was standing in front of his pedestal, reading a scripture.

“We are living in a godless time,” He said. “Satan parades in the streets, preying on our sons and daughters! When the night comes, our children leave and venture into the streets. The devil and his minions tell them to wear promiscuous evening attire, commit sodomy, and fornication! Tempting them into Speakeasies to drink the Devil’s urine and feast on the bodies of Lilith’s daughters! Our city has become the devil’s playground. There is no God out there. Only sin.”

Flashes of her face imprinted in his mind. Credence frowned and tried to push it from his thoughts, but he couldn’t. His thoughts became consumed by her. As Father Blackwell spoke, he began to envision things he knew he shouldn’t.

“‘The body is not meant for sexual immorality, but for the Lord, and the Lord for the body.’” Father Blackwell reads. “Don’t you see? It isn’t ‘fashion’ or ‘modernity’. The devil has infested the media to infect our minds. He wants to taint our bodies to further stray us from God. ‘Flee from sexual immorality. Every other sin a person commits is outside the body, but the sexually immoral person sins against his own body’... and therefore, is a sin against God.”

His cheeks burned, and he prayed nobody would notice. He’d never thought of her like this before. Yet, somehow, the sermon unlocked one of his most shameful desires. He imagined the feeling of her warm body pressed against his. He reminisced about the feel of her soft skin. He pictured the curves of her lips, chest, and hips. He wondered how they would feel on his lips. Would they be just as soft?

“Brothers and Sisters, we must rid ourselves of all sin. Protect your children, for the devil, has his eyes set on them. The greatest sin against God is the polluting of our holy bodies. We must practice modesty and chastity. Only then can we be saved... Let us pray."

The congregation bowed their heads and listened as Father Blackwell lead the closing prayer.

The priest’s words echoed in the back of his mind. Even as he and his sisters handed flyers to those exiting the church, his mind would drift back to the sermon. Mary Lou had left him and his sisters to talk with Father Blackwell. He watched as she walked down the aisle to meet him at the altar. Father Blackwell was already conversing with a member of the church, a stocky man wearing a cream-colored suit and matching hat.

She nearly approached him before another man stopped her. Credence recognized him as Deacon Ripley. Deacon Ripley was as galling as his face would suggest. His face was pointed and far too wrinkled for his age. Deacon Ripley had a habit of sticking his unusually large nose into other people’s business. He reminded Credence of a sewer rat, just as unsightly and full of shit.

He couldn’t make out what was being said, but from the looks of it, Deacon Ripley was reprimanding Mary Lou. Mary Lou did her best to get Father Blackwell’s attention, but he and the mustachioed gentleman ignored her calls. Mary Lou was never really one to lose her composure, but in her desperation, she attempted to divert Deacon from obstructing her access to Father Blackwell. She rushed to the altar, calling Father Blackwell. She began stating her case, catching the attention of those still left in the church.  

“There are evil forces at work, Father!” She shouted. “Heretics walk freely amongst us, doing the devil's work!”

Deacon Ripley came behind Mary Lou. “Pay no mind to her, Father Blackwell, she speaks fabrications.”

“This is not fiction, Father, I can assure you,” she says. “I have seen them with my own eyes. The devil’s concubine.”

“What is this you speak of?” Father Blackwell demands.

“Witches, Father. There are witches here in New York, working right under our noses—”

“I told you, Father, she’s insane,” Deacon Ripley cuts in.

“I am not crazy,” Mary Lou snarks. “And if we don’t stop them now, there will be hell to pay!”

“Enough, Ms. Barebone,” says Father Blackwell. “I will hear no more of these fairytales. Please, have decency.”

Father Blackwell turned to the gentleman and guided him to a back door where they disappeared from the sanctuary. Mary Lou, still determined to be heard, began shouting after them, preaching her testimony of witches infiltrating New York. This resulted in her being handled by a few clergymen and escorted off the premises. People whispered and gossiped as the Barebones walked by. It wasn’t hard to tell Mary Lou was humiliated. She put on a brave face, clenching her jaw and holding her head high. She grabbed Modesty by the hand and walked away. Credence and Chastity followed close behind with their heads down.  

It had been about a week since the church incident. Mary Lou hadn’t left her room since. The only one to see her was Modesty. Mary Lou always had a soft spot for the younger sibling. In any other circumstance, Credence would have taken such behavior as a blessing. Whatever wrath Mary Lou was feeling wasn’t being directed at him. But the looming threat of her presence left him little to no space to relax.

Credence was helping Chastity make pamphlets in the dining hall when the sound of Mary Lou’s door opening and closing halted their process. Small footsteps trotted down the stairs and into the hall.

“Credence,” Modesty called. Credence stood from his seat and walked to Modesty, who handed him a stack of flyers once he was close enough. “Mother wants you to pass out these flyers around town. She said not to come back until they’re all gone.”

Credence took the flyers in his hands and reluctantly walked to the door. It was snowing today. It wasn’t cold enough for it to stick, but it was cold nonetheless. He already wore his warmest clothes, which happened to be an old navy sweater vest, grey wool suit jacket, and matching trousers. He threw on a grey fedora and ventured into the streets.

He didn’t mind handing out flyers. Anything to get out of that awful place was enough for him. It was just about noon when he left. He thought it best to head towards the inner city. It was Saturday, so there were sure to be people bustling in and out of shops today. It usually wasn’t a long walk, Credence was used to walking long distances. However, the nipping cold slowed his pace a bit.

In the first hour, he spent walking around midtown and passing flyers around the park. Handing out flyers in winter rarely yields any results. People are far too cold and miserable to bother pulling their hands from their pockets to grab a piece of paper. After a very unsuccessful hour, he migrated further north, closer to Times Square.

“Credence?”

Credence stopped in his tracks, his heart jumping wildly in his chest. He slowly turned around to where the voice had come from. There, in all her grace, was the last person he expected to see. He could see her even more clearly than the last night he saw her. This time, she wore a large, white fur coat that stopped at her ankles and a matching fur hat. In her gloved hands, she carried a small beaded purse that glittered when light reflected off it.  In the day’s light, her skin radiantly glowed, much like her purse. Her eyes seemed bigger than what he remembered, mimicking that of a doll’s. They were enhanced by the brown eyeshadow that darkened her lids and the mascara that elongated her lashes. Today, her lips were raspberry pink instead of the deep red he remembered. Snowflakes nestled in the nooks of her curled (h/c) hair, making her appear even more angelic.

“Mi-Miss (l/n)?”

He hadn’t a moment to process her appearance before she rushed into his arms, catching him by surprise. She threw her arms around his neck and rested her chin on his broad shoulder. His hands instinctively gravitated to her waist, holding her steady as she stood on the tips of her toes. She felt lush in his arms, the heat from her body sent warmth spreading throughout his center. The expanse of his neck and cheeks blossomed into a dusty shade of rose. His mind raced as he tried to collect his thoughts. He was almost sure she could feel the rapid beating of his chest.

If she did, she didn’t seem to mind. She held onto him, squealing excitedly. “You don’t know how happy I am to see you!” She said between giggles. “I was hoping you’d be here!”

Credence raised his brows, swallowing the lump in his throat. “You... You were hoping?” he repeated.

She pulled away, falling back on her heels to look him in the eye. Her hands still held onto his arms. “Well, I wasn’t sure if I’d see you,” she says. “But every time I come down, I hope I do.”

“You visit often?” He asked.

“As much as I can,” she admits. “I live in Kings Point. Do you know where that is?”

He nodded. Kings Point was a village up North by the bay in an area commonly referred to as West Egg. Many wealthy families live there in their ritzy mansions, throwing parties, boating, and golfing.

“Yes, well, I can only visit on weekends. Mainly with friends. But, lately, I’ve made a habit of coming down on my own, since I met you.”

She had said it so casually he thought she must’ve not realized how it sounded. Had she been purposely coming to the city, hoping to cross paths again? A small smile formed on his lips.

Her hands slipped from his arms and returned to her side, much to his disappointment.

Just then, a man behind her coughed, drawing their attention. (y/n) looked back and gasped. “Oh! I’m sorry, Eddy. How rude of me! I completely forgot to introduce you.”

She stepped back to the man’s side. “Eddy, this is my friend Credence Barebone. I met him a few weeks ago in Town Square. Credence, this is Edmund Tully.”

Credence and the man made eye contact. The man, Edmund, was tall; even taller than him. He was built, with wide shoulders to match his thick neck and strong, clean-shaven jawline. His rectangular face was undeniably handsome, with strong, straight features Credence had only seen before on statues and hooded green eyes. His blond hair was almost completely hidden underneath his grey newsboy hat that matched the tailored grey suit he wore underneath a thick, black, fur-lined ulster.

Credence was already intimidated by the man. He was older, around his late twenties. If it wasn’t his overall overwhelming appearance that intimidated him, then it was definitely the pointed glower directed at him. (y/n) didn’t notice it. Her eyes were focused on him.

“It’s nice to meet you,” said Credence, bravely offering his hand.

Edmund looked down at Credence’s outstretched hand. “Yes, and you as well,” he said indifferently, reluctantly taking his hand and forcing a smile. (y/n)’s brows wrinkled slightly at the interaction as she looked between the two men.

When they stopped shaking hands, Edmund turned to (y/n). It was almost comical how drastically his expression changed when he looked at her. His face softened and his phony, tight-lipped smile became genuine.

“(y/n), darling, I’m afraid I have to go now,” He said.

“So soon?” She asked.

“Yes, actually. Your brother and I have a meeting with your father and Mr. Finnegan around lunch,” he explains.

“Oh, I see,” she hums in understanding. “Well, you better get going.”

“You’re right, I must.” He took a step closer to her. “It was lovely running into you today, (y/n).”

Credence watched as he bent down and placed a large hand on her waist. She too reached around to wrap your arm around his torso. He watched as the man kissed her right cheek before moving to kiss the other. This didn’t phase her at all. Instead, she smiled as if it happened all the time. Credence felt looked away, upset by the display. Why did he feel upset?

The two pulled apart, and Edmund began to walk away. “I’ll tell your brother you said hello, shall I?” He yelled.

“Yes! And tell him that mother wants him home by ten o’clock tonight!” (y/n) responded as she waved goodbye.

“I didn’t know you had a brother,” Credence spoke up.

(y/n) looked back to face Credence. “I have two older brothers, actually,” she told him. “Aaron and Channing. Eddy is Aaron’s friend. They met at Oxford University. He and my brother both work for my father now, so he’s around often. He can be a bit... overbearing sometimes, but he means well.”

“And your other brother?”

“Channing is only a year older than me, so he’s twenty. He’s my best friend,” she revealed. “He isn’t here, though—in New York, I mean. He’s currently studying abroad in Japan.”

“Japan?”

“Crazy, isn’t it? Between you and me, I think he’s only there to follow this Japanese girl he met. And I don’t blame him! I met her before and she’s very beautiful, sweet too! Though, I do miss him a lot. Sometimes I wonder if I should have gone with him when I had the chance.”

Credence looked down at his feet as he listened. For some reason, the thought saddened him. Did she miss her brother so much that she would end up leaving for Japan one day? Would he never see her again? Would she miss him if she did? He didn’t want her to go. He wanted her to stay so they could keep meeting like this. So he could see her face and have her smile at him so kindly, like she always did. Her brother might miss her, but he needed her.

Credence felt so selfish for thinking such things. How could he possibly think he deserved her time? If he told her what he truly thought, how would she react?

As if she could read his thoughts, (y/n) took a step closer to him. He picked his head up to face her and saw that she was smiling up at him.

“But, if I had done that, then I wouldn’t have met you,” she says.

Just as quickly as his deprecating thoughts had come, they left once her words reached his ears. Credence could only stare at her in disbelief.

“And he sends me letters every month, so, I guess it's all right,” she chuckled. “So, how have you been?” She asked, bringing him out of his daze.

“I...I’ve been well,” he says.

“I’m glad,” she smiles. Her eyes travel down his form. A small crease forms in the middle of her brows as she tilts her head to the side. “You still haven’t gotten yourself a coat, I see.”

Credence looked down at his clothes as though he had forgotten what he had on. “No, I haven’t.”

She cocked her head to the side and furrowed her brows. “I suppose I could just buy you one.”

Credence shook his head, not wanting to inconvenience her for a second time. “You don’t have to do that,” he said.

“I wasn’t really asking,” she said.

“I’m fine,” he insisted. “Really.”

She stared at him for a moment, squinting her eyes slightly. “Fine, then.” She began unbuttoning her coat. Credence watched her, confused by the sudden action.

“W-What are you doing?” He asked.

“If you won't let me buy you a coat, then I won't wear one either,” she says simply.

Credence furrowed his brows. “But you’ll be cold.”

She scoffed. “And you’re not?”

Credence was rendered speechless. A small smirk curled on her painted lips. “Either you let me buy you a coat, or I won’t wear one at all. I can’t walk with you knowing you’re freezing and I’m perfectly comfortable.”

She was impossible. No matter what he says, she would always find a way to make him give in.

“O-Okay,” he concedes.

(y/n) grinned brightly, fixing her coat back over her shoulders and hooking her arm around his as she had once before.

“This will be fun!” She beamed.

She led him back in the direction she had come while eagerly telling him about the boutique she knew would have the best selection for him. He increasingly became more comfortable in her presence. He even properly engaged in conversation, much to her delight. And whenever she smiled up at him, he found himself smiling too.

The boutique wasn’t far—about three blocks away to be exact. It was a small blue shop with gold painted windows. Through them, Credence could see posed mannequins dressed in all kinds of fancy coats, dresses, and suits. Written above the entrance in the scripted font was a sign that read: Vendicci’s.

Upon entering the store, their ears were filled with Italian opera. The shop appeared to be empty. There were no other shoppers, and the front counter was left unattended. Credence followed her to the counter. On its surface was a small golden bell that she tapped lightly. The bell rang, signaling their presence.

Shuffling could be heard from the back of the shop, catching their attention. From the back of the shop, they could hear harsh whispers and unintelligible curses. A short, thin man came stumbling in. He had dark olive skin and chestnut brown curls that fell around his Grecian face. He was disheveled—the first three buttons of his pink dress shirt were unbuttoned, and the fabric of his pressed white pants were creased. Without looking, the man made his way to the back of the counter, mumbling in a language he couldn’t make out.

Following behind him was a woman equally disheveled in appearance. Her short black hair stuck up in odd places, and she had missed one button of her blouse. She wandered the shop, to mind some clothes on the rack as the man drew near to the front counter.

“Stupidi Americani... Sorry, we are closed for now. You can come back later when—,” The man stopped when his eyes landed on her.

(y/n) smirked. “Hello, Raül,” she waved.

“Bella!” He gasped and hurried towards her with open arms. “How wonderful to see you!” He said in a thick Mediterranean accent. He placed hands on her shoulders and pulled her in to kiss both of her cheeks. “You look even more lovely since the last I saw you.”

“It’s good to see you too, Raül,” she chuckled.

“Where have you been?” He pouts. “It’s been so long I’ve barely been able to survive without you.”

“I’m sorry, Raül, I’ve been trying to be more mindful of how I spend my money,” she explains.

“Mind your money here! I have so many new items you would look molto bella in. I saved them just for you,” he winked.

“That’s sweet of you, Raül. I promise I will come by and try them on at another time.”

Suddenly, the man became aware of Credence’s presence in the room. He looked at him like something had left an unpleasant taste in his mouth. Raül raised a skeptical brow and asked with pursed lips, “Is this man with you?”

“Yes, he is,” she says as a matter-of-fact. “We’d like to buy a coat. Something thick for the winter.”

Raül nodded and hummed, turning back to face her. “You’re just in luck,” he says. “Early this week I got a shipment straight from Italia: a fine selection of winter coats designed by Feliciano Romano himself.”

(y/n) gasped, clasping her hands together. “That’s fantastic! We’ll try those first!”

She took Credence by the arm and they followed him through the shop where they came upon a round archway covered by red velvet curtains. Raül pulled back the heavy curtains to reveal a separate room. It was small. The carpet was also red to match the curtains and the loveseats and chairs that decorated the room. In the center of the floor, was a circular platform. Above it was a circular ring of white drapes that had been pulled up. Across from the platform was a wall of mirrors, reflecting the room from different angles.

The woman from earlier had come in as well. With her, she brought along a rack filled with many expensive coats. She pulled it to the side of the room, right next to the platform. Raül thanked the woman with a playful pat on her buttcheek.

Credence blushed, having put two-and-two together about what was going on between the two co-workers before he and (y/n) had shown up. (y/n) was unfazed at all by the promiscuous interaction. Instead, she took off her coat and hat and threw them on one of the sofas facing the platform before taking a seat.

“Let’s begin!” Raül said excitedly.

“Stand up there, Credence.” (y/n) pointed to the platform. Credence did as he was told, and stepped onto the raised surface, awkwardly awaiting more instruction.

The dark-haired woman came up to Credence with a large coat in her arms. He didn’t need to put it on to know it wasn’t something that would suit him. She stood behind him and slipped the sleeves of the coat over his arms and shoulders. The coat itself was heavy enough to make him slouch slightly and tense his leg muscles to carry the added weight. The warm fabric engulfed his lanky form. It was made of strange, thick fur—not mink, but from another animal, he couldn’t guess. It was dark brown, and in some areas, it looked black. The length of the coat ended just above his ankles and the sleeves practically covered his hands, the tips of his fingers were all that were visible.

It was definitely a coat well suited for a more muscular type of man. It was the kind of coat that would be perfect for a large Russian mobster. However, on his lanky form, it just looked plain silly. (y/n) looked at him in the mirror, catching his eye.

“Do you like it?” She asks. “Be honest. I won’t buy you something you don’t like.”

“It’s fine,” he lied.

“Absolutely not!” Raül said as he took a step onto the platform and stood in front of Credence, looking him over intently. “I never thought I would say this to anyone, but, my dear, sable is not for you.”

“You don’t think so?” (y/n) chimed in.

“Miss (l/n)!” He gasped. “You are my most fashionable client! Tell me you don’t think this works for him!”

She looked him up and down, a smile stretching across her lips. “I think he looks cute,” she says. “like a cuddly bear.”

Credence blushed and shied away from her gaze. Raül tuts his tongue and rolls his eyes. “Well, he must be the skinniest bear in the forest,” he mutters as he pulls the coat off Credence’s shoulders.

“Want to try another one?” She asked. Credence nodded.

Raül went through the rack before pulling out another coat for him to try. He found one he thought might look best and took it off its hook before helping Credence try it on.

After he helped him slip his arms in, he took a step back to look him over. “How's this?”

It was a slim-fitting burnt orange fox fur coat that stopped halfway. It had a low collar and large brown buttons that trailed from his chest to the hem. He noticed how it was tighter around his waist and made his hips look bigger than he’d like. He thought it was a coat he would see on a woman. 

“It’s a bit bright for winter, don’t you think?” She pointed out.

“Nothing is ever too bright,” Raül argued.

She squinted at Credence’s reflection in the mirror, pondering the look. His face burned red and he silently pleaded she disliked the coat as well. His flustered expression made her stifle a fit of giggles. “I think we’ll try another one,” she smirked.

Raül sighs and slips the coat off Credence’s shoulders, much to his relief. The next coat was a black and white trench with large black buttons and a belt. Credence stood uncomfortably in front of the critical pair.

Raül crossed his arms, a small approving smile plastered on his lips. “Now this, I like!”

“I don’t know...” She hummed. “What do you think, Credence?”

“It’s itchy,” he says.

“It’s tweed,” Raül said, as though it made it better.

She giggled and looked at Raül. “Another?”

They went through several different coats, most of which were unflattering or uncomfortable. Credence thought the others were doing it on purpose — at least, he felt like she was. There was something about the playful smirk that curled the corners of her lips whenever he was dressed in a seemingly ridiculous or feminine coat that made him feel as though she had taken joy in dressing him up and watching his cheeks turn red from embarrassment whenever she expressed how ‘cute’ he looked. While there may have been no initial mal-intent when she initially insisted on buying him a coat, he was starting to feel like she was toying with him; teasing him for her own pleasure. 

Raül pulled another unsatisfying coat off of his shoulders only to replace it with another. The weighted coat comfortably slipped onto his shoulders. When Raül properly fit the coat onto him, he took a step back, a small smile gracing his features. Credence turned his neck to look back at (y/n) who had a similar expression of approval.

“Wow.” She whispered.

The coat was indeed impressive in a simplistic kind of way. It wasn’t too flashy or extraordinary. Just a simple black trench that fell to his knees. It was a sharp, angular cut, one that seemed to broaden his shoulders to imitate a somewhat muscular appearance. The shade of black complimented his pale skin and matched his raven locks, making him appear more porcelain than before. 

“Magnifico! So handsome, like a dark prince!” Raül cheered. His assistant then too voiced her agreement.

(y/n) moved from the sofa to the platform where Credence stood. She eyed him closely, circling him before stopping in his eye-view. She ran her hands up his arms, feeling the material under her skin. She dragged them up and across his shoulders, before stopping at his chest. Credence’s heart drummed against his chest, excited by her touch. He wondered if she could feel it through the coat.

“Do you like it?” she asked him.

“I do,” he says, truthfully this time.

She smiled and turned to face Raül. “We’ll take it!”

(y/n) left with Raül and the woman from earlier to pay for the dashing coat, leaving Credence alone in the dressing room. He looked himself over in the mirror, admiring how he looked in the black material. He couldn’t deny how good he looked in it. For the first time he looked, normal. Better than normal—he looked like a proper gentleman. Sure, a real ritz could snuff him out in a heartbeat, but to the average New Yorker, he could pass for someone on the same caliber as (y/n). It was like looking at the version of him he always wanted to be.

It wasn’t long before the fleeting fantasy soured. The rational part of his brain picked at the flaws of this entire interaction. How would he explain to his mother where he got such an expensive coat? If she saw him wearing it, she would definitely ask questions he was afraid to answer. Either way, he knew he couldn’t be seen with it on while she was around. But he couldn’t throw it away; not when she went through all the trouble of buying it for him. And it was such a nice coat... Credence shook the worries from his mind. He couldn’t think about it now. 

After (y/n) paid for the coat, the two bid Raül goodbye and ventured back out into the cold. Already, Credence noticed a stark difference of the cold with the coat protecting his skin. It dulled the nipping chill that never left during the winter months. 

“Much better, isn’t it? ‘Not cold’ my ass,” she snarked playfully. She fished around her coat pocket and pulled out a pair of black leather gloves. “Take these.”

Credence eyed the gloves questionably. (y/n) sighed and took his hand from his side, sliding the gloves on before doing the same with the other. “There,” she grinned. “I wasn’t sure if these were gonna be the right size, but look! They’re perfect!”

