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utterlyotterlyx · 2 months

Note

Can I request something where Azriel has to pick up Nyx from school one day and thinks his teacher is cute & is very flirty with her?

Yes! Love this idea so much!

When I Kissed The Teacher

Azriel x Fem!Reader

Summary - Feyre loves Nyx's teacher but loves playing matchmaker even more. After sending Azriel to collect Nyx from school one day after feigning a studio related emergency, she's very happy to learn that Azriel's affections are completely in the palm of your hand.

Warnings - none really, just cuteness all round

Feyre had always been worried about sending Nyx off to school, even though she believed Rhys when he told her that the schools of Velaris were the best in Prythian, she couldn't help but feel anxious that he wouldn't thrive.

Then she met you, and all of her worries faded away.

You were everything Feyre wanted in a teacher for her child, it had taken a lot of weight throwing to get him into your class, it was full to the brim of children from higher born families, only wanting the best for their offspring. Feyre wasn't even surprised.

It was clear how much you cared about your children, in nurturing them into intelligently creative creatures. Other teachers focused solely on the academics, but you had a passion for the arts, you said creativity helped children to find their passions and grow into more compassionate and joyful souls.

Nyx had run into her arms when she had come to collect him that first day, babbling on about what a wonderful time he had with you. Miss Y/L/N. Feyre had never seen such wonderment in his eyes when he told her in that broken infant language how great you were. Everyone's worries about Nyx becoming a shell had vanished.

The little thing had returned home with paintings, reciting poetry from your favourite passages; he had the desire to read, making different voices for the different characters like he had learned from you. Nyx was well and truly flourishing.

Feyre had insisted that you walk home with them one afternoon, since you only lived five minutes from the River House and it was on your route home anyway. From that walk, Feyre had learned much about you, that you were from Spring but left after being disowned by your family for wanting more from life than being married away to be used as a breeding tool. After that you had travelled the continent, making many friends along the way and opening your mind to the world before settling in Hewn City, only to be brought to Velaris on Rhys' orders because he had heard of your talents and passion and wanted it taking root in the children of his city.

The more you spoke, rambling on about art and books and theatre, did Feyre come to the realisation that a certain someone would be absolutely besotted with you. When you had hugged Nyx goodbye, ruffling his hair and telling him you'd see him in the morning, did Feyre begin to hatch her plan.

Azriel wasn't one for sunshine and rainbows, but even he had to admit that Nyx's and Feyre's gushings about you had him intrigued, even Rhys had commented on how sweet you were, seemingly very fond of how Nyx was excelling under your wing.

"Az, would you mind grabbing Nyx today? I have to head to the studio, delivery emergency," Feyre floated past him toward the door, a thin cloak fitted around her shoulders to protect her from the afternoon summer breeze that drifted along the Sidra.

"Uh, yeah. Sure," he waved Feyre from the house as she dashed down the path shouting over her shoulder what time to be at the school for.

The sun was beginning to dip in the sky but warmth still flew through Velaris, Azriel walked along the winding paths and up the hill to the school, the skittering sound of children's laughter filling his ears as he approached. Parents parted as he walked down the cobbled stone path, not wanting to graze against his wings with slight unease in their eyes. Azriel was used to it by now, the looks of disapproval, the slight fear in the people he passed.

The bell rang and birds shot to perch on the branches of the trees that surrounded the plush gardens teeming with bright flowers and wildlife. Children began to file out from the open door, grabbing their bags and running to their parents with wide smiles, excited to tell them what you had taught them that day.

Azriel spied the inside wall littered will paintings and cards, all addressed to you, as well as a wooden table filled with the gifts the children had no doubt made their parents purchase for you.

Then he saw you, and the Shadowsinger audibly gasped. There you were, dressed in a loose white blouse with stringed corset, an earthy brown skirt that fell to the floor covered in colourful handprints that reached your thighs, your hair was unbound and baby hairs whispered along the sides of your face.

You were sunshine. You were radiant.

Nyx's hand was curled in your own as you led him out of the classroom and Azriel could have sworn he'd never seen a brighter look on anyone's face as the little man searched the crowd, "Uncle, Az!"

Your gaze had also fallen on him and you drank in his smile as Nyx left your grip and hurtled to the Shadowsinger, his grin was large, showing off all of his teeth as he bent down and wrapped Nyx in his toned arms, laughing loudly and asking about his day before standing up.

"I don't think we've ever formally met," you held your free hand out, your other carrying Nyx's bag, "I'm Y/N, well, Miss Y/L/N."

You were as soft as summer rain, adoration in your orbs, and you radiated purity and grace. Azriel glanced at your outstretched hand, sliding his own into it and feeling a force of gravity will him closer to you, "So you're the one that has Nyx ready for school at the crack of dawn," he felt relief when you didn't recoil at his hand in yours, the hands that usually made people grimace, "Azriel," you giggled softly, tucking a strand of hair behind your pointed ear.

High Fae.

"Guilty as charged," your voice was like butter, smooth and rich, the perfect balance of femineity.

"Can't say I blame him," he smirked at the heat that rose to his cheeks, at the sheepish smile that tugged at your lips.

"That's very nice of you to say," one of your students walked past you, waving goodbye, and Azriel watched you bend down and fix her jacket to her body, telling her to have a lovely weekend in the sun, "Nyx has had a lovely day today. He just keeps on flourishing, it's remarkable," you had told him once you had risen again.

"I'm sure anyone could flourish with you around. Must be the Y/N effect," he cocked his head to the side at your giggle, just happy to be able to examine the woman who had Nyx all excited every morning. Feyre and Rhys were right, you were remarkable. Like a rainbow rippling in a storm.

"Must be it," the birds jumped from branch to branch around you, like they wanted to keep an eye on you for as long as possible, flitting to the bird houses you had erected by the pond of ducks and in the trees.

"Would you like to walk home with us? Feyre mentioned that you didn't live too far from the house?"

Your mouth fell into the perfect o shape, "Oh, I wouldn't want to impose-"

"You're not," Azriel smiled, looking down at Nyx, shaking his little hand and asking, "Is she, Nyx? Would you like Miss Y/L/N to walk home with us?"

"Yes!" Nyx shouted and you laughed, a laugh that made the edges of your eyes crinkle, you disappeared into the building, returning a few moments later with you satchel, locking the door and taking Nyx's free hand in your own after handing his bag to Azriel.

Azriel was positive that he'd never seen Nyx shine so brightly.

The walk home was full of light chatter, you made Azriel laugh more times than you could count, and Nyx was pointing out random things along the way, looking up at you for approval and tapping his feet on the ground when you nodded and smiled.

From the house, Feyre watched through the curtains as Nyx ran up the path, and kept watching as Azriel lingered behind, she wished she could hear what he was saying to you. But as you smiled, and blushed, and then nodded at the Shadowsinger who was kicking his feet like a schoolboy, she knew it was going well.

Strong arms wrapped around her midsection and her back hit a hard chest, his deep chuckle vibrated through him and his warm breath fanned against her ear, "Playing matchmaker again, darling?"

Feyre hummed with a gentle smile, accepting the peppering kisses over her shoulder as she watched you walk away, looking back at Azriel and waving before turning the corner, "I think this is my best one yet," she told Rhys, noticing the pursed smile on Azriel's lips and the faint pink tinge to his complexion as he followed Nyx up the path.

"I'm inclined to agree."

SO CUTE!

Thank you for the request! x

731 notes · View notes

blueparadis · 1 year

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❝ HAUNTED ❞ + XAVIER THORPE !

+. CWs —» f!reader, switch!reader, outcast!reader, fluff, she/her pronouns, mutual pining, sexual tension, family drama, flirting, manipulation, mentions of abuse, blood, wounds & therapy, flashbacks in italics, supernatural themes ; explicit smut, s & d dynamics, bottom-dom!xavier, cowgirl position; word count-3.5k

+. PRECIS —» Xavier Thorpe has finally found the girl of his dreams after being haunted by her.

+. NOTES —» this is for my beloved sister @zoraedits ’s brainrot contribution.she won't stop making edits on him. && I'm tagging @orchid3a cuz i luv u

you can browse more of my works here. || also available in AO(III). reblogs and comments are very much appreciated.

feel free to send in thirsts and suggestions for this show, Wednesday. This is my first time writing for shows like this; my main fandom spectrum is animanga but I do hope this was a good read for ya’all as much as I enjoyed writing it. <3.

The table calendar was full of red inks all over, dirt sedimented on the sketchbook, and the pencils laid in the case in absolute solitude. Xavier looked at the calendar kept on his desk near his bed in all despondency and a heavy sigh escaped from his lips. It has been days since he stepped into his studio, have not touched his art accessories for almost a month. One thing was for sure, he was plagued by visions in his dreams but this time it was nothing demising.

This time his sketchbooks were not filled by a monster, this time he was not afraid to draw rather he was drawn to it; part of him was stoked while sketching while a part of him was reluctant to draw the whole picture. He had spent countless sleepless nights before, not resorting to sleeping as he was threatened by nightmares. And now his sleep was peaceful as if entering into the realm of dreamland.

