#and about a dozen other songs el oh el | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

rubysunnday · 3 years

Note

Hi!! If this doesn't catch your eye, then feel free to delete this.

Could I please request a Bridgerton imagine where Eloise meets Reader and realises that R would be perfect for one of her brothers (you can decide which one)? Eloise then tries to matchmake them or even just introduce them to each other??

so, this is love

“No.”

“Oh, come on, Y/N/N.”

“Nope.”

“Please?”

“No.”

“Pretty please?”

“Eloise, you can give me the sad eyes all you want, my answer is not going to change.”

“But if you just -”

“Eloise, I will burn you with this cigarette in a minute - stop it.”

Eloise slumped back against the tree and gave Y/N a glower that would rival Anthony. Y/N - who’d been friends with the Bridgerton’s for almost four years - ignored the glowering glare her friend was giving her and puffed on her cigarette.

“Are you coming to the ball tomorrow?” Eloise asked, dropping her glower. She reached over and snatched the cigarette out of Y/N’s hand.

“Yes, of course,” Y/N replied, frowning. “You know I am - no.”

“One dance.”

“No.”

“Just one.”

“No.”

Eloise practically growled. “Oh, come on, Y/N! You love Colin!”

“Yes, as a friend, El,” Y/N replied, scoffing. “Don’t you dare try and set me up with your brother.”

Eloise sighed but held her hands up in surrender. “Alright, I won’t. But you’ll still come tomorrow?”

“I don’t really have much choice,” Y/N muttered. “I promised your mother and Anthony.”

Eloise smirked. “She’s terrifying, isn’t she?”

“Put together with Anthony, I felt as if I was going to be executed if I didn’t say yes!” Y/N exclaimed, throwing her hands up. “He glowered at me, El. Glowered.”

“Ah, yes, Anthony Bridgerton’s infamous glower,” Eloise said, nodding. She handed the cigarette back to Y/N. “Now you have to come.”

Y/N let out a sarcastic laugh as she took the cigarette. “Very funny, El.”

“What’s funny?”

Y/N jumped and almost fell off the swing she was sitting on. “Jesus Christ, Benedict!” She exclaimed, putting a hand on her chest.

“Sorry,” Benedict said, struggling not to smile. He sat down on the swing next to her and held his hand out for the cigarette.

“Oh, we’re all just sharing now, are we?” Y/N muttered, handing the cigarette to him.

“We were just talking about how Mother and Anthony managed to make Y/N agree to attend the ball tomorrow night,” Eloise said, picking at the grass around her.

“He glowered, she smiled,” Y/N muttered, shuddering either from the sudden gust of wind or the memory of being cornered in Anthony’s office.

Benedict laughed and choked on the smoke he accidentally inhaled. “Once they corner you, there's no escape, believe me, I know!”

Y/N groaned, slouching as much as she could in the swing. “I don’t want to go, though - no offence.”

“None taken,” Eloise called, shaking her head. “I don’t want to go either.”

Y/N groaned again and leant back on the swing, tilting her head back until her hair was touching the grass. She pushed herself back and forth with her feet as she contemplated her impending doom, half listening to the conversation Benedict and Eloise were having.

She’d never been one for balls - she was a introvert like Eloise - and preferred hiding in her house (or Bridgerton house which was quickly becoming a second home to her) reading a book.

When she’d first entered society she’d been a wallflower. Y/N and Eloise had met at a ball and had bonded over the fact neither one wanted to be there. A few balls later and Y/N found herself dancing with Colin Bridgerton.

It hadn’t taken much before she fell down a rabbit hole titled Big Crush on Colin Bridgerton.

Not that she would ever admit it to anyone. Unfortunately, Eloise had found out and - after much badgering and nagging - Y/N had reluctantly admitted that she was right and ever since then, Eloise had been determined to set her up with her brother.

Y/N had been avoiding Colin ever since Eloise had found out, not that she thought he’d noticed.

Y/N tilted back a bit further and yelped as she lost her balance and fell onto the grass. “Oh, right, that’s it, I’m not going,” she moaned, staring up at the tree and glowering at the inconvenience that had just occurred to her.

Benedict snorted as he stood up and held out a hand to her. “Oh, stop complaining, Y/N/N, you’ll be fine. I’ll keep an eye on you.”

Y/N begrudgingly took Benedict’s hand and allowed him to pull her to her feet and pull a twig out her hair. “Yes, and then the entire ton can glare at me because I’m friends with the most eligible bachelors in London.”

Benedict smacked her on the back of the head and Y/N slapped his arm in retaliation.

“Children,” Eloise called - sounding scarily like Violet. “Y/N, you are coming whether you like it or not. In fact, I’m going to make Benedict come and get you at noon tomorrow so you can get ready here.”

“And so I don’t run away?” Y/N added, raising an eyebrow at Eloise.

“That too.”

Y/N muttered something that sounded suspiciously like she was cursing the entire Bridgerton name, but she nodded. “Fine. Benedict can come and get me.”

“I’m so glad I’m appreciated by you,” Benedict said sarcastically, putting an arm around her shoulders. “It’s such a refreshing change.”

She wasn’t hiding.

There just happened to be a significantly large potted plant in front of the chair she was sitting in.

Y/N had to admit that she did look beautiful. The midnight blue dress sparkled in the dozens of candles dotted around the room and her hair had been pinned up with jewelled violet hair pins that Violet had leant her for the night.

That didn’t, however, change the fact that she didn’t want to be there and was trying her hardest to avoid Colin.

Eloise, however, had had the opposite idea and had been glued to Colin’s side the entire night, trying to find Y/N and make her dance with her brother.

“Is my Mother’s orange tree plant providing subtle enough cover, Y/N/N, or would you like a cheese plant as well?”

Y/N stuck her tongue out at Anthony. “I know you’re joking but I wouldn’t mind if it happened to appear next to the orange tree.”

Anthony chuckled and sat down next to her, offering her one of the glasses of lemonade he’d been holding. “You can’t hide behind a plant all evening.”

“I’m doing a pretty good job of it so far,” she retorted, sipping on the drink. “It is a very nice plant.”

“Why are you hiding?” Anthony asked, leaning back in his chair.

“Your sister is trying to set me up with Colin,” Y/N muttered, glowering at the plant as if it was Eloise’s face.

“Who? El?” “Yes, Eloise,” Y/N snapped. “Once that woman gets an idea she physically cannot let it go until she’s finished with it.”

Anthony laughed. “You’re hiding from Eloise?”

“She’s terrifying when she’s on a mission, Anthony,” Y/N replied, turning in her chair to look at her friend. “You’ve seen her with the whole Whistledown fiasco.”

“I was wondering why she’s been glued to Colin’s side or night,” Anthony mused.

Y/N groaned, dramatically throwing her head back against the wall. “I’m doomed, Anthony. Doomed.”

“Let it never be said you’re not dramatic,” Anthony muttered, sipping his drink. “Want to dance?”

“If I dance she might see me. I should hide behind foliage when possible.”

“She’s not a predator, Y/N. Besides, you promised me a dance,” Anthony said, standing up and holding his hand out.

“No,” Y/N grumbled, taking his hand and letting him drag her onto the floor, “she’s an apex predator.”

Anthony rolled his eyes. “Yes, alright, she’s an apex predator. Now, I know you don’t like my family tonight but please try to avoid stepping on my toes, these shoes have just been polished.”

Y/N resisted the childish urge to stamp on Anthony’s foot, just to prove a point.

The dance was a slightly energetic one - a far cry from a waltz, thankfully - and Y/N found that she was actually enjoying herself. Anthony spun her around the room and lifted her up into the air, watching her giggle with excitement with a triumphant smile.

The song slowly came to an end and they bowed to each other. Y/N giggled again and hugged Anthony.

“I enjoyed that, thank you,” Y/N said, almost beaming. “Oh, fuck.”

Anthony, forgetting that Y/N had spent too much time around them and probably knew more swear words than he did, gaped at her. “What?”

Y/N nodded behind him with fear in her eyes. “I’ve been snared.”

“Y/N! There you are!” Eloise called, barging through the crowd and dragging Colin behind her. Colin followed his sister with an amused smile. “I’ve been looking for you.”

“And I’ve been dancing with Anthony,” Y/N replied, trying to avoid looking at Colin.

Eloise’s eyes narrowed at her for a second. “Colin has a question to ask you,” she said, pushing her brother forward.

Colin stepped forward and Y/N was forced to look at him. She titled her head up - no matter what height she seemed to be, he always seemed to be taller - and met his gaze. She struggled to ignore the butterflies in her stomach as he made eye contact with her and smiled.

“I was wondering if you would like to waltz with me?” Colin asked, gesturing to the band who were preparing for the next dance.

“Waltz?” Y/N asked, staring at him.

“You don’t need anyone’s permission, do you?” Colin asked, frowning. “I just assumed with you being an only child -”

“She has my permission to waltz, brother,” Anthony said, stepping forward and standing next to Y/N. “I am her chaperone after all.”

Y/N gave Anthony a glare of betrayal. “Yes, of course,” she said, turning back to Colin. “I’d be happy to dance with you.”

“Excellent,” Colin said, taking Y/N’s hand.

As he led her to the dance floor, Y/N glared at Anthony and Eloise, who she now realised had teamed up together. They both looked far too pleased with themselves and when they began to follow them onto the dance floor she realised she had no way out.

“Are you alright?” Colin asked, eyeing her with concern as Y/N sighed heavily. “I’ve hardly seen you all evening.”

“I’ve been outside,” Y/N lied, nodding to convince herself. “Away from... people.”

Colin chuckled, nodding with an air of understanding. “Yes, I understand.”

Colin moved his hand on to her waist and Y/N tried not to make the sharp intake of breath she took obvious. His hand rested on her waist and the small of her back, just below where the back of her dress ended and exposed her skin. His other hand grabbed hers and, despite the white, silk gloves she was wearing, she could feel the heat of his hands.

“Y/N?” Colin asked softly.

Y/N’s eyes snapped to his and she was engulfed by the pure delight, love and enjoyment in them. The crinkled slightly as he smiled at her.

“Yeah?”

“We have an audience,” Colin said, nodding to his left.

Y/N followed his gaze and tried not to groan aloud when she noticed the entire Bridgerton family - minus Eloise and Anthony who’d annoyingly joined them on the dance floor - watching them.

“Oh, for -” Y/N cut herself off and sighed. “No, it’s fine,” she said, looking back at Colin.

“Are you sure?” He asked.

The orchestra finished tuning and the first notes of the waltz began.

“Yes,” Y/N said, smiling a pure smile of joy for the first time that night. “It’s perfect.”

They began dancing around the room to the gentle melody of the waltz.

“Have you been avoiding me?” Colin asked suddenly.

Y/N blinked in surprise as he spun her. “You noticed?”

She mentally cursed herself because that was not what she meant to say.

“Of course I noticed, Y/N,” Colin said, frowning. “I go to talk to you and you’re not there. You’ve disappeared off with Hyacinth or Benedict.”

Y/N sighed, realising she wasn’t going to get away with lying. “Ok, fine. I have been avoiding you, Colin.”

Y/N cursed in her head as Colin spun her away to Anthony (she was beginning to suspect the two Bridgerton siblings had purposefully joined them in the dance to make it even harder to talk to him).

“Bad time,” she growled to Anthony.

“Eloise forced me too,” Anthony replied, unfazed by the anger that was directed at him.

“Can I ask you a question?” Y/N asked, looking up at him.

“Of course, Y/N/N.” “Am I... suitable for Colin?” She asked, finally voicing her main concern and the reason she’d been avoiding him. “I know I'm not a perfect lady - and I have hardly any dowry and that my family is all but non-existent -”

“Y/N,” Anthony said softly, cutting her off. “You are more than enough for my brother. I don’t care about anything except the fact that you love him.”

Y/N opened her mouth to protest but Anthony cut her off before she could.

“I’ve seen the way you two look at each other, Y/N,” he said gently, twirling her. “You are practically a Bridgerton already, why not make it official?”

Y/N’s eyes widened but before she could question him, she was spun back to Colin.

“So, we were talking about you avoiding me,” Colin said, a cheeky grin on his face.

Y/N let out a stuttered breath as Colin moved his hand up slightly, his fingers brushing over her bare back.

“Colin... I...”

“I know,” Colin said gently, looking her in the eye.

Y/N faltered. “You know... what?”

“Why you’ve been avoiding me,” Colin elaborated.

“Oh?” “Eloise told me.”

“Oh.”

Colin laughed. “You’re change of tone is so telling - you are rubbish at hiding your emotions.”

“Yeah, well I’m obviously not that bad,” Y/N muttered. “What did Eloise say, exactly?”

“That you like me and she’s been trying to set us up for the past few weeks,” Colin replied, twirling her around a few times. “Is that why you’ve been avoiding me?”

Y/N shrugged slightly. “You’re a Bridgerton, Colin. You could have any woman in this room - the majority of whom are far more suitable than me, an orphan with hardly any dowry and a grandmother who doesn’t care -”

“But I want you, Y/N,” Colin said, moving his hand from her back to tilt her chin up.

Y/N allowed him to lift her head up and gazed into his eyes. “You... want me?”

“I did just say that, didn’t I?” Colin quipped, his eyes twinkling.

Y/N rolled her eyes. “Haha, very funny.” She paused. “But... you do want... me?”

“Of course I do!” Colin said, surprised that she was even doubting his affections. “Y/N, I’ve wanted you from the moment you walked into me and nearly fell down the stairs.”

Y/N let out a snort that she quickly disguised with a cough. “Thank you for saving me, by the way,” she replied, smiling. “That would have been interesting.”

“Especially since you almost took Benedict out with you,” Colin added.

Y/N laughed, throwing her head back. “Oh, god, don’t remind me!”

Colin moved his hands to her waist and lifted her into the air as the music reached its climax. He slowly lowered her back down, his hands staying on her waist, and Y/N felt the sudden urge to take him there and then.

“I love you, Y/N Y/L/N,” Colin said softly, his voice almost a whisper in her ear. “I love everything about you. I love your clumsiness, your eye for art, the way you sing... I love you.”

Y/N looked up at him. “I love you too, Colin.”

Colin smiled and stepped closer to her, his hands tightening on her waist.

Someone bumped into Y/N and she fell forward into Colin - the man catching her and holding her up against him.

“Stupid heels,” Eloise cursed, wobbling and grabbing Anthony’s arm to steady herself. “Oh, hi! How was your dance?”

Y/N bit her lip and looked at Colin, struggling not to laugh. “Someday, Eloise,” she said, turning to look at her friend, “I’m going to be hanged for murdering you.”

Eloise took Y/N’s arm. “If you get caught I’ll be disappointed.”

“Who said I’d be caught?” Y/N questioned. “I just assumed your brothers would hang me themselves.”

The two women laughed as they walked off to the drinks table, chatting vividly about a subject women probably shouldn’t be talking about.

“I love her, brother,” Colin said, turning to look at Anthony.

Anthony chuckled and smiled, patting him on the back. “Yes, I noticed, Colin,”

#bridgerton #bridgerton imagine #bridgerton x reader #colin bridgerton x reader

2K notes · View notes

a-small-batch-of-dragons · 3 years

Text

Fireworks

Prompt: Okay, I might be a bit late, but in honor of America being, well, America, could I request a Virgil hurt/comfort where he gets freaked out by the fireworks? Love your writing btw - anon

I've been experimenting with shorter form prose and I kinda like it???

Read on Ao3

Warnings: none

Pairings: platonic dlampr

Word Count: 1000

Virgil doesn’t hate the Fourth of July except yes he absolutely fucking does.

No, he’s not gonna do the whole rant, that takes too long, most people who are on Tumblr already know it by heart, we’ve been there, done that, no need to beat a dead horse.

No there isn’t, Remus, put that down.

The point is Virgil likes the Fourth of July not one little bit mostly because it’s gaudy. Come on, the oversaturated red-white-and-blue? Eugh. Princey can pull off red the way he does because he’s Roman and Patton can pull off country-club-dad vibes without trying. Logan doesn’t like the Fourth either so he’s in no danger from that navy getting corrupted by gross displays of patriotic affection. The most they ever get from Logan is his ‘I Voted’ button which is perfect and all they need. Janus is yellow and more on the hating-the-Fourth trend than Virgil is. Solidarity.

Remus just likes the excuse to throw hot dogs and mustard at people. Sure.

Patton likes the Fourth because it’s a good way to spend time as a family, allegedly. It’s not like they have another choice, not with the way everyone wants to get together to celebrate. The man isn’t allowed near the grill. That’s the rule. Which is fine, just distract him enough for the cooking to be over and done with and everything’s fine.

Roman…also doesn’t really like the Fourth, but he does like the excuse to sing. Really loudly. Eh, Princey can actually sing, so it’s fine. And he will come and hide with Virgil in some out-of-the-way corner so they can complain about other people.

Logan gets into political fights.

Yes, you heard that right.

It’s not pretty.

Well, when everyone’s a little tipsier than normal and Virgil can stand to be around people he normally hates just to watch Logan fucking annihilate them, it’s pretty fucking satisfying.

Just dodge the hot dogs and keep Janus from running his mouth too much, that’s the deal.

No, the part he really hates is when it gets dark.

Fireworks are awful. He’ll say it. Sure, from a chemistry and marketing standpoint, they’re great. Fantastic. Continue to exploit the planet for temporary momentary and aesthetic appeal, sure.

He loathes the damn things. They’re so fucking loud.

And you never know exactly when they’re going to go off.

And the whole fucking day is just a lead-up to those fucking things, so if you leave before they happen or while they’re happening, everyone will talk about it. Oh, where’d you go? You missed the best part! Come back, the fireworks are starting, we can’t leave until they’re done. Just stay ‘till the end of the show, it’ll be fine.

No, no he will not.

So when he’s half-heartedly swatted at half a dozen mosquitos and sat down in a chair that had soda spilled onto it and threatens to buckle under his weight—thanks for those additional body issues, you limp cardboard excuse for furniture—he grits his teeth and tries to pull out his headphones as stealthily as he can. He’s learned from having his phones slapped out of his hands, or worse, confiscated, by too many haughty relatives that if he wants to try and protect himself when they start to go off, he’s got to do it carefully.

Not too carefully that his phone dies and his headphones won’t connect, though!

“Shit,” he mutters under his breath, “shit, shit, shit—“

He glances around. No way he’s getting out of here. No way. He’s trapped. He’s stuck. No way out. He’s going to have to stay here. They’re about to go off at any second and he’s stuck, nowhere to go, nothing to do, nothing to distract him—

Of course, he’s overlooked one thing. And that is that nothing happens to him without the others noticing.

So when Roman and Remus start loudly bickering about how hot it is and Roman flounces his way back inside with Remus chasing after him, he misses the look they exchange and the way Roman veers slightly to the left to crash into one of the rudest aunts they have.

He misses the way Logan discreetly pockets the last snack pack for Virgil as he stands, muttering excuses about keeping the twins in line.

He misses the way Janus carefully scoops him up, doing it in a clever way to make it look like Virgil is the one doing the leading as they scoot toward the door.

He misses the way Patton nods as Janus raises an eyebrow, distracting would-be worriers—real and fake—with thank-you’s and well-wishes and promises they won’t remember by morning.

He does remember the soft thud of the car door and the instant muffling of all the noises.

He does remember the way Roman’s hand cards through his hair and guides it to his shoulder, humming a song under his breath as Remus takes his hand and starts playing with it.

He does remember Patton turning the radio on low as Logan begins to navigate them home, Janus behind the wheel as he glances at Virgil in the back seat.

Roman softly asks if he thinks he can make it up the stairs home, helping him to the couch and placing the noise-canceling headphones over his ears. Remus plugs them into the headphone jack and hands the phone to Virgil before tugging Roman to help get the blankets set up.

Logan finds the documentary and they sit, opening his arms to welcome Virgil down with them. Janus and Patton bring the snacks in from the kitchen as Janus curls Virgil’s hand around the snack pack.

As the documentary plays, Virgil leans his head onto Patton’s shoulder and smiles.

He hates the Fourth, he loves his family.