“But... you didn’t have to buy these for me,” said Credence.

“I didn’t buy them,” she says. “Raül gave them to me—well, to you. He says those gloves must go with that coat. I have to say I agree; they really complete the look.” She began walking down the street again, prompting him to follow her. “And don’t worry about the coat, okay? Like I said before, it’s on me,” she reminded him.

Credence still felt couldn’t accept something so valuable without thanking her. She bought him a coat because she cared about how he was feeling, just like when she helped him off the street all those weeks ago. He felt indebted to her—grateful to her. He wouldn’t be satisfied until he returned the favor tenfold. 

To her, this was obvious. She could tell buying the coat bothered him. He was so tense. He probably would never relax around her unless he somehow proved that he deserved to. Perhaps she can help him see. She glanced at the taller boy from the corner of her eye.

“But,” she sighed. “If you’re still looking for some way to repay me, I can think of something I’d like you to do.”

Credence perked up. “Really? What is it?”

She grins up at him, showing her pearly white teeth. “Go on a date with me.”

Credence’s eyes widened. “W-What?”

(y/n) chuckled. “If you don’t want to go on a date with me, that’s fine.”

“No!” He said all too desperately. He blushed at his own excitement. “I mean... Are you sure that’s what you want?”

“It’s why I suggested it, isn’t it?”

Credence blushed. A date? He’d imagined taking her on a date in his head about a hundred times. He thought of what he might say and do on the chance he got to be alone with her again. Maybe this time he’ll follow through.

“Okay,” he gave in. “Where do you want to go?”

“How eager are you!” She laughed. “I didn’t even say when and you’re already trying to sweep me off my feet, huh? Either that or you’re just trying to get rid of me.”

“T-That’s not how I meant it!” he stammered.

(y/n) giggled at his demise. “I’m just teasing you, Bunny. No need to turn so red,” she smirked.

She didn’t help his case when she slipped her arm between his to link their arms. He wasn’t sure he’d ever get used to her being so close to him. No matter how many times she touched him, he always managed to get flustered. It’s probably why she did it so much, just to see him blush.

“Now is as good a time as any,” she said while smiling up at him. “Are you hungry? I’m starving!”

They walked through the city together, arm in arm. Unlike last time, Credence attempted to be more interactive with her. (y/n) was definitely the more dominant converser, but his attempts to be more engaging with her didn’t go unnoticed. He asked her the questions that have been collecting in his head since they met.

He asked her what she did in her spare time (paint) and what her favorite food was (chocolate). He learned that she was a Columbia scholar currently on break and that she recently adopted a hairless cat named Onyx (it was the only cat her father wasn’t allergic to). Talking with her became easy. He even made her laugh a few times.

While they walked, Credence felt like they passed about twenty different restaurants and cafés he thought she would like. But whenever he thought they were about to stop, she kept going. He was wondering where exactly she was taking him. 

“Are we eating somewhere in particular?” He asked discreetly.

(y/n) nodded and hummed. “I’m taking you to one of the best places on earth. Salone’s! It’s not that far from here. It’s been a while since I’ve been, but I’m really craving it. Have you ever been there before?” She asked.

Credence shook his head. “Never,” he said, causing her to gasp dramatically.

“Oh, now we definitely have to go! What kind of person would I be if I let you go on living without experiencing God’s gift to man? And by ‘God’ I mean Dixie Salone, the owner.”

When they turned the corner, there was a small restaurant named Salone’s across the street. Taking precautious measures, (y/n) gingerly led Credence across the street and to the restaurant. When they opened the door, the smell of grease and peanuts filled the air. The place was reasonably packed, with average looking people all looking at them as they entered the room. (y/n) looked out of place in her rather extravagant attire, though now—with her on his arm and his new coat—he probably looked just as pretentious as she.

If (y/n) noticed the leering eyes of the other customers, she didn’t show it. Instead, she scoured the area for a place to sit, before landing on a booth tucked away in the back. They claimed the booth for themselves. Credence took the booth facing the door, shedding his outer attire and tucking it away in the seat corner. (y/n) slid into the seat across from him, shrugging off her coat and hat, revealing her clothes underneath.

Underneath the mound of fur, was a matching white dress. Unaccommodating to the weather, the dress underneath hung off her shoulders. It had long sleeves, but the upper half of her chest and her shoulders were exposed. Though, Credence figured when you have fur to wear over your clothes, it doesn’t matter much what you wear under it. The fabric was velvet, which must have also helped. From what he could see, it hugged her body well. Credence looked down at his hands on his lap, realizing he had been staring a bit too long. Lucky for him, she hadn’t noticed.

On the table were two menus placed before them. He looked down at the large printed sheet. Credence had never been to a restaurant before. He had eaten nowhere else but the church. He ate once a day (if he ate at all) and it was the same thing almost every time: porridge and stale bread. But on the menu before him, there was no porridge or stale bread at all. There was soup, steak, chicken, and almost every kind of pie. He felt his mouth watering just thinking about it. 

“Don’t bother looking at the menu,” (y/n) told him, gaining his attention. “I’m going to order for you. This place is really only good for two things, everything else is subpar, trust me.”

He looked at the menu again, mildly disappointed. He was looking forward to trying fried chicken. He took a moment to look around the diner. Most of the people there looked like working classmen: factory workers or nannies. Some still wore their uniforms under layers of sweaters and scarves. Others wore regular everyday clothes. Many of those who eyed them upon their entry returned their attention to their food and prior conversations. Though, there were a few that still snuck looks at their table in the back. Some were harmless, like the little girl who was staring at (y/n) in awe. Some were more menacing, like the rugged-looking man sitting on a stool by the counter who seemed annoyed by their presence.

(y/n) noticed that Credence’s eyes were shifting around the room pointedly. “Is something the matter?” She asked.

“It’s just...” He began. “I never thought you would be the type to eat at a place like this.”

“I guess it does seem a bit funny, huh? I look like someone who’d frequent an uptown steakhouse, right?” She chuckled. “Truth is, I’ve never had a big part in that lifestyle. Banquets and fine dining, I mean. It’s all fake and pretentious. But this—” she gestured to the room around them. “This is real. The food is real. The people are real. Do you know what I mean?”

Credence nodded. “I think so.”

“Some of my favorite memories take place here. My father would take me here when I was little on his days off. It was one of the happiest times of my life. I guess I wanted to relive that with you today.”

Credence took notice in the look in her eyes. He could tell that recalling such memories saddened her. He didn’t like seeing her upset, but, at the same time, he was glad she wanted to share something so important to her with him. One day, he hoped to do the same.

Not long after that, a young woman dressed in a red dress and a white apron with a stitched red S on the bottom corner walked up to their table with a notepad in hand.

“Hello and welcome to Salone’s, what can I get the lovely couple today?” The waitress asked. Credence couldn’t help but blush after being referred to as a couple.

“Yes,” (y/n) said happily. “Today we’ll—” she stopped mid-sentence before glancing at Credence across the table. She smirked and waved the waitress down to her.

The waitress smiled and got down on her knees next to her. (y/n) grabbed a menu and held it in front of their faces so Credence couldn’t tell what she was whispering. He watched in confusion as (y/n) whispered their order to the waitress.

The waitress nodded, and every once in a while he heard her giggle. “Yes, alright... okay... got it!”

The woman stood back up on her feet and smiled down at the two diners. “If you two just wait here, I will be right back with your orders,” she said cheerfully before trotting off.

“What did you get?” Credence asked once she had left.

(y/n) shook her head and held her fingers to her lips to imitate the motion of closing a zipper. “It’s a surprise,” she winked.

Credence nodded, having decided to trust her decision. In the meantime, while they waited for their food, (y/n) engaged in another conversation with him. It was a continuation of their earlier conversation about pets. (y/n) wanted to know if Credence had any pets. When he told her he never had a pet, she asked him what kinds of animals he likes. He told her that he never met many other animals before. He’d seen many rats in his life, but that just came with the joys of living in New York City. But he thought it appropriate to mention he once made a bond with a stray cat when he was younger.

It was a black skinny thing, with a chewed off ear, and part of its tail was missing. One day, when he’d been left out on the streets as a punishment (he told her he was walking home), the cat came up to him and was begging for food. Lucky for the cat, he had a piece of bread in his pocket. He gave it to the sad creature, and it ate it from his hand. He’d never pet a cat before then, but he liked how it’s fur felt when he brushed it, and the sounds of the cat’s meows. After he told her that story, he stated that he probably liked cats the best.

“We’re just alike! Maybe one day I can take you to meet Onyx,” she suggested.

The corners of Credence’s lips curled up softly. “I’d like that,” he said.

Just then, the woman from earlier came up to them with their order on a large silver platter. The waitress placed the hot food onto the table, along with their drinks before leaving them to enjoy their meal. Credence looked down at the plate of food in front of him.

“Burgers?”

“Burgers,” she repeated excitedly. “If there’s one thing this place can make, it’s a damn good burger. Well, that and a mean vanilla milkshake! The fries aren’t half bad either,” she says as she pops one in her mouth.

Meat and fried potatoes filled his nostrils. The burger was as big as the plate it came on. The sesame bun was soft and round, and the edges appeared to be lightly toasted. Crunchy lettuce, cheese, and two slices of bacon coated in mayonnaise and ketchup poked out from the sides on top of a thick beef patty. (y/n) smiled in amusement as she watched Credence carefully take the burger in his hands. His eyes were practically sparkling with excitement.

“Go on,” she encouraged. “Take your first bite! I want to see the look on your face when the juicy meat hits your tongue.”

Credence glanced at her across the table, before opening his mouth and taking a generous bite out of the hefty burger. Various flavors overstimulated his senses. The beef and pork collided with the onions, lettuce, cheese, and condiments to create an unfamiliar taste he’d never experienced before. The meat was succulent and juicy, just as she said it would be. The cut of the beef was thick and chewy, and the bacon was crispy and flavorful. The bun was soft and crunchy and tasted as though it was toasted with butter. It wasn’t stale at all! It was like it came fresh out of the bakery just before it wound up on his plate. 

It was the best thing he’d ever tasted.

“Well?”

Credence hadn’t even realized he closed his eyes, but when he opened them, (y/n) was looking at him expectantly. He swallowed the delicious food and licked his lips greedily, chuckling softly.

“It’s good,” he smiled.

A wide grin stretched across her painted lips. It was the first time he’d laughed around her.

“You have a pretty smile, you know that?” She told him.

Credence’s cheeks reddened for the thirtieth time that day, and he lowered his head to hide it from her.

(y/n) chuckled softly before taking his basket of fries. “Here.” She took the red ketchup bottle from the side of the table and drizzled the condiment over the fries in a zig-zag pattern before sliding the basket back towards him.

“Thank you,” he muttered bashfully through a mouth full of food.

“You’ve got ketchup on the side of your mouth,” she told him.

Without thinking, he stuck his tongue out to lick the spot clean. (y/n) smirked in amusement, watching him do so, finding it cute.

“Did I get it?” He asked.

She snickered and reached her hand across the table to the side of his face. Her thumb gently swiped the corner of his mouth. The action took him by surprise. He sat tensely as she did it. It was a quick moment— a gentle touch, and yet his entire body burned with heat at the contact. When she pulled away and leaned back in her seat, the warmth still lingered. She looked him in the eyes, not breaking contact as she brought her thumb to her lips. The pink flesh of her tongue darted out and lewdly flattened against the pad of her thumb, cleaning it of the ketchup.

Credence felt his body ache at the simple action, the tips of his ears burning incredibly hot. (y/n), who was by no means ignorant to the effect she had on him, could only smirk and marvel at the rosy tint of his cheeks. Credence was grateful she didn’t draw attention to it. It was easier to hide how flustered she made him when they were outside, and he could blame his feverishness on the cold. Now that they were inside and it was warm, it made it harder to deny. He couldn’t bear being teased by her further, he felt like he might explode. She must have sensed it too, because she made no other moves to make him blush after that. She acted as though it didn’t happen and continued to eat her food. Credence then too returned to eating, praying that the ache he felt went away. 

It did, with the help of other distractions. (y/n) continued innocent conversation as they ate to keep the peace. As they talked she could tell that her earlier display still hindered his interaction. While they talked, she’d notice his eyes would linger on her lips rather than her eyes; and whenever they did lock eyes, he would trip over his words and look away.

It was cute, she thought.

Before she could decide to tease him further, the waitress had returned to their table, having noticed that their plates had practically been licked clean. She asked if they were finished with their plates, and they both nodded.

As she collected their dishes she asked, “Can I interest you two in some dessert?”

(y/n) pursed her lips and turned to Credence. “What do you think? Still have room for more, pretty boy?”

Credence flushed.  “I-I’ve never had a milkshake before,” he stammered, referring to the claim she made earlier.

She smiled, before gingerly holding up a finger to the waitress. “We’ll have one large vanilla milkshake with extra cherries, please!”

The waitress returned her smile and winked. “Coming right up!”

It wasn’t long before she came back with the milkshake. It came in a large glass cup filled with vanilla milkshake and topped off with a generous swirl of whipped cream. It was decorated with a cherry, but the extra cherries (y/n) asked for layered the bottom of the glass. The waitress placed the glass on the center of the table between the two. She handed them two big, red and white striped straws before leaving them once more. They both took one and put it into the glass.

(y/n) smiled eagerly at Credence across the table. “You get the first sip,” she said.

He thanked her as he leaned forward and wrapped his lips around his straw. He sucked on it how he normally would without realizing how thick the milkshake was. (y/n) watched him struggle for a moment as he nearly ran out of breath trying to suck the ice cream up the straw. He got it eventually, the cool, sweet, vanilla filling his mouth. It wasn’t what he was expecting at all. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting, really, but he just knew that the taste surprised him. He never had sweets before. Sugar is a gluttonous indulgence that Mary Lou found sinful. But as the sticky sweet cream slid down his throat, he wondered if all sin was just pleasures he was being denied.

He didn’t have to tell her he liked it. It was written all over his face. It was probably the most relaxed she’s ever seen him. She enjoyed seeing him that way, with a small smile on his face and flushed cheeks. Credence was so invested in the milkshake, (y/n) was sure he would drink it all if she didn’t get her sips in. Credence nearly choked when he looked up and saw her face mere inches from his own, sipping on the other straw in the glass.

She didn’t seem to mind at all, being so close to him. Her eyes were closed as she sipped. Her curled lashes brushed against her full cheeks and her glossy lips circled the straw delicately. This close, he could see the texture of her (s/c) skin, seeing the few freckles and moles that decorated her features he hadn’t noticed before.

When she did open her eyes, he didn't look away. This time he looked in her eyes and saw for the first time that her eyes weren’t just one shade of (e/c), but a combination of different shades and colors to make the color that was distinctly her’s. Similarly, she saw that his eyes were a deep brown, almost black if it weren't for the few streaks of chocolate brown and burgundy that reflected in the light.

(y/n)’s lips curled into a smile. She bashfully looked away from his eyes and into the glass. The two drank in comfortable silence, savoring both the milkshake and the tender moment. They drank the contents of the glass, leaving nothing but the leftover cream and cherries at the bottom. They wouldn’t go to waste. Cherries must have been (y/n)’s favorite because ate most of them. She did however offer one to Credence for him to try. She held the cherry by the stem and encouraged him to take a bite. He thought it was a bit embarrassing that she insisted on feeding it to him, but he took the cream covered fruit into his mouth and found it just as sweet—if not sweeter—than the milkshake itself.

She let him eat the remaining cherries himself. While he was eating, he watched (y/n) gather her things, putting on her coat before sliding out of the booth.

“I’m going to go pay while you finish,” she told him as she got up.

She walked over to the front counter where the waitress was counting money from the cash register. Credence watched as the two women talked. (y/n) smiled at the waitress and said something that made her laugh. She reached into her purse and pulled out several bills. She handed it to the waitress, who looked at the cash in her hands with wide eyes.

“For me?” He overheard the waitress ask. When (y/n) nodded, the young girl squealed in excitement and rushed from the counter to hug her. The two stumbled due to the unexpected force, but (y/n) didn’t seem to mind. She laughed and hugged the waitress back, patting her back in a friendly manner. Credence, having finished his cherries, got up to stand by (y/n)’s side.

“Thank you so much, miss!” Credence heard the waitress gush as he came up.

“It’s nothing, you deserve it,” (y/n) insisted. (y/n) turned her attention from the young girl to Credence beside her when she felt his presence. She looked up at him with a smile. “Are you ready to go?” She asked him. He nodded.

The waitress looked between the two and grinned softly. “You two make a sweet couple,” she said.

(y/n) returned the grin, hooking her arm around Credence and leaning her head on his shoulder. “Thank you,” she said, playing into the waitress’s assumptions.

“You two have a blessed day!” The waitress left to tend to a waiting customer leaving him victim to (y/n)’s smug grin. At this point, even his neck was red. (y/n) couldn’t help but find  it amusing. No matter how flustered he got, he wouldn’t protest.

She lightly squeezed his arm, making him look down at her. “Are you ready to go, pretty boy?” She asked him.

It was the second time she called him that, and it was just as startling as the first time. The pet name made his heart swell in his chest and his brain stutter. But again, he didn’t protest. He just nodded his head and turned his face away to hide his reddened cheeks. (y/n) giggled, satisfied with the reaction she got, and they both walked out of the restaurant and back into the cold.

Outside, the snow had stopped falling, but the sidewalks were still slick with slush and ice. (y/n) took a deep breath, breathing in the crisp air as she looked up at the sky.

“Is it that late all ready?” She muttered to herself, her happy features falling slightly. Despite the heavy, grey clouds blanketing the sky, they could still see the sun shining brightly behind them. Credence too looked up at the sky. From what he could tell, it was around three in the afternoon..

He turned to (y/n). “Do you have to go now?” He asked her regrettably.

Her eyes fell down from the sky to his own. Her lips pressed into a small smile and shook her head. “Not just yet,” she said.

“Why don’t you walk with me to the park.” She demanded more than asked and pulled him off down the sidewalk.

He walked with (y/n) a little while longer, back towards the park. Along the way, (y/n) would stop outside shops and look at the items displayed in the windows. Some things of the things she expressed an interest in were for her, sometimes she would see an item and would say something along the lines of “Mom would love this” or “Aaron has something like this”. But sometimes she would stop and turn to Credence and ask, “Do you like this?”

He had to talk her out of buying him things multiple times. She seemed so eager to spoil him. She wanted to buy him a new pair of shoes and a watch she’d seen on display. There was an expensive-looking suit outside of a tailor’s shop, and her eyes practically sparkled upon seeing it. She tried to convince him to go in and try it on, but he knew if he did, she would end up buying it for him. How he deterred her from the idea was a miracle in itself. But eventually, she dropped the idea, and the two continued on their walk. 

The two reached the park without buying a single thing. When they reached the entrance of the park, (y/n) stopped, and pulled away from his side. Credence halted in his tracks, turning around to face her. He looked down at her as she smiled up at him.

“Do you have anywhere to go after this?” She asked him.

Credence shook his head. His mother wouldn’t be expecting him until dark.

She pursed her lips and tilted her as if in thought as she sighed.

“Should I just kidnap you?”

The question took him by surprise. (y/n) laughed at the perturbed look on his face. “I’m joking, Credence,” she said between snorts. “I won’t kidnap you. Not unless you want me to.”

Credence smiled softly, letting out a soft chuckle of his own. This made (y/n) smile even bigger than before. She took a coy step closer to him, taking one of his gloved hands in her own and swinging it playfully.

“I had fun today, Credence,” she told him. “As first dates go, this is probably the best one I’ve ever been on.”

“Just probably?” Credence mumbled jokingly.

(y/n) smirked, amused by the sudden remark. “Yeah, just probably.”

Credence looked down at their hands, admiring how small her hands were compared to his. Somehow he hadn’t realized just how much shorter than him she was. He always felt smaller than her. He didn’t mind it: feeling small. It was different from how other people made him feel small; like his mother or strangers on the street. They made him feel tiny, like a bug— like something disgusting and inconvenient. To them, he was something they could easily step on. But with her, it was different.

With her, he felt small, like a flower. And to him, she was the sun. She was so big and so bright. Whenever she was around, he felt alive. And whenever she wasn’t, he felt like he might die. He didn’t mind feeling small around her, because, at least when he’s with her, he is consumed by light. 

“I had fun too,” Credence spoke up. “I really enjoy spending time with you, Miss (l/n).”

“Are you always this formal?” She teases despite her obvious blushing. “I enjoy spending time with you too, Mister Barebone.”

She gave his hand one last gentle squeeze before letting go. She brushed past him, striding down the street. Credence watched her as she walked, his heart sinking just a little.

As though she could sense it, (y/n) looked at him over her shoulder as she walked and grinned. “Don’t look so sad,” she yelled to him. “I’ll find you again.”

With a chaste wink, she disappeared around the corner and away from his line of vision, leaving him with a full stomach and an even fuller heart.

That night, Credence returned home alone. He reluctantly walked back to the crooked chapel. His mind was fogged with thoughts of her. When he came to the front of what he, unfortunately, called ‘home’, he hesitated to go in. He looked through each window. It was dark inside. Could everyone have fallen asleep already?

He looked down at the coat on his body. He quickly shrugged the heavy material off of his shoulders and folded it in his arms before quietly entering the house. The house seemed empty, and it was almost too quiet. He pushed his way through the dark and carefully made his way up the stairs as to not make a sound. He’d gotten good at being quiet in the house. He memorized each squeaky board and mastered the art of moving in silence despite his height. 

He crept up the stairs as he’d done many times and tip-toed to his bedroom, where he then quietly shut his door. Once he heard the door click softly, he released his breath and sighed in relief.

His room wasn’t much. It was small and comprised a bed with an old iron frame, an armoire, a sink, and a metal tub that he uses to bathe. He looked down at the coat in his hands. He moved to the armoire by his bed and opened its doors. There wasn’t much inside; he had little to put in it, anyway. But today, he would be thankful for that. 

The armoire was a rather fancy piece of furniture. It stood out in his otherwise destitute room. The armoire was just as old and worn out as the rest of the room, but it wasn’t hard to tell it was an ornamental relic of the 19th century. It had enough space to fill two weeks’ worth of clothes. It was almost offensive how little there was inside it. One detail about it was its hollow bottom. Credence could slide the bottom plank of wood to reveal a cubbyhole. Its original purpose must have been for shoes or winter blankets, but now it would serve a new purpose. 

Credence kneeled on the ground and packed the coat neatly into the cubby before throwing his new gloves on top. They fit perfectly inside and he was allowed to slide the wooden plank back on with ease. With that accomplished, he rose to his feet and closed the armoire doors. He began undressing, stripping his clothes until he was left in nothing but his boxers.