Xavier was sure that his mind was captured by a girl who came to visit him in his sleep, never showing her face, only showing herself in bits and pieces. He had spent his childhood receiving showers of praise for his talent for drawing but the origin was never happy. Of course, he enjoyed it and liked to show off his talent for art but secretly he wished his power would vanish into oblivion, for it was never pleasant.

People say that the art of someone reflects one’s persona, one’s raw feelings but Xavier always begged to differ since those memories, those incidents were never his. There always had been a wave of remorse that washed over him after he stepped out of his art studio since the praises he received never belonged to him.

Many were astoundingly taken aback by his knack for drawing and suggested he pursue art, to be a renowned artist but he knew he would lose all the glory once he stopped having those dreams. Moreover, he did not always have such dreams so the possibility of waking up one day and being unable to paint and as a result, staring at a blank canvas scared him to death. Heck! He even considered going to Doctor Kinbott so that his sanity would not be hanging by thread.

For the last couple of weeks, he has been dreaming of odd landscapes. Xavier had never seen them in his life yet he saw how the dusky crimson hue smothered the snowy mountain ranges, how the clouds gathered before the arrival of a rainstorm, how the birds sang songs and all the owes and pangs of nature. One thing he could conclude from those dreams was that whoever it belonged to was a chaser of freedom, that is, was a soarer of the sky.

Xavier had not told anyone about his dreams, nor put them on paper to ease his mind. What would he tell? What would he draw? Last night was particularly odd concerning the regular pattern of his dreams. He dreamt of falling from a high cliff into the water and a broken wing. When he woke up, he was all soaked, even his bed, and his olfactory senses did not miss the subtle scent of stagnant water. He was breathing rashly as if he was the one who drowned as if he was the one to fall.

He closed his eyes and tried to recapitulate his dream, searching for a mark, searching for a recognizable feature, searching for something, anything, anything at all. His desperation knew no bounds when left his dorm and rushed into his studio in the middle of the night since somewhere at the corner of his hopeless heart he knew he found one, a ray of hope.

A lot of crumbled papers surrounded Xavier as he tried accumulating the pieces from his puzzled mind. Around two o’clock he left his studio on his bicycle, the paper where he drew tucked in his pocket. He was sure he had witnessed the scenery before unlike the others. When he finally reached the top of the highland, he witnessed the view from his most recent dream.

The only thing that engulfed his presence was the sound of the waterfall echoing through the woods. He noticed a pond nearby and an adjacent high plateau near it. It was higher from where he was standing. After looking around for a few minutes he figured that there was no way to go there unless one swam through the stream or flew toward it.

On his way back, he felt happy, he felt sane. At least he had proof of the existence of a creature that haunted him, even in his wake. Xavier showered before going to bed just to clear his head before a good night's sleep. He kept a white feather as a bookmark in his sketch pad while a smile smothered his face. He was right. He was haunted by a fairy-like creature.

“Two cappuccinos”, Xavier mumbled as he went back to the counter at Weathervane. It was another event where all the students of Nevermore set foot into the world of normies to carry on the ties between two polar opposite worlds. But no matter how much one tried, the other always tried to retaliate. Their relationship was always on a tightrope, it could snap at any moment. And it certainly did.

“And you did not bother to tell me about this. . .”, Principal Weems trailed off as she left her seat, walked past her desk, and inclined against it, “until everyone in town became aware of it.”

“I thought I was going to be called insane or bullied. Last time I told something about my dreams, I found myself behind the bars.”, he responded, keeping his eye on the ground. Principal Weems exhaled grudgingly. She had no grounds to punish this boy since he was not entirely wrong. Hence, Xavier was dismissed with mere detention.

Xavier was forbidden from the school campus for a week. Everyone felt sorry for him, in his situation but secretly he could not be happier because he had all the time to draw, sketch, paint and think — and it was all about her, y/n.

That day at the café, Xavier was the sole witness of a crime. It happened so quickly, so fast that all she could do was succumb to her fate. A man was standing near the corner of the kitchen with his back facing Xavier. Xavier was not supposed to be here but he had to fetch some ingredients for making pastries and cupcakes.

As the man turned around, Xavier saw a bloodied butcher's knife in his hand. Near his feet lay a girl with a bloodied back the blood quickly spread all over her blouse. She stood motionless, like a statue. The eye contact was merely for two seconds and he immediately smashed the sugar jar on his head, distracting him, to tackle her out of the way.

The other townies turned up for help. Not all people in the world came to be cruel and heartless. All Xavier did was contact Principal Weems so that she could swiftly take care of this matter, which she had to otherwise the reputation of the Nevermore Academy would be in danger. The girl was taken to a nearby hospital.

Y/n L/n was her name. After the untimely death of her parents, she was raised by her uncle, by a normal family. Naturally, when she began to bloom, she was forced to be normal. One would think she tried to run, tried to hide or fight but Alas! none was the case for this matter. She felt indebted to her uncle and his family, for taking care of her, aiding her upbringing, fulfilling the role of parents, and hence helping her to be normal. But Xavier's presence on that day turned her life upside down. She was now a student at Nevermore Academy, funded by Principal Weems’ study forum.

After you recovered within a week, the first thing that dawned on you was to meet him, Xavier, the ‘ hero ’ of your life. You knocked on the door of his studio and waited for a while. There was no answer for a few minutes and when you finally made up your mind to leave, Xavier showed up. He was in his casuals with a teeth-flashing grin on his face.

“How’re you, y/n? The last time I saw you, you were in a hospital bed and now you’re here. in front of me.”, Xavier danced on his toes as he walked into his studio. You followed him and the moment you stepped into his studio you were taken all in awe. The room was filled with artboards, canvases, and sketch supplies, and everything reflected you. Indeed, y/n did not come here to be thankful for what he did since she was not. She was not happy with how her life seemed so devoid of any family. Her uncle was the last of her family and now he is gone. All because of him, Xavier.

“You look better than the last time I saw you.”, Xavier added as he felt the silence between the two of you deafening. You swallowed hard as he tried to ease the tense ambiance thinking how rude of him to remind you of the very wound he was responsible for. There was a desk with a closed sketch pad that caught your attention.

“Your drawings are very beautiful.”, you pitched in opening it and your heart dropped at the sight of your feather that was kept safely in between those rusty pages. A short gasp escaped your lips as the whirlwind of your life hit you.

Xavier was standing behind you, close to your shivering body. “They are all about you.”, a low whisper before he extended his hand to remove the veil from the canvas. The cloth dropped at your feet revealing every bit of dreary in you that you always wanted to hide. You hated how he could see through your pangs and pathos, you hated how he could and would have eradicated all of it, even if it meant being burnt by it. You swiftly tackled out of his towering frame, feeling naked even though you were more dressed than him.

“Stay away from me. You shouldn’t come near me.”, Surprise took Xavier in all proportions. His eyebrows became congested as you continued. “I’m grateful that you saved me but do not do that again, ever.” With that, you walked out of his studio but a firm grip on your wrist kept you from running away anymore.

“Listen, I’m being haunted by you, your pain, your emotions, and everything you feel for the past few months, and all you could say to me was to stay away from you… not even a proper thank you.”, His breath hit your lips as he drew in a sharp breath before his amber eyes landed on you, your shaky lips and pale eyes.

Embarrassment rushed into your cheeks and you pushed him lightly uttering, “Stay away” with a little glare to ward him off but when you vanished out of his sight he was not dejected, not at all. Sure, he was conflicted but the way you told him to stay away whereas your body spoke otherwise made him relish the chase that has haunted him for months now.

They say one can only save people only if one wants to be saved. You neither needed help nor saving but you could see why Xavier begged to differ, wanted to be the odd one out, and craved the crown from saving you from your only family. You always had been a rebel since your childhood, going against the flow of the stream. Somewhere in the corner of your heart, you knew you were different, you would be different.

It was the end of June when you first felt your body ache, back arch, muscles cramping excruciatingly as if someone was poking needles in your skin. Your arms clung to your body as your back bled for the first time. The wailing of such lethal agony submerged amidst the sound of rain as two enormous wings grew with lustrous hues of carmine and amber. Your breathing became regular again, your body stopped hurting as the wings flapped open involuntarily. Every mark, scar, and wound on your body since you were a child began to heal, all by themselves.

Everyone rejoiced when you went through the family ritual and stood in front of your clan as the last phoenix of your bloodline. It was a miracle that a phoenix had been born in the bloodline but just like with blessings it came with a massive price. You were a healer and a destroyer at the same time. Somewhere something has to die to keep you alive, again and again. Every time you were wounded or hurt, your mother had to lose some of her life until she became lifeless, forever. But the family oracle told your father that it is a part of the process, part of a phoenix's journey that every one of their loved ones had to sacrifice in one way or another.

Your father just had a miraculous idea to save you and himself from the bottomless pit of despondency and mutual hatred lurking in his heart because of you. He volunteered to sacrifice himself even if that was against his will. The oracle seemed to be unsure about the idea, saying that the cycle might shorten but not cease. But your father was right, the cycle did cease and you became aware of it when your uncle tried to chop off your wings, uprooting the evil once and for all, and no one in your family was harmed. Still, unfortunately, you were under the radar of an outcast, Xavier Thorpe. ‘What would happen if someone not from your bloodline were to sacrifice? What would happen to your mate if they were not an outcast? What would. . . thoughts would not cease to bombard your mind until a knock disrupted your trail of thoughts.