General Taglist: @frxgprince @potereregina @reddstardust @gattonero17 @iamhereforthegayshit @thefingergunsgirl @awkwardandanxiousfander @creative-lampd-liberties @djpurple3 @winterswrandomness @sanders-sides-uncorrect-quotes @iminyourfandom @bullet-tothefeels @full-of-roman-angst-trash @ask-elsalvador @ramdomthingsfrommymind @demoniccheese83 @pattonsandershugs @el-does-photography @princeanxious @firefinch-ember @fandomssaremysoul @im-an-anxious-wreck @crazy-multifandomfangirl @punk-academian-witch @enby-ralsei @unicornssunflowersandstuff @wildhorsewolf @thetruthaboutthesun @stubbornness-and-spite @princedarkandstormv @your-local-fookin-deadmeme @angels-and-dreams @averykedavra @a-ghostlight-for-roman @treasurechestininterweb @cricketanne @aularei @queerly-fluid-fan @compactdiscdraws @cecil-but-gayer @i-am-overly-complicated @annytheseal @alias290 @tranquil-space-ninja @arxticandy @mychemically-imbalanced-romance @whyiask @crows-ace @emilythezeldafan @frida0043 @ieatspinalcords @snowyfires @cyanide-violence @oonagh2 @xxpanic-at-the-everywherexx @rabbitsartcorner @percy-07734 @triflingassailantofmyemotions @virgil-sanders-the-gay-emo @cerulean-watermelon @puffed-up-bees @meltheromanstan @joyrose-fandomer

If you want to be added/taken off the taglist, let me know!

#dragonbabbles #sanders sides #fic #virgil sanders #patton sanders #remus sanders #sympathetic remus #janus sanders #thomas sanders #sympathetic deceit #logan sanders

76 notes · View notes

yostresswritinggirl · 3 years

Text

The One The Bard Once Loved

NEW Vibe check (appropriate song to cry to while reading)

"The bard, the sprite, the archer. The trio of young dreamers that wish to witness the blue skies past the raging winds that lock their freedom. But those are more than mere dreams, for it requires the sacrifice of those you love, to grace the courage to fight a God. And Barbatos, poor Barbatos, sacrificed more than he wanted."

Pairings -> Venti x Fem!Reader x Bard (Gale)

Word Count -> 4,337

Theme -> Angst, Backstory, Long Fic

Series -> #Bonafide specials (100 followers event)

Warnings -> Spoilers to Venti's story, character death

"Oh little sprite, from whence beyond

Does thou reminiscent of a vagabond?

Curious to which it whisks upon

Trapped now in desolate, forlorn"

Venti the wind sprite had always been curious, the single whisk of air that always goes the opposite way, hanging behind from his fellow currents to be distracted by a curious thing. So it was no surprise to anyone that he had gone lost once more in their rounds swaying but when he'd not return, long ago has his current passed the nation of Mond. Yet there was no way he can fly by his family of winds, for he finds himself trapped within the walls of a grazing storm that cages the stone walls of the city, of winds that he could not control nor agitate.

No matter how hard he tries the wind does not part, and so little Venti was stuck inside brooding skies and angry blasts. No mere sprite can go against the mighty strength of an archon.

So he resigns to his fate and wanders in this new place. Of a city wide and barren, why dare the Decarabian hide such dwelling? And even with the raging howls of the walls of wind, Venti couldn't help but wonder the silence it traps within.

A tiny ball of white in an expanse of gray. The thought scares the little sprite enough to make him scurry for the smallest bit of sound he can decipher. The loneliness creeps into his core—

And his little body bumps into that of a soft material. "Oh! Goodness, one should not run off without looking like that-" the figure turns and finds itself face to face with a floating blob, deep blue eyes wide and mouth hangs with wonder. Venti recognizes this creature in one of his endeavors as the wind, a human being, the true wanderers of Teyvat. Yet what is one doing trapped? "Such a peculiar being! What could you be?"

Yet it is not frightened by Venti's rarity, well, given he is not the most frightening wonder in this continent this was no surprise.

The sprite did not mind being found out. No, no, quite the opposite honestly, as he flies closer to the young boy and hides in his upturned hood. Nuzzling against the junction in his neck as he expresses gratitude in the company and presence of another in this desolate world.

The young boy chuckles and it reminds him of a song. "Perhaps you do not understand what I spoke?" The sprite shakes its head and the ticklish spot is tickled again. "Or do you not know how to speak?" A nod. And another giggle.

Without another word, the human slips back into the alleys of winding yet thin roads before making his way inside what looks to be a cathedral of tall composition. Glass windows of the same length tinted in kaleidoscopic patterns of color. There is a light in them you would usually bask in during the 'outside world', but in here it replicates that of an oasies in the deserts of Sumeru.

Underneath the artificial haze it beams a seeming spotlight at a figure clad in a dark ebony cloak. Venti felt the vibrations of an elated gasp as the human rushed over with a smile and frantic waving.

"My fair muse, how you've brighten my day, bestowing your presence tonight!"

The cloak tenses before immediately relaxing, the 'muse' he speaks of turns with its loose hood falling as it bundled around the shoulders, and Venti the sprite couldn't help but gasp too at the sight!

Fair is lacking, no words can describe the essence of bloom and beauty at the beholder as you stood there almost sparkling, hair catching the twinkle of light. Your plum lips caught itself smiling yet your eyes twinkled double the amusement at the sight of the human before you, "Gale." You murmured with an undertone of annoyance as you trudged over, flicking the boy's forehead so suddenly he'd voiced his hurt loudly. "Where have you been?! You've never been late to our daily rendezvous, you had me worried-!"

"Oh, such a cutie when you worry!" The young boy, Gale, cupped your cheeks in the middle of your spiel as he softly pats it with his fingers. Venti had never seen such creature change colors as fast as you, not even a chameleon, or an octopus in hiding. "I've simply found a new companion while I was out and about!"

As if a spotlight was caught unto him this time, your blown eyes wandered to the sprite floating by your company's neck. And oddly he'd found the attention appreciated.

"Who is this? An elf?"

"Venti!" There was a distant jingle of imaginary bells in his squeak of a voice.

"It/You can talk?!"

(Y/N) Lawrence.

Gale the Bard.

Venti the El- Wind Sprite.

Gale was a bard that resides in the cathedral of Mondstadt, homeless and without blood and kin, the nuns had took him in and lead their choir in turn for their hospitality.

You, on the other hand, lived with a clan of hunters that once ruled the mountains and forests. But with the emergence of the inescapable walls of wind, your family had been on the forefront of the protection of the citizens.

There were a lot of struggles in communication between you two and the lil sprite. He only knows his name and how to copy words (not so fluently) so questions had to be foregone, teaching the little one took priority. And Gale being the weaver of words took it upon himself to teach him frequently as you had your duties and family to go to.

Venti would sometimes disappear for a majority of the time and you'd figured he finally found a way to pass through the winds without shredding himself among the blades of current. And then he'd pop back in to listen to the merry tunes Gale had come up with, both of them waiting for your return.

"Ah Venti, is she not a beauty? The youngest daughter of Lawrence, as divine as that of incense. Oh tell me those dotted eyes could see it too!" The little sprite eagerly nods as he follows the bard's stride across the aisles in the holy cathedral, once again barren of other souls except for them. Whenever his human friend finds time to muse, it would be most about the maiden he fancies, the muse of most of his songs. Venti had been captured by his delicate tunes and savory lines to the point that he too had been overly enticed by your grace when your presence shines.

Your strength, your smile, your laugh, your hair. Your gait, your poise, your eyes, your glare. You had caught their stares dozens of times in silence before and it was always up to you to put them back to present time.

Venti simply basked in your warming aura and indulges himself outwardly, often you'd find him dozing off on the crown of your head. And often times you'd find a little pout on Gale at such a sight that you had no choice but to tease. In those moments, the wind sprite knew he had come out triumphant.

The cathedral doors open as quickly as they had closed, your windswept and frantic form appearing from the storm outside. The two boys in your life immediately lit up on your appearance but you'd know most of it was directed at the numerous scrolls and books you currently cradle in your shivering arms.

You offered them a grin, one of victory, and you'd all cheered at your success.

Soon, your merry trio made its way to the second floor of the cathedral in front of a faraway hallway that looks over the vast floor of the first yet still had the glow from the looming illuminated glass windows. Beholden in front of you are illustrations of a world beyond, filled with colors and shine, a world you had only imagined from stories now pictured perfectly.

Venti would hover over the illustrations at random intervals and giddily point at some of those he recognized, squeaking incoherent noises yet reflecting happiness and familiarity. While you fancied with indulging the sprite in his incomprehensible stories, Gale sat beside you with adoring yet distant eyes upon the images laid before him. Looking through them, and projecting himself in such a world. The books of the outside world you'd stolen from your clan's sacred libraries will be the start of a spark of desire to be free. And with it the start of a new era.

"The true sky, and songs that cageless soar...

Were they not wishes worth fighting for?"

Long had you gone and abandoned your stolen goods for them to admire more, at least until the day your clan finally realized the missing materials in the vast expanse of the bookshelves they own. There was more to marvel at yet you feared if you linger longer, your sister would look for you and find your little crime all too soon.

Venti quietly watches the familiar illustration of a beach littered with creatures of the sea on its glittering sand before he'd lift his tiny head up, witnessing the intense stare his bard friend had on the scroll where lies an overgrown tree and a stone structure. The sprite noted he had not seen this one.

"How marvelous it would be, to celebrate the most joyous moments under this tree," Gale mumbled in a quiet lilt of longing in his voice, "Imagine (Y/N) and I, with you by my side, as I finally pluck the courage to get down on one knee." Venti bumbled in slight jealousy, buzzing in front of the bard that could only cast a laugh. "Oh hush, dear friend, is it not appropriate to take an arrow to the knee for an archer such as she?"

Yet even with his desire to be by your side, the little sprite knew that he would be there to support his friend for the happiness you two deserved. In a land where you are free. Still, Venti hopes his cuteness would be enough to prolong you just a little bit more.

Drunk in passion and dreams, the next day the bard was scheming. And when you'd come to his cathedral of a home, he finally poured out his plans to you with a Venti quipping with cheers on the side.

The Mondstadtian had predicted your hesitance, even your disapproval on the notion, and were ready to chip in to persuade you once more— yet you gave in. Immediately. The same fire burned in your eyes at the thought of being unshackled and caged from the world begging to be explored. Your sentiments together with the bard fueled the desire between you three, and through the brainpower of a trio of young minds, you had drawn your plans.

Gale aided by Venti would try and coerce with the Ragnvindr clan's leader, and you would work on convincing your eldest sister Amos for the help needed to coerce the whole Lawrence bloodline into the battle. You knew there was an undeniable hatred within her against Decarabian and you wanted her to fuel that fire once and for all, for one great cause.

And soon enough, the strings of fate had come into play, and the one who shall record this momentous history has taken its seat by the balcony of war. Only the last piece of the puzzle is left in this grandoise play—

"Gale, Venti, are you sure this is the right direction to the hideout? We're taking a route longer than usual, surely you're not making last minute pranks..."

Your bow smacks at your back as you made your way inside the dark closet. It was two cycles before the fated ambush would come and in your nerves you had not realized how amiss things had been for the others. You were more than ready even if your fingers were to tremble everytime it holds your bow and arrow, predictions of the war that shall come floats within the expanse of your mind.

In your limited vision, your bard friend and sprite shared a look that did not pass by you. The tension had only caused you to gulp in your nervousness, were you found out? Did the participants of the revolt suddenly back down? "There has been a change of plans, but worry not for history still pans. My Muse, it is best you stay to assure you will not be caught in the storm's disarray-"

A hand flew across the bard's pristine white skin and his dark ocean hues could not help but widen. Is he... telling you to not participate in the war?! What kind of— a sob left through your gritted teeth despite your best efforts, and you're not sure who was more broken between your friends upon the sight. "How could you, even think- Gale, you carry no arms but a lyre! And Venti still has no means to go against the Archon that controls the winds! What kind of absurd idea is this?!" In the middle of your rage, your friends had already wrapped you in their sentimental hug, expressing their own misery with free-flowing tears." I'm supposed to protect you... t-the three of us were supposed to lead the path of freedom..."

"You've always protected us, (Y/N). Now would be the best time... to return the favor," and as your friend stepped back to give a parting smile, your whole world suddenly engulfed in black as the door shut with a slam and a final lock.

"Gale! Venti! No, please no! Let me out! Don't do this, PLEASE!"

"Please hear us out, our dear (Y/N)," Gale leaned his forehead against the thick door that separates you two, shedding the last bit of tears he could muster before the end of an era. The desperation in your every bang against it, breaks apart a hole in his own heart, "For your own good, and your own future."

When Gale described love to the little Venti, the latter was certain that he felt the same way for you. Yet the human ever so jokingly laughed at how he was still too young to fully understand the implications of such words. But he desired just as much to protect you, to be by your side, and to see your smile. But the human was right for he did not truly understand the reasons WHY he felt like so...

So he asked instead, dear friend Gale of Tales, why have you come to cherish this human in devotion? And quite so the other was happy to indulge!

"It starts with young Mondstadt when the walls were young and the people still knew the tales and what they sang. I was a poor little bard with a broken lyre, when living alone was nothing but dire.

Without a home, without a bed, I was ready to starve to death. But an angel clad in white suddenly lead me to bright light. My muse had brought to me a cathedral, yes the one we are in now! And since then I've lived a proper choir life, always wondering how...

just how things would be without (Y/N), my angel? Continuing to live in the dark alleys, would I have been able? Even now I have yet to repay her act of kindness. But one day, for sure... " Perhaps, this act the young boy now follows, was the payment he had been waiting for.

How long you had stayed there, you had no clue but by the sounds of war cries and clashing steel had told you enough. You'd been there for too long.

Blessed with some luck that a crowbar had found its way in this janitor closet in a cathedral no less, you had immediately set out to join the battle: beyond the holy doors flames had lit up from the torches the revolt has carried, many bodies lay by the stone grounds of the city, some moving and struggling while some... you spare them not a second thought as you rushed past the stone pillars to where the heat of the war should be. If the battle plan had gone as it should then—

A hand gripped your arm with such force it had you cry out before you even registered you were being slammed to the floor. A shadow of a knight that serves the God of Storm looms over you with a glare blazing past his helmet. "You're one of them, I recognize that face! You're not winning today-" yet another blade suddenly pierced through his chest, and your shirt had been splattered when it was pulled. The now lifeless body falls past you and another replaces him.

"Sir Ragnvindr!" The knight shared the same shock and relief you wore before it steeled, immediately pulling you up and away from the on-going exchanges of blows. "Everyone- how's the war looking?"

"Men had fallen from the green-tipped arrows, but we are making progress," the redhead gestured to the tower where the greatest enemy lies, taking note of the cracks and crumbling structure, a sign of his coming doom. A very good sign. "Amos took it upon herself to climb the tower-"

"What?! That's beyond the plan, she- she could get herself killed!" You brought your own bow from your back at the mention of your sister archer, bringing the strings back with an arrow at the ready, your intention clear. The redhead had shown a glint of worry but his gaze had been resolved once again at the hope of freedom, and he leaves you to your chase as he fends off the guards that dare go after you.

You expertly evaded blows and parried kicks with your bow and arrow, yet no sign of the heads of the resistance had caught your sight. The longer you climbed, the more you feared for the worst. By 2/3 of the tower you had scaled you managed to poke your head out to see the scale of war. Of red and orange floated below as the razor winds felt more violent than it had been ever since you had been born within its impenetrable walls, even from this distance high up you could still hear the clash, the warmongers held up in the central square where all battles now takes place.

And within that chaos you managed to single out a lump of black and a dot of floating white. Miraculously, your scream had reached their faraway ears and looked up, just in time to see your aerial shots of support.

"(Y/N)?! What is she-!" His words had been cut with an arrow wheezed past his head to bring down a foe that had sneaked behind him. Right, battle. Many of the immediate threats had been neutralized and the resistance had found the upper ground thanks to the archer's barrage. "How-how is she up there!"

Another body had fallen next to him with a cut on its back, a certain knight rushing past him to hit another. "Watch your back, bard! Now's not the time to monologue, she's going to backup Amos."

You were too far to hear the horrified gasp and the fearful expression your two faithful friends adorned. But the ground you were on began to shake, and you know you had to go on. "Venti! Gale! Focus, I'll be there with you two soon!" You screamed at the top of your lungs in hopes that it will reach them before continuing your ascent to the most treacherous area you had to be in—

You barelled towards the woman with silver hair with a pace you've never seen and a strength you'd never thought you carried, exchanging the shot you felt lodge into your left side as you sent one right through the guard's neck. You fell on your bottom and clutched the wounded area, but kept it there, if not to make sure the blood does not pour if you were to take it out.

"Sister!" The familiar voice cradled you as gently as she could with a fear-stricken face. But you assured her that it had not hit anything major, the way her worry didn't dissipate seem to hide a kind of anguish she couldn't name. "We must get you to safety, the clerics- the clerics could-"

"I'm fine, I'm fine," you grunted as you pried yourself out of her grasp to prove your point, still able to keep your stance. You see Amos struggle from fatigue yet about to bite back, "We're so close, sister, any moment we linger is another body on the list of deaths." Painfully she'd bitten on her own tongue, finally relenting as you ascended the last few steps.

Normal arrows are nothing but toothpicks against the mighty God of Storms, the Anemo Archon, who easily flicked your futile attempts to graze him. And yet Decarabian was losing power just from fighting off not only your barrages but those even from below. His walls were thinning and his heart crumbles, from the thought of his once devoted followers turning back on him.

With one last strength the Lawrences gathered every piece of energy and power they could into their shot, and Decarabian looked at them with tired eyes and a raised hand. "Finally, I shall hold his gaze." The voice next to you spoke before your charged shot, swirling with beaming light flew past the sharp gale of wind and pierced through the God's core. Your ears had picked up on a violent crack before you were hit by the razor breeze upon the dying breath of the archon, sending you and Amos off the crumbling tower to free fall to your deaths.

In the edge of your peripherals the bleak gray walls of storms dissolved into rays of natural light, giving way to a hue of blue you had never seen before. As the wind wheezed past your ears, you smiled at the face of death—

When a jingle of little bells suddenly slowed your descension, and you were softly met with the hard floor on your back. With tired eyes you'd found yourself next to the pioneers of freedom, conscious and unconscious. You had felt Venti nudge your hand to those of another's limp ones, soft palms yet calloused fingers, you intertwined your hands with that of the bard's.

"We did it, we finally... did it..." A pulling force drains the consciousness from your mind and body in laboured breaths, and despite your protests to keep staring at the beautiful sight of the true sky, your eyelids were pulled shut by an unknown exhaustion.

Past their closed state, a flash of light was the last thing you had thought. Bruised and beaten, your warm hand did not register how the ones you clung to... did not squeeze back.

...

The next time (e/c) orbs flew open their eyes the world felt that of a lucid dream, with silk of the cleanest white donned their body, and the softest breeze of a sweet flower you had not smelt passes by you. Teal orbs looked down at you with a gentleness you've felt from the artificial light from the cathedral. Speaking of- your eyes unfocused shifted its gaze to the light blue skies.

"You're... awake." Your bard friend breathed out in disbelief and another emotion your brain can't quite place. The cotton of clouds float above in painted beauty, and you had pried your sight away from it almost painfully just to spare your companion a look.

"It's..." your throat grated and ached at the attempt, coming out so weak and breathless, "It's very beautiful... out here, free... Have- have you gone to explore?" Your face twisted in numbing pain from talking, and the bard started to quiver yet stood strong with a smile.

"I had, it's - it's just like how we imagined, even better than we've taken for granted," wet spots adorned your cheeks in short successions, you couldn't help but smile. "I only wish you were there to see it first hand, the flowers, the sunsets, the land-"

"Yet I fell asleep," you laughed in mirth yet there was no sound that escaped. The grip around you tightens as you loll your head to the side; there lays a new city kissed by the huge orb of light in the blue veil of a sky, lush green grass of health you've never seen before shone with a moistness on it, and around its glory lays a beauty of a moat that mirrors the one above. Beautiful, you whispered under your long-awaited breathe.

"The people of Mond had done their best to rebuild, for the promise of freedom they had not wilt," a hand on your cheek, flawless, urged your gaze once more to lay upon the bard. "We've devised a festival to celebrate named Ludi Harpastum. Tell me... my muse, will you accompany me in this new custom?"

A new breeze had lulled you in your ears once again to sleep, and a flash of fear had passed over your companion's features before it dissipated when you opened your eyes once more. A festival, you haven't heard that in years, "I would love to. But maybe... tomorrow..."

"Tomorrow."

"Mhm, I feel tired... the sun invites me to sleep, will you wait for me tomorrow?"

"T-Tomorrow."