It was as cold in the house as it was outside, but credence had no pajamas that would keep him warm. He had but one pair of old satin pajamas that were too small for him. He decided not to wear them tonight. The naturally cool material wouldn’t provide him warmth or comfort.

After putting away his dirtied clothes, Credence fell back on his bed and stared up at the rotting ceiling above him. As he lay there, his mind would drift to the memories of his ‘date’. Just thinking about her made his heart beat faster. He pictured her in his mind, reliving the time he spent with her.

It was the most surreal thing. Being with her made him feel things he never felt before. She made his heart flutter and his cheeks warm in a pleasantly addicting way. When he was with her, he forgot everything bad. There was no anxiety, no judgment, no harsh words, or abuse. He was just a normal man with a normal woman. He wished he could feel that way all the time.

His hand reached behind his head and slipped under his pillow to retrieve the soft pink piece of fabric he kept there. He held it up in front of him, rubbing it between his fingers. The moonlight from his window reflected on its threads, and he could read the stitched initials in the corner.

“(y/n)...” He whispered her name so tenderly. Just saying her name aloud made his lips tingle. He loved saying her name for the simple reason that it was her name. He would say it a thousand times aloud if he could.

He brought the cloth down to his nose and inhaled its scent. Her fragrance still lingered on the soft fabric, clouding his senses. Credence felt a familiar stirring rise in his stomach. Heat rose to his cheeks, and he pressed his legs together. His mind flashed to the other day in the church, remembering the lewd images of her he had fantasized about. A part of him was ashamed. Sexual desire was a sin he shouldn’t act upon. It was a vile, disgusting act. That’s what the church told him, at least. And his mother would have no part of it either.

Mary Lou made sure to reprimand him whenever she suspected him of sexual temptation, so much so he shied away from girls all together. Yet recently, he’s felt a bumbling desire well up inside of him. He knew what it was; he felt it before. Only once before had he fallen victim to his lusty desire. It had been in his adolescence. He was sleeping when he had a dream about a red-haired woman he’d seen on the street. She was most likely in her twenties at the time, but she was so captivating he remembered her face for a week. He dreamed of that red-haired woman touching and caressing him. She’d even kissed him like he’d seen couples on the street kiss. This mild fantasy woke him from his sleep with a shameful mess on his bed.

He was so humiliated and ashamed he rushed to confess to Mary Lou, who punished him greatly for his lasciviousness. He didn’t dream of the red-haired woman or any woman at all after that. That is, until he met her.

At first, his thoughts of her were innocent. He would fantasize about holding her hand and laying on her chest as he slept. She would caress his face and run her fingers through his hair.  He would give her chaste kisses on her cheek, and she would giggle and laugh, returning the favor. But that changed that day he went to church and listened to Father Blackwell’s sermon. That was the first time he thought of her in such an erotic way.

It was because of this he felt particularly suffocated by her presence today. He became even more aware of her touches. His eyes would stare at her lips more often and glance at the curves of her chest. He thought about how she held on to his arm; How warm and soft she was; Her small hands. He thought about how her finger felt brushing against his lip. About how her tongue darted between her plump lips to lap at her thumb.

Credence bit his lip to keep his whimpers from escaping. His thoughts were filled with images of her, his body reacted on its own. He curled on his side and pressed his legs together to relieve himself of his growing hardness. Instead of discouraging his growing lust, it seemed to only spur it on. The feeling of his thighs pressing against his length brushed an itch he desperately desired to scratch.

He wanted her by his side so terribly. If only he were as confident and manly as the men he saw on the street, she would be. If he were as confident as the man she was with today, then he could call her by her name. He too could take her by her delicate waist and kiss her cheeks. And, oh, did he wish to kiss her.

He wanted to kiss her many times today. He wanted to kiss her the moment he saw her. He wanted to kiss her again in the boutique when she pressed her hands on his chest, and again when she asked him to go on a date with her. He wanted to kiss her multiple times in the restaurant for teasing him so viciously, and he wanted to kiss her deeply before they said goodbye.

He imagined what it would be like to be that kind of man; what it would be like to have her with him now, and what he would do if she was. If she was there on his bed laying next to him, he would want to kiss her now as well. He would have her under him, staring up at him with her beautiful (e/c) eyes. He would brush the hair away from her face and stroke her cheek. Her hands would hold his sides and pull him closer so their bodies lay flat against each other. He would feel her and she would feel him. Her warmth would consume him, and their bodies would mold together.

Credence closed his eyes and smelled her pink handkerchief. If he kept his eyes closed, he could pretend she was there.

“(y/n)...” He whispered her name once more. His hips rocked hesitantly, the undeniable bulge in his boxers was now too evident to ignore. Rocking his hips caused a pleasurable sensation in his stomach. It felt so good, he did it again... and again... and again; rocking his hips as he held her handkerchief to his nose and imagined her.

He thought of kissing her soft lips as he pressed into her, feeling her hands run up and down his sides as they had done before. He wanted to rock his hips against her like he was doing now. Would it feel as good for her as it felt for him? Would she breathe as heavy as he was now? Would she pant and whisper his name?

“A-ah...”

He panted lewdly, pleasuring himself with these thoughts. But it wasn't enough. He needed more.

He laid on his back on the bed. His body seemed to know what to do without thinking about it. He kept his eyes closed as his free hand snaked down his body to palm himself over his boxers. He rubbed himself through the fabric, his shallow breaths filling his ears. But to him it wasn't his hands, but hers; her soft, small hands touching him gently.

It was her delicate hands that slipped past the waistband of his boxers and gripped his length. It was her hands that stroked him slowly. She was there, whispering his name while he whispered hers. The more she stroked him, the shorter his breaths became. Each breath he took was filled with her scent. She consumed him, wrapping her essence around him, and filling his body with heat.

She stroked him faster as they kissed. He kissed her deeply, slipping his tongue past her lips as he’d seen couples do before. He could taste the cherries and vanilla on her tongue, as sweet as they were in the milkshake they’d shared. She moaned his name in her mouth, driving him crazy.

“Ha..-ahh. ahaa...”

More, he thought. All he could think about was how he wanted more. More of her scent, more of her touch, more of her.

Her hands became wet with his slick, gliding up and down his length with vigor. His body was overtaken with a foreign sensation, buzzing through his body, collecting where he wanted to be touched the most. The faster she stroked him, the better he felt. She felt good, so so good.

“H-Ha...-haaaa...(y/n)...”

He wanted to say her name over and over. He wanted to shout it, loud enough for the heavens to hear. He didn’t care if God heard him. He wanted God and the angels to hear so they would know how she made him feel. He was overwhelmed by love and lust for her. He wanted them to know that his body was hers and he willingly gave it to her. He wanted to touch her, please her, feel her.

His eyes clenched shut. Her hands pumped his twitching length excitedly, the buzzing heat collecting at his center. His legs began to shake, his back arching from the bed. Lavender and vanilla, that’s what he smelled as his vision blurred and the buzzing heat tingling in his core burst and was replaced with a cool wave of overwhelming pleasure.

His body trembled, somehow coated in a thin layer of sweat despite the room being cold. He stayed still, laying in silence as he let his body calm. When he finally opened his eyes, he half expected to see her hovering over him with that playful smile on her face, only to be met with the rotting rafters of his ceiling.

He sighed through his nose. Once the euphoric cloud in his mind cleared, shame and regret replacing his lusty desire, he moved from his bed to the sink across the room. He turned the knob and a low stream of water fell from the faucet. Taking the dingy rag that rested on the sink’s bowl, he wet it, using it to clean up his mess. As he wiped himself, he wondered if that was what sex was like. He never touched himself like that before, though he wanted to many times. Now that he had, the answer to his question was clear. Sins were just pleasures he was being denied. 

He returned to his bed, burying himself beneath the covers. He took the handkerchief back into his hand and held it by his face as he slept on his side. His eyes grew heavy, the scent of lavender slowly drifting him to sleep. A passing thought in his mind wondered if this is what it would feel like to sleep by her side. He would do anything to just hold her once, to lie on her chest and listen to the sounds of her breathing.

That was his last thought before falling asleep.

Several days would pass since the last time he saw her. They would be long, dreary days spent in the chapel. It snowed relentlessly for three days, making it impossible to venture out. During that time, he would clean and help Chastity serve meals to the orphans that sought refuge from the streets. The day when the snow finally ceased to fall, Mary Lou tasked him with shoveling the street in front of the chapel while she took Modesty and Chastity into town.

It was once he finished shoveling that he realized he had the rest of the day for himself. He pondered staying in the house for a moment, but quickly threw the idea. He couldn’t bear another minute in that house. Instead, he went on a walk. It wasn’t unusual for him to do this when he had the time. He would walk aimlessly just to get away. He only could afford to when his mother left him alone.

Today, Credence found himself at Central Park. It was no surprise that the park was packed. The low temperatures of the past week allowed the lake to freeze over, thick enough for people to skate on. Men, women, and children scattered across the area. Carolers were singing Christmas songs and street vendors peddled treats. It was a pleasant and lively scene.

He had almost forgotten that Christmas was so soon. He’d been so caught up with his duties it had slipped his mind. He liked Christmas, even though he didn’t celebrate it the way most people do. His mother forced him and his siblings to attend church on Christmas Day. But he could appreciate what others did on Christmas. He liked seeing the kids play in the snow, showing off their new toys. He liked the idea of parents spending time with their children by the fire. He even liked listening to Christmas songs that would play on repeat outside the record store.

Credence watched the people as he walked through the park. He liked to imagine himself in their place. Sometimes he was a kid playing fetch with his dog. Sometimes he was a woman making snow angels, or a man building a snowman. Right now, he was the man of a couple skating on the ice, holding hands with his partner. The pair laughed as they spun in circles, occasionally grasping at each other’s arms when they slipped.

He was too busy projecting he hadn’t been paying attention to his surroundings. Like any other creature, he was susceptible to attack. He flinched as he felt icy-cold pellets burst against the back of his head. He heard a sharp gasp not far behind him, followed by a heap of childish giggles. Credence turned around, expecting to see a group of devious looking children. Imagine his surprise when he saw her standing ten feet away from him with a group of children looking incredibly guilty.

“Oh, my gosh! I’m so sorry, Bunny! I was aiming for your shoulder, I swear!”

“(y/n)?” He muttered in disbelief.

How did she always appear in the least expected places? He stared her down as she rushed towards him. Today she was wearing a heavy, brown fur-lined coat and a green cloche hat that matched her boots. When she reached him, her hands immediately reached behind his head to dust the remaining remnants of her snowball from his hair.

She looked at him apologetically. “Are you okay? I’m sorry, I feel like a total gink,” she pouted.

His cheeks burst into flames. The position she put him in had her chest brushing pressing against his as her hands brushed through his hair. At this angle he could see how neatly curled her hair was under her cap, falling in styled swirls around her face. Her swollen nose was red from the cold. Her breath that smelled distinctly of coffee beans warmed his cheeks.

Credence’s expression softened, a faint smile ghosting his lips. She was still apologizing to him, frantically brushing snow from his hair and shoulders.

“It’s okay,” he said in hopes to calm her. 

She closed her eyes and sighed. Her head lulled forward, hiding her face in his chest. “You’re angry with me, aren’t you?” He heard her muffled voice say.

Credence swallowed the lump in his throat and nervously licked his lips. This was the closest she’d ever been to him. He reached a dithering hand to grasp hers and rubbed the back of her gloved hand with his thumb.

“I’m not angry,” he assured her.

(y/n) lifted her head from his shoulders to meet his eyes, searching for any sign of irritation. “Are you sure? You can get me back, if you want.”

Credence nodded his head. “I’m sure.”

She believed him this time, her relief washing over her face. “I really am sorry,” she said one final time. “I just saw you walking past by chance and I wanted to surprise you.”

“I was surprised!” He said a bit too excitedly.

This made her laugh and playfully push his shoulder. Her laugh alone was enough to put a smile on his face, one that made dimples appear on his cheeks. He felt her hand firmly grasp his, holding it properly.

“Why aren’t you wearing your new coat and gloves?” She asked. “Don’t you like them?”

Credence had forgotten he wasn’t wearing the coat you got him. He couldn’t, not without his mother seeing it. If she knew about the coat—if she knew about him seeing you—she would be furious. He kept the coat (y/n) had given him hidden with the rest of the precious things she gave him. He wore the old navy blue coat out that Mary Lou had recently acquired and given to him. It wasn’t nearly as warm or stylish as the coat (y/n)  had gotten for him, but it was enough for the winter, and it was the only thing he could wear in front of his mother.

“I do like them,” he answered. “I was afraid of ruining it. I don’t want to wear it out too much.”

It was the best excuse he could think of at the time, and after mulling over it for a brief moment, she seemed to accept it. She then told him that, if he did end up damaging his new coat, she would simply buy him another, and spoke no more of it.

She nodded towards the lake behind him. “Did you come here to skate?”

Credence looked back to the lake. “Oh, no,” he said. “I never learned.”

Another gasp left her lips. “You’ve never been ice-skating before?”

He shook his head.

“Then we’ve got to fix that, now don’t we?” She reckoned.

Before he could ask what she meant, she’d already left his side. He looked in all directions until he saw her talking to an older couple sitting on a mess of picnic blankets under a tree. It appeared she’d asked him a question because their answer was a shake of their head. She waved goodbye to them before walking off to pursue another person, who gave the same answer. He watched her do this a few times around a small area of the park with no luck. At one point, she stood in the middle of the snow pondering while she scanned the area. Curious, Credence walked up to her.

“What are you doing?” He asked.

“Looking,” she replied simply.

Her squinted eyes panned across the park, her lips pursed as though she were thinking very hard about something.

“Ah!” She shouted, a triumphant smile stretching across her lips. She turned to Credence and winked. “Follow my lead.”

She walked down a small hill towards a small group of children who were playing in the snow at the bottom. Credence followed a few steps behind.

“Hey, kiddos,” She waved.

The kids stopped what they were doing to look up at her. She waved her hands towards her, beckoning them over. The children shared confused looks, before cautiously making their way towards her. She squatted down Asian style to meet their eyes. Credence stayed a couple of feet away, but he could still make out what was being said.

“Can you keep a secret?” He heard (y/n) ask the children.

The kids nodded and hummed in confirmation. (y/n) grinned.

“You see my friend over there?” She pointed behind her, directing the children’s attention to Credence. “He’s never been ice-skating before!”

The children snickered whispered teasingly among themselves. Credence looked away, embarrassed to be taunted by children. (y/n) giggled with them and easily brought back their attention.

“I really want to teach him,” She revealed once their jeering ceased. “But he’s so silly, he forgot to bring a pair of skates.”

“That is silly!” One of the little girls yelled.

(y/n) looked between Credence and the children. “Now, I see you have a pair of skates.” Sure enough, there were a pair of skates laying in the snow where the kids were once playing, far too big to fit on their small feet.

“Do they belong to any of you?” (y/n) asked.

“No,” The little girl shook her head. “They were already there.”

“We think someone left them by mistake,” An older boy chimed in.

“I see,” (y/n) hummed. “Do you think I can take them for my friend, then?”

“But we was gonna use ‘em! We saw them first!” A small blond boy frowned. (y/n) looked at the boy and flashed her kindest smile.

“Oh, were you now? How about I just borrow them? I’ll bring them right back to you, I pinky promise!” She held out her pinky for him to take. The boy looked at her hand in front of him. He lifted his hand and stretched out his pinky.

“I guess that’s okay...” He mumbled through puffed red cheeks.

(y/n) hooked hers around the boy. “Aren’t you sweet?” She affectionately pat the top of his head. “I hope my kid will be as kind as you are.”

The boy blushed and swat her hand away from his head, adjusting his hat. “Whatever, Lady!” The blond boy ran away, the rest of the children chased after him with childish taunts.

(y/n) chuckled and rose back to her feet. She walked up to where the skates were laying and picked them off the ground before making her way back to Credence’s side.

“Are you ready?” She asked excitedly.

Credence shrugged his shoulders, still processing the events of the last fifteen minutes. (y/n) scoffed and rolled her eyes, forcibly taking Credence’s hand.

“Just come on,” she groaned as she dragged him towards the lake.

When they reached the edge of the ice, she handed him the skates and ordered him to strap them onto his boots. Credence did as he was told and sat down on the nearest bench, securely strapping the skates onto his shoes. After (y/n) had double-checked to make sure they were on right, she held out her hand for him to take. He grabbed it, using her to find his balance. When he stood to his feet his ankles wobbled, disrupting his balance.

(y/n) gripped his arm tightly to keep him from falling. “Careful,” she warned.

He held on to her as she guided him to the lake. She stepped on the ice with ease. She grabbed his other hand and helped him step on the ice. Immediately after his skates touched the ice, his heart raced.

“I don’t think I want to do this anymore,” his voice fluttered anxiously.

“You’re okay, I got you,” she promised.

She pulled him further out onto the ice, still clasping his hands. Credence gripped her hands for dear life while silently trying to figure out how it was he ended up in this position.

Other skaters flew past them as he stumbled on the ice like a baby deer. (y/n) didn’t give up on teaching him. No matter how many times he slipped or tripped, she was always there to catch and pick him back up when he fell. Eventually, he got the hang of it. He started balancing himself on his own, gliding somewhat smoothly without having to hold on to her. It didn’t take long for him to relax and reciprocate her playful activities.

(y/n) eventually stepped off the ice, giving him the space to skate on his own. She watched him fondly, taking in the smile glowing on his face. He went around in circles, almost bumping into others a few times, but he directed himself easily. She would say he was a natural.

He went on like that for a while as she watched. When he’d had enough, he made his way back to the edge of the lake where she stood.

“Was that fun?” She asked when he skated towards her. Credence nodded his head and smiled bashfully. She helped him stop by taking his outstretched hands. 

“You’re a fast learner. I’m kind of jealous. I didn’t get the hang of skating until I was twelve,” she brooded jokingly. “Are you done?”

“Yes,” he said as he stepped back on the snow. 

They walked towards the bench, and Credence sat down to take off his skates. (y/n) stayed standing. “There’s a vendor selling treats across the street,” she told him. “Why don’t you give those skates back to the kids while I get us something to drink?”

“But––” Credence tried to protest, not having the courage or social skills to approach a group of children. It was quickly ignored, however, for (y/n) had already made up her mind, and began walking to the street. 

“I’ll be right back!” She said as she left him alone on the bench. 

Credence looked around, silently doubting his ability to find the kids. His eyes scanned the park until they landed on a group of children having a snowball fight. He recognized one of the children as the bratty boy (y/n) convinced to let them borrow the skates. 

He reluctantly got up from the bench and walked over to the children, skates in hand. The closer he got, the louder their shouting laughter became. Most of the children were boys between the ages of seven and thirteen, but three girls around their age had gained their friendship. One girl stayed off to the sidelines watching the others play. He recognized her as well.

“Excuse me... little girl?” He called. The little girl turned around and held out the skates. “Here.”

The girl took them and smiled. “Thank you!”

“You’re welcome.”

She looked behind him, frowning when she saw nothing there. “Where’s that nice lady?”

Credence pointed across the street towards the street vendor where (y/n) was patiently waiting in line. “She should be back,” he told her.

“I like her!” said the girl. “She’s very pretty, like a princess!”

This made him smile. It made him happy to know others, even children, saw her the way he did. “Yeah,” he agreed. “She is.”

The little girl looked at Credence, noting the soft smile on his face as he watched you. “Do you like her or something?” She probed unexpectedly. 

“Uh... I...?” Credence struggled to find the words to say. It's not that he didn't know the answer, it was just that he hadn’t expected to be asked that question. Especially not from an eight-year-old girl. Were his feelings that transparent? Did you know how he felt too?

The little girl didn’t wait for an answer. “Well, I think she likes you,” she told him, surprising him for the second time.

Credence flushed pink. “Really?”

The small girl reached her hand to pat Credence's arm and imitated the look of someone wise beyond her years. “Trust me. Women know these things.”

Oddly, he couldn’t help but feel a bit hopeful despite the words coming from a child. He never felt about anyone the way he felt about her. The way he is when he’s with her—the way he talks to her and touches her—he can only be that way with her because he likes her. He could never be that way with anyone else. But he always felt that, for her, it was different. Seeing her interact with others like the children, the waitress, Raül—even Edmund—made him realize that she was kind to everyone. She didn’t treat him that way because she liked him. She treated him that way because that’s just the kind of person she was.

“Hey, kiddos!” (y/n)’s voice caught his attention. Both Credence and the girl looked up to see her holding a cardboard box of steaming paper cups. “I got something for you!”

The children playing heard her too and ceased their fight to run towards her. They circled her like a litter of puppies, excitedly asking what she was holding.

She lowered the box for them to see, showing off cups filled with light brown liquid. “For letting us borrow the skates. Be careful though, it's hot!”

The kids yelled enthusiastically as she began handing them each a cup. Credence walked to her side to help her.

“What is it?” He asked.

(y/n) frowned. “Hot chocolate. Have you never had hot chocolate before?”

He shook his head, causing her to gasp.

“I wish I had known sooner!” She pouted. “I got this is from a vendor across the street. I could have gotten better hot chocolate with marshmallows at a cafe a block from here.”

“I think it’s delicious!” The little girl interjected. 

(y/n) smiled down at her. “Well, if you think so, then it must be.”

Credence ended up being the one to give the bratty boy his cup of hot chocolate. (y/n) watched him as he drank it greedily. 

“What about you?” She asked him. “Do you like it too?”

“It’s pretty good, I guess,” he said, trying his hardest to sound indifferent, but it was hard to take him seriously with the chocolate mustache on his lips.

(y/n) laughed and took his cheek between her fingers, pinching them gently. “Gosh, you’re so darn cute! Do you have a big sister already? I can be yours, if you want. I’ve always wanted a little brother!”

The boy blushed and pulled his face away from her hand. “Lady, you’re crazy!”

He threw his empty cup on the ground stormed off angrily. The other children finished their cups and handed them back to her nicely before running off too, leaving her and Credence alone. 

“What did I say?” She mumbled to herself.

Credence couldn’t help but find it amusing. It was nice seeing her tease someone else for a change. 

“Maybe he already has a sister,” he answered sarcastically.  

(y/n) scoffed. “Yeah, yeah, just drink your cocoa,” she chuckled after handing him a cup. 

The two threw away the empty cups and cardboard box in a nearby trashcan. (y/n) suggested they take a walk around the park and talk. She asked him if he liked the hot chocolate, to which he answered yes. She then asked which he liked better: vanilla milkshakes or hot chocolate. He told her milkshakes. They talked like this for a while. Occasionally she would ask about his family and what he liked to do at home. He didn’t give her many satisfying answers, but that didn’t stop her from prodding.