You lifted your eyes for a glance only to find Xavier inclining against the bookshelf with a saccharine smile on his face. Your stomach turned at the sight of him. ‘How can a person be so forgiving?’ but it seems that he is rather forgetful than forgiving. He picked up a random book from the shelf and sat in front of you.

“You’re hurt. . .”, you murmured to which he responded, “more than you think . . .” while turning the pages of the book and occasionally stealing glances from you. You rolled your eyes and leaned towards the table eyeing his hands that had a lot of scratches. It was probably from a silly fight with other boys, maybe the normies; for him, it was just a scratch yet for you it was an opportunity to apologize for the other day.

“Give me your hand.” As you extended yours, Xavier's reflexively recoiled under the desk. “I’ve no intention of harming you.”, you uttered touching the palm of his other hand that was still on the desk. “Besides, I’m just clearing my debts.”

“Um-hm.”

You inhaled sharply before you flapped those lustrous enormous wings to heal with him, his wounds. Your wings glowed for almost a minute and the hand that was hurt was healed which he was hiding under the desk. It is impressive how Xavier hurt the very hand that can create masterpieces. What a clutz! He interlaces his fingers with yours as he murmured, “A touch . . . is all you need.”

You begrudgingly pulled your hand away standing up and yelling whisperingly, “stop it. stop this. . . and don’t come near me.” With that, you grabbed your book and went towards the exit of the library. Xavier sat like a child who would mourn for the broken toy rather than demand anew.

“Wait.”, Xavier followed you. He kept yelling in the middle of the corridor, “Y/n. wait.”

“Your wings.”, you finally turned your head but not without letting out a sigh of annoyance. “You’re hurt. . .bleeding” and that is when fear crawled underneath the skin.

“I never bleed.”, you retorted.

“And, I never lie.”

If it were someone else, you would have shooed them away. But this was Xavier, who saved you from an inevitable, to whom you owed nothing but the truth. Even though you tried to heal yourself you could not, perhaps because you healed someone and that too for the first time.

Xavier might be persistent but he was not dull. It didn't take him long to connect the dots and hence you had to do the very thing you wanted to avert from the first place. His room was not tidy but not neat and clean either. With Rowan gone he has the room all to himself. You wanted to go to the infirmary, but there wasn't anyone available. Besides, with all the mess you are in you didn't want to risk it.

“I promise I'll behave.”, he said, swinging his hands up in the air in a form of surrender. That made you smile a little as you turned around so that he could tend to the wound. He unzipped your dress and carefully tucked it along your waistline without harming the feathers. Even though you had your camisole on, you still felt naked. His fingers brushed against your skin. It was ice cold. You had to hold your breath as he dressed the wound.

Xavier noticed how your shoulder blades had been marked. He grazed his fingers over the part from where your wings grew that made you instantly shriek and move away from him.

“Are you done?”, you asked, surprise and embarrassment coursing through your skin. Your upper body was barely clad, nothing but an unhooked bra.

“No.”, and within a blink, his lips were already on yours. You could taste the longing and desperation with each suck. Your hands curled around his nape as his hands got rid of the minimal clothing from your upper body. “First time?”, he asked as he moved away leaving you breathless yet craving for more.

“Why? You care?”, you blurted out stepping out of your dress. Xavier eyed you from up and down. You did not flinch but rather smiled as you noticed his astonished face. You had nothing on but just the underwear.

“I do.”, one of his eyebrows jumped as he knelt near you. “I don’t wanna hurt you.”, he murmured grabbing your calf muscles and kissing your femininity over the cloth. He took a glance before tucking the hem of the panty in between his fingers and undid it. Your hand reflexively went over his head as he kissed your entrance, lapping over your pussy lips that made you suck in a sharp breath. He sucked on your skin, followed by a feeble bite into your inner thighs.

“AH!”, you winced pausing his ministrations. “Don’t you taste divine?”, he whispered kissing your lips, wetting them with the blend of his saliva and your slick. He was too dressed. You cocked an eyebrow at him and he took the hint. You co-operated as he became almost naked, and was back up even though you wanted him to continue.

“You won’t hurt me. worry for yourself.”, you said as you felt his hands palming your cheeks a little too long than they should. His hands traveled back to your entrance and you moaned under his slight touch.

“What? Never played with yourself?”, he added that surely turning the cogs in your head. You pushed him onto the bed, sitting on him struggling to take his cock in and he was not even helping. All he did was watch you let out whimpers of frustration as you lazily glided on his cock. He rested himself on his elbows saying, “Look at me.” And as you did, his fingers dig into your plush ass cheeks slowly adjusting you at a proper angle and stretching you. You kissed him so break the eye contact that made you feel naked, even though you were. Both of you jolted as you could feel his cock inside you.

His hands clamped around your waist as you bobbed on him, with greater force and broader strokes but slow. With each sloppy hit you felt his cock twitch inside you; your hands desperately roamed all over your body, heat bubbling as you could feel your body tensing, picking up the pace he was setting you in, and the orgasm lurking underneath. You can tell; a few more strokes and you would cum so easily.

He can feel it too. Xavier winced as he felt you clenching around his cock. His legs folded to support your back while your hands flew to his shoulder blades, his knuckles turning white, his grip growing stronger around your waist and you came right away, back arching and your wings flapping open involuntarily, eyes rolling white relishing the high as your thighs squeezed in.

With your breathing rash and heavy, you felt all mushy in the head and so was he. Xavier could have sworn that he has not seen anything more beautiful than this, than you sitting on him with his cock buried inside you; your skin glistening in sweat with your gorgeous wings at the display.

As soon as Xavier’s breath relaxed a bit he pulled you into his embrace for a kiss. He could not help it, you were too beautiful to look at. Besides, he was not done, not yet.

—

by @blueparadis

3K notes · View notes

halcyone-of-the-sea · 9 months

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CAKE FOR A DEAD MAN (I)

NAVIGATION || RAVISHING ALLURE MASTERLIST || NEXT: CHAPTER II

PAIRING: Nikto x F!Reader (Soulmate AU)

WORDCOUNT: 4.6k

WARNINGS: Angst, problems with food & image, mentions of stalking, unwanted gifts, death, violence, gore, blood, etc. (Series 18+)

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

Color, as most would say, is one of the best aspects of sight. It allows such a myriad of emotions to be expressed—even felt. Red reminds us of passion; navy for elegance and a certain mystique. Not only seen but processed on such a deeper level. Refractions of light that explode into the retina, rod and cone cells that send signals to the brain to help detect that phenomenon like a gift of evolution.

But when you can’t see any of that—color—who’s to explain what the red of the roses actually looks like above a deep shade of gray? That navy blue looks even darker, too. Closer to black. Light purple becomes the same hue as the curtains your mother hangs on the windows, but you can’t tell if that’s really purple or not. How can it be anything other than slate? People tell you it is…at least, those who’ve already met their partners. Their soulmates.

But there’s little hope for you on that front, really.

You wave to the photographer, calling out a broken Russian goodbye as he smiles warmly at you, nodding his head in your direction before watching you walk out of the studio room’s doors. A large gaggle of other finely-clad women surrounds you on the way to the changing rooms.

Even with three-and-a-half years of living in this northern country, your mastery of the native language starts and ends with simple pleasantries.

The modeling agency was packed today and you still had so much to do. You stuff down your internal list of scheduled fittings, meetings, and more booked photoshoots that extend into the chilled evening of Yekaterinburg, Russia. There was just so little time.

Gray hallways and white overhead lights meet your eyes between blinks, potted plants boring and drab. If you could see the shades in between the leaves you’d know you would find them beautiful, but like this…well, they’re just sad.

You shake your head and shuffle to the back of the group, throwing tiny smiles to the kind, and stunning, women who you’ve had little real conversation with. One kisses you on the cheek and pats your shoulder, and you laugh brightly before pulling to the rear, face heating.

“The bastard is finally dead!” The familiar voice causes you to freeze with one heeled foot in the air—fingers picking at the strap of your silk dress absentmindedly before it, too, stills. They were always forcing you into silk with feathered accent pieces of intricate detail. Like a bird, or, Seraph, more precisely.

Blinking in surprise, you turn around just in time to lock onto the drained shades that make up Alyona Arkadyevna Solovyova before she grips your shoulders harshly.

Her collarbone-length hair swishes heavily, but it’s not as violent as the smile on her sharp face.

“Finally, little Солнышко! This is perfect news. The bastard is dead!” Alyona’s English is very good, and of course, it would be—when she was younger she dreamed of being an English teacher. That was before she realized she was just about the most attractive woman of her generation. The harsh Russian accent still bleeds through.

You laugh and grip her long, pale, arms; seeing her in a blouse and pencil skirt as you tilt your head, asking, “Christ, Alyona, give me a warning next time. If I rip anything I’m in deep shit.”

“Gah,” Your friend waves a hand and releases you, tiny eyes creasing, “forget about that—did you not hear me the first time? My father, Seraph, listen to me! He is finally dead! It happened just this morning but I only got word ten minutes ago.” She laughs, throwing her hands up, and you hide your amused exasperation, limbs tired but it won’t stop you from appreciating your friend’s enthusiasm. Alyona squeals, “A train hit him!”