"Good." Your eyes were covered by darkness again as you felt a pressure against your forehead. "It's... a date..." And your tired heart finally found peace, after battling for 15 days restlessly, desperately.

Venti picked you up from where you laid on his lap, setting you down on the grass bed besides the giant roots of the Windrise tree. Nearest your left, a stone plate carved with words you never dare see lies next to you. And for the first time in fifteen days, a God cries again.

¹The green-tipped arrows were coated with poison.

²Reader's bow is designed after the Raven's Bow.

³Gale is not the bard's official name but was used to avoid too many confusion.

⁴This had a different, more painful and hatred alternate ending where you hated Venti for taking Gale's form, but I changed it so I could rest my own heart.

*in honor of your contribution to Mondstadt's freedom, the maiden who throws the Harpastum is made for your grace.

@boxofteenageideas @creation-magician @your-local-venti-simp @indigodreamtime47

#genshin impact #genshin impact oneshots #exile.flower #genshin impact Venti #venti #venti x reader #Bonafide specials #publish at midnight #genshin impact x reader #angst #female reader

351 notes · View notes

jackredfieldwasmyjacob · 3 years

Text

SPANISH 2000S MUSICAL SCENE

Okay, not to be a boomer, but I really think the 2000s were the golden age of modern Spanish music, and I wanted to make a post where I could show y'all some of the groups and hits from that era! If you like this one I could make more posts with other decades, or with more 2000s songs! Also, if you get to listen to some of these, let me know what you think about them!!

Anyways, let's start, I've picked the ten songs at random from a couple of playlists I found on Spotify because I'm too lazy to search for them myself, so that's why there could be some weird choices (or like, not the most popular song from said artist / group etc)

PEREZA

youtube

Pereza was THE rock group in the 2000s, they were like the personification of being cool. I like to compare them to The Killers, because their songs are catchy as hell and still played on the radio. They dissolved in 2012 and both of the members started solo careers and are still mildly successful, they've each released absolute bops. Todo (Everything) is one of their most sexual songs, as you could imagine from the MV, and also one of their most popular ones - not the most well-known one tho. Here are some of the translated lyrics:

Fly, fly, fly with me

Come inside, tell me boy

Heat me up, polish me

Make love to me in our nest

LA OREJA DE VAN GOGH

youtube

If you've followed me for a while you know how much I love this group, it was everything and I believe it's the best Spanish group ever, like full stop. They have dozens of hits everyone knows (LODVG musical when????) like this one, and yeah, they're the best. Also, they're still going strong which is great! Rosas (Roses) talks about heartache and remembrance - a common theme in their songs, and it's a very dear and beloved song by many, it's also used in memes as a substitute of the "all around me are familiar faces" song lol

Six months went away and you waved me goodbye

It's been a pleasure to meet you in life

There I stood, one hand on my heart

And in the other excuses you didn't even understand

EL CANTO DEL LOCO

youtube

El Canto del Loco my beloved <3 Fun fact, they were my first favourite band ever. Anyways, they embodied the barrio culture and style, and were one of the few groups closer to rock music, which granted them a lot of fans; I like to think of them as like the Spanish Green Day. Their songs were amazing, fast paced, and what we would call canalla (punk?), they were the best. Anyways, they separated in 2010, although there's a rumour of a reunion this year 👀. Insoportable (Unbearable) is one of their many iconic songs, and it's about a toxic relationship.

I know

What you are love

Look at yourself and see that you're the worst

AMARAL

youtube

Amaral gave us EVERYTHING and we disrespected them in return! Like I feel we don't talk about them enough with all the bops they gave us that are songs everyone knows and loves and goes crazy when they sound. Anyways, they are still going on and I love that for them. This song, El universo sobre mí (The universe upon me) is probably its more well-known song, and it talks about not fitting in, struggling with it, the apathy that stems from it, etc. I love that a song with such important and deep-cutting lyrics as this one was like on top of the top 40 list and still receives massive radio-play nowadays.

I've had enough

I need someone who understands

I'm alone among a crowd of people

What can I do?

MELENDI

youtube

Oh, Melendi. Okay, I'll start with this; Melendi is still a very popular mainstream singer nowadays, although his style and music has changed A LOT. A lot of people prefer this first stage, where he had lots of bops. The thing is, this Melendi was a known drug addict, abused drugs and even had weed in his logo ffs. Some people even say he shouldn't have stopped doing drugs because he makes worse music now, which is just horrible, and like, not true? I agree that his current music is... not the best, but he seems happy, and songs like Barbie de Extrarradio, Lágrimas Desordenadas, Tu Jardín Con Enanitos, etc are still fucking bops. Anyways, in this first era he sung rumba, a subgenre of flamenco very popular during the 2000s. Un Violinista En Tu Tejado (A Fiddler On Your Roof) is one of his most well-known songs from this time, and it talks about a toxic relationship.

I ask the moon

To lighten your life

Cause mine has been fused for a long time

PIGNOISE

youtube

Pignoise were the closest thing we got to anglo punk / pop punk and I'm so grateful for them, their songs were angsty and fast and everything honestly. They are still active, and Estoy Enfermo (I'm Sick) is probably one of their most well-known songs, it's your standard angsty song, and as you can see, it features Melendi!

I'm like a weirdo

That is still part of society

And even if I point at myself I never shoot

I always tend to forgive myself

DESPISTAOS

youtube

Despistaos was another rock-ish group, and they released some amazing songs like this one. They are associated to THE teen show in the 2000s, Física o Química, as they did the opening song (with the same name as the show) and I'm pretty sure this song, Cada dos minutos (Every two minutes) also featured there. This specific song is about heartache and missing someone, pretty standard stuff lol. Also, the group is still active so yay!

Every two minutes I change of season

It's spring in a corner, summer's in a trench

DAVID BISBAL

youtube

If you follow me you'll most certainly have heard of OT (Operación Triunfo), a Spanish song contest (a mix between The Voice and Big Brother more or less). Well, the first edition of OT took place in 2001, and David Bisbal was one of the contestants, ending up as the runner up and becoming an icon for the years to come. He has so many bops its unreal, and given his... as you can see, intense personality, he's become kind of a meme in recent years. Idk I love him he's the best. Also, he's had a stellar career, he's collabed with at least Rihanna and Miley Cyrus, has 3 Latin Grammys, and is still going strong. This song, Esclavo De Sus Besos (Slave Of Her Kisses) is your standard heartache song.

And I'm still a slave of her kisses and I'm prisioner of my fears

We've come to a turning point

Where this obsession is taking me away from you

EL SUEÑO DE MORFEO

youtube

With El Sueño de Morfeo we complete the golden trio of women-fronted bands in the 2000s along with La Oreja de Van Gogh and Amaral. They made a bunch of bops that mixed pop with traditional folk Asturian music, and even went on to compete in Eurovision! They broke up in 2013 tho :( Anyways, Esta Soy Yo (This Is Me) is, like the name suggests, a presentation song about someone, with its flaws and all.

I'm not what you think I am

I'm not your Cinderella

I'm not the last piece of your unassembled puzzle

ESTOPA

youtube

I HAD TO END THIS WITH THEM. If I had to resume the 2000s in a band / artist, it would be them. Estopa was the 2000s. They make Catalan rumba music, and everyone loves them. Seriously, I don't think there's a single Spaniard who despises them, we'd all die for them. And I personally love how down-to-earth they are, they are probably millionaires at this point and they still dress the same, live in their hometown, and are genuinely nice people. They were on a hiatus until a couple of years ago and their quality hasn't suffered a bit, it's amazing. Anyways, Partiendo La Pana (literally translates to "cutting the corduroy", it's a Spanish expression, it could translate to Being Cool or something like that) tells a Western-like event that happened in a bar on their hometown.

Pay attention to what I'm gonna tell you:

It happened on a cold night in Cornellá in a corner

I don't quite remember why it happened

I only remember I was at a bar

34 notes · View notes

everyhowlmarksthedead · 4 years

Text

❛ RAINY DESERT ❜

with Hank ‘Tranq’ Loza.

Request: HERMANA acabo de ver que estás taking requests for tranq, and maybe is too late pero por si acaso how about tranq x younger reader (25 or so) having a soft day or a nice date, like cuddles, watching films together... Thank youuuuuuu💖💖💖💖

BY @aquamento

Warnings: none.

Word count: about 1.3k

Aurora says: this writing hasn't been edited, you may find some grammar mistakes, I'm sorry about that!

Gif credits: @angels-reyes

Masterlist.

📱to Bish✨:

“Hey, prez. I was thinking about stealing you my man. It's gonna rain and I already finished at the hospital, so I would like to spend the afternoon on my sofa doing nothing, but cuddling as fuck till it hurts”.

📱 from Bish✨:

“Don't you want to level up to El Presidente? Maybe, adopt me?”

📱 to Bish✨:

“I change you my man, for a delicious lunch tomorrow”.

📱 from Bish✨:

“I already kicked his big ass outta my club, querida. But now that you said so…”

Leaving your phone over the passenger's seat, with a triumphant smile drawn on your lips. You have the window down, with an elbow nailed there and the other over the steering wheel, thanking to have taking the automatic car this morning, because your hands are a little sleepy after a long, long day. But your reward is coming, and you can't ask for anything else. Turning to the left on the main avenue of Santo Padre, you slow down the velocity, as if you had all the time in the world, stopping some minutes after for a red light. Palming your lap following the rhythm of the song playing through the radio, while you sing it so concentrated, the strong buzz of an engine pushes you back to reality. Resting both arms on the door and your chin over them, you can't help but smile like a teen in love with a soft sigh escaping out from your lips.

“You kill me every time you do that”. Stopping his motorbike next to your car, he takes off the sunglasses for a second.

“Hm…” You just say, so absorbed that you can't even talk.

“That smile”. Hank points at it, before poking your nose, making you wrinkle it.

Leaning towards your car, you stick your head out of the window to reach his lips with a smooth kiss that pushes you to heaven. You met him almost four years ago, but it wasn't until two years after that you dared to tell each other about your feelings. Since then, you are inseparable. And his brothers consider you one more of the Mayan family, so you can take some advantage with it sometimes. Like this one.

As soon as you are at the porch of your shared house, you step out from your car taking your phone and your bag, and walking to your boyfriend with both arms raised so it's easier for him to lift you up between his. Wrapping his waist with both legs, you can hear him chuckling while you fill up his face with kisses, leading his steps to the main door. Four years, and you are still falling for him a little more every day. Sometimes you wish to not have been such jerks, hiding what you were feeling because of the fear of the age difference, being almost twenty years between both. But age is just a number, and you couldn't ever regret being together.

In the meantime Hank takes a shower, you change your clothes for one of his big shirts, wrinkling the neckline of it between your fingers to have a soft sniff of the scent. You love to wear them, mostly when he's out of your hometown. Coming back to the kitchen, you tuck in the microwave the popcorn packet to set it for three minutes, putting whilst some beers to get cold in the fridge. Making sure that the big window in the living room is open and the fluffy blanket is already over the back rest, you look for some action movie on Netflix. All you want to do is to lie down on the sofa, and spend the rest of the day and the whole night eating junk food and curled up under Tranq's strong arms.

When the microwave dings, you're careful taking off the popcorn to put them inside a big bowl, grabbing two beers and some chocolate bars, to bring them all to the coffee table close to the sofa. Sitting there, you wait for your boyfriend to join you, hearing the first drops of water falling from the clouds.

“Make me some space”. Hank says then, standing you up to lie down and welcoming you after between his arms, stucking his chest to your back.

Throwing the blanket over you two, accommodating it to cover your bodies, he places a leg above yours sinking his nose into your neck. Moving backwards a hand to his nape, you feel him hugging you tightly leaving some kisses on your shoulder.

“I couldn't ask for a better plan”. He mutters.

“I only have good ideas, baby”. You chuckle, caressing his tattooed forearm with your fingertips.

“Like being my girl”. Sighing then, the mexican leans forward to loudly kiss your cheek, while you press play to start the movie.

Actually, you never focus too much on the tv, getting lost in your thoughts because of his strokes in your hair, neck or belly; always being so gentle and dearly, that you don't care about anything else, ending up falling asleep under his grip. You have needed it since some days ago, when you had to attend a multiple accident with four cars and more than a dozen badly injured people. And he never complains about it, without stopping his caresses to make you feel more relaxed.

Next time you open your eyes, Netflix has paused itself. Raising your sleepy eyes to the huge window, you see how much is raining for the first time in months. Obviously, it's not a common thing living in the middle of the Calexico desert. The smell of wet sand floods your lungs, giving you some nice chills down your backbone, it reminds you of those years studying in Los Angeles and the good moments there. Stretching a hand over the table to check the hour in your phone, you start to feel somewhat hungry. It's almost dinner time and you know that you're not going to sleep too much tonight after such a long nap. Turning under Tranq's arms, you find him peacefully sleeping yet. His warm breath colliding against your face, while you set an arm under his neck, stroking his cheek with your free fingers. You can't help but stare at him for some seconds, before leaning to peck his lips with soft kisses, until he starts to return every one with a smile growing on his face.

“You feel better than earlier?”

“Yes”. You simply reply, non stopping kissing him.

“How is that?” He teases you, slowly opening his eyes.

“My man's arms are my safe place”.

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah, really”. You nod, raising up both eyebrows. He puckers up his lips in concordance, listening to you so convinced of your words. “I was thinking about going to Paco's food truck and taking away some dinner, what do you think?”

You are too lost on the way your forefinger roams his bottom lip, that you don't hear him agreeing until he bites it and repeats what he said.

“I think I'm going to have to drive…” He laughs, feeling your cheeks burning a little. “What's up with rainy days, ah?”.

“They just turn me a little fluffier than normal”.

“Yeah, I see that, and I like it”.

Pressing his lips over yours, tightening his arms around you, he tucks his tongue into your mouth, gently caressing yours for some long seconds until you two are out of air. Resting your head on the cushion, you lean just a little to kiss his forehead, before hugging him. It's true. His arms are your safe place, always making you feel better, always making you feel loved. You don't know a better place to be in, because it doesn't exist.

“I love you, Hank. So, so much”. You whisper then, with your eyes fixed on the dark ones.

“I love you too, mi amor”. He says back without hesitating, holding your chin with one of his hands to push you closer. “I can't explain how much, but I'm going to show it to you every day”.

✨ Tag list:

@starrynite7114 @chibsytelford @dazzledamazon @mara-mpou @sammskellington @gemini0410 @1-800-imagines @briana-mishell24 @sassymox @aquamento @sadeyesgf @viviansafizada @samcrobae @jade770 @witchy-wish @rebel-without-cause-x @xx--day-dreamer--xx @spiced-reads @tita127 @ifoundmyhappythought @enamouravecleslivresetlechocolat @angelxshiba @destynelseclipsa @sheeshgivemeabreak @abbiesthings @knowles-morgan @lady-pswrld @minnicelli @marquelapage @bigcreatorwombatdreamer @jadesamhart @mycupoffanfiction @claytoncardenasbabymama @thesandbeneathmytoes @phoenixhalliwell @thewarriorprincessxo @sugary-x-sweet @multiyfandomgirl40 @imanerdychubbyqueen @iambabyharry @firebenderwolf @itsanofrommesir @noz4a2 @peaches007 @edonaspanca @irenne-stans @skyofficialxx

If you want to be tagged, send me a message!

#mayans mc x reader #mayans mc #mayans mc imagine #mayans x reader #hank tranq loza #hank tranq loza x reader #tranq loza #tranq loza x reader

135 notes · View notes

harley-sunday · 3 years

Text

The Draw - Epilogue

Summary: The whirlwind starts at the 2018 ACE Comic Con in Phoenix but you’re not sure where it will end…

Pairing: Sebastian Stan x reader (unnamed OFC)

Warnings: Language.

Word count: 1.9k

AN: This it. It’s done. I don’t really know what to say other than that I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I did writing it. The ending (part 17) was supposed to be something completely different up until last week, when eL convinced me to take the angsty-route. I’m glad she did, because it allowed me to include a piece in the epilogue I wrote a long time ago but never really got to use until now. Thank you, sweets! Here it is, guys, enjoy! ♥

Masterlist

His collar is up and his hands are tucked deep into the pockets of his jacket because it’s cold, much colder than it usually is this time of year anyway. He looks up at the dark sky and wonders if there’s any snow in the clouds that slowly drift by, trying to remember if he’s heard anything about it on the news earlier that day but not recalling a weather warning going out.

He’s on his way home after another meeting with his lawyer, who, for some reason, always insists they meet in a restaurant rather than his office. It’s never during normal business hours either but always late at night, and always somewhere else. At first he was fine with the arrangement but it’s starting to annoy him that the restaurants have become increasingly more expensive and he’s always the one that ends up footing the bill. As if he doesn’t pay his lawyer enough to help him come out of this messy divorce as unscathed as possible.

He shakes his head, trying to rid himself of the guilt that he feels about wasting three years of his life in a loveless marriage that never had a chance of succeeding in the first place. His therapist tells him to look at it as personal growth, but he doesn’t agree, not really, anyway. At least the court date has been set, he thinks, and this should all be over and done with two weeks from now.

He quickens his pace as he lets his mind wander, taking long strides, looking straight ahead and not paying much attention to the few people that are out this late. Most of them ignore him too. It’s New York after all. For a moment he debates the option of hauling a cab to get him out of this cold but he dismisses the idea quickly. He likes the walk home from downtown, it gives him an opportunity to clear his head and helps with the insomnia that sometimes bothers him.

Crossing the street absentmindedly there’s something on the other side that catches his eye. He does a classic double take and then shakes his head, not quite believing what he sees. He must have walked by these storefronts at least a dozen times and tries to recall if the art gallery has always been there, but he simply can’t remember. The black canvas that’s displayed in the window is illuminated from above by a single light bulb, highlighting the various brush strokes going from left to right and top to bottom. He knows it’s called ‘Love’ before even looking at the little card pinned to the bottom right corner, and it’s like someone’s punched him in the gut. He first saw it a few years ago, when it was still a work in progress, standing on an easel in her guest bedroom in Charlotte, the paint still wet, and the black somehow less black.

It’s then he notices the lights inside the building are on and it’s like his body has a mind of its own and before he knows it he’s on his way in. A bell chimes above his head as he enters and he hears a chair being pushed back in response somewhere. The space he’s in is long and narrow, only about fifteen feet wide, but the ceiling’s high and makes it feel more spacious than it is. There’s a wall about forty feet in, with a door that’s slightly ajar, and music flowing in from the back room, some song he thinks he recognizes but hasn’t heard in a long time.

“I am so sorry but we are closed,” the voice is soft, coming from behind the door, but he would recognize it anywhere and he chokes up a little at the familiarity of it all. The door opens a little more then and all of sudden she’s there, exactly like he remembers her, “I must have forgotten to-” but she doesn’t finish her sentence because it’s then she sees him. Her eyes widen in shock and she actually drops the paintbrush she’s holding, her eyes never leaving his.

“Hey,” he says with a foolish grin, because never in a million years did he expect to run into her again, not here, and definitely not tonight.

“Hey,” she mimics, her eyes softening and the hint of a smile on her lips.

He takes the few steps needed to get to her, and for a moment he hesitates, unsure if she’d let him, but then he throws his arms around her and pulls her in for a hug. He can feel her smile against his shoulder, and he presses a kiss into her hair, because God, does it feel good to hold her again.

“Here you go,”

He takes the beer she hands him and waits until she’s uncapped hers before he raises it in a toast. She clinks her bottle against his and takes a swig and he follows suit.

They’re sitting on the floor of what turns out to be her art gallery, their backs against the far wall, looking out on the dark street on the other side of the window. She turned the lights off before she brought him his beer, except for the lone bulb illuminating ‘Love’, and it feels like they’re in a little bubble, shielded from whatever’s going on outside and if someone told them he’d have a way of making this little moment in time last forever, he’s sure he would.

He’s taken his jacket off, using it as something to sit on after she admitted she’s only got one chair here, his legs stretched out in front of him and his head resting against the bare brick wall. He’s got a million questions for her but he’s not sure where to begin and so he takes another sip of his beer instead, letting the silence settle between them.

She’s sitting next to him, close enough that her arm brushes against his whenever she takes a drink and it feels like there are little electric currents running through him every time she does. She looks up at him then, her eyes narrowed, almost as if she’s studying him, “You ok?”

He wants to tell her he’s fine, great even, but the way she looks at him tells him she’ll see straight through any bullshit answer he’ll try to give and so shakes his head, “Not really.”