“So, did you give up on hunting witches?” She asked.

Credence swallowed another sip of his hot chocolate. “I’m sorry?”

“You don’t carry around flyers anymore. Did you give up?”

“Oh. No, it’s not that,” he said. “I don’t think my mother will ever give up on exposing witches. It’s just that right now she’s kind of stuck.”

“Stuck? Stuck how?”

“She wanted to speak at the church to let everyone know about what she’d seen, but the priest, Father Blackwell, wouldn’t allow it.”

“I know Father Blackwell,” she told him.

Credence perked up. “You do?”

“Yes! My father is a big supporter of the church. Personally, I identify as agnostic, so I don’t go to church with him unless it’s for a holiday like Easter or Christmas. I wonder if you’ve seen him. Not that you could miss him. He’s a rather large man,” she joked.

“Does he wear a white suit?” Credence asked, remembering the stocky man talking with Father Blackwell the last time he visited the church.

(y/n) grinned and nodded excitedly. “That’s his Sunday suit! He has four of them. For some reason, he only likes wearing cream-colored suits on Sundays.”

“I have seen him,” he admits.

“Small world!” She exclaimed. “Well, anyways, I can definitely tell my father to put in a good word for your mother to Father Blackwell.”

“You would do that?”

“Of course! Better yet, why don’t we go right now?”

“N-Now?” Credence gaped.

“It’s Wednesday, they have a service tonight. Father Blackwell will be there, and I can try to convince him to let your mother have a set this Sunday!

“But what about your father?”

“We might not need him. I know Father Blackwell well enough. He might be swayed on my word alone. It won’t hurt to try,” she explained.

“I guess not,” he agreed.

“Come with me, my car is just a short walk from here!” She grabbed his free hand and directed him towards the street where she’d parked her car. 

After they reached the car, she drove him to the church. It was a short fifteen-minute drive from Central Park. It was still too early for the service to start, but when they entered the church, a few people were sitting in the pews praying. An older woman was playing the organ at the altar while Deacon Ripley read scriptures from the Bible. He stopped only stopped when he noticed the two walking down the aisle. 

“Oh, God,” Credence heard (y/n) mutter under her breath. “Not this clown again.”

He wasn’t used to you outwardly showing your distaste for someone; you were always so nice. But considering it was Deacon Ripley, it wasn’t too surprising. 

He was a cunt.

As they came closer, Ripley marked the passage he’d finished reading and closed the Bible. 

“Miss (l/n),” he called her name with a sneer. “What a pleasant surprise. What brings you here?”

“I’m here to speak with Father Blackwell,” she replied coldly. It was the first time Credence had ever heard her use such a tone. 

Ripley frowned, taking a step down from the podium. “What business could you have with him?”

(y/n)’s lips curled into a sly smirk. “My business with him would be his business and mine, so why would I tell you our business if it isn’t your business to begin with?”

Her witty remark clearly got under Ripley’s skin. His frown deepened and splotches of red began appearing under his grey skin. He didn’t get the chance to respond before Father Blackwell stopped him. 

“Give it a rest, Ripley.” Father Blackwell had come out from the door to his office. He moved between Ripley and (y/n), and held out his hand for her. “(y/n), it’s lovely to see you. It’s been a while. A year, I think?”

She took his hand and shook it. “Don’t be silly, Father. You saw me earlier this year, remember? For my parent’s Easter party.”

“Oh, that’s right,” he nodded, chuckling softly. “Must’ve slipped my mind. What brings your here, child?”

 “Ah, yes, about that...” (y/n) eyed Ripley. “Can we speak somewhere private, just the two of us?” 

“I don’t see why not. Step into my office.”

(y/n) turned to Credence and gave him a reassuring smile before following Father Blackwell to his office and disappearing behind the heavy door. Credence could feel Ripley’s eyes burning a hole in the side of his head. He obviously wanted to say something to him. 

“Seeing that godless woman walk through God’s doors was not something I expected to see today,” he began, excited to get his two cents in.  “But I must admit, seeing you by her side surprises me more. I didn’t realize you two were so close”

What was his problem? Why did he hate her so much? Then Credence remembered what she said to him in the park. Could that be why Ripley hated her? Because she didn’t believe in the church? No, it had to be something else. His pointed anger felt too personal.  

“We’re not really,” Credence answered. “I only just met her.”

“So you say.” Ripley circled him. “I wonder... Does your mother know about you and Miss (l/n)?”

If there’s one thing Credence hated about Ripley, it was his talent for stirring up trouble. His hobby of collecting and relaying gossip often caused spouts within the church. Credence fell victim to this twice before, each time resulting in a beating from his mother. He had to be careful with what he says to Ripley because he will most definitely relay it to his mother if he thinks it will cause conflict. 

“She does,” he lied as best he could. 

Ripley raised his brows. “Really? I never took her for the kind of woman who would allow her son to stroll the streets alone with such... unholy company. If there’s one kind of person Mary Lou hates, it’s women like her.”

Credence frowned. “What do you mean by ‘women like her’?”

“Don’t you know? Not only does she not accept the Christian God, but she fully denounced him. Instead of saving her divine feminine for holy matrimony, she committed salacious acts with various men that would make the Virgin Mary cry.”

Credence fell silent. So this was the reason. The malicious smirk on Ripley’s cracked lips proved that he couldn’t wait to tell him what he knew. 

“Oh my,” Ripley sighed. “I suppose you didn’t know.”

Credence clenched his fist. He could feel his body vibrating with heat. He was so angry. How dare he speak about her that way? How dare he disrespect her? Spread rumors about her? Was gossip not a sin?  Who was he to degrade and scrutinize her?

So what if she did? He didn’t care. It didn’t matter. It didn’t change what he thought about her. It didn’t change how he felt about her. But hearing such demeaning words come from Ripley's mouth made his blood boil. 

There were times where Credence would get like this. It wasn’t often, but when he did, his mind would think dark, violent thoughts. They build up in his head until anger and rage blinded him. He wanted to say something—do something. He probably would have too, if her voice hadn’t rung in his ears, immediately calming his nerves and the growing anger inside him. 

“Credence, I did it!” 

He saw you rushing excitedly towards him with a big smile on your face. You came up to him, grabbed both of his hands, shaking them wildly. 

“Tell your mother that she can speak this Sunday at the end of the service!”

Credence swallowed the lump in his throat. His tightened chest released the tension it was holding and his hands unclenched to hold hers. Looking into her shining (e/c) eyes made all his violent thoughts disappear as if they were never there. 

He blinked a few times, already forgetting how upset he’d just been. “H-How?”

“Magic,” she winked. 

She hooked her arm around his and began walking him back down the aisle to the exit. “Do you want me to drive you home?” She asked, looking up at him.

Credence smiled, Ripley’s taunting comments fleeing his memory. “Yes.”

The drive took longer than expected. There had been an accident on Manhattan Avenue that detoured them to Harlem. Credence didn’t mind it. He wasn’t ready to say goodbye just yet. Driving through Harlem was an experience in itself. He’d never been past the Upper East Side. Harlem was a lively neighborhood. People played music and danced in the streets despite the cold. Murals lined the walls, and there was a hopping joint around every corner. Credence looked out the window in silent awe, taking in everything he saw. 

“Have you never been here before?” (y/n) asked, noticing his astonishment. 

“No,” he told her truthfully. “It’s really nice.”

“You know, I used to live here,” she revealed.

That, he found hard to believe. His doubt must have been visible on his face because she laughed and shook her head. 

“What? You don’t believe me? It’s true, I swear! I wasn’t always like... Well, we didn’t always live in Kings Point.”

Having something to prove, Credence watched as she made a sudden turn, off course from where they were heading. The townhouses they passed were tall, skinny, and faintly worn down. The further they drove from the commercial streets, the quieter it became. They rounded about four blocks before turning into a barren street. Some houses were completely dark, while others had lights in their windows. The car slowed to a stop in front of one of the dark houses. It wasn’t terribly worn, but chipping blue paint covered the exterior and there were cracks in the brick fence that protected it. 

(y/n) parked the car and moved to get out. Credence did the same, opening the door and stepping onto the pavement. (y/n) came to his side and eyed the house. 

“This was my house,” she spoke after a while. “I lived here until I was nine.”

She walked up to the gate and pointed at the mailbox inside it. Faded letters that spelled her last name were imprinted on the stone from where a sign used to be. He tried to imagine her living it; it was almost comical. He only knew her to wear mink coats and designer clothes. He’d only pictured her living in a palace—somehow it felt fitting. Imagining her in such a small house and living an average life didn’t seem right. But perhaps that’s why she kept surprising him.

“No one lives here now. Sometimes I come back just to look around and remember as much about the place as I can.”

Credence walked to her side. “What do you remember?”

A smile fluttered on her lips. “I remember chasing my brothers around the house. We sat by the fire during the winter while my father read us stories and my mother knitted blankets and scarves. I learned how to ride a bike right on this street!” She looked down at the cracked pavement. “We were happier, I think.”

“Are you not happy now?”

(y/n) looked up at Credence and flushed. “I am! I didn’t mean to sound ungrateful. It’s just...” She sighed. “Now that my father has his own architect firm, he’s been so busy I rarely see him anymore. My mother and I were never really close, and it’s pretty easy for us to avoid each other in such a big house. I don’t know... Sometimes I wonder if it was all worth it.”

“What about your brothers?” asked Credence. “You seem close.”

“We are,” she smiled. “We always had each other, and most of the time it was enough. Even when Aaron left to study at Oxford, Channing paid extra attention to me. Still, I want us all to be as close as we were.”

He could sympathize with that. Blood-related or not, Modesty and Chastity were his sisters. They’d been through a lot together, and that was enough for him. He didn’t know what it was like to lose a close relationship with a parent, having never had one in the first place—but he figured that’s what made it worse. 

“Anyway,” she elbowed him playfully. “D’you believe me now?”

Credence nodded. She chuckled softly, taking his hand and guiding him back to the car. They continued the rest of their drive uninterrupted. It was relatively quiet aside from the few comments she made along the way. By the time they reached Pike Street, it had started to snow again. It wasn’t heavy like the days before. The snowflakes fell slowly and softly, fluttering down gracefully on the window-shield. 

The care halted to a stop on the street corner. (y/n) turned to Credence, who was already looking at her. 

“Thank you,” he said. “For helping me.”

She smiled and looked down at her hands. “You don’t need to thank me,” she blushed. “I was happy to.”

“Still, I want to. Thank you, for everything.”

“You’re welcome.”

They regrettably said their goodbyes, something Credence hated doing because he was never sure when he’d see her again. He stepped out of the car and onto the icy street, turning to wave goodbye at her one last time before watching her drive off down and disappear behind the buildings once she rounded the corner. Credence turned on his heels and walked back to the snow-covered chapel. His feet dragged behind him to stall his arrival. He walked up the creaking steps to the door and opened it lackadaisically. 

He began stripping himself of his outerwear when he noticed another presence in the room. He looked to the stairs and found his mother, Mary Lou, sitting there. Her icy blue eyes bore into his skull. Credence got a sudden sinking feeling in his stomach, a vestigial remnant of primal instinct that signified impending danger. 

“Hello, Mother...” He said upon seeing her. She didn't respond. She only looked at him in a way that made him increasingly nervous. He shifted uncomfortably, unsure of what to say.

“I have some good news.” His mouth began moving before he could think. “Father Blackwell said he would let you speak this Sunday. It’s towards the end of service, and he is only giving us three minutes to speak, but that’s better than nothing, right?”

“Did your jezebel tell you that?” She spoke dangerously.

Credence’s body tensed. “What are you talking about, mother?” He asked, fearful he already knew the answer.

Mary Lou opened her hand to reveal the pink handkerchief. His stomach dropped as she threw the cloth down at his feet. Mary Lou rose from the stairs, her heels thumping loudly as she climbed down.

“I saw you at the cathedral, Credence. You and your little harlot,” she said as she walked towards him. “I was on my way to speak with Father Blackwell when I saw the two of you skip outside with her clinging to your arm.”

Credence kept his head down, staring at the handkerchief by his feet. Mary Lou circled him like a vulture ready to pick at a rotting carcass.

“I always knew your flesh was weak... but I didn’t know all it took was a pair of big (e/c) eyes to make you fall from grace.”

“Mother, I—” The sound of her heavy hand slapping across his face cut his sentence short, sending him to the ground. 

“Silence!” She ordered. Credence felt tears prickling behind his eyes. He stared at the handkerchief lying pathetically on the floor. Mary Lou’s pointed black shoe came into his view and stepped on the delicate silk. Mary Lou was never one to yell, that’s what made her anger so much more terrifying. She spoke barely above a whisper, in a sickeningly sweet and proper tone, the cruel words that left her thin lips.

“The worst part of it is: you tried to hide it from me. You knew what you were doing was a sin. You knew that God was watching, and you did it anyway.”

“Mother, it’s not what you think,” Credence said through his strained tears. “I didn’t touch her!”

“Don’t lie to me, Credence, I saw the way you looked at her!” Mary Lou seethed. “You think I wouldn’t notice you sneaking in late? That I wouldn’t smell the perfume on your clothes?”

Credence fell silent, realizing that denial was futile. It didn’t matter what he said. Mary Lou had already set her mind about his relationship with (y/n). He knew it was too good to be true. He had been happy for far too long. He should have expected it wouldn’t last. He always screwed everything up somehow. This was his own fault. He deserved this.

“You know what I have to do now, don’t you?” She whispered.

Credence did know. His heart thrashed in his chest, fear coursing through his veins. “Mother, please, don’t!” he begged feebly. “I won’t see her again, I promise!”

Mary Lou kneeled in front of Credence. Her hand reached up to lift his head. He forced himself to look her in the eyes, his vision blurred from his tears. They were unfeeling and as cold as the words that left her lips. 

“I know you won’t. We’ll make sure of that.”

More people die in winter than in any other season. That is a known fact. The blistering cold is more dangerous than the smoldering heat. During the winter, everything dies. The plants die, the animals die, even the sun dies just a little.

“Credence?”

There was nothing worse than winter, he thought. There was nothing worse than being left in the cold, wet, nodding in and out of consciousness—somewhere between life and death. Maybe he was being dramatic. He’d survived this at least twice before. He will be allowed back home, eventually. He would be given a hot bath and warm clothes. He would be wrapped in a blanket and laid on his bed. He would be forgiven.

But, in this moment, he had no warmth. The clothes on his back were damp, sticking to his skin like icy sheets. His already pale skin looked almost as white as the blanket of snow that covered the city, save for the faint blue tint of his lips.

“Credence.”

At first he’d thought walking would make him warmer. Maybe if he moved his muscles, his body would produce what little heat it could. Thinking back on it now, it was a pretty stupid idea. If anything, it made it worse. The wind had picked up, and the snow fell faster than it was earlier. How long had he been out here? It could have been twenty minutes or an hour, he couldn’t tell. Time moves slower when you’re miserable. What he did know was that he had walked about four blocks from the chapel. He thought he might find a place, a warm place where he could sit and rid himself of the cold.

He’d try a tea shop, a restaurant, and a bookstore before giving up. No one would let him in. They were all closed early for the holiday season. He then became increasingly aware how late in the afternoon it was, and how much colder it would be once the sun finally set. And he would still be here, cowering in a filthy alleyway that smelled heavily of rotting food and urine.

“Credence!”

How did she always mange to find him? Her large eyes bore into his own, wide and unyielding. She was close enough that her short breaths gave him the first gust of heat he’d felt since he was thrown out of the chapel. Unlike before, it didn’t smell of coffee beans, but of the hot chocolate they had shared just hours before. If the sweet scent hadn’t filled his nose, he would have sworn she was a hallucination. This was the last place he’d expect to see her. Yet, she always had a knack for turning up in places he’d least suspect. Regardless of what she always said, it felt a little more than coincidence—something just shy of fate.

“What are you doing out here? Where’s your coat?” Her hands flew to his shoulders, her own body reacting to the lack of warmth jolted and shivered.

It was her kind eyes he liked the most. Her eyes had the greatest warmth, the kind that filled your chest whenever you looked at them. He could stare into them forever and never get cold. Her eyes are what he’d miss the most.

“You’re soaking wet! You’ll freeze half to death out here! Come to my car, It’ll warm you up.” She reached for his hand, but he would not give it to her.

“Go away.”

This he could not say while looking in her eyes. It would only make it harder. There was an unpleasant pause, one that continued for a second too long. Her voice, he would miss the sound of her voice as well. He wanted to remember it as best he could, even if the last words she would say to him were full of resentment.

“What?”

He turned his back to her, hiding his tears. He had to do this. It was bound to happen anyway. What was the point in watering a dead plant? The fantasy should have long since ended. It shouldn’t have begun in the first place.

“I’m fine. Just go away,” his voice was barely above a whisper.

But he wasn’t fine, and he didn’t want her to leave. He wanted to follow her to the car, where she’d wrap him in the wool blanket she kept in the back seat, and she’d hold his hands to keep them warm.

She scoffed, her heels scuffing on the asphalt as she stepped back, exasperated. “Yeah, right, you’re one minute away from mummifying out here! Just get up and come with me!” She reached for him again, taking his hand. Her touch. He’ll miss her touch.

“No!” He jerked away from her gentle hands.

He didn’t need to see her face to know it hurt her. It hurt him just to say it. But he had to. He made a promise he had to keep. No matter how much it hurt. The next words to fall from his lips would be nothing but lies to mask the truth.

“I don’t need you.”

I do.

“I don’t need your help.”

Help me.

“I don’t want to see you anymore!”

Please don’t go.

Another pregnant silence. The lump in Credence’s throat was large enough to suffocate him. Every time he tried to swallow it down, it would grow bigger, prompting more tears to stain his cheeks.

“You don’t want to see me anymore?” She repeated. Her voice was as cold and steady as the snow that fell around them.

Everything dies in winter. The plants die, the animals die, even the sun dies just a little. The sound of her heels knocking on the asphalt faded along with her warmth. He’d call out to her if he wasn’t a coward. He would tell her the truth and beg for her forgiveness if he had the strength. But when he couldn’t smell lavenders or vanilla, or feel her unwavering warmth, he knew that it was too late. She was gone.

He fell to the ground, burying his head in his knees to muffle his pained cries. The icy ground didn’t phase him. He felt nothing but the ache in his chest and the swell of his throat. He wondered if that pain would ever go away. Could he continue on like this? With the feeling that a part of him had been taken?

He unclenched his fist, revealing frayed pink fabric; the stitched golden letters staring back at him mockingly. It was the only surviving piece of the handkerchief his mother burned. He’d picked it from the ashes before she threw him out on the streets. The smell of ash and smoke dulled the scent of lavender and vanilla it once carried. But, if he focused hard enough, he could still smell the traces of her perfume. For now, it will be enough.

He sat in the alleyway until the early night sky replaced the setting sun. He would sit and listen to the passing cars and pedestrians in silence, until he could no longer feel the fabric in his hands, or the sting of his aching muscles. His swollen eyes grew heavy, barely staying open longer than a second. He closed them, letting his body relax and fade slowly into nothingness.

Slipping in and out of consciousness, he stayed curled in the alleyway, unaware of his surroundings. Unaware that a car had parked outside the alley entrance. Ignorant to the footsteps that neared his meek form and the shadow that loomed over him. He was oblivious to it all until he felt a weight on his head and shoulders. He pried his eyes open to find himself wrapped in a thick wool blanket.

A dainty (s/c) hand opened for him, tempting him to take it; his saving grace.

“I’m not going to leave you like this. I couldn’t live with myself if I did.”

Her eyes weren’t angry. They weren’t cold or full of resentment. They were as kind and warm as they always had been, perhaps even more. Her rosy lips held a gentle smile just for him.

“You don’t have to see me again after tonight,” she concurred. “But I need you to get in the car. Please, Credence. Just one more night, then you’ll never have to see me again.”

Had it been anyone else, he would have refused. The hold his mother had on him was stronger than the yearnings of his heart. His fear of her would keep him from acting on his desires—what he truly wanted. It had been that way for as long as he could remember. But now, with her hand outstretched for him to take, there was no nagging fear pulling him away. No voice in the back of his head vilifying him from acting on his whims. Because, for the first time, someone had heard what he didn’t dare to say aloud. For the first time, someone cared. 

Had it been anyone one else, he wouldn’t have taken their hand. He wouldn’t have stood from the frozen ground or walked towards their car. Anyone else, and he wouldn’t have gotten inside and felt the heat melt his frozen muscles. If it was anyone but her, he would still be wasting away in the freezing, damp alleyway. 

“Just try to relax and get warm,” she told him as they drove off. He didn’t have the strength to speak. He was far too tired. She could see from the corner of her eye that he was falling asleep. His head rested on the window, his bloodshot eyes struggling to stay open. She took his hand that rested in his lap. It was cold to the touch, like ice, as if no blood coarsed through his veins. 

She refused to let go, instead she held it tighter. “Rest. I’ll wake you up when we get there.”

If he wasn’t already drifting to sleep, he would have asked where she was taking him, but his eyes refused to open, and his lips would not open to pose the question. Instead he let the motion and hum of the car lull him to sleep. 

New York City was known for many things: its gigantic skyscrapers, the lively scene, the people. But it was easy for tourists to see what the locals could not. New York City was by no means as glorious as its reputation would like you to believe. Everything great about it was reserved for people who could afford it. Shopping, clubbing, broadway, the cinema; it was all novelty. The grit of New York City was something the average New Yorker would like to escape. If the city was as great as it was made out to be, then why did the wealthy live upstate in their palatial mansions? It’s because beyond the smog and stench of the city was fresh air, and acres of woodlands and grasslands to admire. 

That’s all Credence could see when he opened his eyes from what felt like a year’s rest. From the passenger window he could make out the shadows of tall, snow covered maples and oak trees rushing past. The road was long and winding, twisting through the scenic route with ease. 

Beyond the trees, he could make out the orange lights of houses drawing near. It wasn’t long before the trees were replaced by vast mansions with plunging yards, overly decorated for the holiday season. The drowsy fog had barely lifted from his mind to take in such a foreign sight. As his mind awoke, so did the rest of his senses. He became aware of his body, and how it was no longer cold and wet. He could feel his blood circulating in his hands and feet, allowing them to move and wiggle as he pleased. His nose was no longer stuffed, and the numbness in his face had left. 

Taking a peak through the corner of his eye, he saw her; her eyes focused on the road. The light from the passing mansions cast shadows over her features. She was otherwise relaxed, if it weren't for the faint wrinkle of her forehead, the kind that appeared when she was deep in thought. He was too afraid to say anything. Even if he wasn't, he wouldn’t know what to say. Things had happened so suddenly, he couldn’t keep up.