You cringe internally, face pulling taunt. “Oh,” your chest sputters as you clear your throat, “that’s, uh, that’s…great?”

“Of course it is!” Hands capture your cheeks, squishing as you worry about the state of your makeup. Alyona speaks brightly, “We need to celebrate, Солнышко. Come.”

Before you can protest she’s dragging you away from the other women and the direction of the changing rooms, all had stopped and were listening intently from behind; nosey. Everyone in the Allurement Modeling Agency building, AMA for short, just had that way about them—your business was their business and vice versa.

And Alyona had no problem airing out her grievances with her estranged father to the choir. She lived for drama.

“Aly,” You huff a soft breath at her and her bobbing hair. She said it was blonde and you had no other option but to believe her. Not yellow-blonde, she had specified. Ice-blonde. “I can’t go out in company property. Plus, I have a photoshoot for Chanel in under an hour. The photographer needs me to be ready.”

But it seems your concerns fall on deaf ears and you can’t help but chuckle and grin at your friend's lack of care about work. She herself was a model, but the entire company halted when she said it should.

You were truly surprised they hadn’t fired her yet.

“And I’m sure Chanel has an absolutely hideous dress for you, my Seraph.” Ashen eyes turn back to stare at you, and once she realizes you wouldn’t fight her, her grip releases. “Some Медовик will do you good before the vultures close in, yes? Let us hope they don’t shackle you to those damning lace lingerie sets over cake.”

Your head tilts with a short sigh, and you walk beside the woman in your clacking heels. The sound of the authentic honey cake seemed to itself to coat your insides with a lust for it—dripping layers of plush gray sponge with pale cream. Your mouth waters.

“I’m only eating half a piece.” You settle slowly, though you hate your own words as your stomach rolls with hunger. Some time outside will do you good, anyway. Perhaps you’ll learn to photosynthesize like a plant. “I still have to be able to fit into those fabric contraptions, you know.”

Alyona squeals and loops her arm in yours easily, bright teeth in a grin like a cat. Ever one to run into objects and lacking a general ability to walk in a straight line, the support from Alyona was much appreciated. Her help with lending an arm went far, especially for you.

Your heart warms with soft care.

“I’ll take it! We can split one.” When you both make it to the front of the building, having grabbed your jackets and purses on the way there, you come to three familiar faces while chatting with Alyona about both of your upcoming bookings.

“I was under the impression you had the day filled,” Petya speaks, heavy accent like stone. The clean-shaven man in his late thirties was built and wearing a dark suit, the tallest out of the other two—Aleksandr and Yefim—who both wear similar outfits. They were resting in the front seating area of AMA as they’d been doing for weeks already, waiting for you to come and go like escorts.

Well, bodyguards, to be more precise. Yours.

You smile politely to them while Yefim sends one back with his boyish charm and dimples. “On break. We’re off to get some Medovik down the street. I can pay for you if you’d want a piece.”

“Of course, the three will have to tag along, hm?” Alyona huffs, staring blandly as you both slow to a stop near the large white entrance, colored as if it was Heaven’s gates. Your friend had said coloring around this building was rare. Whites and grays. Green chairs, apparently. “I’m just ecstatic.”

Petya didn’t like you, and, you assumed, Aleksandr didn’t either. With the ladder, his sharp face was always too blank to tell; body tight and unwelcoming with weasel-like eyes. Petya was simpler, blatantly more outward with his distaste.

“Not a smart idea. This isn’t a game to play, девушка.” Alyona’s face tightens, and you swiftly placate her with a squeeze to her bicep. You level Petya with a tilt of your head and a calm look.

“What harm could a bite to eat do? It won’t cost you your life.” You chuckle smoothly. “Let me get you all something—it’s nearly noon, I’m sure you’re all hungry.”

“I could eat,” Yefim eases in, hands resting in his pockets as he stares at you. His accent was calmer than the others, and his face softer. Out of all of them, you liked him best.

Your eyes rest on Yefim with a thankful expression. He smirks and nods. Aleksandr, as always, says nothing beyond a small scoff and a look around the room with shifting feet.

When the tallest of the group does nothing to push back his sneer and heavy glare, you hum under your breath as you expect the words before they rush from his sharp mouth.

“I will have to speak to your mother about this.” The accent makes him sound so stiff—like a statue. A man built up of gravel and snow; concrete in his veins instead of blood.

“Oh, yes,” Alyona mutters, “the Consul herself.”

Your nose moves in a sigh, but you ease the situation with a simple, “Do whatever you need to, Petya. I know it’s your job and I’m thankful regardless, but we’ll be back in less than an hour. It’s no big deal.” You pause, plastering on an innocent look. “We’re hungry.”

For whatever reason you always envisioned Petya with dark eyes—blacks more deep than the clothes they put Alyona in to off-set your given whites when you two are fitted together. But the man’s eyes were so painfully light it made you not want to stare into them.

Petya grunts and continues to glare, working his jaw. After a moment he lets off a large huff and shakes his head in disapproval.

“Half-an-hour. No more.”

Alyona manhandles you out the door quickly, growling, “I do not know how you can stand this, Seraph. Bullshit, all of it.”

“It’s only until everything goes back to normal,” you reason, hearing three sets of footsteps behind you as the guards follow into the chilled air of Yekaterinburg. There was no reason to take a car, everything was within walking distance of one another in this dense city populated by over one million people. “My mother’s worried is all. I’m not going to make their lives harder while they’re only doing what they’re told to do.”

Light eyes dart to your face, your friend’s hand guiding you along the concrete with a dim concern. “I do not like all of this, Солнышко. It’s been months…Are the gifts still coming?”

Your expression tightens, lips going stiff. Alyona notices and changes the subject for now.

“Ah, but what am I doing—I’m ruining the celebration! Come, come, we will talk about my engagement to Nikifor while we eat.”

Nikifor, her soulmate. The one who brought her color and music with his performance at a nightclub two years ago; the only thing standing in the way of their marriage was Alyona’s strict father. Something about the man wanting someone with higher standing than a musician for his famous daughter.

“How is he?” You ask, blinking away the thought of finally being able to see color for the first time and how that must feel. A piece of you would always be envious of that.

Alyona must have blushed because she always tilts her nose lower when she does. You smile and chuckle under your breath.

“Wonderful,” is all she offers, but the giddy grin on her lips is knowledge enough.

You both make it to the small bakery at the end of the long street, heels clicking and cheeks chilled. People had turned to look at you, gaping at the two models still in their expensive clothes and attempting to take pictures on their phones. All were strong-armed by the three men close behind you who bark things in Russian.

Alyona opens the door of the bakery for you and you accidentally knock your shoulder into the frame, giving a sheepish smile before carefully walking to your regular corner table. Your tall friend goes to order while you take your seat with a sigh, Petya, Aleksandr, and Yefim all shuffling in and sending glances to you; looking over the interior with sharp and calculating eyes.

It’s like they think the sky’s going to fall, you surmise, twitching your lips their way. They’ve been here before with me, do they still not trust it?

Back when things had been less serious they’d allowed you to go where you wished with them—parks, for walks, stores—now it was only work and home. As if you didn’t already feel so trapped.

“You boys can pick what you want,” you call to them softly. “My treat.”

“On the job,” is all Petya grunts before he takes his normal seat at the table closest to the door; everything in his bright sight. Your hand lightly tightens on the table, but you keep your expression placid.

You’d tried to get him to lighten up, Aleksandr too, but the two weren’t as open to you as Yefim. There was a blatant distrust of Westerners here, even if you had given up your citizenship to move where your mother works in the Consulate building of this very city.

While she was still employed by the American government, that didn’t stand in any sense with you. But on top of you being a famous model, your mother was well-known, regardless, and that ultimately fell back on you.

Yefim’s gray eyes flickered to a case of Bird Milk Cake with a hidden longing as he grasped the back of his chair and slid into it—floorboards creaking loudly. You notice and chuckle under your breath, cheeks heating at the sight as the man’s gaze moves to you and blinks in surprise. He quickly averts his gaze and clears his throat, fixing the collar of his dress shirt.

You’d buy him a piece before you left; maybe kiss his cheek just to see him go all blurry-eyed. He certainly was adorable.

“The baker’s boy is staring again,” Alyona’s voice snaps into your head, and you peer at your friend’s face, startled.

“What?” You ask as a plate is set in the middle of the table holding a single piece of Medovik. Your mouth fills with saliva, fingers immediately moving like a starved dog to grab a fork and cut into the layers; you shovel it into your mouth before you hiss to pace yourself.

You chew slowly, swallow, and give Alyona a confused look.

She slides you an unimpressed frown. “The boy. At the front.”

“He’s probably gaping at you,” you take another bite, rubbing at your cheek with your free hand as people walking by the front window peek in with wide eyes; your men glare and move their chairs as the ground squeaks again.

Your friend scoffs and mutters in Russian, shaking her head. Her hand waves quickly, barking, “Look!”

Rolling your eyes with a small smile, you look over and dab your face with a napkin before you get locked into a staring match with the dark eyes of the man up-front.