“Talk to me,”

He opens his mouth to say something but then decides against it. They haven’t seen each other in four years and so much has happened but none of it they went through together and-

“It’s ok if you don’t want to,” her voice is soft and kind. She clears her throat then, “It’s just- I’ve read the articles about your divorce and- Well, the accusations she's made and- I don’t know, Seb, I figured maybe it has something to do with why you’re out this late.”

“Yeah,”

“I’m sorry.”

He lets out a heavy sigh because he doesn’t want to bother her with everything that’s going on in his life, not really, but he also knows she’s a good listener and there’s no one he’d rather talk to than her right now. Looking down he plucks at the edge of the label on his beer bottle, deciding then to be honest with her, “I guess I should have fought harder, should have made it work, I-” another sigh, “They say you never know what you got ‘till it’s gone, right?”

He sees her nod out of the corner of his eye, and then her hand’s on his arm, giving it a gentle squeeze and it’s like a bolt of lightning runs through him, “Then why don’t you?”

His eyebrows knit together in confusion, “Why don’t I, what?”

“Fight,” she explains. “Try to make it work. If that’s really how you-”

“Would you let me?”

“I-” she hesitates and pulls her hand back then, “What?”

“I wasn’t talking about her,” he confesses quietly and when he looks up at her he sees her eyes are wide in shock. He tries to smile, “It’s always been you.”

“Oh,” she breathes, her eyes a little glossed over now. She doesn’t say anything else and he doesn’t really know how to go from here so he keeps quiet too. But then she puts her beer down and stands up, holding out her hand to him, “Come on, I wanna show you something.”

He takes her hand and lets her pull him to his feet. She doesn’t let go when she leads him to the front of the gallery, her hand warm against his, and when he gives it a gentle squeeze she smiles at him from over her shoulder and it warms his heart in ways he hadn’t thought possible.

She stops in front of a painting, reaching behind it to turn on the searchlight, the warm light casting a golden glow on the canvas. “I made this one right after we broke up,” she says, her voice a little rough, “took me forever to finish because I couldn’t stop crying.” His heart breaks a little, but she dismisses her statement with a wave of her hand, “I got there in the end. It was like therapy.” A smile then, “I submitted it to a local art competition and I don’t know-” she shrugs but he can tell it’s important, “People seemed to really like it. Someone actually wanted to buy it but I couldn’t- I would never.”

She gestures around her then, “This is all because of that.” He must look confused because she continues, “I kept painting, had some of my work on display in local art galleries, but it wasn’t until I decided to quit my job after Deb retired last year and Mark got appointed as her successor that things really took off. More art shows meant I sold quite a few pieces, enough so I could open my own art gallery anyway.” She looks up at him, “I don’t really know how I ended up in New York, but,” another shrug then, “here I am.”

“Here you are,” he agrees quietly. He doesn’t know how these things work, if it’s karma or faith or destiny he has to thank for this, but he likes to believe that her coming back into his life at this exact moment was meant to be and he vows right then and there to never let her go. There’s still so much he wants to tell her, has to tell her, and he’s sure the same goes for her, but it doesn’t matter. Not now anyway. Now he just says, “If you’ll let me, I’m willing to fight.” He squeezes her hand, “For you.”

“Me too,” she whispers. “For you,” she looks at him then, “and for us.” She lets go of his hand a little, only so she can intertwine her fingers with his, leaning into him, her other hand on his arm. She nods towards the painting, “Do you like it?”

He looks at it then, really looks at it, taking in the different shades of green she’s used, which, even when they’re on opposite sides of the canvas, seem to pull towards each other, always meeting or almost meeting in the middle, and somehow he just gets it. “I do.”

“It’s called ‘The Draw’.”

#The Draw #Sebastian Stan imagine #Sebastian Stan fanfic #Harley Sunday x Sebastian Stan

44 notes · View notes

humble-wayside-flower · 4 years

Photo

A Gift for Gena @freckledmccree because they were contemplating a Fjord & Avantika playlist the other day here, and while my feelings about their dynamic are complicated, fuck if the vibes aren’t grand as hell. I used a few of your song/band recs, so thank you for those, and I hope you enjoy!

Spotify (X)

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

Stealing a Brig by Brian Tyler

Instrumental

Sell Yourself Lightly by The Family Crest

Sell yourself lightly / Daily and nightly / She moves to the strings of an aging guitar

Eat You Alive by The Oh Hellos

She’ll string you along and she’ll sell you a lie / But there’s nothing but pain on the edge of a knife / There is no courage in flirting with fear / to prove you’re alive

Snake Song by Emmylou Harris

You can’t hold me / I’m too slippery / I do no sleepin’ / I get lonely / You can touch me / If you want to / I got poison / I just might bite you

Serpent Tongues by Mother Falcon

Seductive songs / Of serpent tongues / Shed your leaves / I offer you my swollen lungs

I Eat Boys Like You For Breakfast by Ida Maria

I eat boys like you for breakfast / Where’s my knife and fork now?

Magnets by Lorde, Feat. Disclosure

He was talking, I was wonderin’ ‘bout / You and that girl, she your girlfriend? / Face from heaven, but the world she don’t know / Pretty girls don’t know the things that I know

Turn the Lights Off by Tally Hall

Bend the nightmare / You control it / Artful dodger / Easy does it / Shut the closet / Get under the covers / Snakes and lovers / Turn the lights off

Way down We Go by KALEO

Oh, Father tell me, do we get what we deserve? / Whoa, we get what we deserve / And way down we go

Angelica by Hans Zimmer & Rodrigo y Gabriela

Instrumental

All or Nothing by The Dream Masons

It’s all or nothing / Either I’m worth it or I’m not / Either I’m talented or full of shit and once I’ve given all I’ve got / If there’s still not enough rope / to tie the anchor to the boat; / then I’ll use that rope and the rest can just float

Volunteer by Bitter Ruin

Wait for a day when you’re not relevant to the part / I’m playing, I’m playing / And it’s not a game when you know that your chances are slim / For winning, you’re winning

El Tango De Roxanne from Moulin Rouge the Broadway Musical

Put on the red light / Help me I’m holding on for dear life

Look Away by The Dear Hunter

So I circle thoughts with centered eyes / That stare without ever seeing / But its getting dim and just before / Any reasons can be revealed / I fall

Holiday by Dirt Poor Robins

Still hope lives in a memory of a… / Holiday, a get away / Full of golden times and drowsy wine / A holiday, the perfect place to say / “My love / This world was made for us.”

Red River by AlicebanD

Run, a river, make me shiver / Make me cold and make me stay here / Make me want to catch my breath and fill that breath with water / Cold but warming, feel me squirming / Push me under cure the hurting / Make it slow but soon an ending comes when I relax

Not In Blood, But In Bond by Hans Zimmer

Instrumental

Swimming Pool by The Front Bottoms

There’s comfort in the bottom of a swimming pool / I’m holding my breath for you / There’s no doubt in my mind that if you could then you would try / To crack my ribcage open and pull my heart right through

Dirty Imbecile by The Happy Fits

Am I good? Is all I could enough for you? / (Count my scars, I’ve got dozens down inside / I come complete and invincible behind my dirty imbecile) / I’m so scared of when and where I’ll find the truth / (All these things I’ve tried: Be cute, be dumb, be wise, be young / So don’t tell me what to fear in the darkness of this atmosphere)

Can’t Cheat Death by The Ballroom Thieves

I spilled blood in the water / Then let the storm roll in / I put my hands in the fire / Watched my welcome wear thin / Salt in my wounds and spit in my eye / I burned the path you walk on / And I let none survive

I Don’t Think About You Anymore But, I Don’t Think About You Anyless by Hungry Ghosts

Instrumental

#fjord #avantika #critical role #my playlists #Gena you didn't ask for this #but your post about Fjord & Avantika music #inspired me to get off my ass and finally finish this playlist #that had been languishing in a spotify folder for far too long #some of these songs are duplicates from my part 2 Fjord playlist #and if you came here for a completely tonally consistent playlist #sorry to disappoint #but anyways I hope this is a little bit like what you were thinking at least!#excuse me I am here

36 notes · View notes

hoodharlow · 4 years

Note

can you do teaching calum spanish? like him getting a little embarrassed and you assure him he’s okay. sorry, english isn’t my first language. saludos xx

No te preocupes, I got you.

AN: I try avoid using y/n in my writing because I think it ruins the flow, so I gave anon a name. It will makes sense when you read it.

Summary: Cal walks into you the coffee shop where you work at and you try to explain the different cafecitos the shop serves.

“Hi welcome to La Casa del Café, what can I get you today?” I said before my breath hitched realizing who was next in line.

Calum fucking Hood, in all his glory. Well not like that, but there he stood 5 feet away from me. About to order at my cousin’s coffee shop. He looked so comfortable in an off-white color hoodie and rolled up jeans, all paired up with Doc Martens. An outfit very similar to mine except I wore the corny “La Casa del Café'' t-shirt my cousin made us wear instead of a comfortable hoodie.

“You can go I’m still not sure what to get.” He told an elderly woman, Doña Pina.

Doña Pina is one of our regulars. Every morning, her daughter drops her off at Zumba while she runs errands for her kids. She waits five minutes before walking over here and ordering her usual té de canela and riele de fresa, a puff pastry with strawberry filling. An hour or so passes, and she walks out to wait for her daughter. I’m pretty sure her daughter knows she doesn’t go to Zumba.

“Buenos días, Doña Pina, lo de siempre?” I ask her, just to make sure.

“Si y el muchacho de atrás para ti.” She confirmed pulling out a five dollar bill.

“Doña Pina,” I began.

“Al paso que vas te vas a quedar quedada como mi Juliana.” She shrugged. I rolled my eyes at her comment.

You graduate college and everyone wants you to get married and start popping out babies right and left. My abuela on my mom’s side straight up asked me if I was pregnant. No ma’am, I’m just gaining weight from working at the coffee shop because all I eat is pan dulce.

“Ahorita le mando la canela y el pan.” I shooed her away.

Knowing her, she would turn around and ask Calum if he’s single. Then proceed to try to set me up with him by telling him all my good qualities. I doubt he would look my way, a philosophy major that took a year off before starting law school because shit’s expensive, when he has models, influencers, actresses, and other girls in the entertainment industry to pick from.

I noticed Calum looking at my chest. Bruh, there’s nothing to look at there.

“How do you pronounce your name?” He asked. Oh, that’s why he’s looking at my nonexistent boobs. “Sorry that was super random and kinda weird. You don’t have to tell me. I’ll just-”

“It’s Tonantzin, but people call me Tony.” I cut off his rambling.

“To…”

“To-nant-zin.” I repeated, splitting it up by syllables.

My parents decided to give my sisters and I the most complicated names to pronounce. My older sister was named Citlaly while our younger sister was named Monserrat. Of course that just meant through all of elementary school all the rude ass kids would call her minced rat.

“Toe-nancy?” Calum said, slightly unsure. I shrugged, it was pretty close and on the first try. “Well, I’m Calum.”

“I know… I mean not like that. It’s just you’re, you know, Calum from 5 Seconds of Summer.” Great, now I’m rambling.

I quickly glanced over to Doña Pina, and she shook her head at me in embarrassment.

“I figured. I should order something.”

“Yeah, gotta keep the business running.” I chuckled nervously.

“What’s café de olla?” He asked, but he made the double ‘l’ sound like ‘l’ rather than ‘ye’.

“It’s actually olla. In Spanish the double ‘l’ makes a ‘ye’ sound. The way you pronounced it means either wave or hello. If it’s h-o-l-a then it’s hello, but if it’s o-l-a then it’s wave.” I explained.

Why am I like this? He’s probably gonna walk out and go to the Starbucks a few blocks down. Then Jose Luis, my cousin, is going to fire me because I’m driving away customers because I decided to teach them Spanish instead of taking their orders. I would be moneyless; therefore, I would have to drop out of law school before even going.

“Ola is for waving hellos. Get it?” He smiled. He’s cheeks instantly flush, and he clears his throat. He’s so fucking adorable. I just wanna hug him. "Sorry, that was stupid.”

“No!” I yelled, then I lowered my voice, “You’re good. I can be slow sometimes. It’s actually a pretty smart way to remember it.”

Calum gave me a relieved look. We stayed quiet for another few seconds. Thank god it was fairly slow this morning or I would have gotten yelled at.

“But, um, café de olla is just coffee made in a clay pot with water, cinnamon, piloncillo, a giant chunk of brown sugar, and finely ground coffee. Olla is pot in Spanish hence the name: café de olla, coffee made from the pot.” I explained.

I see him eye the pan dulce display next to the cash register. His eyes are glued to the polvorones with sprinkles. I loved eating those as a kid. I would dunk the pan in my milk and wait for the color to run off the sprinkles into the milk.

“I’ll take a cup of the café de olla.” He said looking away from the display.

“For here or to go?”

“I’ll take it for here, please.” He pulled out a ten dollar bill.

I gave him back seven dollars in change, all which he put in the tips jar. He just can’t give leave a 233% tip like that. I watched him walk over to the other end of the shop and pull out his laptop.

To my luck, we had run out, so I quickly started a new batch. “Mientes” by Camila, the Mexican rock band not the racist dating Shawn Mendes, started playing and I couldn’t help myself and started to dramatically lip sync to it while the coffee heated up. I used the whisk as a mic for my musical number.

After a few minutes the batch was done, I poured Calum’s in a taza de barro. My cousin brought a few dozen of these from where our dads’ family are from in Mexico.

I remember when we were younger we would wake up at the brink of dawn and go get leche recién ordeñada. My ‘lita would make a huge olla of coffee where the grown ups would add milk directly from the cow and an insane amount of alcohol. But for us kiddos, they would pour a spoonful of chocomil before adding the milk. We would all have our piece of bolillo. Except for my sister, Citlaly, she’s the world’s pickiest eater.

I grabbed one of the sprinkled polvorones before bringing Calum’s coffee to him where Doña Pina is chatting him up. I can’t with this woman.

“Mi’ja, I have to get going. It was nice meeting you, Calum.” She said, patting my shoulder. “Que no se te vaya el muchacho. Es buena gente.” she quickly added before waving at Calum.

“Here’s your coffee.” I said setting it next to him.

“I didn’t order this.” He gestured to the polvoron.

“I saw you eyeing it, so I assumed you’d like to try it.” I replied, casually, or I thought I did.

“It looks like fairy bread. When I was younger, on Sundays, my mum would always make fairy bread for my sister and I.” He said. His eyes had a little twinkle when he talked about home. He reached for his wallet. “Um, how mu-”

“On the house.” I cut in. He was about to protest, but I jokingly explained, “You made it out in one piece from a conversation with Doña Pina. She somehow manages to get the cute guys to walk her back to her daughter’s car.”

“What was the song you performed a few minutes ago? I really liked it… the song.” He asked randomly.

A la pinche madre, he saw me.

“Oh, it’s ‘Mientes’, by Camila. They’re a Mexican rock band.”

I went off explaining to him how their first album, Todo Cambio, is the best, but Dejarte de Amar slaps. I somehow transitioned to giving him other bands he should check out, like Los Enanitos Verdes, Maná, and Los Prisioneros. I also recommended Julieta Venegas because she’s that bitch.

A few hours later he left. He promised that he’ll come back for the coffee and polvorones. I jokingly told him that I would help him out with figuring out what the songs mean. He just smiled.

While on my lunch break, I tapped through Instagram stories. I stopped at Calum’s. He posted that on Spotify he was listening to ‘En el Muelle de San Blas’ by Maná. At the bottom he put a few hands in the air along with “cafe de olla and new music recommendations.”

#request #calum hood blurb #calum hood #calum hood imagine #calum hood one shot #calum hood fanfic #calum hood request #maná #camila the mexican band

239 notes · View notes

ficsandcatsandficsandcats · 4 years

Note

How about one where the reader is trying to get Jaskier's attention and starts ranting to Yen about how all these stupid pretty girls are stealing him away so they hatch a plot to make Jask jealous by having him walk in on the two of them doin it?

Fandom: The WitcherPairing: Yennefer x Reader, Jaskier x ReaderWord Count: 1,953Rating: MTaglist: @heroics-and-heartbreak @whatevermonkey @mynamesoundslikesherlock @magic-multicolored-miracle @writingstudent a/n: I went into this thinking ‘I want to try and write smaller pieces today’ and then wrote almost 2,000 words with smut and fluff and a peppering of angst so here’s that!

It was a beautiful Spring day at the market. Jaskier stood in the center of a crowd, as per usual, and performed, also as per usual. And, most usual of all, you watched and fumed as he flirted boldly with every single person in the crowd – except for you. He danced and winked and sang his heart out, making eyes at everyone who seemed even passively receptive to his advances. But his eyes glanced away from you every time, nearly meeting you and then flitting away as though you’d winked out of view at the last moment. You sat perched on a wagon, legs dangling off of it while you propped your chin on your hand, the only person not enraptured by Jaskier and yet the most enraptured all at once.

“He’s showing off for you,” a voice beside you said, breaking you out of your grumpy musings. You turned to see Yennefer, violet eyes looking into the crowd with an unimpressed look on her face.

“Funny way of showing it if he is,” you muttered. She perched on the wagonside next to you and peered into your face.

“You want him to be more direct,” she reflected. You scoffed and looked up into her eyes, struck as you always were by how striking they were.

“If he is interested in me, which frankly he doesn’t even seem to know for sure, I’d like him to do something about it or move on,” you said. She considered your words for a moment, idly kicking her legs; an oddly playful gesture for the usually stoic sorceress that you found charming.

“It seems to me the problem, well, one of the many problems here, is that you perceive Jaskier as having endless options. But you have other options too, Y/N,” she said, looking at you meaningfully. Your brow furrowed in confusion.

“Geralt?” you asked, “I mean I get it, he’s attractive, but I’ve never felt-”

“I wasn’t referring to Geralt,” Yennefer said, cutting you off mid-sentence.

“Well I don’t know who el- Oh!”

She smiled as you realized what she was saying, and then at the adorable way you blushed and gazed at her, awe-struck by the suggestion.

“You mean… I mean… really?” you asked. Yennefer hopped down from her perch and leaned in close, the heady scent of lilacs and gooseberries that always followed her enveloping you as she did. Her nose gently brushed against your cheek as she whispered into your ear.

“You can wait forever for him to see you. But I see you now. The choice is yours.”

With that she walked off, climbing down from the wagon with grace, peering back over her shoulder to give you one final look before turning away. You looked into the crowd where Jaskier was sitting in a blacksmith’s lap. You looked back in the direction Yennefer had walked and saw her just slipping out of sight. You made your choice.

—–

Jaskier didn’t know when you’d left. One moment you were there in his periphery and then sometime later he found you missing, the spot on the wagon you’d been sitting now taken by a stranger. He wrapped up what was now going to be his final song and didn’t even bother going around to collect coins. Instead he went straight to the man sitting where you’d been.

“Excuse me, did you see where the lady who had that spot before you went?” Jaskier asked. The man shrugged and pointed off in a vague direction.

“Thank you that’s very helpful,” Jaskier mumbled sarcastically, but he still went off that way, hoping to find some sign of you. He asked along the way and was pointed here and there, going around in circles until he feared he’d never find you. He was standing outside of the bathhouse trying to decide where to check next when he heard an almost familiar whimper.

He listened intently for anything else and was about to chalk it up to a trick of his imagination when he heard it again, a breathier, deeper whimper that ended up a mumbled curse. He entered the bathhouse which was luckily empty, though he knew the proprieter would be back soon now that the entertainment was over. He followed the sounds that grew louder, peering into rooms which were all empty save for the final one. His eyes widened slowly as he took in the sight.

You gazed up at the woman in your lap through half-lidded eyes, lips parted slightly and he watched another whimper that bled into a moan escape those lips, your chest heaving through your labored breaths, flesh reddening and beading with sweat that couldn’t be entirely attributed to the steamy water. Though Jaskier couldn’t see what was happening below the water line it was pretty clear. The woman whose nimble fingers drove the sounds from you was naked, long dark hair sticking to her pale back. It looked familiar and for a moment Jaskier wondered if this was a former conquest he was watching ravish his hopefully-one-day lover. Then the woman’s head turned towards the door and made direct eye contact with him and he gasped.