Instead, he kept silent and watched the houses roll by as she drove. Trapped in his thoughts, he began to realize just where she was taking him. He didn’t know why she thought to bring him here, or what she planned to do, but he concluded she was taking him to her home. He’d never been to Kings Point before and he never imagined going within his lifetime, but he could say with confidence that it did not disappoint.

Kings Point was exactly how he imagined it, save for a few minor details. Under different circumstances he would be awestricken, but tonight he didn’t have the energy for it. All he had the energy to do was count the mansions they passed in his head. It was better than thinking of the events that lead him there.

He counted seventeen pompous manors before the car’s speed gradually reduced to a cruise. He watched as a large manor with swooping gable roofs and multiple chimneys came into view. An untouched layer of snow blanketed its long front yard. Windows were plentiful, all of which were lit with those distinct orange lights.

The car pulled into the long driveway, normally protected by a gate, but tonight that gate was left open, allowing them to drive through with ease. As they drove closer to the main manor, he could see the two other sprawling houses that surrounded a large courtyard highlighting a marble fountain.

When the car came upon the front of the manor, there was a man in a black tailcoat tuxedo waiting for them. The car came to a stop, and the man came around the hood to the driver’s door.

“Miss (y/n), welcome home,” he said as he opened the door. (y/n) thanked him, taking his outstretched hand and stepping onto the scalloped cobblestone.  

When the door closed behind her, leaving Credence inside. The two were clearly conversing, presumably about him. She would steal a glance at him through the window a few times while she spoke. The man, who he could now see was no longer in his youth, only nodded compliantly. When the two seemed to come to an understanding, (y/n) walked around to his side of the car, opening it for him to step out.

“Follow me,” She said, taking his hand.

She wasted no time pulling him from his seat and leading him off to some side entrance of the manor. The door they entered was smaller than the wide, double-doors he saw at the front entrance. Inside was just as grand as the outside. The door they took lead to a kitchen as big as the chapel he lived in. Currently, it was packed with chefs prepping large platters of food and servers organizing the trays.

(y/n) clasped his hand tightly as they bulldozed their way through the kitchen. She apologized to the passing help, weaving her way through to the door that stood on the opposite end of the room. Credence kept his head low, allowing her to guide him. Once they reached the adjacent door, she pushed her way through, pulling him down a hallway that he could see led to a set of stairs.

They were rushing down the hall when they passed a side room they didn’t realize was occupied. Their footsteps prompted the voice of a woman to call out into the hall.

“(y/n), honey, you’re back already?”

(y/n) stopped in her tracks, cursing under her breath. She held her finger up to her lips, telling Credence to stay quiet.

“Yes.” She answered.

The woman called out again. “I thought the shops would be busy today.”

“They were.”

“Well, did you get everything you wanted?”

“Yes.”

There was a moment’s pause before the woman spoke again.

“Alright,” she said. “Don’t go picking at the food in the kitchen! You’ll just have to wait until tonight like everyone else!”

(y/n) rolled her eyes. “Alright, Mom.”

She signaled for Credence to continue walking towards the staircase as her mother continued to talk from the room.

“And once you put your gifts away, come back and help me finish arranging the poinsettias in the foyer!”

“I will!” She yelled back while pulling Credence up the stairs.

She practically dragged him down the upstairs hall and pushed him into a room, closing the door behind them. That flowery scent that was distinctly hers immediately overtook his senses. The wide, circular room was lit up by various lamps and a sparkling chandelier made of iridescent crystals that hung at its centre. The dark wood panelling of the walls contrasted the rosy accents: blush pink art deco wallpaper, tall white drapes that covered balcony doors, the various mix-match carpets that covered the wood floor like patchwork. The broad circular bed enclosed in a silky white canopy sat against the wall next to a small fireplace. On the other side was a door he assumed led to a bathroom.

(y/n) stood awkwardly by a three-mirror vanity, bashfully fiddling with a silver hairbrush. She’d shed her coat.  

“Sorry about her,” she muttered. “She gets like this around the holidays.”

It was overwhelming, being in her room. He’d barely had a moment to register all that was happening. Now that he had the chance to breathe, his anxiety got the better of him. He wasn’t supposed to be here. He should be in the city, on his knees begging his mother to forgive him, not miles away in King’s Point; and definitely not in her bedroom.  

“This was a mistake. I shouldn’t be here—”

“You promised me, Credence,” she interjected, silencing him. “Please... Just let me have tonight.”

He clenched his jaw, turning his head to stare at the wall. It was better than looking in her eyes. He heard her move from the vanity. The sound of a cabinet being opened caught his attention. She had an armoire of her own, though hers was grander than his. It towered over her, composed of white and gold painted wood. From inside, she retrieved a blueberry colored suit. Credence recognized it as the suit she eyed in the window the week before. 

“I got you something,” she said, placing the suit on the bed, along with a fresh pair of brown oxfords. “I know you told me not to... but I just couldn’t help myself.”

Credence walked to the edge of the bed, brushing the material with his fingers. She got this for him.  

She moved to a dresser, where she pulled a neatly folded white towel and cloth from the drawer. She walked back to his side, holding the towels out for him to take.

“There's a bathroom behind that door. You can take a bath and get yourself ready. I’ll come back once I’ve finished helping my mother.”

He took the towels from her hands, leaning towards the idea of a bath. His body still hadn’t completely warmed from the ride, and his clothes still stuck uncomfortably to his skin. She left him alone in her bedroom, closing the door behind her as she left.

Credence stayed by her bed even after she had left. He took the suit into his hands. The material was thick and soft. He could tell by the fine stitches it was of high quality, unlike the suit he currently wore. He collected the pants and shoes in his arms and walked to the bathroom door. Much like the bedroom, her bathroom was big. A porcelain bathtub resting on top of golden legs facing a large window that looked over one of the gardens. Credence walked across the mosaic floor and turned the knob of the tub. Hot water rushed from the faucet and filled the tub. Steam rose into the air, forging the mirror above the sink. He placed his clothes on a stool away from the tub so it wouldn’t get wet.

Stripping himself of his clothes, he dipped his foot into the warm water. Pleased by the feeling of the hot water heating his skin, he pulled the rest of his body into the tub and submerged himself until only his head remained above water. He sat in the water unmoving for a while with his eyes closed. The water relaxed his tense muscles, ridding his body of the prickling cold. As he sat there, resting his head against the edge of the tub, he thought about how long this would last. Why did she bring him here? 

Credence opened his eyes and found a rectangular bar of soap sitting on the tub’s edge. He lifted his hand from the water and took it, bringing it to his nose. Lavenders. 

He really shouldn’t be here. There was a nagging feeling in the pit of his stomach that was sure something would go wrong. His mind went back to what she’d said. He promised her he would stay with her tonight. He supposed he did, even if he hadn't explicitly say the words ‘I promise’. Taking her hand was more than an answer. 

But he had made another promise—a promise to someone he never dared to disobey so brazenly. He promised he would never see her again, to wipe her from his life and pretend like she never existed. And yet, here he was, laying in her bathtub, washing himself with her soap, wearing the clothes she bought him, and standing in her room. 

Credence stared at himself in the mirror by the armoire, now dressed in the blueberry suit she’d given him. It fit perfectly, as though it were made for him. It probably was. The shoes on his feet were comfortable. At first, he didn’t think they would fit; they were much larger than the pair of shoes he always wore. But after he pulled his socks up and slid his foot inside, he realized it wasn't that the shoes were too big, but his were a size too small. He could walk in them without his toes uncomfortably pressing against the tip. His toes could breathe and soles of his feet didn’t ache with every step. 

He almost didn't recognize his reflection. It was like another person was staring at him in the mirror. He looked like one of the men he admired in Times Square. The handsome scholars who came down from The Eggs to frequent the speakeasies to unwind after a long day of doing whatever rich boys do. He looked like the kind of man she belonged with.

A knock came from beyond the door.  “Are you decent?” Her muffled voice called from behind it. 

The door opened, and she peaked her head inside, meeting his eyes immediately.

“I knew it’d look good on you,” She smiled brightly, making her way towards him. “Does it fit nicely? I tried my best to guess your measurements. I was afraid it would be a bit off.”

He let her place her hands on his chest, smoothing the fabric of any wrinkles. His heart beat in his chest loudly, like it always did when she got this close. He watched her closely as she looked him over, avoiding his eyes. Her hands flew up to the black tie around his neck. 

“Your tie is a bit crooked.” She chuckled softly, taking the tie into her hands. “Let me.”

“Why are you nice to me?” He spoke lowly as she untied the knot. 

She furrowed her brows, her hands halting. “I’m sorry?”

“Most people would have ignored me had they saw me lying on the streets like I was today, and the day we met. Many people did. But you...” Credence struggled to find the words. “You helped me after I had fallen and dropped my papers, then you drove me home. The other week you insisted on buying me a coat, even though I told you I was fine without one, and then you took me to that restaurant. And then today, you convinced Father Blackwell to let my mother speak. You’ve been kind to me without even knowing me. Why?”

(y/n) lifted her head to meet his eyes. “Do I need a reason?” She countered. “Can’t I just want to?”

When he didn’t answer, she understood that wouldn’t be enough. She sighed, focusing her attention back on the tie. 

“Why did I do those things?” She bit her cheek in thought. “The night we met, I saw what that jerk did and wanted to help you. You looked so... sad. People walked over you—ignored you. It was like you didn’t exist, like I was the only one who saw you. I didn’t like it—seeing you like that. I just thought it would be nice to see a smile on your face. Maybe if I saw you smile, it would make me feel better.”

“Now that I’ve seen your smile, I’ve become a bit fond of it. Addicted is probably the better word. After seeing you smile for the first time, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. I wanted to see it all the time. If stuffing you full of burgers and teaching you how to skate put a smile on your face, I would do it. I would do anything to keep you smiling.”

She looped the tail of the tie and pulled the knot, tightening it around his neck. She adjusted his collar and let her hands fall to her sides. Her eyes flickered up to meet his. 

“So, I guess the answer to your question is: I did those things because I like you.”

Credence swallowed the lump rising in his throat, sending it back down to his chest. His eyes glistened in the light, glazed with rising tears. His heart ached in his chest, still hanging on to her words. ‘Like’? She liked him?

“And now?” His voice cracked. “Do you still fell that way? Even after the things I said?”

“Why did you say those things?” It was clear she had been wanting to ask this for a while. “Did I do something—say something to upset you?”

Credence vigorously shook his head. “No!” 

He clasped her hands tightly, taking her by surprise. “It’s not you,” he tried to explain. “It was never you.”

She held his hands just as tight, like she was afraid he would fade away if she let go. “Then?”

He swallowed again, looking down at his feet. “It’s my mother... she...” 

(y/n) frowned. She lifted Credence’s hand, turning his palm upward to expose the raised scars on his palms. 

“Was she the one who did this to you?” She whispered, though it sounded as if she already knew the answer. 

Credence stayed silent. He didn’t have the strength to say it out lout. 

“Did she leave you out on the street?” She asked, anger rising in her voice. 

“She doesn’t want me to see you anymore,” He muttered, shamefully. 

“Is that what you want?” 

Credence stilled. Nobody had ever asked him what he wanted. They locked eyes, (y/n)’s stared deeply into his, yearning for an answer. He barely opened his mouth to answer when a knock came from beyond the door, the person behind it bursting into the room. 

(y/n) dropped his hands, turning to face the culprit.

“Aaron, how many times have I told you to wait for me to answer before coming in my room?”

Aaron was a stocky man, just a few inches shorter than Credence. His angular face was covered with a tapered beard. He had the same (s/c) skin and (h/c) hair as (y/n), but his eyes were a light brown. He wore a black formal tuxedo with a matching bowtie. The smile on his face fell slightly as he looked between her and Credence. 

“Sorry sis, I didn’t realize you had company.”

(y/n) sighed, crossing her arms. “What do you want?”

Tearing his eyes from Credence, Aaron turned his attention to his sister, his smile widening. “I just thought you might like to say hello to someone.”

(y/n) raised a curious brow. “Who?”

The answer to her question walked in not a second later, dressing in a black fitted full dress tuxedo. He too shared a similar complexion to (y/n) and Aaron, but unlike Aaron, his eyes were the same has hers. He smiled, displaying a row of perfectly straight white teeth. “Hey. Did you miss me, street rat?”

(y/n)’s eyes widened, “Channing?”

Channing chuckled as she sped towards him. “The one and only—Ow!”

(y/n) had punched him hard in the shoulder. “Why didn't you tell me you were coming home?!”

Aaron snickered to the side. “Told you she would do that.”

“Well, that would defeat the purpose of it being a surprise, now wouldn't it?” He said, clutching his sore shoulder. “Can’t you act like a normal sister and be happy I’m back?”

“I am happy, you jerk,” she smiled, pulling him into a hug. He hugged her back gladly. It was clear the two missed each other greatly. 

“(y/n), who’s this?” Channing asked, looking over her shoulder at Credence.  

(y/n) too looked over her shoulder, her lips still holding her elated smile. “Aaron, Channing, this is Credence. He’s my plus one for tonight.”

“Right.” Aaron skeptically squinted at Credence. “And do Mom and Dad know that you have a boy in your room?”

(y/n) placed a hand on her hip. “I don’t know. Do Mom and Dad know about you and Mr. Finnegan’s daughter?” She deflected with a glare. 

Aaron cleared his throat, wrapping an arm around his younger brother and pushing him towards the door. “We’ll see you downstairs.”

“Wait,” (y/n) went to grab Credence by the hand and pulled him towards her brothers.  “Why don’t you show Credence around? You can bond and do whatever boys do while I get ready.”

They all looked at Credence, who was too petrified to protest the proposition. Aaron gave Credence a look that made him think he wasn’t too keen on the idea, but kept his otherwise cheerful smile. 

“I don’t see why not,” said Channing kindly, flashing an inviting grin much like the one (y/n) had given him many times before. He was starting to see the similarities between the two. 

“Yeah, come on, Credence,” Aaron agreed, throwing his free arm around Credence’s shoulder. “Hang with us guys for a while, we’re much more fun than she is.”

(y/n) rolled her eyes, escorting the men out of her bedroom. Credence’s pleading eyes silently asked for her not to leave him on his own, but she said nothing to stop them. She only gave him a comforting smile from the doorframe as they pulled him from the door. 

“I’ll see you in a bit.” She promised. 

Aaron and Channing dragged Credence down the hall, guiding him to another set of stairs. Unlike the ones (y/n) had sneaked him up an hour before, these stairs weren’t hidden in a corner at the end of the hall. It was a grand bifurcated staircase, with wide, velvet-clad sweeping steps that plunged into a wide landing that split in two directions: upwards to another wing of the manor, and downwards to the foyer. He could hear the music and babbling chatter clearly from the top of the staircase. The two brothers led him down the many steps, and again down the steps to the foyer where a great crowd of well-dressed men and women conversed under dropping garlands and mistletoe.

Without warning, they pulled him into the crowd, weaving their way through fur shawls and padded tuxedos. Tucked away in a corner of the room, Credence saw something he’d least expected: a familiar face. 

There, resting against a paneled wall, was Edmund Tully, drinking from a half finished glass of brandy. His eyes were distant and seemed to dart around the room, looking for something or someone. He wasn’t entirely sure if Edmund found what he was looking for, because when Aaron had called out to him, he gave up on his previous endeavor. 

It appeared that Edmund was not only friendly with Aaron, but Channing as well. They greeted each other as old friends do, with open arms, harmless roughhousing. Credence stood idly by, feeling out of place. It was only when Edmund set his green on him that Credence was pulled into their circle. Aaron noticed his friend’s stare and pointed his attention towards him. 

Aaron gestured to Credence, snapping his fingers. “Eds, this is uh—this is—give me a second—”

“Credence,” Edmund made up for Aaron’s forgetfulness. “Am I right? We met before.”

Aaron and Channing looked between the two unlikely acquaintances. “You have?” The eldest brother asked. 

Credence nodded, confirming Edmund’s claim. 

“Through (y/n), of course,” Edmund clarified. 

“I see,” Aaron hummed. 

A server in a tight vest came up the group of men with a tray full of glasses filled with a pinkish liquid. Credence watched as they each took a glass from the tray. 

“Do you drink, Credence?” Asked Channing, noticing Credence’s empty hand. 

“Sure he does!” Aaron exclaimed, taking an extra glass and shoving a it into Credence’s unsuspecting hand. “It’s Christmas!”

Giving into the pressure of the situation, Credence accepted the drink. It wouldn’t be the worst thing he’s done today. The gentleman made a simple Christmas toast, before taking their own respectable gulps. 

Credence brought the glass to his lips, letting the strange liquid slow past his lips and hit his tongue. Somehow the cold liquid felt like heat on his tongue, vibrating down his throat and spreading that warmth into his chest. It was a strange sensation, but not entirely unpleasant. While it was strong with alcohol, the sugary sweet after-taste made it palatable. He took another sip. 

Credence found Aaron and Channing to be decent men. Channing was more friendly to Credence that Aaron, but it had more to due with the age difference and the extenuating circumstances in which they’d met. He supposed it must have been hard warming up to the strange man who was found alone in your younger sister’s room. 

Edmund on the other hand didn’t address him much at all, only speaking to him when obligated. He had the sneaking suspicion that Edmund didn’t like him at all. Credence could care less. To be fair, Credence wasn’t sure he liked him either. 

Like (y/n) had asked, the two brothers, along with Edmund, showed Credence around the mansion. They took him upstairs and downstairs, through long halls and into opulent rooms that were also filled with partygoers. All the while, they continued to keep a full glass in their hands. Credence had drank four full glasses of pink drink by the time they circled back to the foyer—and they hadn’t even venture half of the vast manor. He wasn’t fully convinced that just one family lived in such a palace. 

They loitered the foyer, the music in the next room traveled well, distracting him from the conversation he wasn’t completely involved in. His eyes darted around the room, glossing over the painted and shaven faces of the other guests. He didn’t know what he was looking for until he found it—or rather— her. 

Descending from the heavens that was the staircase landing was her elegant figure, clothed in a velvety red dress that hung off her shoulders. Her hair fell in waves around her face, adorned with pins that resembled holly. The long pointed sleeves clung to her skin along with the rest of the dress, hugging her figure dangerously. He was the first to see her, and in parallel, she saw him first; her painted red lips curling into a wide grin once their eyes met. 

His chest was filled with a fluttering excitement as his eyes followed her movements drawing nearer. She walked straight towards him, bowing her head shyly as she got closer. The others noticed her too, hooting and hollering as she came, embarrassing her more. 

“The Princess has finally decided grace the party with her presence,” Aaron playfully jeered. 

“It’s not easy being the most attractive in the family, it takes a lot of work to look this good,” She bantered. 

“Tons of it, if you ask me,” Channing muttered snidely as he took a sip of his drink, causing a fit of harmless laughter between all of them but Credence. 

“You look amazing,” Edmund complimented over the giggles. 

(y/n) thanked him, her eyes drifting back to Credence expectingly. Flustered, Credence sputtered the first words that came to mind. “You look beautiful, you always do.”

(y/n) blushed, her girlish smile reaching her ears. Her brothers found the interaction equally amusing, stifling their laughter. Though Edmund didn’t find it so amusing, his once joyous expression faltering. 

“I have to steal my brothers for a moment,” (y/n) revealed. 

“What for?” Channing asked, unaware that he was needed. 

“Mom wants to see us all for a portrait. You were supposed to have been there by now. Daddy’s getting restless,” she told them.

Aaron cursed under his breath, having forgotten about the detail. He turned to his friend and handed him his drink. “It will only be a minute.”

Aaron and Channing hurried off towards the stairs whence (y/n) had come. Before she left, she met Credence’s eye. “Just wait for me here, okay? I’ll be right back.” 

She then disappeared up the stairs with her brothers, leaving him alone with Edmund. And then there were two. 

“Why don’t I show you to the gardens,” Edmund suggested after an awkward beat of silence. 

Credence didn’t get the chance to deny the offer before Edmund turned on his heels and headed towards the door, beckoning him to follow. Out of pure obligation, Credence followed, venturing from the manor and out into the cold (though the consistent warm buzzing in his head and chest kept him warm enough). 

Edmund guided Credence around to the main garden that sat in the center of the sprawling houses. Snow covered the hedges and statues that scattered the grounds. 

“Where are you from, Credence?” Edmund asked suddenly as they walked the garden path. 

Credence shrugged his shoulders. “Here.” 

“No, you’re not,” he said. “You might be from New York, but you’re not from here.”

Credence’s brow furrowed. What was he playing at?

“How did you meet (y/n)?” He pestered. 

“In Times Square,” Credence answered. “She helped me when I fell on the street. We kept running into each other ever since.”

Credence wasn’t sure why he was telling him all this, but he felt if he wanted to know, why not tell him? 

“You know, it's charming,” said Edmund. “How you’re sweet on (y/n). It’s pretty obvious. You look at her like a little puppy dog. It’s almost endearing. But it’s pointless.”

“Pointless?” Credence repeated. 

Edmund stared blankly at the younger boy. A sly smirk teetered on his lips.  “Oh, come on. Do you... Do you actually think you have a chance with her?”

Credence’s silence only amused him more, spurring him to laugh tauntingly. “Oh my God, you do! I almost feel bad for you!” It was only now that Credence noticed the subtle slur of his words. “Listen, mate, I’m only saying this because I feel like we could be friends. It's not going to happen. (y/n) is a sweet girl, almost too sweet. She’s oblivious to these kinds of things, you see?” He leaned against a stone post.

“How should I explain this? I’ve watched her grow up, and I have seen many young chaps like you fall all over her. She doesn’t realize her kindness attracts people. There have been many broken hearts left at her feet. You don’t want yours added to the pile, trust me.”

Yes, Credence decided in that moment he didn’t like Edmund at all. He took too much of a likeness to Ripley; they had the same condescending leer. The buzzing of his head wouldn’t allow him to hide his obvious disdain, and for the first time Credence would speak his mind, unafraid of the consequences. 

“Is yours one of them?” He asked boldly. 

“Excuse me?”

“Your heart,” he reiterated. “Is it one of the ones she broke?”

“I—”

“Do you feel threatened by me? Are you afraid that she might not like you as much as you think?” 

“What did you just say to me?” Edmund sputtered. 

Credence continued, feeling no shame for what he was about to slur and stutter. “She’s only nice to you because you’re friends with her brother and she’s known you for so long. But that isn’t enough to win her affection. Deep down, you know that.”

Edmund took Credence by the collar, “I suggest you stop talking,” he whispered dangerously. 

“You say that I don’t have a chance, then what do you have?” Credence chuckled provokingly. “She said she likes me. Has she ever said she likes you?”