He wears an apron, head a mess of curls, and his upper arms stained with flour. You blink and pause, wondering if…perhaps…A pause, a sickly hope in your chest…but nothing happens and the contact is broken when he ducks his head before looking at the counter.

Gritting your teeth, you focus back on your cake and shove aside the sinking feeling in your chest.

Idiot, you criticize yourself. Now why would you think that would work?

“Nothing, then?” Alyona clicks her tongue and takes up her own fork. “Do not fret, we will find him eventually, Seraph.”

“It’s not like I would know.” The air goes a temperature warmer—bodies stilling.

While soulmate colorblindness was simply the reality of life, diagnosed colorblindness was still a curse that couldn’t be solved. If you ever saw your soulmate…you wouldn’t even know it.

All because of that stupid accident.

You act unbothered by the shift in the conversation and sigh. “You said you wanted to talk about your engagement,” your words remind the woman and she sets off into a tangent about the dress and the location after a moment of quiet concern. A church, she explained, the big one down the road where they’ll be a few days after the civil ceremony and the outer city venue.

Alyona is only twenty, but you know that it’s incredibly common here to get married this early. Listening, you offer input here and there, but as it always does, the topic falls back to you as you eat the slice of cake dedicated to a dead man.

Your knife-driven problem.

The gifts.

Already, you begin feeling uncomfortable.

“Aly,” you try to grumble, resisting the urge to eat the entire piece of Медовик as you put your utensil down. Your hand jerks over the table and you glare down at it in annoyance, ignoring the tensed nerves. “It’s not important—”

“How many more pieces of jewelry has he sent, hm? Letters?” The woman shivers and rubs at her arms. “It is horrendous behavior. Total fuck-up. And the fact that no one has caught him? Gah!”

Your spine straightens itself, eyes sliding to the people gawking outside the window and seeing the multiple faces, shuffling bodies that pile next to each other like sardines in a can.

“I just don’t want to think about it, okay?” You shake your head, turning away as a pit forms in your gut; realizing the fragility of your psyche when you think about the fact that anyone outside could be the source of your problem. The stalker. “If it’s just the gifts I can deal with them—the letters I never even read. If I ignore it they’ll stop eventually. All of this can be one big bad dream.”

Your hand continues to shake on the table, not exactly in your realm of control just as the inability to walk in a straight line is. It was no wonder why they never let you do runway shows, you think sarcastically. You’d be stuck in a photographer’s room for the rest of your career.

Alyona pushes a strand of her hair out of her face.

“Seraph…you know it does not work like that.” Of course you did, but asking for help was never your strong suit. And your mother had already given you three well-trained bodyguards to escort you to and from work—that was more than enough protection.

When you think of the expensive parcels that had been dropped at AMA’s front desk you had to restrain the honey cake coming back up your gullet. All of them had been expensive; pieces you could afford on a model's pension but still wildly elegant to even touch much less own in multitude. Gold bracelets inlay with black opal and sapphire, necklaces with Tanzanite, and rings of ruby, your mother had told you this when you had brought them to her off of only seeing washed-out tones on your part.

You never showed anyone the letters; they lived in a lockbox under the bed in your apartment. Concerningly, lately the ‘presents’ had been losing the plot. Random bits of glass and shiny items—a slow deterioration but somehow even more scary.

Even the older women at the front desk were softening the usual sneers they wore when you walked in every day, no longer chiding you in Russian they know you can’t understand. The way they seemed pitiful rubbed you the wrong way.

You pull your jacket closer to you and rub a hand slowly along your thigh in a soothing gesture. Aly pulls her brows in.

“I want to help you, little Солнышко, but I don’t think this is something I can fix with my womanly charms.” Your lips release a snort, tiny chuckles hitting the air.

Alyona joins you before silence once again lapses.

“...Do you feel alright?” Your friend asks honestly. Worry was plain on her face.

You smile, but your lungs tighten in your chest while your heart acts like a dancer and lightly skips beats. “By next month,” your hand shakes over your thigh, “all of this will be in the past. No one could keep this up forever. I just have to…wait it out. It’s only the gifts, I can live with that—jewelry isn’t hurting anybody except his wallet.”

The woman narrows her eyes at you and frowns, but it’s not long before she goes back to her half of the Медовик and takes a bite with a moan of enjoyment. You rarely lied, so you supposed she had no trouble believing you.

If only you could fraud yourself like that.

“Quite a wealthy bastard, though, no?” Alyona slyly pokes fun and you blink quickly.

“Aly!”

“I am just saying!”

You press your hand to your lips to hide your loud laugh, Yefim looking over with a certain airiness to his expression before Aleksandr jerks his shoulder to face him back forward. The two glare at each other as Petya stares violently at the front door—daring those outside to try and come in and ask for a picture.

While you hadn’t come back to this bakery in a while, the three men always seemed to pick the exact same table; the one with the perfect view of everything going on near the door. While it was a small distance away, it allowed for quick action in any direction.

You blink away as the wooden boards under the bodyguards’ table creak again, loud enough to cause Alyona to frown in that direction. Petya sends an annoyed look down and scowls.

“How do you know he’s not just stealing them,” you bring back the conversation, smirking. “You know? Maybe he’s a,” your voice lowers an octave in fake secrecy and Aly’s eyes roll, amused, “jewel thief.”

“God above,” the woman huffs. “That would be the twist.”

The both of you joked and picked fun, but that half an hour went past quickly, and soon it was time to get back to the agency so you could change again. The photographer couldn’t take pictures of air and play it off as you with a smile and a nervous stutter.

As you stand you stare long at the cases of baked goods, licking the remnants of cream off your lips

“We can buy another, Seraph,” Aly suggests, fixing her coat. You shake your head immediately.

“No, no, I’ve already had enough sugar. I had two muffins for breakfast. Chocolate.” Your face pulls into a cringe at the words. “Cheat day.”

Alyona’s lips go tighter, but she says nothing as her hair is puffed out of her face. She out of everyone knows how demanding modeling can be—your entire life is dictated by two things: calories, and appointments.

You turn to Yefim with his wavy hair and his soft, dimpled, smile; casual eyes. Not your soulmate, based on his lack of reaction the first time you had met, but in that time you’d grown a tiny crush on the man, admittingly. He was kind and treated you with respect. Capable and reliable—how could you ask for more than that?

“Yefim?” Your voice calls out, a smile on your lips. The man looks over and blinks in surprise. He clears his throat, stuttering as he shifts in his seat. The wood tilts slightly under him and he steadies himself on the edge of the table.

“Да, Ma’am?”

Restraining a giggle, you cock your head as Alyona snorts.

“Do you want a slice of Bird Milk Cake?” Petya slides you a blank look and Aleksandr taps his fingers to the table. You poke fun, “For when you’re on break, of course.”

Yefim’s eyes sparkle in their colorless state, a handsome smile taking his lips back along his face. He makes a move to stand up, floorboards squealing loudly as weight is lessened.

“I would be in your debt—”

The world explodes into a slate-gray blaze of heat and hellfire.

Your body is thrown back before you can even begin to understand that you’re in danger, panic completely bypassed for a total blank sensation of confusion. Spine slapping into the glass of the window, your form is hurled by a vast boom out of the bakery entirely before it slams to the concrete multiple feet away.

You slide, rolling in a mess of limbs and ripped silk. For a good moment, you have no idea what just transpired, confusedly lifting your head from the ground and blinking below you as everything rings. Your hand grips the side of your head, the thick liquid seeping in between your fingers as you peel it back and look with shaky vision.

Blackened blood is coated along your palm, slipping along your wrist as you tilt your hand up in horrified uncertainty.

Everything comes back in a millisecond of screaming and running feet; like a switch being flipped. You snap your head back to what remains of the bakery as blood slides down your temple.

“A-Alyona?!” Heels sliding, you stand but stumble back down just as quickly, hands slapping against the ground as you raggedly cough more, chest burning from the force at which you’d been thrown.

What the hell had just happened? An explosion?

There was little left of the bakery beside the front door, smoke billowing out of the broken windows as gray flames spark with the familiar sound of burning material—a sharp burn is taken into your nostrils.

Dragging an arm forward, you grasp something warm and wet in an attempt to get up again. You look to the side and immediately scream at what you see.

Yefim’s upper body was completely fine besides the burns and the lack of his hair, the peeling flesh…it was the absence of the entire lower body that struck you with waves of horror. You slam a hand to your lips and wail, slipping back on kicking legs as tears well in your tear ducts.

Guts were leaking over the concrete, and the dark, gaping, wound spread a fast puddle out around the sputtering that made his chest look like it was moving. Eyes flutter, lashes flapping quickly.

He looked confused, and that was perhaps the worst part of it.

Yefim died only half a man, his entrails pooling out of his ribcage, only twenty seconds after you’d asked him if he wanted a piece of cake. Your fingers hide the loud sobs as you stare into this blank expression, hand shaking so bad that it hits your nose.

“I…I,” you stutter, shapes and flashes rushing back and forth at the sides of your vision. Pressure holds at your left shoulder.

“Seraph!” The sentence falls off into feminine Russian cursing and screaming, a grip shaking you back and forth, urging you to listen.

There are wails and the roar of cars, but you don’t have to be given a speech to know the truth about the toll as the fire burns hotter and the blood runs faster. Petya, Aleksandr, and Yefim are dead. They had been sitting on top of something that had triggered when Yefim had released weight from it.