She didn’t stop what she was doing and your eyes screwed shut tight, unaware of the silent stare-down happening between Yennefer and Jaskier. He tried to mouth something to her but he was drowned out by your cries as she made you come, a malicious glint in her eye as she watched Jaskier struggle between how deeply aroused he was at the sight and how agonizingly jealous he felt.

When you opened your eyes, taking a deep breath as you came down from your high, you sat up a bit and froze at the sight of Jaskier’s tortured face visible through the glass. Yennefer turned to face you and gave you a soft smile which turned into an annoyed eye roll as the door burst open.

“You!” he cried, pointing at Yennefer as you slunk down under the water to hide your breasts though it was a moot point by now.

“Is there a problem, bard?” she asked, voice monotone. He sputtered a bit and his eyes fell on you.

“And you!” he cried.

“What about me?” you cried back.

“When did this happen?” he asked, gesturing between the two of you.

“You were too busy preening for the crowd and I offered a more compelling form of entertainment,” Yennefer said, stepping out of the water, unworried by her nakedness which was more than you could say as you pulled the nearby towel into the water with you to cover up more.

“I was doing my job!” he argued, watching her as she dried off but not in the longing, lusty way you’d expected.

“And I did mine,” she said, turning to address you as she tied on a robe, “Y/N, thank you for a lovely time. I trust you can handle this yourself?”

Jaskier looked between the two of you in a way that would be amusing if you weren’t so incredibly mortified. Realization dawned on you and you gave Yennefer a slightly hurt look.

“Was this all just a ploy to get him to notice me?” you asked. Yennefer walked over to you and, to Jaskier’s voiced disgusted, planted another soft kiss on your lips.

“No,” she reassured you, “Did I know that he may come looking for you? Yes. But this is something I’ve been wanting for a while. And unlike some people, I go after what I want.”

She straightened up again and walked out of the room, giving Jaskier a sharp side-eye as she did. Once she’d left the room Jaskier began to pace around, starting and stopping a dozen sentences. You felt a knot of guilt in your stomach as you watched him, so clearly distressed, but that turned into indignation the longer he took to speak.

“Before you go off on me about how I could do that to you or why Yennefer or whatever other asinine thing you might say, allow me to remind you that despite your inconsistent and veiled flirtations over the years, you have never once actually expressed any genuine affection for me, much less desire,” you said, cutting him off before he could speak. He sighed deeply and ran a hand through his hair before throwing his arms up.

“You’re right,” he said. You blinked a bit in confusion, not expecting him to agree with you so quickly, if at all.

“I am? I mean, I am!” you corrected.

“I have no right to be jealous, I know you’re not mine. But gods, I am. I nearly broke down the door when I saw you in there with her,” he said bitterly.

“Why didn’t you?” you asked, genuinely curious. Jaskier was rarely restrained, even less so when angry.

“You looked like you were enjoying yourself,” he said, “I didn’t want to rob you of that. Even if I wasn’t the one giving you the pleasure. As it should have been.”

A silence settled between the two of you, neither sure where to go from here.

“So are you… do you… love her?” Jaskier asked, squinting from the answer even as he asked it.

“Of course,” you replied, “But not in that way. I love her as a friend.”

Jaskier exhaled slowly, relief plain on his face.

“But, why do you care who I love or don’t?” you asked. Jaskier approached the tub, sitting on the edge of it and training his eyes to stay on yours though they longed to roam lower at any bit of flesh not obscured by the sodden towel.

“Well, I’ve been trying to do something new with my life. In the past, I’ve been unworried about pursuing the affections of women whose hearts, or at the very least legal property and surnames, belonged to another. But since meeting you I’ve found myself considering a radical, new approach to love. Namely, only being interested in those whose hearts and etcetera are free.”

You squinted at him, trying to follow along to the confusing and overly officious language he was using, trying to parse out what he meant. He saw your confusion and took a deep breath.

“I love you, Y/N,” he admitted, “I have loved you for some time but I don’t know how to love someone who can love me back. Because that means they can… not love me, as well. And it won’t be because of the law or morality or anything but their own judgement. And I know how truly ridiculous and perhaps even sad that is but…”

He shrugged and you shook your head, laughing a little incredulously while he watched your face carefully, worried about what you may say or do next. When you looked back up at him there was a soft look in your eyes and you reached out and rested a hand against his cheek which he held with both of his, gently caressing your warm, wet skin with his lute calloused fingers. You tilted your head closer and he lowered his, closing the pale blue eyes just before your lips could touch – and you dragged him into the water on top of you, half of the tub splashing out while he yelped in surprise and you cackled evilly.

“That’s for spying!” you said once he’d resurfaced, sputtering and aghast. His face quirked into an evil, hungry smile that sent a thrill up your spine and you felt him seize your ankle, pulling you under where you wrestled him out of his clothes. You stayed in the bath until the water went cold and left dirtier than you’d been when you got in, but also much more satisfied.

#Anonymous #yennefer x reader #yennefer imagines #yennefer smut #jaskier x reader #jaskier fluff #jaskier imagines

144 notes · View notes

robinskey · 5 years

Text

Lover (Steve Harrington x Reader)

A/N: GUYS as you’ve probably noticed, I’m incredibly excited about the release of @taylorswift‘s new album. IMO, Lover is one of Taylor’s best songs to-date, and I thought it would fit perfectly with a fluffy, domestic Steve one-shot.

Warnings: Mild language, heavy fluff. Story under the cut.

We could leave the Christmas lights up 'til January

This is our place, we make the rules

And there's a dazzling haze, a mysterious way about you, dear

Have I known you 20 seconds or 20 years?

It wasn’t until you and Steve moved into your first home together that you realized how deeply in love he was with holiday decorations.

You had started the process of moving your belongings into the new place at the end of September. By mid-October, Steve had begun pestering you about shopping for Christmas decorations. You reminded him that you hadn’t even unpacked the last box yet, and Halloween hadn’t even occurred yet. Steve was persistent that you needed to get the lights up as soon as possible to “maximize the Christmas spirit.”

After a lot of convincing, Steve had finally agreed to wait until November. By then, you figured, he’d forget about it. I mean, this was the guy who couldn’t remember his social security number and occasionally wrote it on his stomach (“because I’m not dumb enough to keep it on, like, my hand, Y/N, where everyone can see it.” When when you suggested he just carry his social security card with him, he told you he didn’t trust himself not to lose it.) Surely, that guy would forget all about it, right?

Wrong. On November 1st, you were nursing a Halloween-candy hangover when Steve dragged you to Goodwill. You returned home with enough decorations to light up a mansion and spent the rest of the afternoon stringing them all around your tiny one-bedroom house. After dinner, you and Steve headed outside. As the sky faded to black, Steve wrapped an arm around your shoulders, and he watched in wonder as your small townhouse transformed into a winter wonderland.

“Look at that, Y/N! We did that,” he said. The various colors of the lights reflected in his eyes as he gazed down at you.

“I didn’t know King Steve Harrington could get so excited over Christmas lights.” Your smooth teasing was foiled by a strong gust of wind that left goosebumps on your arms and caused you to shudder.

“I’m full of surprises,” Steve said as the two of you started back towards the front door. “For example, you probably didn’t know, but I can make the best cup of hot chocolate in the state of Indiana.”

“Oh, really?”

“Oh, yeah. Grandma Harrington taught me her secret recipe.”

Even though you’d known Steve for years, you learned new things about him every day. You wondered if you’d ever run out of things to learn about the boy you’d known all your life.

Can I go where you go?

Can we always be this close forever and ever?

And ah, take me out, and take me home

You're my, my, my, my lover

We could let our friends crash in the living room

This is our place, we make the call

And I'm highly suspicious that everyone who sees you wants you

I've loved you three summers now, honey, but I want 'em all

Dustin Henderson started referring to your place as “our house” before you guys even moved in. He dropped by several times a week with updates on the newest happenings at Hawkins Middle or questions about how to handle a Suzie situation. At least once a month, Dustin crashed on your couch after a weekend movie night.

On one occasion, you and Steve returned home from a date night to discover half a dozen adolescents gathered around the television in your living room. A curly-haired kid carried around a bag of chips in one hand and waved cheerfully with the other. He flashed his infamous toothy grin, which you met with a half-scowl, half-squint of confusion.

“Dustin? How did you get in here?”

Dustin spoke through a mouthful of Doritos. “My mom dropped us off. And then I used my key.”

Your glare switched targets. This time, you directed it at Steve. He clamped his hand down on his face; you weren’t sure if it was to avoid your gaze or express his frustration.

“Dude, I gave you that key for emergencies only.”

“This was an emergency!” Dustin threw up his hands, sending an army of cheesy corn chips into the atmosphere. After falling back to earth, bright orange triangles wedged themselves into your new white rug. “The season premiere of our favorite show is tonight, and we didn’t have anywhere to watch it.”

You crossed your arms over your chest. Your eyes scanned over the gang sprawled across your couch, armchairs, and carpet. Judging by the boxes of candy and cans of soda littered across the floor, Dustin must have raided your pantry. Apparently, the kitchen wasn’t the only place he infiltrated, since almost your entire linen closet was spread out over the living room. Lucas and Max shared the recliner beside which Dustin was currently standing. Will sat on a pillow with his back against the coffee table, his attention still focused on the television screen. You turned your attention to Mike, who was curled up next to El under a crocheted blanket you’d received from your grandmother.

“Doesn’t your family have a TV, Mike?”

"Yeah, we do, but my mom kicked us out so she could watch a soap opera or some shit. She and Nancy love that crap.”

Nancy.

That name ignited the flame of jealousy in your chest. You knew it was totally irrational; she and Steve hadn’t dated since high school. They’d both moved on-something Nancy did almost instantaneously. Steve had told you the whole saga of their mostly-one-sided relationship, and you were fairly certain Nancy never really loved him.

Still, Nancy was Steve’s first serious girlfriend. She was the first girl-the only girl, other than you-to whom he’d said “I love you” and meant it. Nancy was, and would always be, Steve’s first love. There wasn’t anything you could do to change that.

“Y/N? Hey, babe, you good?”

Steve’s voice jolted you back to reality. You shook your head slightly to clear it, then nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.”

You pretended not to notice the way his mouth twitched downward slightly in concern.

“Great. So we can stay?” Dustin interrupted. The hopeful gleam in his eyes was too much to resist.

“I guess,” you sighed, earning a chorus of triumphant “yeah!”s from the kids. “Your show’s probably about over by now, anyway, isn’t it?”

Dustin furrowed his thick brows, as though that was the most blatantly incorrect assumption you could have made. Lucas let you know that “it doesn’t even start for three more hours.”

“Won’t that be, like, midnight? Your parents aren’t going to freak out if you come home at two in the morning?” Steve asked.

“Actually...” Dustin drew out the word until he finally ran out of air. Then, he spoke the next few words in one breath. “We were hoping you’d let us spend the night here?”

You and Steve exchanged glances. Between your schoolwork and Steve’s work schedule, the two of you hadn’t been able to spend as much quality time together. You’d finally both managed to secure a responsibility-free night and a cheesy rom-com to watch while cuddling on the couch. (Steve pretended to hate those movies, but he almost always teared up at least once during the show.)

None of that mattered now, though, because your boyfriend could never say no to his favorite child-or so you thought.

Steve scratched the back of his neck. He glanced at you out of the corner of his eye before saying, “Actually, Dustin, tonight’s not the best night for a sleepover. Y/N and I kind of had plans.”

Lucas raised his eyebrows suggestively. “Plans, huh? What kind of plans?” he said, earning a smack on the arm from his girlfriend.

Color rose to your cheeks; Steve picked up a pillow someone had haphazardly tossed on the floor and launched it at Lucas’s head. Instead of hitting its intended target, though, the cushion collided with Max’s face. Ever the hothead, the ginger quickly contorted her neutral expression into a deep frown. She chucked the pillow back toward Steve with tremendous force, along with a few other throw pillows. Only one actually hit Steve. The rest rained down on you.

And, as a mature, homeowning adult battling literal children, you knew there was only one correct response: to hurl each and every one of those pillows right back.

It didn’t take long before the scene devolved into utter chaos. Fluffy rectangles flew across the living room, smacking into bodies or simply into walls. The kids outnumbered you and Steve three-to-one, so you were doomed from the start. However valiant of an effort you two gave, the party still overcame you, burying you and Steve under an avalanche of pillows.

“Clearly, we won this fight,” Dustin said as he loomed over you. Steve had tried to act as your human shield, so he laid beside you on the floor. “I think that means we earned the right to stay.”

“Dustin-“

“No, Steve, it’s okay,” you said, turning towards him. “I know it’s not what we originally planned, but maybe a sleepover with the kids would be fun.”

Steve looked at you with admiration glittering in his chocolate eyes. “Yeah?” he asked softly.

“Yeah.” You shifted a few pillows to get closer to Steve and plant a gentle kiss on his mouth. He smiled as your lips brushed his, and for a moment, you forgot about the gang of gangly tweens in your living room.

Then, a symphony of “ew”s and “aw”s and “can you not”s and “I think it’s sweet”s erupted throughout the room.

Steve shot into an upright position, pointing his finger in the general direction of the sitting area. “Hey, this is my house, and my girlfriend, and if I want to kiss her, I will. And if you dweebs want to stay here to watch your stupid show, you’ll keep your mouths shut.”

“As long as you keep yours shut,” Dustin quipped. “I think I can speak for everyone when I say we’d rather not see you and Y/N sticking your tongues down each other’s throats.”

You tossed the last pillow throw of the night at Dustin but agreed. You and Steve kept the PDA to a minimum that night. They were just kids, after all, and you didn’t want to corrupt them. However, when Nancy came to pick up Mike the next morning and Steve waved to her from the porch, you didn’t hesitate to flounce out the front door in your robe and draw Steve into a passionate kiss.

You just had to make sure Nancy knew what was yours.

Can I go where you go?

Can we always be this close forever and ever?

And ah, take me out, and take me home

You're my, my, my, my lover

Ladies and gentlemen, will you please stand?

With every guitar string scar on my hand

I take this magnetic force-of-a-man to be my lover

My heart's been borrowed and yours has been blue

All's well that ends well to end up with you

Swear to be overdramatic and true to my lover

And you'll save all your dirtiest jokes for me

And at every table, I'll save you a seat, lover

Your favorite part of the day was coming home to your best friend.

Steve more or less memorized your schedule. You arrived home around the same time every evening, so Steve knew when to start listening for the sound of gravel crunching under the wheels of your car. He would then meet you on the porch with a “hello” kiss and a “how was your day, honey?” You always feigned indignance as he took your bags, murmuring something about how weak he must think you are to not be able to carry them two more steps. But, secretly, you spent your entire commute home anticipating the interaction.

This was especially true on the stressful days, the ones you felt would never end. Even though Steve was completely clueless in most situations, he could typically tell when you were in a foul mood. Those were the times he pulled you a little closer to his heart, hugged you a little tighter, loved you a little extra-just in case you needed it.

Today, you really, really did. It had been one of those days where everything seems to go wrong. You couldn’t wait to crawl into bed with Steve and snuggle all your sorrows away.

As you pulled into the driveway, your heart beat faster in anticipation. You watched the front door swing open. It took you a second to realize that the figure standing on the porch wasn’t your boyfriend. Rather, it was a short, stocky kid with a halo of golden curls. If it hadn’t been for the unmistakable hair, you might not have recognized him; you’d never seen him sans ballcap but plus a paisley-print bowtie around his neck and certainly never with dish rag was draped over his arm.

“Hey, Dustin,” you said. When he responded by simply smiling back at you, you asked, “What...what’cha doing here, kid?”

“Hello, Ms. Y/L/N. I’ll be your server for the evening,” he responded without missing a beat.

“My server?”

Dustin bent his head slightly in what he must have considered a sophisticated spin on a nod. “Indeed. Now, if you’ll follow me, ma’am...”

You kicked off your shoes and set down your purse before wandering after your guide down the dimly-lit hall. Something crinkled under your footsteps. You quickly noticed small ovals scattered across the wood floor. As you stepped on one, it felt like silk against your bare feet.

Petals?

You were too busy staring at the flowers scattered across the hall to realize you’d reached your destination. Dustin stopped, and you ran right into his back. You stumbled before regaining your balance and taking a look around the room.

The “server” had escorted you to your own kitchen-a place you were quite familiar with, since Steve couldn’t cook a decent meal to save his life. (To be fair, though, you weren’t much more skilled with the stove, so approximately 90% of your diet was comprised of takeout and peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwiches.) However, you’d never seen the kitchen quite like this.

It was the cleanest it had been since move-in day. Not a dish sat on the counter or even in the sink. The crumbs typically scattered across the floor had been replaced by rose petals. Sparkling white Christmas lights stretched across the room, and Elvis Presley crooned over the record player in the corner of the room. You didn’t even know Steve owned a record player. (As you later discovered, he didn’t. He’d borrowed it from Jonathan Byers.)

In the center of the room, your cheap card table was draped with a lace tablecloth. Wedged between two covered silver platters that looked like they belonged in a castle, a flickering candle cast shadows on the face of the boy sitting beside it. As soon as his eyes fell on you, he scrambled to his feet and over to you.

“Hi,” Steve said, winding his arms around your waist. He sounded breathless, even though he’d literally just walked a few feet.

“Hey.” Your eyes flicked from his slicked-back hair and freshly-shaven face to his crisp button-up and newly-polished shoes. “What’s-um-what’s all this?” you asked, vaguely gesturing around the room.

“Oh, you know.” Steve pressed a quick kiss to your lips before taking your hand and leading you to the table. “I just thought I’d do something special for you tonight.”

"That’s...really sweet.”

Steve scooted your chair in before placing himself back into the seat across from you. Dustin disappeared into your pantry, then returned with a bottle of sparkling grape juice. As you watched the teenager carefully pour a splash into each of your glasses, you asked whether Steve had bribed or tricked him into spending his Friday night playing restaurant.

“This is my full-time job, ma’am. This is how I earn my living,” Dustin answered dutifully before breaking character. “Besides, four of my stupid friends are on a double-date, and Will’s sick, so I had nothing better to do.”

“Way to sell us on the idea that you want to be here, dipshit,” Steve remarked.

“Hey, show our waiter a little respect!” you teased, gently kicking Steve under the table.

“Thank you, Y/N. But, actually, I prefer the term server,” Dustin corrected. He proceeded to produce a notepad from his pocket and read you the specials-or, rather, special, considering there was only one: spaghetti with meatballs. “On our regular menu, we also offer a wonderful noodle dish with a marinara sauce for the same low price as the special-zero dollars.”

You quirked an eyebrow. “So...just spaghetti again?”

Dustin clapped a hand over his heart in mock offense. “Excuse you, madam. It’s spaghetti without meatballs, which is a completely different experience.” Dustin glanced around as though someone might overhear before quietly adding, “Personally, I would recommend the spaghetti with meatballs, unless you want grubby hands digging around in your dish to pull out the meatballs, which may or may not already be incorporated into the pasta.”

You rolled your eyes but laughed nonetheless. “I guess I’ll have the spaghetti with meatballs, then.”

“Excellent choice. And for you, sir?”

“I’ll have the same,” said Steve.

“Well, you’ve both made this very easy for me. Pardon my reach,” Dustin said, leaning over to pluck the covers off the platters. A heaping hill of noodles, red sauce, and meatballs lay underneath.

Dustin took the lids and disappeared into the living room. You weren’t sure if Dustin was just trying to stay out of the way or if he was going to attempt to wash them in the bathroom sink. It definitely wouldn’t have been the weirdest thing he’d done in your house; once, you and Steve caught him trying to explain morse code to a squirrel in your backyard. That kid was truly an odd duck.

And speaking of weird behavior, you were still seriously questioning what was happening. Steve was a sweetheart, and he did everything in his power to make you happy. This definitely wasn’t the first time he’d surprised you with a thoughtful gesture, but it was probably the most all-out he’d ever gone. The last time he even attempted to cook for you was during senior year of high school, when you first started dating. As an after-school snack, Steve had popped some pizza rolls in the microwave and promptly forgotten about them...until, of course, the kitchen appliance burst into flames.

As strange as it was, you didn’t want to ruin the moment by verbally expressing your curiosities. You simply swirled slightly-soggy spaghetti around your spoon and savored the small talk. Eventually, Dustin reappeared to clear your plates and ask if you wanted dessert.

“What are my options?”

Dustin’s excellent waiter facade faded for a second. He glanced at Steve with wide eyes. His gaze begged for guidance-which Steve failed to provide. He simply squinted at Dustin as if to say, Figure it out for yourself.