“You don’t know a damn thing!” Yelled Edmund, red in the face. “To her, you’re just a pet. A sad little puppy she has to take care of. She’ll give you treats and dress you up like a doll, but it doesn’t mean anything. She’ll never see you as a man.”

“Is this what you do?” Asked Credence. “You drive away any person who you think might come between you and (y/n)? There’s nothing to come between. She’s not yours. She never was. And she’s not mine either. I don’t care if she doesn’t feel the same way I do. That doesn’t matter. But she said she liked me... and I like her.” Credence smiled. “And that is more than anything you’ll ever have with her.”

A powerful fist collided with his left cheek, sending him to the ground. The pleasing buzz in his head was replaced with rushing blood pounding against his temple. 

“I told you to stop talking,” the assailant heaved. 

Credence struggled to his hands and knees. The punch left a metallic taste in his mouth, and a bubbling rage in his stomach. Without thinking, he lunged forward, tackling Edmund to the ground. The two fell in a heap on the cobblestone, wrestling and thrashing violently. Credence got the upper-hand, landing a satisfying punch in the face, leaving Edmund with a bloodied nose. It didn’t last, because as soon as Credence wrestled his way on top, he was back under him, taking blows to the face and ribs. 

He couldn’t react fast enough to defend himself, and honestly, it was a miracle he landed a punch in the first place. He curled into himself to protect his face and ribs. The same vibrating rage he felt earlier that same day with Ripley danced under his skin. His thoughts faded in and out between consciousness, each unfamiliar thought being one of violence and rage. Pure, dark rage. 

Edmund may have got a peak at this entity—a glimpse into it’s glassy white eyes. If he had, he didn't say so. He only hesitated, a look of both confusion and fear flashing over his once blinding anger when their eyes locked. If he had seen those shining white eyes, they disappeared as soon as they came, her voice retreating the beast inside. 

“EDDY! CREDENCE! STOP IT!”

It was a trick of the lights, Edmund would later conclude. A figment of his drunken imagination. But it wasn’t true. The truth was Credence had a part of himself he couldn’t control—a part of himself that could destroy buildings and uproot roads—a part of him he couldn’t control, that is, until he met her. Until the sound of her sweet voice reached his ears and calmed the blackness to its dormant state.  

Edmund was pulled off of him, pushed several feet back while she dove for him on the ground, dirtying her red dress. The light from the lamppost and house gave the illusion that she glowed in the night.

Her eyes were big with worry. “Credence, are you okay? Does it hurt?” She helped him sit up, taking his face gently in her hands. It didn’t hurt. He couldn't feel anything but her warm hands caressing his cheeks. 

“I’m hurt too, (y/n),” Edmund croaked from his place. Aaron and Channing were there, barricading him away. “I got hit too. Why don’t you ask me if I’m okay? Huh?!”

(y/n) glared back at him. “You’re drunk!”

Edmund’s red face became wet with hot, angry tears. “WHY DON’T YOU ASK ME, (Y/N)?! DON’T YOU LIKE ME TOO?”

She held on to Credence's arm, holding him close. “I think you should go,” she muttered. 

Edmund sniffed, a look of pure heartbreak slapping over his chiseled features. “(y/n)...” He called for her one last desperate time, but she turned away, shutting him out completely. 

“Come on, man,” Aaron said sternly, pushing him back. “Let’s take a walk, okay?”

“GET OFF ME!” Edmund pushed Aaron away from him, staggering backward. He took one last long look at (y/n), hoping that she would look at him again. But she didn't. Her eyes stayed trained on Credence. He stepped back, defeated. 

“I can walk by my bloody self,” he slurred bitterly, retreating further into the garden, Aaron chasing after him. 

“Can you stand up?” (y/n) asked softly, taking Credence by the hand and pulling him to his feet. 

Channing helped as well, guiding them both back into the house. They stayed away from the festivities, taking the hidden stairs back up to her room. Channing had retrieved a medical kit after they reached her room, leaving once (y/n) insisted she could care for Credence on her own. 

Now, he sat next to her on her bed, while she shifted through the medical kit. His eyes trained on a young, black, hairless cat played curled up in a stuffed bed by the fire. This must’ve been the cat she had told him about. 

“Do you mind telling me what that was about or are you just going to stay silent?” Asked after the long silence. 

“It was nothing,” he told her, as she took his face in her hands to examine the wounds on his cheek and lip. 

“Yeah, right.” She muttered, taking a wet cotton swab and dabbing it on his scraped cheek. It burned, causing him to wince. She stopped immediately, looking apologetic. “Sorry.”

She went for the medical kit again, rummaging through it messily before stopping abruptly.

“You know what, I’m not sorry! Serves you right worrying me like that! I leave you for one minute and you’re picking fights in the street! Just look what he’s done to your face!” She cupped the side of his face where Edmund had punched him. She sighed, taking another cotton swab from the kit. 

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I didn’t mean to yell. I don’t like seeing you hurt is all.”

He looked at her deeply through lidded eyes as she dabbed the cut on his lip. 

“We were fighting about you,” he confessed.

She stopped, her eyes flickered to his for a moment, before focusing back on his lip. “Me? Why on Earth would you be fighting about me?”

He didn’t say. She waited for an answer, but soon concluded she wouldn’t get one. He hissed when she began applying cream on his cuts. “Fine, then,” she mumbled irritably. “Don’t answer me. Just hold still—”

His lips were on hers before she could finish her harping. The swab fell from her hand in shock, her eyes wide as saucers. He was kissing her. His eyes were closed, his lips plush against hers. He ignored the sting of his cut as he pressed his lips onto hers like he’d seen couples do many times before. His heart pounded in his ears. He would have kept kissing her if he hadn’t held his breath for too long. When they parted, and he opened his eyes to see her staring, awestruck. 

His ears turned red, and a wave of embarrassment crashed over him, realizing what he’d done. “I-I’m sorry,” he stammered. “I shouldn’t have—”

Her soft lips crashed into his with passionate force, her hands flying to caress the nape of his neck. Now, it was his turn to be taken aback. Credence had kissed her how shy young couples do: pressing his lips onto hers. But she kissed him like lovers do, moving her lips feverishly against his, licking his lips coyly with her tongue. Imitating her actions, Credence let his eyes fall shut, opening his mouth for her. Her tongue slipped passed his lips and swirled around his, welcoming the foreign sensation.

“(y/n)...” He whimpered out of pure instinct. 

She pulled away, leaving him a blushing, panting mess. 

“That’s the first time I’ve heard you call me by my name,” she whispered. A smile stretched across her lips.  “Say it again.”

Credence’s cheeks burned, but he gladly did what she asked. 

“... (y/n),” he called her name again.

“Again.”

“(y/n),” he repeated.

“Credence,” she whispered his name, sending shivers down his spine.

“(y/n),” he whispered breathlessly. 

“Credence.”

“(y/n).”

She captured his lips in another sensual kiss, pushing him back onto the bed. The medical kit fell to the ground, forgotten. She laid on top of him, her legs wrapped around his thin waist, pressing her body against his like he’d imagined many times before. His heart thundered in his chest, his mind consumed by her. Lavender and vanilla, it was all around him; pressing against him, kissing him, caressing him.

“Credence,” she said between fiery kisses. “I want you.”

“Y-You want me?” He flushed, making her giggle. 

“Yes,” she chuckled, taking his hand. “Do... Do you want me too?” Her voice was small and unsure. 

Credence nodded, lacing his fingers between hers. “I’ll always want you.”

His words seemed to spur her on, reviving her confidence. “Is this okay?”

The touch of her hand on his thigh traveled down to his waist, sending shivers up his spine. The beat of his heart pulsed powerfully in his chest, ringing in his ears. He watched expectantly as she drew nearer, hovering over him. One of her hands rose to tenderly cup his cheek. Her hand was soft and warm against him. The way she touched him was unlike any other. She was always so gentle with him, so kind. 

Their lips were mere inches apart. So close he could feel her warm breath on his skin. She looked at him through hooded lids, her eyes darkened to a deep shade of (e/c).

Credence swallowed. “I...I’ve never...”

“It’s okay,” she whispered. “We don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

“I want to.” 

She grinned, kissing his lips tenderly to calm his nerves. He felt her fingers move to unbutton his suit jacket. She pulled it off his shoulders, discarding it to the floor.

“Just relax,” she cooed. “I’ll take care of you.”

His black tie slipped off with ease, the buttons of his white dress shirt opened one by one the sound of fabric rubbing against each other and sultry sighs filling their ears. His shirt joined the jacket onto the ground, leaving him half-naked under her. He felt exposed, his eyes nervously fidgeting around the room. 

Her warm hands grazed the sides of his waist, delicately dancing up to his chest. She noticed the change in his breathing, his chest rising up and down in anticipation. He’d never been touched like this by anyone, not once. But now, as her hands glossed over his torso causing goosebumps to rise even though his skin was burning hot, he realized he wanted to be touched by her all the time, in every way. He wanted to kiss her over and over again; to feel her lips against his. He wanted to be close to her in the closest way possible.

As if answering his silent prayers, she pressed her chest against his, her breath tickling his cheeks. She kisses the mark on his cheekbone tenderly, then the corner of his lips, then his jaw. His eyes lull back. He let his head fall to the side, presenting his neck to her. Her hot breath on his neck excited him. Her lip pressed soft kisses down his jaw and neck, marking him with her red lipstick. Her wet tongue licked a stripe up his jugular, and he made a sound he’d only made once before in the confines of his room. 

She did it again, licking, sucking, and biting at the sensitive flesh of his neck. Credence bit his lip, muffling his desperate mewls. 

Her lips kissed up to the spot just under his ear. “It’s okay,” she whispered in his ear. “No one else can hear us. It’s just me.” 

Hoping to drive out more sweet moans, she sucked on the flesh of his neck she learned to be the most sensitive. His hips bucked upwards, grinding between her legs. He squirmed pathetically under her, his desperate pants and moans filling the room. 

His body was sensitive to her every touch, each kiss sending jolts of electricity through his body. She left love bites on the expanse of his neck and collarbone, coloring his pale skin purple and mauve. 

She caught his lips in another open-mouthed kiss, assaulting his mouth with his tongue at her pleasure. 

“Is... C-Can I touch you?” He asked through her kisses. 

She pulled away, her nose brushing against his. “Always,” she breathed. 

His hands daringly glided over her arms, reaching around her back. His fingers found the zipper to her dress and pinched, pulling it down her back until it stopped at her waist. She slid out of the dress with ease, slipping it off her body and letting it pool around her waist. His eyes glued to her bare chest, turning red from the neck up. She took his hands and guided them up her sides, outlining her feminine curves. 

She brought his hands to cup her breasts. His touch was hot on her skin, her own blush burning undeneath. He could feel her heart pounding wildly in his chest, and he knew she was just as excited as him. He let his body act on its own, his hands massaging her breasts. She let out a shaky breath, her mouth falling open. 

He continued, brushing his thumbs against her hardened nipples. Her hips rocked sensually against his twitching member. Her name slipped past his lips, his eyes trained on her figure above him. Her hands pressed on his chest, her hips moving in circles over him. Credence sat himself up, snaking his arms around her hips, gripping them firmly. They stared at each other breathlessly through half-lidded eyes. Credence’s already dark eyes turned to black pools reflecting in the moonlight. 

He mimicked her affections, placing chaste kisses under her jaw. He kissed the expanse of her neck, tasting her soft skin. He pulled her hips into him, guiding her movements in his lap. His length strained against his trousers, aching to be touched. 

“You said you want to touch me, right?” She panted. “Touch me here.”

She moved his right hand from her hip, slipping it under the velvety veil that covered where she wanted him most. He could feel her through thin lacy fabric, her heat already slick with arousal. He experimentally rubbed his fingers up and down her slit, studying the twitches and jolts of her body. She seemed to really enjoy when his fingers brushed against a certain spot, so he kept his attention there, rubbing steady circles around the sensitive area. 

Her hands gripped his shoulders, her head falling to rest in the crook of his neck. He enjoyed hearing her high-pitched moans, even as they were muffled against his neck. He pressed harder, picking up his pace to hear more. Her hips jut against his hand, jerking every so often. Her breaths quickened, and she whimpered his name in his ear. 

“Faster,” she’d pant desperately, her grip on his shoulders tightening. 

He did, circling his fingers as best he knew how. Her thighs tightened around his legs, her body stilled but he didn't stop. Only when he felt her body shake and relax against him did he stop, her sweet satisfied moan reaching his ears. 

He held her in his arms, peppering kisses on her shoulder and neck as she steadied her breathing. When she did lift her head from his neck, she pecked his lips and cheek. She held his face in her hands and moved to lie on her back, pulling him down in the process. 

He planted his hands on either side of her head. He admired her from above. Her red lipstick was faded, smudged messily on her chin, having been transfered on his own lips and neck. She didn’t break eye contact as her hands unbuttoned his trousers, pulling them down his waist and kicking them off with her feet along with his boxers. They lingered like that, just staring and admiring one another. He didn’t feel embarrassed. He felt strangely calm. The rest of the world seemed to float away. Nothing else mattered. Not the party down stairs, or the people laughing and drinking. Not Edmund and his jealousy, and not his mother and her vilification. Nothing mattered but her and him together in this room, together in her bed. 

He bent down to kiss her with all the passion and love he could muster. She was everything he could ever want and more. She was his saving grace, his goddess. He wanted to show her how much he loved her. ‘Closer,’ he thought. He needed to be closer to her.

Their lips and hips magnetized, their bodies melded together. He whispered her name like a mantra because he knew she liked hearing it as much as he liked saying it. He felt her hands slip between their bodies, grasping his length. She guided him to where she needed him, his tip pressing teasingly at her entrance. With her help, he eased inside, feeling her wrap tightly around him. They sighed in each others mouth, devouring their intoxicated moans. Her legs wrapped around his waist, urging him further. 

She opened for him like a flower in bloom. His hips moved without having to think. Being with her felt so natural. Every move he made came to him like second nature. His thrusts were slow and gentle, drawing wanton moans from her lips. Her hips rocked into him with equal fervor. She collected his moans with her kiss, her fingers tangling themselves in his hair. 

He lost himself in the feeling of her, his pace quickening. He watched her pretty face morph into varying expressions of pleasure, each thrust of his hips creating a new one. He’d never felt so good in his life. His body tingled and his skin burned pleasantly. He didn’t know it was possible to feel such pure, utter euphoria. 

He fisted the rosy silk sheets, his breath stopping in his throat. She tightened around him, and like a wave crashing down on a cliff side, he came. His body vibrated and twitched above her. He called her name into the air, his spastic thrusts edging her to her end, which—by the sounds of her shameless cries—was as powerful and illustrious as his. 

There was a moment of stillness; a moment in which they heard nothing but their shallow breaths and the crackle of the fire. They could do nothing but stay in their connected position with eyes locked. Credence fell to his side next to her on the bed. His muscles ached and his skin was slick with sweat, but he was filled with unwavering adulation. Eyes still locked, they said so much without needing to say anything at all. His hand found hers, lacing his fingers between her small ones.

They laid there, staring lovingly in each other’s eyes for what felt like hours. He silently adored her, memorizing the details of her features until his eyes grew heavy from exhaustion, slowly falling shut as graceful as the falling snow outside.  

Credence pried open his tired eyes. The fire still burned beside him. It crackled and danced, keeping the exhausted pair warm under the thin sheets. The moonlight broke through the balcony glass door and cast shadows of the curtains across the room. There was no music heard from downstairs and the manor outside sounded empty of all festivities. 

He took the time to embrace her presence. She laid on her side, facing him. Her eyes were still shut, soft snores falling from her lips. She held his hand between their bodies. Her thick (h/c) hair sprawled wildly around her, messed by their passionate love affair. And still, even with her hair a mess, and the corner of her lips wet with drool, she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. He reached his free hand to brush the fray hairs from her eyes, watching her lips twitch and curl into a sleepy smile when his thumb brushed against her cheek. That smile alone rid his mind of any and all doubts that still lingered. 

There are very few moments in life worth living for. Most things in life are mundane and repetitive, and when they weren't, they were bleak and agonizing. He’d been through it many times before, taking in so much pain he thought death was a kinder fate. But, as he lay next to her, listening to her slow steady breaths, watching the rise and fall of her chest while she slept; he knew he would face it all again, if it meant he could have more of these moments with her.  

#credence barebone x reader #credence barebone smut #credence x reader #credence smut #credence imagine #credence barebone #credence fantastic beasts #Harry Potter #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter fanfic #fantastic beasts and where to find them #fantastic beats the crimes of grindelwald #crimes of grindelwald #fantastic beasts the crimes of grindelwald #Newton Scamander #newt scamander #newt scamander smut #newt scamander x reader

[live-the-fangirl-life]

Not a prompt exactly, but Fenrys filming drunk Lorcan being soft and silly with Elide and then showing him the next day

What Happens in Vegas... Part 2

Elide Lochan x Lorcan Salvaterre - Answered Prompt

Elide and Lorcan wake up to find a video Fenrys took of their wedding ceremony.

Part 1 | Masterlist | Read on Ao3

Warnings: Language

1658 words

*******

The first thing Elide noticed when she woke up was that her head felt like it was being crushed by a cement truck that was playing dubstep.

She groaned and then winced at the noise before turning to bury her face into the solid chest of the man lying next to her.

Lorcan wasn't any better. He felt like his head was going to explode if he moved too fast. But when he felt Elide press closer to him, he instinctively wrapped an arm around her, wincing, too, as the movement sent a wave of nausea through him. He used what little coherency he had to keep the stomach-churning feeling at bay.

They both slept restlessly for another hour before managing the harrowing act of sitting up. Well, Elide sat up. Lorcan tried to lift himself and deemed it too much work, so he threw his head back down into Elide’s lap, groaning as the movement made his head spin. She could hear a distant buzz that sounded like a phone notification.

Propped against the headboard, Elide took a steadying breath and slowly started to feel like herself again. She let one hand rest on Lorcan’s head while she ran her fingers through his hair and had the fleeting question of why she was wearing one of his earrings on her finger.

The buzzing kept coming and she saw her phone on the nightstand light up as message after message came in.

Wanting nothing more than a large cup of coffee, Elide grabbed her phone to see why she was being bombarded with messages. If the sound from across the room was any indication, Lorcan’s phone was also receiving dozens of texts. It made her pause a moment to wonder what the hell happened the night before.

The moment Elide opened the group chat, memories of the previous night flashed in her mind.

The casino. Drinking. Lorcan. A chapel. Elvis.

Oh gods. Elide looked down at the hand still in Lorcan’s hair and stared at the ring on her finger. Her pinky, not her ring finger, because it only fit on her pinky; she cringed as she remembered how Lorcan had removed his earring as an impromptu engagement ring.

Engagement ring.

Holy Hellas. Holy fucking Hellas. Engagement ring. Wedding. She and Lorcan had gotten married. In Vegas. By a fucking Elvis Impersonator.

She couldn’t stop the hysterical laugh that escaped her. This wasn’t a situation she ever thought she’d be in. She kept laughing even as Lorcan twisted his head and looked at her in bewilderment while groaning at the loud volume of it. She couldn’t help it.

Her laughter soon died as she realized she wasn’t freaking out. It was insane and impulsive and totally not like her to do that, yes—but it wasn’t bad. She wasn’t upset. When she thought about being married to Lorcan...her heart felt happy.

She smiled down at his face which had turned to press into her stomach as he wrapped an arm around her so he could use her to block out the light. The situation was unconventional, but so were they. And it made for one hell of a story

Elide went back to scrolling on her phone and tried to find the start of the messages from last night.

The first few were with Fenrys. It seemed she or Lorcan had called him to be the witness for their ceremony—why him and not someone else, she didn't know—and he responded immediately telling them not to say ‘I do’ before he could be there to record it.

And then he sent a video.

Elide shook Lorcan’s shoulder and waited until he grumbled something incoherent and turned his face towards her phone before pushing play.

The video was shaky but it clearly showed Elide and Lorcan standing in a chapel next to a man wearing an Elvis costume. Elide had Lorcan’s earring on his finger and Lorcan...Lorcan was wearing a veil pulled back over his hair. All the while Fenrys flipped the camera back and forth to show the couple and then his own excited face.

Lorcan’s arms tightened around Elide as he watched the video. He blinked once and sat up, rubbing a hand down his face, before looking pointedly down at her finger that still held his earring. When his eyes met hers again, they were worried. As if he was unsure what her reaction to all this would be.

“Did we…” He asked, brows furrowed,

“Yeah,” she nodded, glancing down at he finger again “we did.”

“We got married.”

“Uh-huh.”

“In Vegas, drunk off our asses, by Elvis?”

“Yup,” Elide answered with a ‘pop’ and finally let the grin that’d been aching to show itself, spread across her face.

Lorcan searched her face for any panic, but finding none, offered a small smile in return before resting his chin on her shoulder and gesturing for her to play the video.

“Do you take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?” Elvis said, monotonously.

The Lorcan in the video nodded vigorously and replied “Yes, Mr. Elvis, sir. I want to make this woman my wife. Elide, El, ‘Lide, you are the coolest, most badass lady I know. Way better than Gala-what’s-her-face and more beautiful than...than..”

“Fenrys?” Drunk Elide suggested, giggling as Fenrys protested and shook the camera.

“Yes,” Drunk Lorcan agreed, “you are so much more beautiful than Fenrys.”

And then Drunk Lorcan lifted his hand and booped Drunk Elide on the nose, sending her into another fit of giggles.

Sober Elide was trying her absolute hardest not to laugh at the recording because Sober Lorcan looked like he was going to throttle Fenrys for getting evidence of this on video.

“And do you take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?” Elvis droned on.

Drunk Elide swayed as she laughed and then abruptly got herself back together before nodding. “I do. I do. Yeah, I take him to be Mr. Lochan. Mr. Lorcan Lochan,” Drunk Elide and Drunk Lorcan laughed while Sober Lorcan glowered and Fenrys hollered a cheer from behind the camera.

Drunk Elide kept talking. “Lorcan, I loooooove you,” she slurred the words, “I love that you’re a big ol’ grump to everyone but me, cause I’m adorable as fuck. And how when you hug me I feel like I’m wrapped up in the best blanket. And I really love your dic—”

Sober Elide snorted and Fenrys almost dropped the camera from laughing, effectively cutting off the rest of Drunk Elide’s vows.

“By the power vested in me, by Hunka Hunka Burning Love, I now pronounce you husband and wife, you may—”

Drunk Elide and Drunk Lorcan ignored the rest of what Elvis was saying, by pulling each other into a frenzied kiss. She had one leg hitched around his hips with his hands gripping her ass as her’s clawed at his back.

