#solarfreckled

A silent rideshare and copious amounts of black tea recentered his thoughts. A few long stretches eased most of the soreness in his calves. By the time Gaara clocked in for his night shift he had chalked up the entire strange encounter to a temporary lapse in judgment, the need for comfort and company sabotaging his efforts towards something resembling independence, and put it out of his mind for good.

Until he couldn't.

Until in the middle of restocking shelf A-19 he glimpsed a flash of gold-auburn hair and blinked twice before recognizing the pile of doormats for what it was.

Until, on his walk home, whiff of cologne shook him with the reminder of soft sheets and softer skin against his.

Gaara was not stupid. He knew he merely yearned for that which he had lost, scrabbling for purchase on any pale imitation offered to him; in this way he felt like a drowning man surrounded by faulty life rafts. For when he woke gasping in the dead of night, sweaty, exhausted, sickly-sweet cramps coiling the pit of his stomach like hot irons, it was not Lux's name on his lips. He had admonished himself with each keystroke he thumbed into his phone, and did not expect a reply.

Fate had other ideas in store.

Gaara recognized, staring at his notifications, that alcohol impaired the senses, reduced a sane man into toddlerhood or worse. On a more instinctual level, he knew these texts coming from the same mopey, conflicted drunk who had stumbled into him three nights before required a level of social subterfuge that left him whiplashed in the dust.

And like the lonely, husklike gremlin he was, he crawled back for more, the way he knew he always would.

[to: Lux] I got home safely

Dark brows furrow for a moment, bearded chin tucking tighter against his arm as he considers the question. It’s an intimate one—perhaps more than the well-intentioned masseuse realizes. In the interest of small talk, Solomon could provide a trivial answer, a meaningless wisp of air to buffet the wings of easy conversation. But it captures his thoughts—and it holds them. And maybe it’s just the massage going to his head, but he feels compelled to open up to the pretty stranger.

“Dangerous,” he admits, sneaking a glance in Lux’s direction. He lets the thought hang in silence as skillful hands knead the tattooed flesh of his back. “There’s nothing like it in all of existence. What else except magic can alter the balance of power so dramatically? Magic can turn a pauper into a prince, reduce kingdoms to rubble. History’s even shown us that it can slay gods.” A pause, then the shadow of a smile. “Not that I’m quite that ambitious.”

His gaze drifts, unfocused, half-lidded. Dim light and the scent of fine oils lull his senses, relaxing him, lowering his defenses. He always has been dangerously pliable under a soft touch, and Lux is particularly talented in that regard.

It was supposed to be a very simple, very quick spell that Eve was casting, thinking she was far enough from everyone's cot to practice. She had done far harder spells before with absolutely no backlash, but for some reason, this particular spell had managed to activate a wild magic surge, which had her holding her breath. Eve never knew what she was going to get with one of those, and this time was no different.

The spell shot out from her hands with reckless abandon, and before she knew it, she saw Lux begin to polymorph before her eyes. It was a different experience when you were doing it to yourself, but to suddenly have your body change against your will? If Eve wasn't careful, she'd make the poor half elf think she was trying to be the only beautiful, red haired, freckle kissed elf around here.

❝ Excuse me Miss, could I talk to you for a second? ❞ [For: Lux waiting on her after class, modern verse]

attention is carefully torn,  gentle hands still slotting books into satchell:   an endless game of tetris she's played so many times.    ❝ it's doctor. ❞   correction comes softly  -   painted with distraction,  a muscle memory of sorts.  there's no real offence to words and no shift in her tone,  offering little smile when she does look up at him again.    ( she knows all her students:  all their faces,  their names,  their mannerisms.  she studies them as they study their chosen PhD topics  -  and @solarfreckled isn't ringing bell loudly enough to be anyone scientist has regularly taken in. )

plotted starter for @solarfreckled

All things considered, the Blooming Orchid was a pretty sweet gig. Atreion had all they needed: a roof over their head, food on the table, and even a few friends who wouldn't scorn him for his lifestyle. They were all living it, after all. And in return, they just played a few ditties, sang some naughty rhymes and helped Orm run off the ruffians when they got rowdy. They were lucky, and they knew it.

On some nights though, their job was a pain in the ass.

"Sir, save your breath: I've been called much worse by far better people." Rolling their eyes, they leaned back just a little to avoid the patron's flailing arms - either demonstrative or a piss-poor attempt at a punch, Atreion wasn't sure. "We are not serving you. Not when you're this drunk. Probably not ever, after how you spoke to Hyacinth."

The patron - a bald human man with not nearly the bone structure to pull that off - roared something unintelligible, the stench of stale beer and things Atreion would rather not name pouring from him in every direction. Once, twice, he tried to dodge his way past the bard back into the reception room where blooms and clients alike watched with wide eyes. Each time, Atreion stepped promptly in his way, prompting another torrent of abuse. On the third cutoff, the man tried to swing again - recognisably this time - only for the bard to vanish in a puff of mist. For a second, there was confused silence, and then a pop. The patron made a sound like a donkey being kicked.

𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚌. 𝚜𝚖𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚍𝚎𝚝𝚊𝚒𝚕 𝚊𝚜𝚔 𝚖𝚎𝚖𝚎

Gaara does not tend to carry many belongings with him when out and about, but there are a few things he may often, though not always, be found with:

A single joint or cigarette - he is not a smoker, but in social or stressful situations this can ease some tension.

Chapstick or hand cream - this boy gets dry come winter.

Brackets are for things that are 50/50 or depend on the verse.

Consistency - he is pretty predictable and honest about stuff, but his emotional damage might come out of the left field

General masculine vibes - looks wise he's teetering on the edge of androgyny, but his vibes are kinda masculine?

Mentally grounded - *wiggly hand gesture* he's very good at pretending he is?

Not easily offended - again, will pretend everything is fine even when he's upset and eventually learn to take Gaara for who he is and what he gets

Hard worker - if he wants to, and if it something he cares about, but not by default. He'd rather vibe.

Excellent fighter - in the verses where he has reason to fight (e.g. D&D, or if he had a Naruto verse) he would be, regular human Lux is not much of a fighter

... and the Confident part might also be debatable, but shhh no one needs to know that, he comes off as very confident.

How do I respond to a submission? Is this good? Correct? Anyway: -I am not sure Gaara could be with someone without emotional damage, to be honest. It's relatable. -It's all good, vibes>appearance. -Excellent fighter is more for default verse rather than modern, so Lux gets a pass here. Maybe Gaara and Lux wouldn't work for a genuine, long-term, monogamous relationship, but they could get something going on, for sure. They could be a comfort to each other, at times.

multi muse ask meme

18. which two muses would immediately fight each other if they met? 

There are so many. Tempest and Empyrean haaaate each other. Murphy and Mica would probably fight. Mayumi, Chira, and Gakuganji versus Hanami and Fumiyuki. Sioned against everyone.. I have a spreadsheet in the works for this.

19. which muse would you not let into your house, under any circumstance?