The creaky floorboards.

“Seraph!” Alyona tries again, grabbing you under the shoulders and dragging you away from the corpse as bystanders’ phones flash with pictures being taken. There’s just so much screaming. “Seraph, please, we need to move! The fire is spreading!”

They had been sitting right on top of it. But…but they always sat there…they…they were always…

In the corner of your eye, a dark phantom looms across the street as the first sirens of the police cars race down the road; a burning silhouette of black mist and ashen smoke.

As the bakery burns and the corpse of Yefim grows cold, it slips away into the forming crowd.

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#cod nikto #nikto #nikto x reader #mwii nikto #cod #cod x reader #cod x you #cod mw22 #x female reader #call of duty mw2 #call of duty x reader #call of duty x you #ravishing allure

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dmwrites · 9 months

Text

Cecil: Birds of a feather stick together. But if that bird loses its way, it will be lost forever. Welcome… to NightVale.

[intro song plays]

Cecil: Listeners, today I have a guest with me here in the studio! Intern Vincent found our guest wandering in the desert as he was driving to the station this morning, and I jumped at the idea of having this guest on our show! So, why don’t you introduce yourself, mystery guest!

???: I’m… Grian. My name’s Grian.

Cecil: Well, welcome to our small community radio show, Grian! Listeners, Grian is-

Grian: Did you say listeners?

Cecil: Why yes! All of our wonderful citizens of NightVale, even the secret police, are listeners of my show!

Grian: Oh… never mind.

Cecil: As I was saying, listeners, our wonderful, if a tad interrupting-y, guest Grian is wearing a torn red sweater, black pants, and closed-toed shoes. I must say, that’s quite a fashion statement, Grian! Not too many people would wear a sweater in the desert. You must not be from around here!

Grian: I… no, I’m not. I’m not quite sure how I got here… I just… I thought I could escape the desert if I walked far enough.

Cecil: Well, as long as you’re not from Desert Bluffs, I’ll call you a friend! Eugh, Desert Bluffs, am I right? But speaking of Desert Bluffs, let me remind all of you that our half-a-millennia traditional triathlon against Desert Bluffs is almost upon us! Volunteers, taken from their homes at four in the morning with bags over their heads, will be competing in three sports events against our bitter rivals, Desert Bluffs. The three sports events, as is tradition, will be: bloodstone dodgeball, confronting the in-laws over broken boundaries, and pickleball. Good luck, NightVale athletes!

Grian: Did you just say, like, words? Like, genuinely, it feels like I just had a stroke. What on earth is a bloodstone?

Cecil: You know, I should have known you weren’t from around here, what with your funny accent. Where are you from, silly little man?

Grian: I… well, that’s a tough one, really. Hermitcraft? Third Life SMP? The Desert? All of them, I suppose. I really don’t know how I got here… I’m not sure this isn’t all a mirage.

Cecil: And you say I say strange things! Well, Grian, I was about to remark on how other cultures may not have bloodstones, but I just noticed all of the blood on your knuckles, and under your fingernails, and on the cuffs of your sweater, which I still do not think is seasonally appropriate.

Grian: Oh god. I thought I scrubbed it off with the sand. Scar…

Cecil: While we figure out the mysteries of the blood here in the studio, and Grian stares down at his hands in horror, let’s take a look at traffic. There is a man with a clock. He stands. He smiles. He will never stop smiling. They will call him a traitor someday, but for now, the traitor lies dead, the present he gave in the hands of that smiling man. They do not know that the clock, golden in its edges, will bind them together in ways they can’t even understand yet.

Grian: Scar is- Scar was my friend. I promised my life to him.

Cecil: I’ve promised my life to someone too! But it was marriage, to my beautiful Carlos. I love Carlos so much.

Grian: Scar… god, he was such a blundering fool, but with a heart and voice of gold. I didn’t think he’d get as far as he did, but we just kept getting away with it. We didn’t think about the end.

Cecil: What did this Scar wear? This is a audio medium, after all, Grian, and I must describe everything to the listeners.

Grian: He didn’t wear much, like, ever. Super annoying, too many abs.

Cecil: There is no such thing as too many abs, Grian.

Grian: I- sure, okay. Can I get back to my story now?

Cecil: Yes, please do! I am sure everyone, especially the secret police, are very interested.

Grian: I killed him with a creeper first. It was a prank, a mistake, but it really cemented the idea that this wasn’t all fun and games. It felt like fun and games for a long time, even after he died for the first time. It wasn’t until-

Cecil: And now, a word from our sponsor. Listeners, are you tired of having a perfect dog? Does your dog-food photo perfect dog leave you the laughing stock of the town? Do you ever wish you could put an imperfection on your dog so you could just fit in? Now you can, with warts! Just put warts on your precious pooch, and slide blissfully back into the dreary backdrop of life while walking them on their leashes. Dog Warts: because nothing can stay perfect forever.

Grian: I… I had to kill him. They- the ghosts of all of my friends, they told me there could only be one victor, and I… god… we stood in a circle of cactus, so we couldn’t leave, and we fought with our fists. I kept hitting him and hitting him and, god, Scar was never the best at fighting… and we were both laughing and I was crying and there was so much blood… it took so long for him to die, Cecil, and all I could do was keep hurting him, so he wouldn’t suffer. And then I was… alone. I said I was sorry, but he couldn’t hear me. No one could hear me anymore. I had won, but at what cost?

Cecil: That’s very dark! Uh, listeners, our guest Grian has a tear running down his cheek, and I am afraid he may burst into outright sobbing! To save you from that audio nightmare, I take you now to the weather!

[Howling by Lupus Nocte plays]

Cecil: Listeners, Grian is gone. He has left the station. He ran out, muttering something about “never being able to escape the desert”… whatever that means. Maybe we should stop inviting random people we find on the side of the deserted road with blood on their knuckles into the studio… but I am afraid that’s all the time we have for today, listeners. Stay tuned next for a canary, stuck in a cage made of bones, singing sadly for none to hear. NightVale, hug your loved ones close tonight. You never know what may happen next. And good night, NightVale, good night.

#grian #life series x wtnv #3rd life #grian can never escape the desert #and he found NightVale!

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starrgaziinggg · 1 year

Text

SEE ME AT MY WORST | hwang hyunjin

anon request: Hyunjin has food poisoning and yn takes care of him (1.7k words)

warning: mentions of vomit (to my fellow emetophobic people I got you), nakedness (but not smut lol), swearing

"Don't come in here!" Hyunjin groans, his voice muffled from inside the bathroom. You'd knocked on the door a couple times, waiting for his response, and you weren't surprised to hear he didn't want you to come in.

Your ever-perfect boyfriend had no intention of letting you see him at his lowest. Despite being together for almost a year, you hadn't so much as seen him have a bad hair day. Whilst you woke up after a sleepover with drool dried to your chin, your hair a birds nest atop your head and your clothes sticking to you from Hyunjin's over bearing body heat, he woke up flawless. Always.

It was daunting, your significant other being so damn put together all the time, but you'd grown to accept and expect it after all these months. However, truth be told, when Changbin had messaged to tell you Hyunjin was practically dying from food poisoning and rotting away in his bedroom, you were more shocked than worried. The worst you'd seen of him thus far was when he'd broken his hand, and he didn't even let that stop him from maintaining his perfect persona.

You'd made your way to his dorm straight away, wasting no time in packing together a 'get well soon' bundle containing all of his favourite foods. Changbin's text explained exactly why you hadn't heard from your boyfriend all day, which was more than unusual for him.

Despite you're hurried rush to make sure Hyunjin was alright, you'd been decidedly locked out the dorms bathroom, where Hyunjin had locked himself in.

"I'm all gross and disgusting," he whines, and you hear him flush the toilet and slump down onto the floor. "I refuse for you to see me like this."

"Cut the dramatics," you reply, raising your voice so he can hear you through through the closed door. You lower yourself so you're sitting against it, holding the package in your lap.

Hyunjin only whines before you hear the distinct sound of throwing up, making you cringe at the thought of your poor boyfriend being so unwell. The door to Changbin's room swings open and he walks out lazily, throwing you a grin.

"He's not letting you see him?" He asks, leaning against the wall opposite of you, smirking. You shake your head with a half smile. "Figures. When he had tonsillitis last year he locked himself in his bedroom for a week."

"Stop bitching about me!" You hear Hyunjin shout, making you chuckle. The toilet flush goes off again.

"Grow a set!" Changbin shouts back, a smirk etched on his features. "She's your girlfriend, not the mass media."

"Fuck off Changbin!" Hyunjin whines, and you tilt your head at Changbin in defeat.

"Good luck with that," is all he responds with, picking up his keys from the hook beside the main door and making a swift escape. It left you and Hyunjin alone in the dorm, the other guys out at Chan's studio.

"Hyunjin, please let me in," you say desperately, resting your head against the door.

"No way," he replies, and you can just see him shaking his head.

You sigh, pulling your hands through your hair. "How did you even get food poisoning in the first place?"

"Dodgy kebab street vendor," he answers, audibly gagging at the reminder. "Jeongin warned me against it, but I was starving."