The camera suddenly flipped around to show Fenrys’ grinning face as he wiggled his eyebrows. “There you have it, folks. Mr. and Mrs. Lochan.” He grinned at something behind the screen, most likely Drunk Elide and Drunk Lorcan trying to stumble out of the chapel.

“Hey, man!” the sound of Drunk Lorcan’s voice echoed throughout the video as Fenrys narrated about him talking to a stranger passing by. “Have you met my wife?”

A moment passed and they could no longer hear Drunk Lorcan or Drunk Elide, but Fenrys kept grinning maniacally into the camera as he said “ Aelin, Rowan, you might have to give up the newlywed suite tonight!”

Then the video cut off.

Elide was quietly laughing as Lorcan groaned into her shoulder. He grumbled, “I am going to kill Fenrys. He sent that to everyone didn’t he?” And almost as an afterthought, he asked through clenched teeth, “Was I wearing a fucking veil?”

Elide couldn’t hold it in any longer and hunched over in a fit of laughter. “Lorcan, you make such a pretty bride.”

He growled and nipped at her shoulder. “Not funny.”

“Extremely funny.” She corrected and pulled the group chat back up. Sure enough, it was filled with responses.

“Rowan says 'Congrats, I hope you both have massive hangovers.'” She snorted at his next text, “'Aelin is pissed you ran off and got married without inviting her.'”

“Why did we invite Fenrys and not anyone else?” Elide asked.

“No fucking clue.”

She rolled her eyes before going back to the texts. “Aelin then writes 'I am so PISSED at you, Lochan, for not inviting me to your wedding! How can there be a ridiculous, Vegas wedding without ME involved....but congrats, I guess. I expect all the details once you and hubby sober up.'” Elide laughed, making a mental note to call Aelin after she has some coffee. “Then she sent a winky face and a bunch of eggplant and donut emojis.”

Lorcan grunted in acknowledgment.

“Aedion sends a thumbs up, and Lysandra writes 'My favorite part—besides Lorcan in a wedding veil, which will forever bring me joy—was when Elide talked about Lorcan’s dick.' And then more eggplant emojis.”

“Why are these people your friends?” Lorcan asked as he sat up again.

She laughed and caught the smirk on his face, “Don’t even try with that, Lochan,” she winked, “they’re your friends too.”

He rolled his eyes and snorted. “No, I am not going by Lorcan Lochan, no way.”

Elide laughed and got out of bed, finally noticing the piece of paper that had fallen to the floor. She picked it up and turned back towards him grinning.

“Lorcan Lochan, it has a certain ring to it.”

Lorcan just rolled his eyes but gave a small, resigned smile to his wife.

Wife.

Lorcan let a broad grin emerge as he thought about the diamond he had stashed in his sock drawer at home and realized that he’d get to replace the earring on Elide’s finger very soon.

*****

Taglist:

@acourtofsnakes @allthebooksunderthemoon @astra-ad-mare @becarefuloflove @bisexual-genderfluid-loki @booklover41802 @charlizeed @cookiemonsterwholovesbooks @danibutterr @doubt-less @emily-gsh @enormousbooklover @foughtconquered @fromthelibraryofemilyj @hakunamatatazz @i-have-but-one-brain-cell @in-love-with-caramel-macchiato @jorjy-jo @lemonade-coolattas @mariamuses @mayhemories @midsizewitch @miserablesmusings @morganofthewildfire @nehemikkele @rowaelinismyotp @rowansfirebringer @sayosdreams @sheharahu @sleeping-and-books @stardelia @story-scribbler @superspiritfestival @surielandiareendgame @swankii-art-teacher @tomtenadia @westofmoon @whimsicallyreading @ladygabrielli1997 @moodymelanist @realbookloverproblems @gracie-rosee @julemmaes @yesdreamblog @the-regal-warrior @rowanaelinn @thestoriesyoutell @autumnbabylon

#elorcan #elide #lorcan #elorcan fluff #elorcan fic #elide lochan #lorcan salvaterre #elide and lorcan #lorcan and elide #elide x lorcan #lorcan x elide #throne of glass #tog #married in vegas #answered prompt

[septicace-writes]

Truck Stop

Summary: You meet a handsome stranger at a highway rest stop. Syverson x cis!F!Reader

Genre: Smut

Warnings: smut, blowjob, fingering, PiV sex

a/N: I had a dream where a truck pulled up beside me at a truck stop and while I woke up too early for anything to happen, this is the result. Also exists as a cis!M!reader version here

1.9k words

You had been driving for hours and while the music kept you going for a while you also had gotten up at 4am and were in dire need of a break. In the middle of nowhere, on an empty highway, you keep your eyes out for a reststop. After about 30 minutes you finally find one, even though it's really just a small parking lot, a few benches and an outhouse without even so much as a vending machine. Luckily, you had some packed lunch in a cooling bag.

You walk around a bit to stretch your legs while you eat your sandwich, then soak in the sun for a while, sitting on one of the benches. In all this time you don't see a single other car so you decide to have just a quick nap before continuing your drive and get back in the car, leaning the seat back as far as possible.

You startle awake from the noise of someone knocking on your car window. For a second you're not sure where you are until you remember your drive and the stop. Sitting up straight, you look out the window and see a man standing a few steps back but looking at you. He's big, his body well-endowed with muscle under a healthy layer of fat. He sports a massive beard that does its best to hide the smile he's sending your way. As you're still taking it what's going on he gives you a little wave and motions for you to open the window. You take another look around, everything is still well-lit by the sun, no sign of it setting yet, and you don't see anyone else. The only other noticeable change is the large truck he had parked on the other side of the parking lot. Feeling a little reassured by him keeping his distance you roll down the window.

Sorry to disturb you, Miss, just wanted to make sure you're alright. He gestures to your surroundings Don't get many people riding solo and stopping here of all places.

You blink slowly, taking him in further, his voice is deep, smooth like butter and from the first word you're caught in a dream of what it might sound like in certain other situations. You're so caught up you forget to answer until

Are you... Alright? There's concern in his voice now so, quickly, you nod.

Yeah. Yes. Yep. Yeah I'm alright... Just a long drive and I needed a break. You smile in what you hope is a reassuring yet charming manner.

Glad to hear it. Just make sure you're not staying here till nightfall. The place has a bit of a reputation of... Well, less reputable folk to meet here. Damn that charming, dreamy southern accent. You're barely taking in what he's telling you but nod along anyways.

He turns to get back to his truck and in a sudden burst of bravery you speak up So... If this place is so disreputable, what brings you here?

He looks back for a moment It's part of my route. I usually don't pull in but your car here so all alone in the middle of the day had me worried. But since everything's alright I really ought to get back on the road.

Shit shit shit you don't want to say goodbye just yet. You barely know what's gotten into you when you open the door and say And what would it take to make you stay a little longer.

At that he actually turns back around, takes in your form, now leaning against your car. You push off, take a step towards him and bow your head just a little, looking at him through your eyelashes. He adjusts his posture, straightening his back, and visibly swallows.

Well, a temptation like you certainly might. If you're implying what I think you are.

Your heart is beating a million miles an hour in your chest, you did not think it was going to be that easy yet here you are, about to fuck - or rather get fucked by - this man in an empty parking lot. You take another step forward, and another, until you stand face to face with him. He's a few inches taller than you, and from so close you can smell the motor oil in his clothes. You want to reach out a hand and touch him but for a short, tense moment you both just stand there, staring at each other - neither knowing how to make the first move.

It feels like an eternity even though it's just a few heartbeats and then he places a hand cupping your neck and, looking directly into your eyes If you're sure about this, I'd like to kiss you and how could you say no so you nod, already leaning up.

His lips are warm and soft, smoothly moving over yours as he continues to hold your neck, caressing the side of your face with his thumb. The full beard tickles a little, but you can tell he keeps it well as the hairs are soft against your skin. Now distracted from your nerves, you sling your arms around his back, feeling the muscle underneath as you slide them up and down. He brings his arm around your waist, pulling you tight against his body. You moan at the feeling of his already growing erection pushing against your belly and he ceases the moment to slip his tongue between your lips.

You find the hem of his shirt and slide both your hands underneath to feel his warm skin at the same time as you grind your hips into his just a little to see how he reacts. With a growl, he breaks the kiss for just long enough to pull his shirt over his head and discard it, giving you a perfect view of the dark hair on his chest until his lips are back on yours. He lifts you up with ease, wrapping your legs around his waist. As you pull your own t-shirt off he walks you both towards his truck, leaning you against the sun-heard metal. You yelp and he pulls you back up.

Shit, sorry! Here let me... And he take your shirt and puts it behind you as a buffer. God you're gorgeous he takes you in for a moment, then nuzzles his beard into your neck and begins kissing and sucking at the sensitive skin. You squirm at the ticklish sensation but he's got a strong hold on you, not letting you get away. He works his way further down, unclasping your bra and taking it off before taking a nipple between his teeth and gently biting down while one hand pinches the other. At your enthusiastic moan, he does it again, making your rut your hips up against his body for any friction you can find.

You look down to see a devilish grin on his face before he comes back up to kiss you. You can't help another moan as he reaches his hand between your legs, cupping your pussy with just enough pressure to tease. Biting at his lower lip in revenge, you elicit a low groan. He moves his hand back to your ass, supporting you as he grinds his own, now fully hard cock against you. Panting, you bring your hands down to free him from his confines but your hands are quickly seized by one of his.

I don't remember giving you permission He all but growls, making you whimper with the loss of stimulation as he stills his hips.

Please, sir you squeak out, your brain already muddled with neediness and thankfully he seems merciful and releases your hands which immediately resume their task. Even with how shaky they are you make quick work of his button and zipper and, with an appreciative sound, finally wrap your fingers around his now freed cock. You press a line of kisses from his neck down his chest as he continues to rut into your fist, bracing himself with one hand on the car behind you. You work your way lower and lower, sliding down the hood until you hit the ground, now kneeling with his imposing endowment right at your eye level.

His free hand falls to your head as you give a testing lick to his tip before wrapping your lips around it. You slowly work him deeper until he hits the back of your throat and wrap one hand around what doesn’t fit, pumping at a maddeningly slow pace. But not for long, as the man above you gets impatient with your teasing and begins fucking into your mouth at a quicker pace. Your free hand wanders along his body until it reaches underneath to cup his balls, gently rolling and massaging them as a contrast to pace he has set. His groans and growls only spur you on, wanting to hear what he sounds like falling apart. You’re peripherally aware of your own arousal wetting your underwear, but the thought is overshadowed by your need to make him cum. Before it comes to that, he pulls out, holding your head back by the neck as you try to chase your prize.

Come back up here sweetheart he commands, voice deep and raspy with arousal and you obey, standing up. He reclaims your lips, moaning at his own taste on your tongue as he fidgets to open your trousers and gain access to your wet heat. You helplessly pant into his mouth as he begins rubbing your clit, giving you a taste of your own treatment as he starts a teasingly slow movement. When you try to rut your hips faster against him, he stops until you still again, quickly teaching you that he is in charge. In your effort to keep your hips still you wrap your arms around his torso again, hands raking over his back as you moan and pant at his ministrations. He pushes two fingers in, scissoring them to spread you open, groaning appreciatively at the way you clench around them. You whine when he pulls out, about to start begging when you notice he is lining up his cock to your entrance. With a pleading whimper, your wrap your legs around his waist as he enters you in one swift movement.

Your mind blanks for a moment at the stretch and the feeling of being so full with him that you don’t even realise he’s not moving. When you open your eyes, you find him staring down at you with a smug grin. Then he braces against the car and slowly begins pulling out, drawing a long whimper from you. With a snap of his hips he fucks back in, now setting a rapid pace that drives any and all coherent thought from your mind. As his thrusts become more erratic in chase of his own end he sneaks a hand between you and begins rubbing your clit again in quick, tight little circles. With a scream, you cum, walls fluttering around him which takes him over the edge with you, painting your insides white. You stay like this for a while, him buried deeply inside you as you both catch your breath. Then, he pulls out and begins cleaning you both with your shirt while you put your bra back on.

All cleaned up and satisfied he takes you in his arms You were amazing sweetheart. Now let’s get you home for dinner.

#captain syverson x F!reader #female reader #captain syverson x reader #captain syverson fic #captain syverson smut #syverson x reader #syverson smut #syverson fic #henry cavill fic

[trickfootpike]

OKAYOKAYOKAY now that i've had a few nights to Ruminate here are way too many thoughts from 9/16's show -- fair warning that they aren't *super* coherent as a lot of this i just tried to loosely organize from dms i threw at folks night-of, but it is most of what i remember sticking out to me!

GENERAL THOUGHTS --

last saw the show in august of 2019 - back then i saw it up in the mezzanine, this time i was 7 rows back dead center in the middle of the orchestra. watching the show from the mezzanine feels like a god's eye view of the show while sitting up close in the orchestra is much more like being in the world of men, and how it hits in hadestown particularly is just nuts bc you really do feel like you're on the factory floor.

back in the London production i remember eva playing eurydice with more youth and hope to her, and when the show came to Broadway eurydice hardened. in a world with a pandemic eva seems to have actually shifted this back! Eurydice is still holding tightly onto Orpheus Knowing that the world is unlikely to be kind enough to let them have each other for long but she starts off less faithless than she used to, I suppose I would describe it? she's definitely played more open with others from the beginning rather than having it be something she has to really work towards!

WAIT FOR ME IS A TOTALLY DIFFERENT FEELING FROM THE ORCHESTRA THAN THE MEZZANINE AND NOT JUST THE LAMPS. the lamps really only swing out to over the first 2 rows, speaking very generously, anyway. what i remember being most impactful from last time was how the whole theater rumbled as the walls of the set split to reveal hadestown. what i couldn't see and afaik no boot's been able to pick up is the the set ALSO SPLITS AND STRETCHES OPEN AT THE TOP. that awning that covers the balcony lifts and the wall of hadestown is revealed to stretch floor to ceiling and it is just so much, so fucking much oh my god i could not stop hysterically blubbering to myself watching hadestown stretch open like it is absolutely here to devour you whole. it makes you feel the immensity of The Wall. I've linked ig videos of the set pre act 1 and post intermission to give like the best perspective on it i can and tried to film them so they were zoomed as closely as to what my eyes were seeing as I could, but here are also some pictures!

PRE ACT ONE

INTERMISSION

after our lady of the underground when eurydice comes back from hades' office and Persephone is finishing with her show, me being closer this time i was actually able to see amber's face during way down hadestown ii and flowers. and how she portrays seph's feelings re eurydice, it's like : genuine concern and watching over her when she first starts on the line, Quiet Seething and Jealous Rage as the fates' tattle "Hades put his hands on ya" that sticks for a While including the first half of flowers, but as soon as eurydice remembers the meadow her and Orpheus visited her heart just b r e a k s and you can see her wiping away tears. seph's just so caught in her own feelings of helplessness in hadestown. when hades tells her to stay out of him dealing with Orpheus all the fight just deflates out of her and the direct accusing look Orpheus gives her at the end of if it's true mixed with seeing his effect on the workers makes her physically rear back like she's gotten the fight slapped back into her

even with this audience who almost for sure has all seen ht before, there was still the loudest heartbroken gasp when orpheus turned. i know everyone calls this out but it still hit me hard that with a greater percentage of previous viewers in the audience it still hit us all like a fucking brick

and ofc. road to hell ii. it's a millions times more impactful than it already was what with the pandemic, making it through hard times and how they could be hard again but making the best of them even if it doesn't turn out well this time either. i was crying so hard last time but this time i was crying harder but also feeling like a huge weight was being like, very softly cradled in my chest to take some of the burden away

TOM'S HADES/HADES AND PERSEPHONE SPECIFIC THOUGHTS --

Tom's Hades whole tl;dr could be that Hades is a Performance. all those descriptions of him beign "jazzy" and "egodriven" are correct, but there is also this massive vibe he gives off that all his showmanship is there as a cover up for the very pessimistic man at the core of him. when him and persephone are getting along the jazziness is there for genuine playfulness with her, but apart from seph it is a purposeful exaggeration on hades' part to get Whatever it is that he wants. he is playing up aggression as king (see papers) and what he thinks as being suave (see hey little songbird) to maintain his throne and his marriage, and Epic III is the Destruction of that performance. Tom's Hades at the end of Epic III isn't trying to sell anyone anything, you just get to see the suddenly very scared and unsure heart of the man behind the performance of foreman and king. And oh boy is Tom's Hades at his heart unsure. He is so fucking pessimistic; back in Act 1 when Orpheus starts to sing Epic I he turns from Persephone even before she gets reminded of the world above and starts longing for it, because he already expects to see it coming and he doesn't turn back to her Ever Again, literally until he comes to get her in Way Down Hadestown. Not even when she gives him a kiss on the cheek goodbye. His Kiss, The Riot is him trying to figure out how the hell he's gonna be able to rebuild his performance after his whole kingdom saw through it, but he also ends it being so very certain that the deal he figures out for Orpheus Will end with Orpheus failing somehow. There is no doubt in this very pessimistic Hades that doubt will come in, whereas Patrick used the end of His Kiss The Riot almost like he was desperately trying to justify that his doubt came to him only in Persephone's absence

road to hell i: tom's hades loves cheering on the band so much he is Part Of The Problem that Hermes has to get to chill out and it makes so much sense for this jazzy dramatic motherfucker

balcony time (road to hell i until livin' it up on top): when they were upstairs playing dominoes they kept laying their tiles with these overexaggerated movements.. Like when they actually getting along they are so damn flirty and trying so hard to make each other smile and laugh and it is TOO CUTE

way down hadestown: Once Again "I missed ya" gives me no rest, mostly because Tom delivered it with this super coy and cocky grin and Amber immediately smiled back at him like Persephone couldn't help herself

chant i: is spent with him looking up proud into his creation while persephone is looking down with heartbreak and disgust seeing the workers as people in suffering and the ugliness of hadestown. as the song goes on he gets increasingly frustrated like a child who's super proud of the drawing he brought home from school that Persephone has nothing but terrible things to say about. when eurydice starts singing about her suffering seph throws out her arm and points to her like "see! See what you're doing!!" while hades is more in himself processing his disappointment, frustration, heartbreak, but over the next minute you start to see him Formulating A Plan as he watches eurydice. but he doesn't look entirely sold on going through with it until seph throws out her last verse in disgust. it was absolutely the straw that broke the camel's back.

hey little songbird: THO IT SOUNDS SO SEDUCTIVE ON AUDIO. OML DOES IT LEAN INTO EURYDICE'S "STRANGE MAN" DESCRIPTOR. HADES IS LIKE THE CREEPY SALESMAN ON THE CORNER WITH WATCHES AND A TRENCHCOAT. BUT HE'S SELLING HIS SHIT WELL, HE'S JUST ALSO A WEIRDO

Why We Build The Wall/"Behind Closed Doors": That followup on hades' threat when eurydice arrives in hadestown. as hades goes to the stairs he like not whacks, but definitely nudges seph's arm harder than Patrick does to get her attention. when he did she Startled and laid her hand over her arm where he'd tapped her like she was overwhelmed by just that touch........ but then she turns around and watches him take Eurydice up and when he opens his coat and she Realizes you see her whole body go slack. once eurydice goes past the office doors hades turns and lingers staring pointedly down at seph, for *seconds* whereas with patrick i remember it being more of a pointed glance. it drills home that hades is doing this specifically to spite seph and he wants her to know it. and you can see amber discreetly wipe her face before she turns back to "does anybody want a DRINK." there's less direct seduction between hades and eurydice but more explicit threat between hades and seph about eurydice

papers: actually isn't too much Bastärde as it is his Performance. HOWEVER, the way he directs the workers to beat Orpheus is chilling. Like patrick he hangs around, but he's watching until the last 10 seconds so it's way longer. And he makes like the smallest gestures with his hand to direct the workers to the different stages of beating Orpheus, fuck it was twisted

how long: how long actually starts with seph and hades seemingly coming to each other on a similar page - hades came out pensively fiddling with his wedding ring and Amber delivered "I know" like seph was already past the eurydice situation. this also could have been a product of time and seeing how actually little he did "seducing" eurydice lmao

chant ii: very much Hades Sees Orpheus As A Threat™️ (more on this further below) , also dare i say it but tom kills I CONDUCT THE ELECTRIC CITY

epic iii: oh man oh man. he looks so untouched until Orpheus starts the lalas and he goes from completely passive unimpressed face to like. his body unfolds on his stool and his hands go slack and he looked between Orpheus and Persephone when he asked where Orpheus had gotten his melody. he asked it a lot softer than I expected him too as well. a big part of the audience actually laughed when Hades sang his lala because Tom cracks his voice during it but it petered off into sniffling when they realized why and then we were all just crying together as persephone placed the flower in his vest.

lovers desire: SOME VERY CUTE STUFF. hades' performance is broken but tom's hades is still a Jazzy Jazzy Man at heart and they're like 100 times more playful with each other - they're both giggling and grinning their asses off while they dance together and give each other these like nudges to the next series of steps and it was adorable and I was discretely sobbing. they both played it like they knew how to do this dance with each other better than they knew anything, the little nudges were like..... them playing inside this dance they already knew so well? Like more overexaggeration to make each other laugh and just revel in this wonderful thing they've rediscovered- specifically I remember that Amber raised her skirt soooooo high when she was doing the curtsey and Tom was like waggling his eyebrows at her and adding extra flourishes with his hands and widening his eyes super big everytime he pulled off a move (the funniest ones were when they do like the two-step where they move one after another in sequence and he's copying her moves in reverse and oml it was just adorable). When Seph had the move where she pulls their linked arms over his head to tuck him into her I remember that was the one part where he wasn't doing this goofy act but his expression straight up melted and he looked so smitten. and when it's the last bit of the dance and he spins her across the stage, seph's face breaks open with tears his expression responds with like this mix of heartbreak and "ohhhhh no baby please don't cry" as he moved across the stage to quickly take her into his arms for the dip at the end

AFTER this when orphydice has finished promises and right before Orpheus turns to ask Hades if they can go, they come out of slow dancing to the side but are still super wrapped up in each other - seph wraps herself around one of his arms and presses herself super close and Tom leaned down with this little smile like Hades was gonna try and steal a quick kiss, but then he hears/sees out of the corner of his eye/senses or something Orpheus approaching and pulls himself up and formal to be the king. When he says I don't know and seph wrenches herself away from him to the other side of the stage to firmly stand behind Orphydice he gets this look of Extreme Frustration on that she's still not standing with him and these damn kids are still more important, bc even with character growth he still is a petty selfish bitch who does not like to share lmao, he's just getting that he Has To now

wait for me ii: Hades stays onstage by the microphone stand to the left to watch Hermes deliver his judgement to orphydice/seph/the workers and watching Tom during this was a Treat. this is the first time he's seeing how orphydice and esp Orpheus function when he's not involved to terrify them. they're so sweet and so good, and they have what looks like so much unwavering faith in each other unlike him and seph, maybe they really could... so when he delivers "i let them try" that last word is stretched with so much wonder. he's getting this first glimpse into feeling how everyone else felt when orpheus sang of how the world could be that isn't just focused in about how he feels about persephone, which always drives him - now he's having to deal with the Greater Implications and orpheus' seemingly unbreakable faith in a better world rocks him to his core. that certainty that orpheus would fail gets shaken as he watches them and when Seph asks him if he thinks they'll make it, his I Don't Know is 1/2 defensive and 1/2 actual uncertainty. he still hates to be wrong but he's wondering if his beliefs about doubt will turn out differently this time. he isn't optimistic about it by any means but orpheus, eurydice, and the workers' response to them both does give him pause

meanwhile in hades and persephone's section, on a personal level they deliver their lines to each other like they're a great deal more nervous about what next fall will bring than i've seen and heard before - something I'm thinking stems from hades' worldview being so suddenly shaken and seph too being a little more vulnerable?