The entire ordeal lasted about fifteen seconds. It was too long for Dustin to turn back to you with a tight-lipped smile plastered on his face as though nothing had just happened between them.

“The final course is-the dessert, uh-it’s a surprise.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you could have sworn you saw Steve offer a nod of approval.

“Okay...” You drew out the word as your mind jumped to every conclusion possible. “Is it a good surprise? Or is it, like, a somewhat-edible science experiment that might actually poison me?”

“Oh, no, no. It’s a good surprise. You’ll like it. I promise,” Dustin said. “I-uh-I’ll go get it,” he said, then disappeared once more.

“Steve, why did Dustin just head toward the bathroom? I swear, if he made Jell-O in the toilet or something, I’m going to lose it.”

Steve just shrugged. He avoided your gaze, and a few beads of sweat had broken out across his forehead. That pretty much solidified your suspicions that Steve and Dustin were pulling some weird sort of prank on you.

Dustin returned a few minutes later with yet another silver platter. (Seriously, where was he getting these things?) This time, though, there weren’t any noodles on the plate he unveiled. Instead, a small velvet box sat on the metal.

The next few seconds happened in a blur. You recalled Steve rising from his chair and reaching for the box. Then, suddenly, he was on one knee in front of you. The box opened like an oyster. Instead of a pearl, though, its treasure was a glimmering diamond ring.

Tears began clouding your vision before Steve’s lips even parted. As soon as he spotted the water in your eyes, Steve started to get choked up, too. He tried to power through, but his voice became more strained with each syllable.

“Y/N. These past few years with you have been the best of my life, and I never thought...shit." Steve blinked rapidly, attempting to clear away the tears. “I never want to spend my time with-with anyone else-damn it,” he murmured as a drop of water finally escaped his tear duct and rolled down his face. “I’m sorry, Y/N. I had this whole speech prepared, but now I’m a mess-”

You stopped his ranting by placing a gentle palm on his cheek and a kiss on his forehead. “It’s okay, sweetheart. I love you for the whole-ass mess you are.”

Steve leaned into your touch for a moment and whispered, “I love you, too, Y/N.” Then, he straightened up, cleared his throat, and softly asked, “Will you marry me?”

“Of course.”

Steve barely had the patience to slide the ring on your finger with his shaking hands before he picking you up and swinging you around. He kissed all over your face, and your happy tears mixed with his in a joyous saltwater solution.

The kiss fest didn’t end until Steve, caught up in all the excitement, accidentally pressed his lips to your nostrils. The two of you burst into a fit of giggles amplified by the ecstasy of the emotions you were feeling. Your hysteria lasted for several minutes and ended with you and Steve laying on the floor, lungs devoid of oxygen and limbs tangled together.

“Are you guys really that happy, or are you, like, on something?”

You both glanced toward Dustin, whose presence had completely slipped your mind. Luckily, Steve had a response ready. It was cheesy and cliche, but nothing could have fit the situation more perfectly:

“No, dude. We’re just high on life.”

Can I go where you go?

Can we always be this close forever and ever?

And ah, take me out, and take me home (Forever and ever)

You're my, my, my, my

Oh, you're my, my, my, my

Darling, you're my, my, my, my lover

***

Taglist: @novaddictx @anabundance0ffand0ms @rexorangecouny @broadwayandnetflix @explode-a-pult @whormotional @loulouloueh @readinthegarden12 @lacunaclouds

If you want to be added to the tag list for a specific character/my writing in general, leave a reply or send me a message! Thanks again for reading. <3

If you want to check out more of my writing, here’s my masterlist. :)

199 notes · View notes

sigil-stone · 5 years

Text

in the garden

(day 17 of inktober! a misguided dwemer realizes she’s got it Bad. i had to take a few liberties with the dwemer language, apologies in advance!)

Tazril wasn’t good with… emotions. She’d proved that much when she took one look at that Falmer mage and decided that she’d dedicate herself to saving as many as she could (which, unfortunately, wasn’t many - she led a few into hiding spots, and others to friendly cities, but in all, only a few dozen could be brought to safety… though, there were rumors of hidden cities).

As for the mage, Tazril had given her the offer to come with her to the border of Resdaynia. To her immense surprise, the mage had accepted. The only issue was that she tended to go above ground…

A lot.

See, it was less of an issue and more of an annoyance. Tazril would need her assistance, and go all the way to the surface to fetch her, and she’d have to endure those sad eyes as the mage went with her back under, making Tazril feel all… Guilty.

The mage missed her home. She missed the surface. That much was obvious. She needed to go to the surface occasionally - from what she knew, Falmer had a connection to the god of the sun - but Tazril also needed her above ground.

Tazril watched as the mage gloomily worked on translating a Nordic spellbook she’d somehow found. The Dwemer sighed.

“Why don’t you go to the surface for a while, E- E…”

“Eltys,” The mage said.

“Right,” Tazril cursed herself silently. That damn second letter - she just couldn’t get her tongue to make such a sound. “There’s something I’d like to work on, but I need some time alone to do so.”

“…I suppose.” The mage eyed her with those striking, pure-silver eyes. It was a bit disconcerting. It made Tazril all fluttery and jittery. “I can hunt for a few days and return.”

Tazril focused on everything besides how nice Dwemeris sounded when spoken by the mage. “That sounds good. The project shouldn’t be long.”

“Very well.”

Well, it was done. It had taken days of pouring over Falmer books, collecting and inspecting various flora, and learning ice magic of all things to create the garden. But it was done.

The Garden would be Tazril’s masterpiece. She’d realized that early on. She’d never create something quite as beautiful. She’d turned an empty but spacious courtyard of the city into a thriving, nearly-living garden. A babbling brook sang its song nearby, mechanical birds chatting and flitting about artificial trees. A few of her kinsmen idly walked through the garden, entertained by the replicated deer and mice and even a mammoth. Perhaps the biggest - and most complicated - piece was the Aetherium ‘sun’ that hung from the ceiling, covered in delicate patterns and giving the entire city an otherworldy blueish tint.

Tazril watched as her friend gasped, standing in the archway into the garden. The Falmer’s hands flew to cover her mouth at the sight. “Auri-El be praised,” she heard her whisper. She bristled a bit at her work being credited to Auri-El, but then -

Then the mage turned to her. “It’s beautiful, Emaratis.” Her voice was so soft - so… So -

“Really, it’s no problem.” Tazril glanced away from the mage, her face burning red hot at the name. Emaratis. Whatever it meant, it sounded… Magical. And it turned her stomach the temperature of her forge.

The mage placed a cold, gentle hand on Tazril’s cheek, turning her head so she’d meet her eyes. The mage’s snow-white skin that seemed to sparkle when the sun hit her just right, and her platinum hair, pale pink lips and flushed cheeks tinted blue by the Aetherium lamp - “Thank you.”

“Anything, chua chal.” Tazril’s voice was barely above a whisper, filled with admiration and devotion and other disgustingly sappy things. The mage’s lips parted for a moment, before she laughed softly.

“Ch- Chua chal?” She asked, stumbling over the words. It made Tazril feel another burst of horrid affection.

“It - it’s a name.” Tazril spoke quickly, pulling away from the mage’s cold caress. “It fits you. Like how you call me Emaratis.”

“What does it mean?”

“Nothing in particular.”

“Oh,” Chuachal said, smiling still as she took in another sweeping gaze of the garden. “I like it. I think. The name, I mean.”

“It suits you,” Tazril said, looking softly at Chuachal. My desire.

#tes inktober #day 17 #prompt: dwemer garden

5 notes · View notes

alydiarackham · 4 years

Photo

(Cover by me)

Scales: A Fresh Telling of Beauty and the Beast by Alydia Rackham

Chapter One

“Once Upon A Time”

“Snakes!”

The shriek ripped down a wide stone corridor near the kitchens of Tirincashel, followed by the battering of fleeing footsteps. Eleanora threw herself back against the wall as Hattie, a plump kitchen maid, barreled past her, skirts hiked up in her thick hands.

“Run, Princess Ele!” Hattie puffed, her face red, her eyes wide, her bonnet askew. “There are snakes in the larder!”

“What?” Eleanora called after her. “What kind of snakes?”

“Blue asps!” Hattie shouted back, her voice pitching to a screech. “Dozens and dozens of them!” Her words dissolved into a trailing howl as she rounded the corner to sound the castle-wide alarm. Eleanora frowned, watching her, then gathered up her long green skirt and trotted down the hall in the exact direction Hattie had come from.

A winsome, slender fourteen, Princess Ele made little sound as she darted across the worn gray stones, through the alternate light and shadow

created by the line of tall windows to her left. The scent of lavender washed past her face. Her long black hair flagged out behind her as she hurried faster, listening. She swung around the corner to her right and hopped down a short staircase, then darted onward, past the rustling torches.

Up ahead, light shone from a doorway—and clanging, crashing and shouting rang out to meet her.

“Get back, get back, Ailse! You’re in the way!” a rough voice ordered—Ele recognized it as Pather’s, one of her father’s huntsmen.

“Sorry!” Ailse stammered, and stumbled backward into the hallway, almost tripping on her long skirt. The young, thin woman wore the plain white-and-tan cotton clothes and cap of a kitchen maid, and her eyes had widened with panic.

Ele’s feet pounded now, and Ailse jerked around and caught sight of her.

“Princess, you mustn’t come any closer!” she cried, throwing out her hands to stop her.

“I want to see!” Ele insisted, grabbing the doorframe of the larder and swinging around it—

Pather, a short, thick, dark-bearded man in softened leather, stood with his back to her, facing the hung baskets of onions, apples and herbs, his attention bent toward the feet of the wine casks that neatly lined the dirt floor. In his left hand he held a short club, and in the other, a gleaming hatchet.

Hssssssss…!

Ele’s blood ran cold as the sound shivered through the air. And at last, her attention caught on the writhing tangle near Pather’s feet.

Four asps, flowing like ink, wound and wended around each other, their scales twinkling in the lamplight, seeming to change hue even as they moved—from deepest midnight, to the ripple of the ocean at noon, to a shimmering silver.

But their eyes glowed red, like low embers, and their flickering tongues looked like needles of obsidian.

“You women need to get back,” Pather warned, adjusting his grip on his hatchet. “I don’t want—”

One of the snakes reared up.

It suddenly lifted half its body to waist height, and its neck flared with

silver spines. Its eyes blazed like fire, and its jaw spat open, revealing long, black fangs.

Pather swung his hatchet.

He struck the snake down and his blade connected with the ground—the snake’s head lopped off.

Ele slapped her hands over her mouth as her heart gave a painful pang—

“Don’t kill them!”

The other snakes exploded with snapping, hissing with the fury of bees. Pather ignored her—

And cut them all to pieces.

Thud! Thud! Thud!

Their blood splattered across the casks.

The room fell silent. Pather, panting, righted himself, and hefted his weapon. He turned around, and glanced at Ele, then at Ailse. Sweat ran down his pale face.

“Are the two of you all right?”

Ele didn’t answer. She stared at the shreds of dead animal lying strewn behind him.

“I’m…I’m all right,” Ailse replied faintly. “Thank you, Pather…”

Pather’s heavy brow frowned, and his attention sharpened.

“Ailse, you look white.”

Ele turned to look at her…

Just as the young woman’s skin turned ash-gray, and she collapsed.

“No, no, no!” Pather cried, throwing down his club and hatchet and leaping forward. He clumsily caught her, and the two of them fell to the ground. Ele leaped back and hit the doorframe.

“She’s been stung!” Pather cursed as he hastily laid Ailse down and frantically began feeling all over her arms. Finding nothing, he then tossed the hem of her skirt aside…

To reveal a silver spine stuck through the skin of her ankle. A spine that oozed dark purple liquid.

Pather went still, staring at it.

Then, slowly, he covered his face with his hand.

A day later, Ailse died. She never regained consciousness after she collapsed in the hall. And as her family, friends, and the royal household watched, her skin turned from ash to gray, to the tone of stone, and at last her heart stopped. She was given a kindly burial by the king, for she had been a cheerful and helpful maid for five years.

Ele’s heart ached. And in the span of that day, she had ceased to feel any sympathy at all for those wicked blue asps, or any other creatures of like kind.

Chapter Two

“There Lived A Minstrel”

Seven Years Later

“No, you can’t wear that dress,” Oralia snapped, tossing her long, golden curls as she snatched the scarlet-and-silver gown out of Ele’s hands. She lifted her chin and her sky-blue eyes flashed before she spun around and marched back to her four-poster bed, which was covered in fluffy white pillows and comforters. “You have black eyes and black hair and not a pinch of color in your face,” Oralia went on in her swift, bird-like tone. “You would look like death. Even worse than you look right now, in that sack.”

Ele glanced down at her long-sleeved, loose-fitted beige dress and cream apron.

“Do you expect me to garden in a ball gown?” she asked as she folded her arms, sure to use her low, smooth voice to make her sound even older than her sister—though she only exceeded her by one year.

“You shouldn’t be gardening at all,” Oralia declared. “You’ll be dirty and smelly and brown and your hands will get rough—no one will want to marry you.”

“You really oughtn’t order me around,” Ele answered, a hint of warning in her tone. “It’s my dress and my birthday—I should to be able to wear what I want.”

“No,” Oralia shot back, ignoring the warning. “I’ve told you—I am planning everything. Including what you’re wearing.”

Ele considered an answer, then bit her tongue and sank down in a short chair near Oralia’s wardrobe, watching the shorter, blonde girl rush and fuss through her lavishly-decorated chambers, tossing dresses, undergarments and jewelry onto her bed.

Oralia was beautiful. She had a charming, glowing face, a lovely figure, and cascading golden hair that was the envy of every woman in the realm. And her eyes constantly sparkled, she had long, black lashes, dark eyebrows, and an elegant, effortless way of moving that almost looked like dancing. She also used a bright, endearing tone of speech with the servants, subjects, and their parents—a tone that Ele never heard when the two of them were alone together.

“I think the tapestries are a bit much,” Ele remarked, resting her elbow on the armrest and her chin on her hand. “I can’t see the walls.”

“The tapestries are gorgeous,” Oralia answered.

“Yes, but you have all of them, now,” Ele said. “Did you leave any in Mother’s room?”

“Mother doesn’t need them,” Oralia retorted. “She said so herself.”

“You have six lamps in here, too,” Ele observed. “And the gold mantel lions from Papa’s old chambers…”

“Listen,” Oralia huffed, straightening and facing her. “I like pretty things. I like pretty things all around me. And I especially like pretty things that other people aren’t properly appreciating!”

Ele watched her for a moment, a low pain traveling down through her chest.

“Is that what you thought of Roderick?” she asked quietly. “That I wasn’t properly appreciating him?”

“Tosh,” Oralia waved her off and straightened a bright pink frock. “He and I are not even close to betrothed. You can certainly have him back if you like.”

“Perhaps I would,” Ele murmured, not taking her eyes from her sister. “If he would even look at me.”

“Ha! Well, perhaps he will tonight,” Oralia said lightly. “I’m going to be paying my attentions to the new bard we hired—you remember, the one I heard at the fair and made Papa call to court?”

Ele’s brow furrowed.

“No…”

“Amberian, Master of Lute and Song!” Oralia sang the name, scooped up a dress and pressed it to her heart. “Though—everyone calls him Amber. Not sure why. They say he looks like it, but I have no idea what that means.” She sighed and gave Ele a dreamy look. “Wait until you hear him sing, Ele. You’ve never heard anything like it in your life. And people say he can compose songs right upon the instant, if you give him a line and a subject.” She twirled around, and the frilly skirt flared out around her. “I fell quite in love with him at the fair. Tonight, I’m going to have him write a song about me.”

“Oh, good,” Ele sat back in her chair. “Just what I wanted for my birthday.”

Oralia giggled and stopped spinning.

“Your birthday present is your new dress!” she said.

“My new dress?” Ele asked, surprised. “It’s finished?”

Oralia gave her a sly look.

“It’s just been delivered to your room.”

Ele sat up straight, then looked at Oralia sideways. But Oralia just grinned and twirled again. Ele hesitated, then got to her feet and hurried out of the room, hearing her sister laugh behind her.

“Oralia hates me.”

“What?! What makes you think that?”

“Look at what she’s given me to wear to the feast.” Ele held up the dress she had found waiting for her on her own bed: a bright orange gown with large ruffles all down the front of the skirt. It had not been wrapped, hung or folded.

“It…doesn’t have sleeves,” Ele’s mother—a tall, chestnut-haired, beautiful

woman with striking green eyes—raised an eyebrow and put her hands on her hips. “She said she was finished making it...”

“She did not make it,” Ele countered, tossing the dress down on her emerald bedclothes. “She got it from the trolls.”

“I might believe that,” her mother replied, sighing and fingering the skirt of the orange dress. “If trolls wore clothes.”

Ele sighed as well and ran her hand absently down through her own long hair, studying her mother’s winsome, brown-clad figure. Ele frowned.

“How do you braid your hair like that?”

“Four strands,” her mother answered absently, pushing her own long, thick plait out of the way—the end of it brushed the rug.

“Can you do that with mine? For this evening?”

“Mhm,” her mother nodded. Then, she glanced up at her daughter. “What are you going to wear?”

“I will not wear this,” Ele pointed at the hideous orange dress. Mother paused, and watched her, a weight seeming to settle around her.

“Today is your birthday, Eleanora. Today, you’re of age, and have as much authority as I do.”

Ele’s head came up, her attention caught by her mother’s tone. She watched Mother’s eyes as she solemnly gazed back at her.

“Your commands to those beneath you cannot be overruled,” Mother went on. “And your father and I will uphold all of your decisions. The kingdom now expects you to behave with the mind of a queen.” Mother reached out and took Ele by the shoulders, speaking low and warm. “You know the law. Papa and I will now step back from you, so that you may be ruled by your own heart and mind. And we are eager to see what you will do.”

“So…what does that mean?” Ele asked. “Regarding the dress?”

Mother winked at her.

“You may wear whatever you like.”

Ele smiled back, relieved deep down within her as she watched Mother leave. She listened to her footsteps fade away down the corridor. Then, she sighed, sank down and laid on her back on her wide, canopied bed. Her headboard rested against the stone wall, and just to the left of it stood a wide window, through which the afternoon sun poured. The light washed over Ele as she lay there, gazing at her empty ceiling, breathing in the scent of the cinnamon and cloves that she always enjoyed keeping in a small bowl on her vanity. She diddled her fingers, her gut slowly tightening, until an aching knot formed.

Roderick would be at the feast tonight. As Father’s bravest and finest knight, it was out of the question to exclude him from royal festivities. And he would be following Oralia around all evening, even if she was chasing the minstrel…

“Hmhmm…Hmmm…Hmhm”

Ele’s brow furrowed, her attention sharpening.

A low, melodic tone drifted through the slight crack in her window.

A voice.

Slowly, she sat up.

She climbed off the bed and circled it, then approached her window. Carefully, she pressed her fingertips against the lowest pane, and the window swung open. She rested her arms on the cool stone sill, and glanced down into the bright courtyard just one story below.

Other than the guards at the gate, the broad courtyard was deserted—except for a single person. He sat on the steps of the well, in the shade of its little canopy, with a butter-colored lute resting across his lap. He carelessly plucked the strings—they jingled pleasantly within the stone enclosure. Ele’s gaze fixed on him, and she couldn’t look away.

He wore fine, tanned leather, much of which had been dyed playful colors. He also had on walking shoes, but no hat. She noticed this peripherally, though, to the rest of his soft and unusual aspect.

His skin was a warm, southern tone—black eyebrows and lashes. He had a handsome face, tilted to the side as he attended to his lute. His short, curly hair bore a mix of colors: some strands of deep russet, others charcoal, others like the embers of a low fire, others like burnished gold. He struck a chord, then took a deep breath…

And began to sing, all for himself.

And Ele’s heart rose to the clouds.

“If a gold coin lies down

In the shaft of a well

And deep water hides it

Its worth can you tell?

If the shadows conceal it and moss makes its bed

Is this gold valued less

Than upon a king’s head?”

Even dressed in childish lyrics and a lilting tune, she had never heard a voice like it. Like the sunshine on a summer’s day after a wash of delightful rain. Like a river laughing downhill through shimmering stones. Like a lit hearth in the evening after a long day of hiking through the snow. Like cider and honey, like candles at twilight, like wind off the ocean, like bells resounding through a valley…

Like nothing in the world. The more she searched her heart for comparisons, the fewer she found that even came close. She held her breath as she listened, chastising even her heartbeat for distracting from the song.