"You're appetite might be the death of you one day," you say sincerely, smiling when you hear him laugh. "How are you feeling now?"

"Like I've been run over six times and buried," he replies, turning the dramatics on full throttle. You roll your eyes fondly, tapping your feet together absentmindedly.

"The guys are all out," you tell him, unsure if he knows the ongoings of his dorm mates after being cooped up in the bathroom for however long. "They won't see you if you let me come in."

"I don't care," Hyunjin responds firmly. "I don't want my pretty girlfriend seeing me in such a gross state."

You don't reply straight away, thinking about another angle to attack this from. "Remember when I got super drunk after Seungmin and Felix's birthday party and threw up everywhere and you took care of me?" You remind him, hearing him agree from the other side of the door. "Did you think I was disgusting then?"

"No," he says instantly. "But that was different."

"How is it different?" You fire back, feeling contempt when he stays silent. "I just want to help you, Hyun. Let me in."

You're about to give up when you hear the bathroom lock turn slowly, though Hyunjin makes no effort to actually open the door. Huffing, you stand up and push it open, tilting your head with a sad smile at your boyfriend. His blonde hair is tussled, sticking to his forehead from the beads of sweat covering it. It was obvious he had a fever, especially due to the fact he was shirtless, sporting only grey joggers as he sat slumped against the back wall.

"Aren't you a sight for sore eyes," you can't help but to tease.

"Get out," is all he says, looking at you with a deadly serious expression. You chuckle, closing the bathroom door and sliding down to lean against it. His eyes light up when you pass him the basket of goodies your brought him.

He takes it wordlessly, flicking through the items and looking up at you with his brown doe eyes. "You made this for me?"

"Thought it might cheer you up," you reply, smiling at him.

"Once this fucking food poisoning wears off I'll be devouring this shit," he says, making you laugh. He runs a hand through his hair, shaking it when it comes out soaked. "Gross. I'm literally gross. If you fall out of love with me after this I don't blame you."

"Don't be stupid," you say forwardly, leaning forward to swat him gently on the leg. "Do you know how amazing you are? You're only human, Hyun - you're still perfect in my eyes."

That makes him smile, though he tries his best to hide it. "I just feel all yucky and ugly."

"You literally have food poisoning," you remind him. "I'd be more worried if you didn't feel yucky. Do you feel like you're gonna throw up again?"

Hyunjin shakes his head. "I don't think I have anything left in me to throw up. I've not eaten anything since yesterday."

You pout at him, feeling more than sorry for your poor boyfriend. "Why don't I run you a cold shower, and when you're out I'll give you some antibiotics and I'll change your bedsheets, clean your room?"

"How did you know my rooms a mess?" He asks, ignoring everything else you've said. He had a tendency to focus on the most minuscule part of what you were saying.

"Cause your door was open when I came in - your sheets are visibly soaked from sweat and there's clothes all over the floor," you reply, smiling in a way that was all-knowing.

"Why are you so good to me?" He asks when you stand up to turn on the shower, making sure the temperature was cold but not too cold.

"Because you're my boyfriend," you respond simply. "And I love you and you'd do the same for me."

Once you deem the temperature suitable, you turn and grab Hyunjin's sweaty palms, helping him stand up. He sheds his clothes with your aid, stepping out of his joggers and boxers before stepping into the shower. You leave him to it, grabbing his clothes and bidding him a farewell.

It doesn't take you long to sort out his bedroom, putting his sheets and dirty clothes in the wash and tidying up anything else that was littering his usually immaculate room. You open the window and light some incense and candles too, since after a night of sweating Hyunjin's room had inevitably started to smell like a sewer. Once you were finished, his room was near enough unrecognisable, and you were pretty proud of your efforts.

The shower turned off a couple minutes before you'd finished, and just as you'd put a spare set of sheets on Hyunjin's bed, the man of the hour walked out with a towel wrapped around his torso. Despite it being entirely the wrong time, you couldn't help but think your boyfriend looked so handsome, his hair dripping onto his shoulders.

"Feeling better?" You ask, watching Hyunjin look around his room in awe. He walks up to you, placing his hands on your waist.

"A lot better," he mumbles, looking down at you lazily. "Thanks for cleaning my room and being an angel to me."

You giggle, tilting your head. "It's alright. Why don't you get changed and we can cuddle and watch a movie? Your antibiotics are sitting on your dresser with a glass of water," you tell him, pointing towards them before he squeezes your sides and heads towards his dresser, downing the pills with the water.

His bed had always been cosy, and now adorned with fresh sheets, you couldn’t help but snuggle into them. Flicking through Netflix, you put on Nevertheless; yours and Hyunjin’s comfort show. You’d never understood the hate it had received, though you could understand why people would rather watch an idolised and unrealistic version of a couple on screen.

Real life wasn’t happy montages and cheesy love scenes. People fall ill, people have bad days. True love, you thought, was being able to love and stick by someone even in their worst moments. When Hyunjin mopes over to you, flopping his lifeless body over yours and nestling himself between your legs, you thank every god above that you had the type of love that others can only dream of.

It doesn’t take long for Hyunjin to nod off, evident from his heavy breathing. His head rests gently on your thigh, and you can’t help but gently run your hand through his hair as he sleeps. Staring down at him, you knew you’d do anything for him. The stars and beyond.

#hyunjin x reader #hwang hyunjin #hyunjin #stray kids #hyunjin imagines #stray kids x you #skz #skz fluff #hwang hyunjin x you #hyunjin fluff

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elceeu2morrow · 6 months

Text

'Louis Tomlinson has proven he's not just an ex-boyband star, he's a rocker'

Some know him as 'that guy from One Direction', others, including myself know him as arguably one of South Yorkshire's finest exports but Louis Tomlinson is only getting better, writes Daniel Bird

Image: Mirrorpix/Daniel Bird

Daniel Bird Assistant Showbiz Editor 17:31, 12 Nov 2023

Louis Tomlinson may only have two solo albums but he's proving to be one of the artists people should keep an eye on.

Having burst onto the music scene in 2010 as one-fifth of One Direction – a band created by Nicole Scherzinger on The X Factor after all five members were rejected, he's proven he's not just an ex-boyband singer. While singers from bands tend to keep a low profile and venture into other industries after a split, Louis is on a one-way ticket to becoming a mega-star in his own right.

Known for never losing his Doncaster accent and humour, the 31-year-old is currently embarking on his Faith In The Future World Tour, performing to thousands of die-hard fans every night – which he deserves credit for.

Although he may have come from one of the biggest bands of all time, the cheeky chap isn't afraid of getting up close and personal with fans – much to the dismay of his security who leap into action when he jumps off stage and runs to the barricade to see fans. In recent weeks, Louis has seen his expensive vests ripped off him, with fans even going as far as tickling him.

This, however, hasn't stopped him from putting on an incredible show. Despite only releasing two studio albums as a soloist (his second topping the Official UK Charts), he's pushing himself to the limits and playing arenas across the world. Most recently, he performed to around 21,000 fans at Manchester's AO Arena on November 11.

Walking onto the stage may be daunting for some, but Tomlinson showed no signs of fear as he opened with The Greatest – ironically, perhaps the greatest opening track. Throughout the night, he performed hits including Kill My Mind but also paying tribute to his One Direction days, belting out Drag Me Down and Where Do Broken Hearts Go. But since his pop days, Tomlinson has edged towards a more EDM and synth sound before finding his comfort in rockier tracks. He'd previously stated he'd taken inspiration from the likes of Sam Fender, Amy Winehouse, Arctic Monkeys and Manchester legends, Oasis.

Image: Mirrorpix/Daniel Bird

Nowadays, fans can expect the odd pop hit but also enjoy punk rock as well as indie pop and soft rock.

However, despite being in the business for almost 14 years, Louis remained grounded and acknowledged that Manchester was the start of his career. Between songs, he recalled his first audition for The X Factor in front of Simon Cowell, Scherzinger and Louis Walsh, being in the city. He told fans: "This is where I did my very first audition, so to be back here on my own it definitely feels full circle and I couldn't have done that without you.

#mirror uk #lt press #11.12.23 #fitfwt2023 manchester

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sparrowofthedawnsworld · 4 months

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thinking about your first dance with Jake at your wedding………

“And, of course! We cannot forget the love birds themselves! Mr. and Mrs. Kiszka!”

Everyone applauds and cheers loudly as you enter the reception, hand in hand with Jake. He, on one hand, is used to so much attention. You, though? It’s not your favorite. But with him beside you, it feels much more bearable,

“At this time, they will join up here on the dance floor for their first dance.”

It started as a little joke between you and Jake, having binge watched Full House over the span of a few days that you both had off.

When you reached the episode where Jesse and Becky finally get married, you looked at Jake and jokingly told him, “wouldn’t it be funny if we danced to this song?”

To which he had looked down at you, smiling and said, “Do you really want to?”

And from there, you two both collectively decided to just go for it. Be it not only as a little inside joke, but also because you both really did love the lyrics.

What you didn’t know, is that Sam and Jake had snuck off to the studio and recorded it. Sam having played the piano for him, while he sang it.

The familiar chords of the piano started floating through the room, all eyes and smiling faces directed to you and Jake as he pulls you flush against body.