MISC THOUGHTS

Tom seems to be leaning into Hades not having done anything with Eurydice other than tempt her down - once she's in Hadestown even during Why We Build The Wall he drops the salesman croon entirely and when he does rarely speak to her/about her it's commanding as a king who sees her just as another object under his possession, with very little interest in her for anything at all beyond that. he was just going after the goal of making sure Seph knew he had Options whether or not he actually pursued them

tom is super dedicated to how power-hungry hades is. I remember when I saw Patrick during chant ii he was playing hades as more affected by how much seph seemed to care about the workers now and desperately trying to get her attention back (even negatively), Tom was more consumed in seeing Orpheus as a threat because of how effectively he had turned his "children" on him. He knocks Seph down in those "shackle her from wrist to wrist" less as a personal petty attack to her like Patrick does and more like to try and destabilize her as someone backing Orpheus up. Tom's Hades perceives Orpheus as a Threat no matter how much he plays up his Performance as Nonchalant Jazzy King. he really emphasizes Hades' relationship to Orpheus whereas Patrick played more into his relationship with Eurydice, which makes so much sense what with Tom's Hades being a pettier more egotistical messy bitch obsessed with his kingdom and Patrick's Hades' obsession being his wife and Hadestown being like, this side-effect of being a god that he just couldn't help, he Had to build and strive for power whereas Tom's Hades reveled in it and wanted it. Instinct versus drive I guess. one of my buds put it super well as: "Patrick!Hades sees everything as a threat to his power Tom!Hades is so certain of his power that he can afford to be somewhat nonchalant but the fact that Orpheus alone is his main genuine threat is fucking brilliant"

and ok for now, that's what I've got! if anyone wants any clarification or wants to ask details about specific moments I didn't put in here feel free to shoot me an ask!

#hadestown #em speaks #theater #tom hewitt

[theyarebothgunshot]

jib 7 breakdown and analysis 

a little while ago i said that i am open to requests for making analysis posts when it comes to cockles panels and just cockles in general, and i got quite a few responses. the first person who asked me was my lovely tea anon, and the panel in question is jib 2016 aka jib 7. 

first of all i want to give you my take on the overall vibe, and then second of all i will get into the details and link to certain timestamps in the video. 

standard disclaimer: i am not gonna be linking to every single thing i talk about, but i will try my best to link to the moments that stand out to me the most. my recommendation would be to watch the panel in its entirety alongside my comments. i have read long posts about this panel before, so not everything in this post is gonna be original or said for the first time ever, simply because there is a good chance that information has stuck in my mind and has subconsciously formed my view of this panel. this is also in no way, shape or form gonna be coherent, unfortunately. i’m just gonna hope that the cockles hivemind will be able to make sense of this regardless. love and light. and lastly, this is all in good fun, so don’t come at me if you think this is too out there please and thank you.

the overall vibe that this panel gives me is that jensen and misha are a unity at this point. they are in sync with each other, and this whole panel is very relaxed and in good spirits. there is also the fact that their outfits match very well. and with jensen ross ackles involved, that cannot be a coincidence, so i love that a lot. 

another thing that i cannot ignore is that it’s also a very sexual panel, with a lot of double meanings and innuendos and remarks that can be read as sexual if you are as pervy as me. 

now let’s get into the specifics. 

although i am sure this is not going to be news for any of you, i feel like a little background knowledge is in order. before this panel, misha had had a panel that day with j*red. the mishalecki panel was really fucking funny and filled with sexual innuendos. 

between these two panels, it appears that there was a break in which they all had nothing to do (i am basing this off other people’s experiences and reports that i have read in the past, as i unfortunately wasn’t there myself).

considering how this panel goes, i think there is a good chance that jensen and misha just had sex beforehand. and based on both of their demeanors, one could draw certain conclusions about who did what (i honestly don’t like talking about who tops and who bottoms because who gives a shit and things are rarely that black and white, but all i’m gonna say is that even though jensen has joked about his asshole before, jensen and misha clearly said switch rights).

from the very first second. the VERY FIRST SECOND. jensen is sauntering on stage like he is thee man. then the crowd is cheering ‘one more time’, and jensen looks at misha, starts cheering too, and makes a movement that is bordering on obscene before waving it away. conclusion: ‘one more time’ could also mean ‘one more round of hot steaming sex’ and he still had sex on the brains, so that was what he was thinking about. 

ahhh, the intricate ritual [1m34s] of greeting each other on stage as if you haven’t spoken to each other all day, even though you probably just had sex….. jensen ackles, i wanna study you. i wonder what the deal is with that. does he just like to pay misha extra attention on stage? does he revel in the fact that he knows that fans like this sort of interaction? can he just not help himself? questions that keep me up at night. 

also, there is just SOMETHING about the way jensen says ‘i’m doing well how are you?’ it’s almost flustered? borderline shy? and then he goes on to say that he did an impression of misha earlier, in a manner that’s just so flirty. idk guys. it’s flirty. kindergarten flirty, but flirty nonetheless.

misha, of course, immediately turns his entire body towards him. almost as if they both already forgot there is an audience in front of them. then he just gets closer and closer to jensen, for no reason whatsoever except for the pure magnetic pull they have on each other. pray4misha.

i think it is a testament to how in sync they are that misha immediately realises that jensen mentioned bicycle touring during his ‘impression of misha’, and i love the moment where jensen puts on an accent (something that misha normally does) and goes ‘is like sport’ and misha laughs and goes ‘is very similar to sport’ and they both lose it. idk, i feel like that might be a sort of inside joke to them as well. 

this might be slightly reaching, but hear me out: right away, jensen goes: ‘oh by the way, sore?’ why would he say ‘by the way’? what is he thinking about when he says that? is it about ‘is very similar to sport’? because i could totally see them having sex and refering to it as ‘well that’s kind of like a sport’, as an inside joke. it works. i’m just saying!!! 

look. i know this back and forth has been discussed to death. we all know that the implication is that jensen fucked misha and misha is kind of stunned that jensen actually goes there. so stunned that he repeats it: ‘sore? am i sore?’ almost as if to stall a bit in his response. yikes. 

i think that it’s fair to say that this is something jensen enjoys doing: riling misha up on stage. because a lot of the time, misha has the upper hand on stage (probably also in the bedroom but that’s another conversation), but sometimes. sometimes jensen just can’t help but throw a lil oil onto the fire. (see also: underbear panel, throwing himself on stage to get straddled, etc). 

misha goes on to say that ‘after the panel with j*red’ he is quite sore. you can take that at face value, and think ‘oh so he is joking around that the panel with j*red made him sore haha’ or you can see a little bit of the truth shine through: literally after that panel, something happened that made him sore. it’s always easier to lie when you are bending the truth.

i actually can’t believe i never connected the dots before, but when misha deflects and says ‘oh you’re talking about the bike riding’ jensen is quick to say: ‘oh no i was talking about what just happened’ but instead of pointing at the stage (which is where the previous panel took place) he is gesturing to backstage. i mean…. way to feed into my ‘they just had sex backstage’ theory, jackles. thanks for that. 

i cannot get over the way jensen is looking at misha throughout this whole ordeal, but especially when he goes ‘you heard it here first, folks’ and misha walks up to him. THAT FACE. fuck him. he’s so gone. 

sidenote: i have never wished to be able to read lips as much as i have since i have stumbled upon these two morons, because i WISH i could see what misha is mouthing to jensen. i know there is some spec that he might have said ‘i am a little bit’ (aka he is a little bit sore) and i could see that, but i just want to know for sure. and even though i have seen people state that jensen would have already known about the panel with j*red, i think it’s possible misha hadn’t filled jensen in yet, seeing as they probably were doing something other than talking. 

let me take this moment to tell y’all about one of my jenmish theories, and that is: i think that jensen sometimes is overprotective of misha and that can come across as jealousy when it’s actually just worry. and i think this panel is a good example of that.

misha says [4m25s] that in italy they call come influence and jensen just. straight up looks at misha like ‘what the fuck did you do, what mess did you get yourself into this time?’ this is another reason why i believe he actually didn’t know about what happened during that panel yet: the reaction looks very authentic. you see his eyes shift from one side to the other and back again, as he is trying to process it. and honestly when you look at misha, his face goes through this journey of ‘this is funny’ to ‘shit is this maybe going a bit too far?’ and ending on ‘okay wrap it up wrap it up’. this is further solidified by the fact that jensen starts to mime digging a grave (aka ‘digging your own grave’).

misha tries to ‘change the subject’ by saying cas is the bottom in the implied relationship with sam and jensen immediately brings it back to sports. see what i meant when i said that they are tying sex and sports together? here jackles goes again, doing exactly that. for no reason whatsoever. (except to once again proof my point). 

WHY [5m50s] do they both burst out laughing at ‘tight end’ why why why i don’t wanna know but why why also quick reminder of ‘are you sore at all’ help i am just. EVERY DAY they are making me perceive things and connect dots and i do not like it. anyways i’m not saying that this is all very graphic stuff about their sex lives but i’m also not not saying it, you feel? jensen’s face says it all tbh. on a more wholesome note: i love the fact that they basically wanted to say ‘we should take questions’ at the same time. again: in sync. 

when the first person to ask a question said ‘this is a serious question’ misha goes to explain to jensen that that was a joke during his panel with j*red, another reason to believe that he hadn’t told jensen about the panel yet. jensen’s face there…. heart eyes motherfucker. 

i really don’t see enough people talk about the ‘safe word’ [6m38s] bit. jensen is the one to bring it up ‘so we should probably establish a safe word at this point. mine is keep going.’ misha laughs, and then realises what jensen has said, and (here comes my dom/sub truthing) teases jensen by saying ‘what is your safe word?’ to which jensen replies ‘keep going’ but LOOK at jensen’s face after he says that. he shakes his head with a little smirk and looks at misha with such a knowing look in his eyes that says ‘you fucker you know damn well what my safe word is’ and he actually does a double take and immediately rolls his eyes at himself after that. it’s all very quick but it’s far from subtle and i am here for it. 

i fucking love this next part because when the person says ‘a real story about the real jensen and the real misha’ they both are just like ‘yes okay’ but as soon as they say ‘that you have never told anyone before’ jensen just looks down and moves his head as if to say ‘what the hell am i supposed to come up with then’ lmao it’s really funny, and they end it with: ‘to know you a little bit better’ and guys (gn) i beg of you to look at the way they look at each other here. [7m24s] jensen is just like ‘help wtf should we say to this’ and misha just smiles down at him fondly like ‘sigh our fans really want us to talk about our relationship and as much as we would love to share stuff we just can’t’.

when misha says ‘we have to dust off some of those stories that we usually try not to tell other people’, something comes to mind: the ‘3 least ordered items on the menu’ story, that jensen shared a year after this at honcon. i honestly think that maybe they started to talk about what else they could share with the public, after this panel, because they get similar questions like this one all the time. either that or jensen just thought about what he felt comfortable sharing, without talking to misha about it, and decided to tell that story. 

i also absolutely love when they say ‘this is a serious question’ at the same time. AGAIN: IN SYNC!!!

‘i actually have a voice for you’ jensen can you please tell me why this sounds flirty and charming while you are actually about to make fun of your husband? i hate you (no i don’t) the fact that misha immediately knows what will happen, says a lot.

then jensen says: ‘dust off an old story for uhh..’ and burst out laughing. i swear to god i’d give my left pinkie to know what came to mind and what he whispered into misha’s ear. and i’m left handed. but i think we can all agree that whatever jensen said, it was something sexual, seeing as misha goes ‘nope’. those fuckers (affectionate).

something that i have mentioned in the past is that jensen always sort of ‘jokey’ goes ‘oh shit’ whenever misha says he’ll share something personal/private about them. i mean. jensen, it would be less sus if you didn’t respond. just giving you some pointers here, bro. because misha almost never shares something strange, it’s actually your reaction that makes me go ‘hmmmm.’ this time he even gets kind of elaborate breathing?? [10m27s]

oh to be a fly in clif’s car… honestly, the things clif must have heard and witnessed lmao. he clearly knows what is up between them (has made enough remarks about thinking that misha would be the bottom and that misha on his knees was nothing new for me to see that he absolutely knows.) 

this isn’t really important when it comes to cockles but they talk a bit about j*red’s internet dispute with at&t and jensen goes ‘oh they know’ gesturing to the audience. so clearly, jensen is well aware of the fact that fandom gets involved whenever something happens online with any one of them. just. thought that is an interesting fact. just in general. also love how i can tell that they both think j*reds crusades are bullshit (as they should). 

there is something really cute [14m13s] about the way misha goes ‘do you want your apple juice?’ and jensen goes ‘yeah!’ it sounds so domestic and mundane and i just. god i love them so much. 

i know we talk about jensen’s heart eyes a lot. but y’all. look [14m52s] at misha right here. he’s SO in love.

the thing that strikes me about jensen putting on ‘that voice’ for misha is that misha is honestly not bothered by it at all, but i think if the shoe was on the other foot, jensen would definitely be bothered. i don’t know what conclusion to draw from that but i just thought that is interesting. i always laugh at that bit, though, they seem to have so much fun.

i REALLY wanna know how jensen got from ‘will you dance for us?’ to ‘no but i’ll tell you what, misha and i will write a song for you real quickly.’ it’s such a fast transition that i am tempted to think that this was something he had been thinking about for a while now. he just wanted his mish to sing a song. and that warms my heart.

if you think i will ever get over how soft jensen is here… ‘you’re smart, you think on your feet, you make brilliant videos, put them on facebook, write amazing texts (*coughs* poems) and tweets and stuff, go ahead. spit out some lyrics, big guy.’ there is not one single thing about this that i do not adore. an ode to misha!!!! so casually!!! fuck. it might be true that if you want jensen to do something, you get misha to ask him, but it’s certainly also true the other way around.

the way jensen just. stares [19m02s] at misha, trying to get inspired by him, trying to feel out what cords to play. yeah. the way misha stands up but instinctively turns to jensen when he starts to sing. yeah. and then during the remainder of the song, he keeps on turning to jensen even though he faces the audience. and jensen loved it all. it’s so sweet. idk why but it just is. jensen just wanted his babe to thrive and get the love he deserves. 

aaaand in comes the dom shake [20m37s]. we love to see it. jensen just keeps on looking at mish. almost gets lost in it. touches his inner thigh (one of his habits, which he does a lot around misha or when talking about misha). 

i think it’s very interesting that jensen’s reaction [22m11s] to the question if he thinks dean will ever find a way to have a romantic relationship and to find himself in between normal and supernatural, is to immediately looks at misha. like? what was the reason? did he expect misha to answer a question that wasn’t about cas but about dean? did he think he should maybe answer it in a destiel-like manner? was he worried that the fan was hoping for a destiel-like answer and was he looking at misha to gauge what he thought was a smart way to respond? so many questions. 

i think it’s pretty interesting that jensen was very aware of the fact that people did not wanna see dean end up with a huntress lmao. he absolutely was aware of so many fandom things.

when jensen said that misha just crossed the line [23m40s], it’s another example of how jensen is ultra aware of what misha says and how it could get him into trouble and by the sounds of it, misha knows that as well but he just can’t always stop himself in time. from what we can see, he often realises just after he has already said something (when it is already too late).

listen. the fact that misha says ‘when harry met sally’ BEFORE the question was even finished, and jensen LAUGHS, like??? that panel was 5 years ago at that point. it clearly made a lot of impact on the both of them (jeez i wonder why, could it be because misha faked an orgasm and jensen got excited? hmm. who knows.) 

i think the dance portion is so fucking hilarious i’m wheeeezing. literally. they are just moving randomly AND YET THEY STILL SORT OF ARE IN SYNC? amazing.

you wanna know what i find really cute? the fact that jensen has such a soft spot for the resume off. part of me thinks it’s because they had a resume off in both 2012 and 2013. 

and jib 2012 took place during the famously rumored break up period. i wouldn’t be surprised if jib 2013 was that much more special to him because they finally got to make it right again. don’t look at me i’m getting emotional (on that note…… i might wanna write something about the break up period at some point. but idk. i mean. it’s a lot to delve into especially since i wasn’t in the fandom back then but. it compels me. we’ll see i guess.)

okay i know i keep saying this but they are SO in sync, as soon as they talk about photo ops and jensen goes ‘and to dab a little salt in the wound’ misha knows what he is gonna say, and they stand up together to demonstrate what happened. AND they both go ‘that’s not the punchline’ they are husbands. 

misha and jensen have both “twirled away laughing” in the EXACT same manner during this panel: misha when jensen starts to read the script, and jensen right here when misha says ‘what’s it like to be in a successful long running show’. they are mirrors. listen. listen. i know my mind is in the gutter a LOT of the time but like. uhm. there is this moment where they recall a woman saying in the photo op to ‘eat it’ (the string candy she gave to them) and misha says ‘and so we did’ and jensen looks at misha and it is SUCH an incriminating look i mean i don’t wanna be that person but 5 bucks he was thinking about eating misha out i am JUST SAYING. LITERALLY LOOK AT HIS FACE. [28m55s]

misha teases [7m02s] jensen by saying ‘what did you do? did you actually do it on purpose orrrr’ and i think it was to make jensen elaborate on it. which i think is a fucking good way to pull that off when it comes to jensen. cause jensen doesn’t like to brag, which misha knows, so by making that joke he is essentially trying to get jackles to tell the audience more about what he did, without him feeling like he is boasting about himself. and misha looks so pleased when jensen starts talking.

fuck i literally had to pause just now because. jensen says: ‘one of the characteristics of dean that i love to play is that he can bottle those fears up, stash them away, and just go. and uhm… sometimes i wish i could do that.’

this is actually making me a bit emotional because. he took his time saying this. it was a very deliberate move. he wasn’t sorry he said anything or regretted it. he wanted to get that out there. and i just. it makes so much sense if what we all think is actually true. he wishes he could just ignore all his fears and go for it. and it’s not hard to imagine what ‘it’ could be: coming out. whether that be just about his relationship with misha or being attracted to more than women in general, just in any way shape or form. it’s poignant. and misha turns away, but you can see him sigh a little bit. 

the whole bit about “apple juice” is just very cute and i enjoy it a lot. one thing i will say though is that i can kind of spot two tells of jensen: the way his face scrunches up when he is telling a lie that he thinks is clever, and the way he always leaves his chair to pour a drink when a question becomes difficult/hard/too funny to face head on. he has done both of those things time and time again, during panels with misha. just an observation. 

there is this little moment [10m13s] where misha tells the story about how he used to make apple cider with worms and dirt in it and in the end he goes ‘anyways. new england apple cider everyone. highly recommend.’ and jensen echoes that, ‘highly recommend. yeah.’ and of course that could just be a way to joke around and play along with misha but i’d like to think that he has visited misha and they had some apple cider together. just because i like the thought and i can, so. 

how CUTE is it that jensen remembers ‘i’ll just wait here then’, a line cas spoke 7 years prior to that panel, in a scene jensen wasn’t even in. i love it.

jensen slowly shaking his head when misha says ‘fuck’ and apologizing for it has SUCH major ‘excuse my husband’ energy. i love it.

‘i’ve got an idea’ [14m13s] ‘what? let’s do it’ misha imMEDIATELY regretted that lmaooo they are always so aware of double meanings and yet they cannot seem to help themselves. we love to see it. 

can you BELIEVE jensen ‘dance monkey dance’ ackles OFFERED to shamelessly promote a movie they have nothing to do with??? jensen, who hates the fact that they have to play some sort of show on stage, actually wanted to do that with misha??? i’m just- something something if you want jensen to do anything ask misha, but apparently also: if you want jensen to do something get misha involved and he’ll love it. 

and then he has the audacity to say ‘over to the wheel of love.’ i mean. i can’t.

(i don’t necessarily understand what is happening btw but that’s okay, because it leads to champagne. which is fun.)

okay so again apologies for my mind being in the gutter but jensen’s face [16m33s] when he says he is going to explain what [the champagne] tastes like……. hm. help. 

 honestly i just love the whole champagne bit because i love it whenever they get so playful on stage, and them “presenting” the bottle and going all ‘we know what we’re talking about’ ‘we’re kind of connaisseurs’ and the whole english accent bit. say it with me…. in sync. 

jensen popping a champagne bottle is something that can be so personal…. (i’m touch starved and going crazy, leave me alone)

i absolutely love the fact that jensen notices that misha is miming taking off his pants and misha immediately runs to him to explain and jensen just goes full on protective husband mode (YET AGAIN) ‘i turn my back for 2 minutes’ lmao it’s just such old married couple behavior. an old married couple that is horny and deranged, but still. 

i’ve seen the gifset of this moment [24m52s] many a times but i still think it’s so intimate. the way misha looks at jensen and walks backwards with him, for no fucking reason at all. sigh. misha’s hand clenches a little, and honestly i think he would have wanted to reach out to jensen in that moment. pat his arm or his back. and something happens a little while later that only proves my point even more…

that caress [60m5s] is probably one of the most intimate gestures i’ve seen between them. it’s so familiar. so natural. it says a lot.

and that’s the end of the panel. all in all i have to say that i enjoyed rewatching this panel with the analysis goggles on, because it’s really a very different experience and i picked up on a lot more than i did when i watched it just for fun. i think this is one of my favorite panels of theirs (at least until my next analysis lmao) because of the fact that they are so in sync with each other, which goes to show that their relationship was in such a good place (mind you i am only using past tense because i am describing a past panel, not because i think they’re not in a good place right now). this was a lot of fun folks, if you actually read all of this, god bles, you’re the best. see you next time!

#cockles #jib 7 #this is very very long but in my defense this panel is an hour long #comments and thoughts are always appreciated!!