His fingers moved deftly across the strings, and he lifted that voice once more, with an ease that made Ele beam with delight.

“So mark well my words now

Remember this tune

Lest the world tries a falsehood

To lead you untrue

No matter the depths of the black water cold

The coin is still worth all its true weight in gold.”

His fingers lifted off the strings. The last notes echoed and settled into the courtyard, as if coming home to roost within the walls. The young man sighed, and moved to stand up.

“Will you be playing that tonight?” Ele’s voice startled the echoes—but she smiled even more broadly as the surprised young man hopped to his feet, and his eyes found hers. Eyes of the brightest brown—almost coppery.

She knew who he was. This had to be Amberian of the Lute. But Ele suddenly realized why the name “Amber” was the only one that suited him.

“Hullo!” he answered her, a reflexive smile lighting his features. Then he laughed. “I didn’t know anyone was up there.”

“I was hiding,” Ele confessed. “I didn’t want to interrupt you.”

“Oh, I was just practicing.” He swung his lute strap over his shoulder.

“It was beautiful,” Ele told him, a sudden lump in her throat. His smile brightened, and he briefly ducked his head.

“Thank you.”

Ele blinked. Modesty? With that voice?

“Has…Has someone come to invite you in?” she asked.

He looked up at her again, and shook his head.

“Not yet. I think they’ve forgotten me.”

“No, no, no,” Ele chuckled. “I have it on good authority that Princess Oralia is dying to see you.” She straightened and held up a finger. “Stay put—I’ll go see to it that someone opens the doors for you.”

“What should I do then?”

Ele stopped.

“Hm?”

His coppery eyes searched hers—earnest and open.

“Once I come in,” he clarified. “I’ve never sung for a king before. And…I’ve always found it’s a good idea to ask other servants what to expect before I enter a new house.”

Ele’s face flushed, and she opened her mouth—

Then stopped herself. Smiled slowly.

“That’s probably wise,” she answered. She lifted her chin. “Well…If I were you, I’d get settled into my quarters first, and be careful to memorize the way, since all the passages twist in that corner of the castle. And, at dinner tonight, I would stay in sight of the king and queen—I know they’ll want to hear you. After that, when the dancing begins, get clear of the knights. They don’t have any patience for minstrels, especially if they’ve been enjoying the mead.”

Amber’s brow furrowed—worry crossed his gaze.

“Or,” Ele suddenly added. “If….you need to escape entirely, there is a library just off the dining hall. I’ve hidden there myself.” She gazed at him again, unable to keep the warmth from her tone. “But I’m sure it won’t come to that. You’ll do very well.”

Amber drew himself up, and the tension eased from his shoulders.

“Best of luck,” Ele said, straightening to withdraw into her room—though her heart gave an odd pang. “I need to be going.”

“Will you be there this evening?” Amber called. Ele stopped.

“Yes,” she said. “I will.”

“I’ll see you soon, then!” he waved at her. Her grin widened, she waved back, pulled in and shut the window. After standing for just a moment, staring across her room, she drew her head up in decision, and made for the door.

Chapter Three

“Who Danced With A Princess”

Ele walked quietly down the cool, torch-lit corridors, her floor-length, homespun green gown rustling with her steps. It had long, fitted sleeves, simple gold embroidery around the scooped collar, a slender waist and a flared skirt. It was comfortable, and nothing more formal than a day dress. She also wore no jewelry at all, and her mother had braided her hair without ornament.

Ele’s cold fingers closed as she heard the sounds of the party—voices, clanging dishes, shuffling feet—roll toward her down the stone hall. Rich scents drifted around her, too: breads, pheasant, boar, venison, ciders, wines, and roasted nuts. Her stomach clenched even harder. She slowed and bit her cheek. Halted. Slid her right foot backward.

“Eleanora!”

She jerked, her hand flying to her heart. It hammered against her ribs as a tall figure blundered out of the shadows to her right and came to a panting halt. She could halfway see him in the torchlight—slender and handsome, with dark hair and vibrant blue eyes. Eyes she had often compared to the spring sky. He wore the leather and dress jerkin of the knighthood of the royal house. And the sight of him sent pain shooting from her chest out to her fingers and all the way down her back.

“Roderick,” she gasped, lowering her hand and giving him a look. “Are you trying to frighten me?”

“No,” he quickly gave a half smile. “No, I was looking for you.”

She watched him.

“Why?”

“Well, your father is looking for you, for one,” he said, finally catching his breath. “And I also hoped I’d have the honor of sitting next to you this evening, and dancing with you at least twice.”

Ele stared at him, but he only gazed back at her, and smiled.

“The seating is arranged,” Ele carefully reminded him. “You’ve been assigned to Oralia’s right hand—she did that herself—”

“Never mind her,” he waved it off. “You and I are still good friends, are we not? And I’ve neglected you lately. Besides, Oralia is otherwise occupied. With party business.”

Ele frowned—

“A prince of realms did hold a ball,

Forced to marry, against his will

But to the ball, a lady came

All else forgot but this lady fair

And he must dance with her, oh—

And he must dance with her

Throw over all the kingdom’s worth,

But he must dance with her.”

A voice—as pure as refined gold and as rich as aged wine resounded through the feasting hall ahead of her, silencing the chatter and hushing all the guests to listening. She glanced at Roderick. His smile faltered. Ele drew in a deep breath. It hurt badly.

“You don’t want to spend time with me,” she realized. “And you wouldn’t. Except that Oralia is sitting with the minstrel. Isn’t she?”

Roderick blinked.

“No,” he shook his head. “I mean—She is? I hadn’t noticed. I…How did you…?”

Ele’s gut twisted and her fists clenched.

“You want to make her jealous,” she said. “Pretending to pay court to me so she’ll come to you.”

“No, Ele—” Roderick held up his hand.

“I am a princess of this kingdom,” Ele snapped, her eyes stinging. “You will address me as ‘your royal highness,’ ‘princess’ or ‘my lady.’” Suddenly, her whole body broke out in shivers, and she had to fight to form her next words. “But not now,” she managed. “I do not wish to see you or anyone for the rest of the evening.” And she charged past him, away from the feasting hall and down a dark, narrow corridor where no one but the servants ever walked.

“She was so fair, she was so sweet

He was stricken with true love

But when he asked, she would not tell

The name her mother gave.

He fell in love with her, oh—

He fell in love with her

Throw over all the kingdom’s worth

But he fell in love with her.”

Amber delicately pressed the thin strings of his lute with his fingertips, watching their progress as he plucked with the other hand. The notes reverberated through the wooden chest of the instrument, shimmering through the large, towering banquet hall. He sat on a low, comfortable stool with the wide granite fireplace to his back. The crackling flames behind him warmed his jerkin, almost humming along with the tune. He smiled to himself, took a deep breath, and kept singing.

“At midnight’s strike, she fled from him

And left behind her shoe,

The prince despairs of finding her

But he vows that’s what he’ll do.”

As he sang, he lifted his head, and glanced around the room. Torches lit it, as did tall, white-wax candles atop gold and silver sticks. The three long food-and-wine-laden tables had been arranged in a U, with its open end toward him. The king and queen sat directly across from him in tall, wooden chairs. Queen Lilian was beautiful and stately, with dark hair and emerald eyes that sparkled as she watched him, her fingers lightly entwined. King Herrard sat back, a small, pleasant smile on his bearded face. He reminded Amber every inch of a lionesque monarch—with a blond mane of hair, weather-beaten features and warm brown eyes. Both royals wore splendid comfort—scarlets and golds unrivaled anywhere else, with glimmering jewelry on their hands and throats. At the other tables sat courtiers and knights also dressed in glittering garb—many of the women wore elaborate hats and headdresses. They all listened to Amber, eating quietly if their appetites demanded it, as the flamelight played across their finery, the cutlery, and their attentive gazes. Amber’s attention once more caught on the royal table. The chair to the right of the queen stood empty. As did the two chairs to the king’s left. He could only account for one of those vacancies.

For on a fur rug right next to his feet sat princess Oralia, dressed in scarlet embroidered with white, and diamonds dancing at her ears and upon her fair throat. Her gold hair, in endless ringlets, spilled down her shoulders all the way to the floor. She watched him fixedly with radiant blue eyes, her perfect, blushing face tilted toward him. Amber kept singing.

“And he must find her soon, oh—

Yes, he must find her soon

Throw over all the kingdom’s worth

But he must find her soon.”

With a gentle flourish, he finished the song and lifted his right hand off the strings, smiling down at the gleaming face of his lute.

“Ah!” the courtiers exclaimed—a half-sigh of pleasure—and burst into applause. Amber raised his head and met several of their happy glances as cheering rang through the rafters. The king and queen rose to their feet, and the king struck his hands together mightily, grinning from ear to ear. Amber got up, and bowed to them at the waist. When he straightened, he found the king still beaming, and shaking his head.

“Though I spent my boyhood and youth in the north with my father, living amongst the fellowship of Caldic Curse-Breakers,” he boomed. “And night after night, around their enchanted fires, I listened to their music—music spun from the weavings of the wind, and the tones of the very morning light itself…” He held out a hand to Amber. “I have never heard such a song as that. How proud I am that I, of all fortunate men, am blessed to have the finest voice in all the land grace my humble halls.”

The court burst into another round of clapping, nodding firmly to Amber and to each other. Amber inclined his head to him, his heart swelling.

“And how proud I am,” the king shouted over the noise. “To have a daughter with such impeccable taste—and cheerful stubbornness—that she insisted I bring him here, to delight us this evening and forevermore!” He gestured broadly to Oralia, fondness glowing in his features. She hopped to her feet, and gave them all cute curtsey, at which the courtiers laughed.

“And now,” the king went on. “As we have all eaten our fill, I pray that the other musicians come forth to play for the dancing!”

A wilder cheer went up as the four-piece ensemble shuffled out with their pipes and drums, and began arranging their chairs and stools. The roar of the hall billowed over Amber, as well as the thousand delicious scents from the feast, and warmth bloomed through his chest. Maybe now he could go to the kitchen and get some food—he hadn’t eaten all day—and come back out to watch some of the dancing—

Fingers grabbed his wrist. He swung around.

Oralia had hold of him with both her hands, and she tilted her head coyly at him.

“Come, Amber!” she cried, pulling close to his face. Lavender perfume washed over him.

“Come dance,” she enticed, smiling beautifully. She slid her hand down and interlaced their fingers. “I’ve been waiting all evening to dance! Please?”

“With me?” he cried.

“Of course! Why not?” she insisted.

“Ha,” Amber laughed. “All right—if you say so.”

“I do,” she answered resolutely. “Come!”

Amber managed to set his lute down on his chair before she pulled him toward the group of courtiers who had lined up in the center of the room. Amber filed in next to the men and faced the iridescent princess, who gave him a saucy look as she took her place. The musicians tuned, paused—then burst into song.

With a grin, Amber sprang into the dance—Oralia followed immediately. They swung and swirled together, weaving expertly between the other colorful dancers as the music soared to the ceiling. They met in the middle, he wrapped his arm around her waist and they spun wildly—both let out ringing laughs. Oralia’s golden hair flung out behind her like a glorious flag, her skirt flaring like flower petals. The dance blurred around them, and they easily kept pace with the quick rhythm, out-dancing everyone else on the floor.

The music built to a frenzied beat—Amber’s heart pounded in his ears—and finally, the players finished with a sweep of gusto. The seated courtiers began to clap first, then the panting dancers. Amber applauded, nodding at the fevered musicians, then sent a happy look to Oralia—

Who promptly stepped to him and pressed her lips to his cheek in a quick kiss. His face went hot.

“I’m off to get a drink,” she told him as she skipped back. “I will find you for the next dance!”

Amber could only get out a laugh before she darted off through the crowd. Shaking his head, Amber made his way to a long side table where sat a large bowl of cold, red punch, along with several empty silver goblets. He picked up a goblet, hefting its weight in his hand, and reached for the ladle—

A hand slapped down on his left shoulder. An arm draped across his back. Amber instantly went still. His head came around to the right—

A knight. Back-haired, lean and wolf-like, with piercing blue eyes. Right next to him. With his arm around him.

And he stared straight back at Amber, his gaze like ice.

Amber’s heart thudded once.

The knight’s mouth twisted into a semblance of a smile, but it didn’t look real.

“What are you doing over here, bard?” the knight asked, his voice deep and calm.

“I’m…getting a drink,” Amber answered, his brow slowly furrowing as he watched those wintry eyes.

“Oh, you are,” the knight’s eyebrows raised. “Why?”

“I’m thirsty,” Amber replied. The knight’s hand tightened on Amber’s shoulder.

“And why is that?” the knight pressed.

“I have been dancing.”

“Ah. I see. That’s interesting,” the knight said casually. “Because I thought I was hallucinating earlier, when I saw the princess dancing with a servant.”

Amber’s jaw clenched. The knight’s crooked smile grew.

“And I was convinced my vision was continuing to blind me when I saw a servant approach a table meant for courtiers and royalty. I’m so glad you’ve confirmed the truth. I thought I was going quite mad.”

Amber said nothing. But his free hand closed into a tight fist. The knight’s grip tensed further.

“I’m not exactly certain what corner of the woods you’re from, lad—but in civilized places, there are such things as codes of conduct, and expectations for folk of various stations. And in this kingdom,” He leaned close, and hissed in Amber’s face. “Servants do not touch princesses. Neither do they pollute the food or drink of their betters. Now, I know you are a newcomer, so I will release you this one time.” The knight withdrew just slightly. “Just remember this, Fiddler: keep your station, and you’ll get to keep your fingers. Understood?”

A needle-like chill traveled down through Amber’s gut. He didn’t pull his eyes from the knight. Neither did he nod.

He stepped back. The knight let him go—and any semblance of smile vanished. Amber turned, strode across the room, picked up his lute from off his chair, and hurried around the standing mantel toward a short corridor, praying there would be a door at the end of it that led to something besides a broom cupboard.

Ele sat on the rug in the corner of the library to one side of a desk, knees hugged to her chest, staring absently at the flames in the broad fireplace across the room. All around her, the tall shadows of the tome-packed library stretched to a darkened ceiling. The crackle of the embers filled the silence. She counted her breaths, drawing in the scent of burning cedar and book-dust, absently running her thumb back and forth against her opposite forearm. She sighed. Her whole ribcage ached.

The door latch off to her left clacked. She sat up.

A quick, heavy sigh rushed through the quiet—hard footsteps intruded, the door squeaked and then clanked shut. Low panting followed, and then…

The person stepped in so that Ele could glimpse him around the desk. He entered the soft light from the hearth…

Tall, dark and warm—hair of twilight and autumn, clothes of a traveler, a lute in his hand. His brow twisted, and his gaze seemed faraway. He heaved another sigh, and raked his hand through his curls.

“So you did have to escape,” she noted.

He jumped, whirling around, his hand slipping on the lute so it gave a disconcerted “twang.” Ele felt herself smiling—though it hurt—and climbed tiredly to her feet.

“I’m sorry,” she laughed. “It’s just me.”

His startled eyes found her, and he blew out his breath as his frame relaxed.

“You keep scaring me,” he said, recovering a faint grin. “It’s starting to get embarrassing.”

Ele ducked her head and chuckled, slipping around the desk and wrapping her arms around herself.

“I’m not trying to,” she promised. “I suppose I’m just too quiet.”

“I’m probably too loud,” he said. “Or…not paying attention.”

“Maybe,” Ele shrugged amiably. She canted her head. “What are you running from?”

“Oh,” he gestured toward the door, and that furrow returned to his forehead. “There’s a knight out there who wants to kill me.”

Ele’s eyebrows went up.

“Kill you? Why?”

“I danced with the princess. And then I tried to get a drink of punch.” He sighed, setting his lute gently on the floor and leaning it against the mantel. “Apparently, I’m not allowed.”

Ele pulled her arms in tighter, then took a quick breath.

“That’s Sir Roderick.”

“Hm. Nice fellow,” Amber muttered.

“You’re afraid of him?” Ele wondered.

“Ha. Well,” Amber shot her a glance and sat down on the rug. “I can’t really count someone who threatens to cut off my fingers as a friend, can I?”

“What?” Ele yelped. “Roderick…Roderick said that?”

“I don’t know if it was Roderick,” Amber said. “I only just got here. I

barely remember the way to my rooms, I don’t know anyone—and I would rather not make any mortal enemies just yet.”

“You know me,” Ele corrected quietly. He looked up at her.

“Just a little,” he said. “What’s your name?”

“I’m…I’m Ele,” she said.

“Oh, well—” Amber sat up and held out his right hand to her. “My name’s Amberian, son of Caspell of Nerrinton. I’m called Amber.”

Ele hesitated, then stepped fully into the firelight and stretched out her right hand. He caught her fingers. His were warm, and soft. Again, he gave her that smile—a smile that had faded in the wake of his mood, but now shone back bright as day.

He held onto her a moment, gazing up at her. She watched the firelight play across all the colors in his eyes.

He let go.

“Nerrinton?” Ele repeated. “That’s very far south, isn’t it? Close to the ocean?”

“Mhm,” he nodded, settling back against the stone of the mantel. “It’s always hot there—it’s wonderful. Big city, busy all the time. My parents are merchants. Well…My father started the business, but then he died and his brother married my mother.”

“Oh,” Ele nodded, cautiously settling down onto her knees a few feet from him. “Have you moved in here all right? To your rooms? How are they?”

“They’re fine,” he assured her, folding his arms and stretching his legs out in front of him. “Much better than any I’ve had before. Someone named…Roger showed me the way. I tried to take your advice and memorize the halls,” he shot her a twinkling glance. “But I know I’ll get lost at least once, especially in the dark.” He shifted toward her. “So, what do you do here? You’re too well-dressed to be a kitchen maid or anything like that. Are you a lady’s maid? You help the queen?”

“When she needs me,” Ele hid a smile.

“No wonder you know everything,” he remarked.

Just outside, a sprightly whistle-and-pipe tune began to play, and the whole hall thudded with a hundred sets of footsteps, in time with the music. Amber groaned.

“I wanted to at least watch the dancing,” he complained. “But now if I show my face that knight will pound it in.”

Ele giggled, and covered her mouth with her hand.

“It isn’t funny at all,” he muttered. She choked on her laughter.

“You’re missing the party too,” Amber noted. “Why?”

“I just…” Ele lowered her hand and swallowed hard. “I wasn’t in the mood. To be around a lot of people.”

“But you like dancing,” he lifted his eyebrows.

“Yes—”

“Then let’s dance.”

Ele mentally staggered.

“What—?”

“Yes, come on,” he said, hopping to his feet. He clapped his hands once, then held them out to her. She stared at him.

“Come on,” he beckoned with his fingers.

“I only know line dances—” Ele protested.

“I’ll show you a dance we did all the time in Nerrinton,” he cut in. “You’ll pick it up right away—promise.”

“I’m…” Ele started, her heart hammering. He just waited, then looked slyly at her sideways and wiggled his fingers. She heaved a sigh, rolled her eyes, and tried not to smile as she got up and grasped his hands.

“All right, this is a quick tune, but we can do it,” he said, setting his stance. “First, it’s three fast steps this way…” He led her thus. “And then three fast steps back. Then we do that again.”

Ele battled to keep up, biting the side of her cheek.

“Then we twirl under,” he went on, and whirled her into a bridge-like spin, and they faced each other again. “Then this way three steps, that way three steps—”

Ele stumbled.

“I’m actually rubbish at dancing.” She caught her balance and blushed. “I can never pick it up—”

“Nonsense, you’re fine,” he said. “All right, the three steps is the pattern, remember that. We do that one way, then the other way, and then something in the middle, repeating. First the under twirl, then the spin, and then we come in and do the three steps a different way.”

“What different way—?”

“Three steps first. Go.” They hopped three steps one way, then three

steps back, and then he spun her around by her hands so the whole room

whirled. She accidentally giggled. He beamed.

“All right, three steps—go!”

They danced one way, then the other—

And he stepped in, slid his right arm around her waist and pulled her

against his chest. Their faces were suddenly inches apart. She looked up at him—she saw flecks of gold in his eyes. Her heart caught—

The next moment, he tugged her into a dizzying spin, and then they danced their six steps that way. Ele couldn’t breathe.

“All right, and then we start over!” Amber said, leaping back and gripping her hands again. “Three steps this way!”

They did this again and again, faster each time, it seemed—and yet, before Ele knew it, here feet were flying. And she was laughing. Laughing so hard she thought she might break a rib. Around and around they spun, across that library rug, rushing by the mantel fire, sending mad shadows flashing upon the faces of the book-covered walls.

Finally, the music burst to its end, like a firecracker, and Ele and Amber collapsed to the floor, panting through their laughter.

“Well…” Amber managed. “I might need a while to recover from that one.”

“A year at least,” Ele answered. Amber fell backward, laughing full-out, pressing both hands to his heart. Ele managed to stay sitting up, her skirt thrown haphazardly across her legs.

“Yes. At least,” Amber said, swiping at his eyes. “Especially with no food in me.”

“What?” Ele asked, brushing her own tears away. “You haven’t eaten?”

“No,” he said. “Not all day.”

“Oh, no,” Ele clambered to her feet, clearing her throat. “That isn’t good—you’ll be ill.”

“Ha, don’t worry about me. This would not be the first time I went a whole day without food.”

“Well, you shouldn’t!” Ele insisted, smoothing her hair. “Not while you live here.” She started toward the door.

“Where are you going?” Amber wondered, propping himself up on his arms.

“I haven’t eaten, either,” she told him. “We’ll have a picnic.”

“Inside?”

“Why not?” she grinned at him. He grinned back. She found the door

in the far corner—far opposite the one Amber had entered—pulled it open

and stuck her head out into the cool, dark corridor.

“Hattie,” she called in a sharp whisper. “Hattie!”

Clattering issued from the end of the hall, a door opened—light spilled out. Then, the plump maid came bustling down the hall toward her, her face pinched with alarm.

“Your Highness?” she hissed back. “What are you doing in the library?”

“Is there any food left?” Ele asked. Hattie came to a stop, and squeezed her fingers together.

“Erm—there is one little roast hen, erm…some little potatoes, some carrots, bread sauce, sweet onions—”

“Oh, good!” Ele cried. “Bring all of that, prepared for two. Along with some water. And some tea as well.”

“Two, miss?” Hattie jumped.

“Yes, the minstrel and I will be eating together in the library.”

Hattie’s mouth pursed so tightly it almost vanished.

“He hasn’t eaten the entirety of the day, and he is near collapse. I thought I would keep him company, seeing that he is a complete stranger here, and lonely for his home. Would you like to join us, Hattie?” Elle invited. “I’m certain you’d like to sit down for a while—you’ve been working so hard. Betsy too, she can come—”

The tension vanished from Hattie’s face.

“No, thank you, ma’am—maybe in a little while…But yes, I’ll get that for you, straightaway!”

“Thank you, Hattie,” Ele said sincerely, and the maid turned and bustled away. Ele shut the door again, swung around and strode back to the fireplace where Amber sat cross-legged. He watched her with narrowed eyes, and a small smile.

“What?” she asked lightly, coming to sit just in front of him, parallel to the fireplace, in the same fashion.

“You’re more important than I thought,” Amber noted, studying her. “Giving orders to other servants? What are you, the…Mistress of the Robes?”

Ele sighed, smiled a little, then rolled her eyes at the ceiling.

“No,” she admitted. “I’m Oralia’s sister.”

She pulled her gaze down to meet his. The mirth faded from Amber’s features. He stared at her.

“Her…elder sister,” Ele added.

“Oh…” Amber’s eyebrows came together. “I…”

Ele waited, not moving.

“I’ve really put my foot in it, haven’t I?” he said.

“What?” Ele said. “What do you mean?”

“I’m…” he shook his head, baffled.

A knock came at the door. He twitched.

“Stay there,” Ele told him. She got up, hurried to the door, and opened it.

“Here you are, miss,” Hattie entered, smiling, carrying a wide tray of steaming food. Betsy, a much younger kitchen maid with frayed blonde hair, entered after her, bearing a tray with the tea and the water.

“Where would you like them?” Hattie asked.

“Just on the floor, there,” Ele pointed. “Like mother and I do when it’s cold out.”

“Yes, miss,” Hattie said, lowering the platter down to the rug with a clatter. Betsy bent and carefully did the same.

“Hattie, Betsy, may I present Amberian, the new court musician,” Ele said, gesturing to him. “Amber, this is Hattie and Betsy. They work in the kitchens. And Hattie is the greatest cook in the realm.”

“Oh, tut, tut,” Hattie waved her off, clearly pleased. “We certainly already know who this young man is.”

“Yes, we heard him singing,” Betsy murmured, her face going red.

“And a lovely voice it is, too,” Hattie declared, tipping toward him. “We are so happy to have you with us, Amberian.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” Amber answered brightly. “The pleasure is mine, truly. And thank you for the food.”

“My princess’ command is my delight,” Hattie declared. “Eat quickly! Don’t let it get cold!”

“Thank you, Hattie; Betsy,” Ele dipped her head to them as they scurried out. As soon as the door had shut, Ele sat down with a huff, facing Amber, and took a deep breath of the delicious, rich, steaming scent of the roasted hen and vegetables.

“So, you were saying,” she prompted Amber, snatching up a long fork and a carving knife.

“I was saying,” Amber said. “That…I’ve only been here a day and I’ve danced with two princesses.”

“You’re liked by the royal family,” Ele said, stabbing into the hen and

deftly sawing it in half. “Isn’t that a good thing?”

“That knight will kill me,” Amber muttered. “Sir Rodback.”

“Roderick,” Ele shot him a glance.

“Yes, him.”

“Ha,” Ele snorted. “Roderick doesn’t care what I do.”

“He doesn’t? Why not?” Amber asked. She lifted her eyes to his for a moment—he gazed at her softly.

“Here,” she said, pushing half of the hen toward him. “Eat.”

“Is there…another fork?”

“No,” she set the utensils down. “No need.” And she took hold of a greasy piece of meat with her fingers, tore it off, and put it in her mouth.

“Ha. All right,” Amber chuckled, and followed suit.

Together, they ate with their fingers, not bothering to divide the food into separate portions. The hen, as usual with Hattie’s cooking, melted in Ele’s mouth, and the potatoes, carrots and onions had been glazed in honey, and roasted to utter perfection. In between ravenous bites, Ele and Amber talked about dancing, and about his mother’s cooking, which he said nearly rivaled this.

After they had cleaned the plate, Ele poured some water into a bowl and they washed their fingers, and dried them on a towel Hattie had put on the tray. Then, they drank their tea while leaning back against the warm mantel, each of them on one side of it. At last, in a moment of silence, Ele glanced up, and sighed.

“The hall has gone quiet,” she observed.

“Mm,” Amber acknowledged drowsily.

“Are you tired?”

“Mm,” he said again, stretching his legs.

“Come, then,” Ele said, setting her tea down. “I’ll walk you back to your quarters.”

Amber glanced over at her.

“Are you supposed to do that?”

She looked at him.

“Would you rather get lost?”

“No.”

“Thought not,” she said, and got to her feet, her skirts rustling. “Come on. I’ll clean this later.”

Amber groaned and stood up, then gestured to the door.

“Lead the way.”

Together they left the library and wound through the dark, hushed stone hallways, flickering in and out of the moonlight that sneaked in through the occasional window. They turned a corner—

“Watch out for the—”

“Oof!” Amber tripped down the single stair. He lashed out and grabbed her—she grabbed him back.

“—stair,” she finished, gripping his jerkin as he regained his balance.

“Why in the—” he started loudly.

“Ssh!” she giggled. “People are trying to sleep.”

“You need to tell me sooner about the stairs,” he hissed, dusting himself off.

“I tried!” she insisted. “Shh! Come on.” She reached down and grasped his hand. In spite of his loss of footing, his fingers wrapped around hers in instant trust. Her heart warmed. She tugged on him, and together they pattered down the final stretch of corridor.

“All right—this is your room, isn’t it?” Ele gestured to a low door.

“Yes,” he answered breathlessly. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Get some sleep!”

Amber passed around her and opened the door.

“Thank you for the evening,” he said. “I enjoyed myself.”

“Yes,” she answered. “I’m…I’m glad you’ve come to Tirincashel.”

“So am I!” he agreed. He reached out, his hand blundered into her arm, and he squeezed her fingers. “Goodnight!”

“Goodnight!” she replied. And with that, he ducked inside, and shut the door behind him.

Read this book: https://www.amazon.com/Scales-Fresh-Telling-Beauty-Beast-ebook/dp/B072JTPP3C/ref=pd_sim_351_2/146-6363556-3395043?_encoding=UTF8&pd_rd_i=B072JTPP3C&pd_rd_r=ab0c3f28-93dd-409c-b443-b38d0d56a0f0&pd_rd_w=VQqvj&pd_rd_wg=BOYjn&pf_rd_p=5abf8658-0b5f-405c-b880-a6d1b558d4ea&pf_rd_r=BW8S2ZGZQ4AV8K2H1GGE&psc=1&refRID=BW8S2ZGZQ4AV8K2H1GGE

2 notes · View notes

fatechica · 5 years

Note

V- for Mileven

I think y’all just want my brain to melt into a pile of Mileven fluff, don’t you?

V - Wedding

El and Mike don’t have a huge wedding. For as schoompy and over-the-top in love as they are, they don’t have the widest social network. They have the Party and their families and a few more friends, but that’s really about it.

Karen, obviously, wants the wedding to be a big thing. She has a lot of friends and extended family she wants to invite, but she’s forced to keep it small after Mike threatens for him and El to run off to Atlantic City and get eloped and then where will she be?

So Mike and El get married in a small ceremony (not sure where, but probably some compromise location to keep everyone happy). But it doesn’t really matter where to Mike and El - what matters is that this is the day they officially promise themselves to each other.

Mike’s a nervous wreak the day of the wedding. Really, he’s just so fucking excited that he can’t wait. This is all he’s wanted for what feels like forever and he’s so close now. The rest of the male portion of the Party threatens to tie him to a chair if he doesn’t stop pacing and being all jittery. (Dustin even goes so far as to find actual rope to restrain Mike.)

El, meanwhile, is filled with a sense of peace that only comes from knowing that this is absolutely where she’s meant to be. Oh, sure, she’s super excited and this is the embodiment of everything she’s ever wanted, but this is so right that it crowds out almost everything else she’s feeling.

Hopper walks El down the aisle during the ceremony and Mike almost goddamn cries when he sees El walking towards him in her wedding dress. El’s the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen in his entire life and she’s walking towards him wearing this gorgeous dress that makes her look like a princess, about to promise in front of all these people to spend the rest of her life with him and it’s all he’s ever wanted. And yet, he can’t believe how lucky he is that he gets to marry her.

Mike and El don’t write their own vows - at least, not ones that they read in public. I like to think that Mike writes something to tell to El once they’re not being watched by dozens of people, something for only her to hear him say.

Mike and El spend most of the reception completely wrapped up in each other - as they should, tbh. They slow dance to nearly every song, even if it’s not a slow dance song, all smiles and trading small kisses and quiet laughter and they’re just so happy that they’re finally married.

The Party really can’t give them shit for being so schmoopy and sickeningly in love because if Mike and El can’t be like that at their wedding, then when can they be? (Honestly, though, everyone’s a little envious at the relationship Mike and El share because theirs is the kind of love that only the luckiest of people get to experience, but if any one deserves it, it’s those two.)

Send me a letter and a ship and I’ll write a headcanon based on it!

#stranger things #mileven #they'd be so schmoopy at their wedding i stg #just completely over-the-top in love and it'd be so adorable you guys #really it's what they deserve and we all know it #caseyk112

24 notes · View notes

obserfdom · 5 years

Text

Taylor Swift, A Real Person Inside Celebrity Attire

I wanna have a break for awhile in speculating about Taylor Swift' sexuality/relationship and dedicate this writing solely focusing on her as a person.

Honestly, I've never a big fans of her. Nor to any other celebrities out there. I am always a casual listener to any music. And very seldom I attentively scrutinizing song lyrics. But falling to Kaylors fandom inevitably forced me to dig more about Taylor Swift. I was very much surprise knowing how popular she is, or how successful she is building up an empire of 'devotees'. She is a queen in almost every sense.

But only through knowing how relatable her character is to ourselves as a non celebrity that truly inspiring and gradually takes me to grow a soft-tenderness feeling toward her. And like a teen swiftie, I can't help to echo their praise: "I love you, Taylor Swift!"

Here, I am just going to copy a relatable normal human being version of Taylor's story from many sources - mostly from people with direct interaction with her, the 'normal' people. If one still deducting flaws out of her personality, after reading these kind of testimonials - well it would speak a lot about who the person is rather than being about Taylor Swift.

***

From Rolling Stone:

We’ve been talking for a while when a boat rows up carrying three teenagers – two girls and a guy. “Oh, my God!” says one of the girls. “Today is my birthday! Can I please take a picture with you?” Swift laughs. “You can, but I don’t know how you’re going to. You’re on a boat, buddy!”

“I’ll get off!” the girl says. “I’ll find a way.” Swift and her bodyguard reach out and help her into the pavilion. “You’re going to make me cry!” she says.

“Is it really your birthday?” Swift asks.

“How old are you?”

“Seventeen,” the girl says.

“Oh, that’s a good year.”

“I know. I’m excited.”

The girl says she lives on Long Island. She and her friends took the train in for the day. “That’s cute,” Swift says. “Are you going to dinner somewhere?”

The girl scrunches up her face. “We were going to . . . Chipotle?”

Swift smiles. She goes to her purse and pulls out a wad of cash – $90, to be exact. “Here,” she says. “Go somewhere nice.”

“Oh, my God,” the girl says. “Thank you!” She climbs back in the boat, and she and her friends paddle off.

Note:

$90 may not be a big number for a celeb like Taylor Swift with an estimated worth around 360 million USD. However, that was probably the only cash she had in hand - and Taylor gave it all to the teen girl she barely knew only cause she probably felt that she could contribute to boost this girl's happiness by adding the teen with more fund to spend on her birthday.

This was not only sweet but it genuinely a very grandeur kindnest.

***

"Is Taylor Swift actually a nice person?" - a question made in Quora:

Anonymous answered it, in May 21th 2018

This post has been a long time coming. I am answering this question anonymously for a number of reasons: 1) I do not wish to inadvertently become tabloid fodder; 2) I do not wish to capitalize on Taylor; 3) I enjoy my relatively normal life; and 4) I believe the anonymity is well-deserved on Taylor’s part. Although Taylor may be able to determine who is writing this, I do not believe such information to be of use to the public. I am sure, if she wished, she could write me a letter and reconnect at anytime. That is her choice to make.

Before Taylor hit it big, Taylor and I spent months emailing back and forth on MySpace. We were the same age with similar tastes in music, similar viewpoints on life, and similar, sarcastic senses of humor. We were both trying to make it in music and grow a fan base. We confided in each other. We trusted each other. We had an ongoing, supportive relationship that helped both of us when we sometimes felt there was nowhere else to turn. Few knew of my coversations with her - but some of Taylor’s closest friends did know they were taking place (they called me “the guy on MySpace,” as it is my understanding Taylor did not tell them my name).

The two of us, still in our teens and miles apart, began writing to each other in short messages at first. We would discuss music, school, and random jokes we would make upon the fly. As time went on, the messages (and their topics) went from short and complimentary to in-depth and personal. We would write messages to one another that, if printed, would be multiple pages long. Looking back, these were the messages of two teenagers trying to find themselves and, in the process, found a friend in one another. We never had expectations, just a supportive friendship with a member of the opposite sex we could not seem to find offline. Although our situations and backgrounds were very different, our similarities closed any gap between us.

During our time messaging, Taylor had hit a rough patch in her life. That may be easy to balk at if you see Taylor as a flawless celebrity rather than the caring and thoughtful person that she is - but the struggle she was experiencing at the time was very real and had its toll on her, a teen trying to find her place. I would do my best to encourage her from a distance and support her as the situation unfolded. Taylor did the same for me. The mutual respect and maturity shared with one another was like nothing else I had experienced. As for Taylor, I believe she felt the same.

Then, something happened. I began to emotionally struggle with the loss of a grandparent who had passed in 2002. As a young person, I had buried the pain for years and did not know how to cope. I had little in terms of a support mechanism in my “real” life. But things were just beginning in Taylor’s career. I thought that my burdens would weigh Taylor down. So, rather than turn to Taylor for support or tell her what happened, I did the only thing sixteen year old me knew how to do… I closed myself off, shut down my MySpace page… and tried to grapple with the experience on my own. To this day, I feel guilty about having left her out in the dark. But I still believe I did the right thing. Taylor had a dream we both shared and it was becoming a reality. I was not about to stand in the way by making her worry about her friend. She was too kind and sweet to me. Strapping her with that type of burden would have been unjustifiable. As fast as I had entered it, I was out of Taylor’s life. If she saw me today, it is unlikely she would recognize me as that guy who was playing country songs. That is not the path my life took.

Fast forward to today and I am a highly educated person who has been able to carve my own path in this world. By any measure, I have been successful for my age. If Taylor were not a celebrity, I believe her story would be much the same.

What you see and hear about Taylor does not scratch the surface or come near the reality. The claims about her doing things for publicity, being an uncaring person, or using others are nowhere near an accurate description of the person I grew to know. Taylor is a kind, caring, compassionate person who wants nothing more than to love and be loved. Her acts of charity are not acts of publicity, they are acts of character. She has earned and deserves her career. Knowing her as I did, I cannot help but believe she often longs for normalcy, anonymity, and questions what it would be like if she were simply Taylor to this day - not the celebrity, but another person who lived life without being subjected to the critiques, comments, and ridicule.

I knew Taylor for Taylor, she was wonderful. In the unlikely event she reads this, I apologize for not writing back and hope she understands why I made that decision. I kicked myself for years - not because of the fame she found, but because of the friend I loss.

Taylor, I am proud of how far you have made it in this world.

Note:

Me and approximately 8.3k Quora-ers agreed that this guys story is genuine.

***

Steve Parr - a quora-er, answered this (from the same Quora page):

I’ve met Taylor Swift twice, both while I was working for Taylor Guitars.

The first time was at the Winter NAMM Show in Anaheim, California. She was there with her father who BEGGED Bob Taylor to let her play on our performance stage. I think she was about 15 at the time. She was nervous and her songs weren’t great, but she was beaming and very appreciative of the time given her.

The second time was when she held her album release party for Fearless (2008) at the Taylor factory in El Cajon, CA. There was a nationwide contest where two people were flown from each state to San Diego to attend the party, get a meet & greet and attend a private concert for a total of about 250 people. I was heavily involved in photography, so the production company hired me to shoot the meet & greet and the concert.

When she arrived at our factory for that event, she came in through the back of our shipping warehouse. As she walked through, she greeted everyone, giving them a long, solid hug while saying “hello”. Now, some of these guys were hardcore warehouse types who were dirty and sweaty. That didn’t matter to Swift. She didn’t have to do what she did, but she did it. I thought that spoke highly of her character.

So, yeah, she’s really a nice person…

Note:

If you familiar with Emotional Intelligence, Daniel Goleman, you probably remember the first few pages about "bus driver" story. This guy spread the joy with his inert kindnest. He was the example of emotional intelligence that Goleman referred to.

Reading the above testimony remind me of the bus driver. If you think Taylor Swift doesn't atleast possess a lil of EI, then I think you need to re-think about how you view the world - and start to trust humanity act of kindnest again.

***

Final thought:

Really I could copy paste dozen of testimonials out there about Taylor Swift. Esp from fans who lucky enough to meet her in person during secret sessions. They are not only being loyal to Taylor because they led by 'blindness' by Taylor's charm - but more because I could see that Taylor had touched their heart with her genuinely nice behaviours. Treating her fans as in the highest value, is one of Taylor's rare quality as human being.

Not to mention, Taylor has been involved in many charitably acts through out the years - a very good role model not only to youth but to all of us in general. I could say that her parents have raised her well and influenced her to continue being grounded.

Oh yes, I am fully aware that Taylor Swift is mere human with all the flaws and far from perfection - and I have no doubt that she awares of it too - nevertheless, if one lacking in appreciation toward others and only focus in finding every lil dirts, as haters would be, well that speaks more about them compare to the object of their rants. That just like one unconsciously noticed their own version of 'elephant in the room', but rather than face it - they cowardly projecting it to other. And public figure, esp a sweet lollipop like Taylor, sadly always an easy target achery.

Xxx

#taylor swift #swifties #taylorswift #testimonials about taylor swift #haters #taylor lurking #i love you tay tay

1 note · View note