Neither of you speak; you, because you’re so captivated by his beauty, his smile, his warm eyes, the smell of his cologne that’s admittedly been making your mouth water since you reached him at the altar. And he’s quiet, because he’s anticipating the sound of his voice through the speakers and the look of shock on your face.

‘If every word I said, could make you laugh

I’d talk forever’

It takes no time for you to register that it is very much not John Stamos himself singing, but instead Jake, and your jaw immediately falls slack in utter disbelief.

I asked the sky just what we had

It shone forever

“Jake…” you choke out, tears filling your eyes. “How did… what- when did you-“

“I recorded it with Sammy last week,” Jake answers your broken sentence, smiling down at you softly, slowly swaying with you. “Thought that… perhaps it would mean a little more this way.”

You’re completely speechless, fighting to hold back the likely horrendous sob that’s sitting in your throat. You tilt your head and lay it on Jake’s shoulder, eyes locking with Sam’s as you do so.

He flashes you a wide smile and holds up his hands in the shape of a little heart and you giggle.

Jake’s shoulder shrugs beneath your cheek. “What is it?”

“Your little brother,” you laugh softly, Sam now being accompanied by Josh and Danny who are all making little hand hearts and blowing kisses towards the two of you. “Or brothers, i should say. Did they know, too?”

“Yep! They sure did,” Jake grins, popping the ‘p.’

#gvf #greta van fleet #jake kiszka #sparrow’s blurbs #jake gvf #gvf fluff #greta van fleet blurb #jake greta van fleet #greta van fleet fluff #jake kiszka fluff #jake kiszka blurb

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differenteagletragedy · 2 months

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Baxter thought that going back to Golden Grove after so many years away might have been a good experience. Healing, in a way. He at least believed that he wouldn't feel like a walking open wound like he did when he'd left.

But, like so many times before, he was wrong.

Being back in his old hometown left him with a particular kind of ache, one that he was hardly expecting. He'd wanted to reclaim it in a way, walk you down the streets he use to ride his bike on when he was a kid, show you everything -- only his happiest memories. But every single place looked dark now without the hazy happy light of youth to blur it into something better.

He thought that when he saw the old convenience store that he'd think of the boys club, picking out snacks with Qiu and Ren, sustenance for adventures. He'd always reminisced on his own, it had always been a sad thing, but he wanted to desperately for it to turn happy with you. Instead, he pictured the last time he and his old friends came there together, how distant things felt and how hard he tried to hold onto them, how frustrated he was that he just couldn't seem to do it.

Moments like that kept happening -- you wanted to see his dance studio, see the place where that passion was born, but driving by hurt so much that Baxter made an excuse as to why you couldn't stop. When the car passed by the diner, you suggested the two of you pop in for lunch, and his hands clenched the steering wheel so hard they hurt.

After a few times, he stopped making excuses. Not because he was adapting, but because you stopped asking.

That night in the hotel, he felt so incredibly on edge in a way that he hadn't in a long time. He thought he'd been gone from this place long enough to have put all his old hurts behind him, or that at least he'd buried them down deep enough that they wouldn't pop up again, but he was wrong. Being back here, being reminded of how broken he'd been here, was a nightmare. He was scared.

And when he got scared, he pushed people away.

"It's ok," you told him softly, kneeling on the bed behind him as he sat on the edge, wrapping your arms around him. "It's ok to be sad."

Baxter wanted nothing more in that moment than to be the kind of person who could easily accept that kindness, but in Golden Grove, he'd morphed back into that pitiful little boy he was then -- cold, distant, pushing the best parts of himself down so they didn't get hurt. He pried your arms off of his shoulders and let them drop.

You were sweet -- you were always too sweet to him. You put your hands back on his shoulders, gave him a kiss on the cheek, tried to console him. Every tender touch drove home the thought -- the fact -- that he didn't deserve it. He didn't deserve you.

He stood, walking to the window. From there, he could see so much of the town. The backdrop to his beginnings, the place where he'd grown and been taught how worthless he was. He still remembered the whispered remarks he heard about himself, the dirty looks, every one of them well-earned.

Golden Grove felt like a black hole then, one that was quickly swallowing him up. He knew he wouldn't be there forever, it would be just a few short days until he was back in sunny California, but at that moment, he didn't feel like this feeling would ever leave him.

So he left you.

Baxter heard himself distantly telling you his thoughts -- a carefully calm version of them, anyway. It was reminiscent of the way he'd broken up with you years ago after the summer you spent together in Sunset Bird, with him assuring you that you wouldn't miss him, not really, and that he wouldn't bother you again. He blocked out your tears as best he could, and your pleas for him to just stop and talk about things. He'd already made up his mind.

It was easy enough, logistically, he thought. You didn't live together, and you didn't even live in Prism Vista -- it was a long distance relationship you'd formed since Jude and Scott's wedding, and he could make that distance work in his favor now. And before he ran the risk of letting himself be swayed by you, he started putting the distance in place right away by grabbing his bag, still unpacked, and leaving the room.

He wouldn't make this mistake again, he thought to himself. Because that's what you'd been, a mistake, he was sure of it. A beautiful, warm, life-changing mistake that he'd never make again.

You'd be all right, Baxter knew that. You'd find someone soon enough, someone who could give you everything he couldn't.

And as for him, he wouldn't be foolish enough to love someone again. Not ever.

#our life beginnings and always #baxter ward #our life baxter #baxter x mc #baxter x reader #baxter x you #baxter ward x reader #baxter war x mc #baxter ward x you #i don't care if this is out of character i did it for the angst

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chaifootsteps · 2 months

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More goldenswan/ mammon x stella/ stepdad mammon from me, Studio Anon (bc the dynamic has particularly struck me as one of the interesting things about the hellaverse- and they aren’t even canon!)

- Mammon absolutely rocks out with Octavia. She listens to music to drown out her worries, and Mammon turns it into an enriching indulging of hobbies! It benefits them both since Octavia can belt out her feelings while Mammon practices how to shred. Stella doesn’t really participate but she enjoys that they’re having fun, at least.

- Birds clean themselves/ sort out their broken feathers through preening! I thought it’d be adorable that, considering Mammon has four arms, he could help out his wife and his kid at the same time <3 sweet family moment

- Octavia called him, “Dad-mon” once as she begins to understand Stolas’ neglect and Mammon is absolutely overjoyed. The greediest thing a person could have is the overwhelming love of a child- I bet it really makes Mammon annoyed at the thought of Stolas.

There’s a lot of fun potential in these two, really. They’re both assholes, and we get to see the love and affection that Octavia should have. I can imagine if this is where the story went, Octavia here would keep Stolas further away from her. At least Stella tries to be a good mom, and at least Mammon understands how to treat a kid (even if it’s first time!)

While I’m not gonna take these characters, I think I can absolutely work with the concept of a rich, greedy man falling in love with a woman in an abusive relationship and tries to have her and her daughter in a safe place as he learns empathy. It’s just… it’s too good of a concept to be in the hellaverse. Viv would absolutely make the concept horrible.

Ahhhhh!

Every single one of these got an audible "Aww!" from me. They're absolutely perfect, this ship is perfect, and Viv isn't allowed anywhere near it.

#Anonymous #mammon x stella #viv stuff #actual blog post #Studio Anon

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themultifandomgal · 4 months

Text

From 2010- The Start Of A Broken Heart

2011

Part 7

“James!” I squeal running over to him and wrapping my arms around his neck. He’s come to LA while we finish writing the Up All Night Album “I’ve missed you”

“Miss you too” he says into my hair. I pull away and kiss his cheek smiling

“Ok so the plan is for today to finish recording Taken, should take us maybe 4 hours, then we can go out for some food?”

“Sure. Sounds good” James replies as I take his hand and walk him to the taxi I came in to meet him at the airport.

The ride to the recording studio is quiet, but I know James is probably tired from traveling. When we arrive Harry and Niall are just heading in with boxes of pizza. I gasp getting out of the taxi

“You got us pizza?”

“Yeah. Got you a chicken sizzler”

“Is that the one with jalapeños?” I ask frowning

“Yeah” Harry replies

“YN doesn’t like jalapeños. She only ever has a margarita” James says in a matter of fact way

“But you said you liked the chicken sizzler last time?” Niall asks confused

“She ate half Liams pizza las time so she definitely likes it” Harry says as we enter the room the other boys are in

“I do don’t worry. Thank you” I take the pizza off Harry and sit down on the sofa. James sits next to me “want a slice”

“No I’m good”

“More for me then” I say tucking into the pizza.

Over the next few hours we recorded the rest of the song before heading out for more food. James holds my hand as we walk down the street watching Louis give Harry a piggy back which makes me laugh

“Thought when you said we could go out for food it would be just us”

“Oh…” I say looking down “I thought that since we all have a day off tomorrow we could do something, just us” I give him a little shrug

“Ok tomorrow it is then”

“Hurry up love birds!” Niall yells

“We’re coming!” I yell back.

Coming home from LA feels so good. Although I’m missing the hot air. We finally finished our first album and will be filming a music video for our first single ‘What Makes You Beautiful’.

James and I met up earlier today and now he’s going out to a house party and sleeping over at a friends house. So dad and I are having a father daughter evening

“Ok what film?” Dad asks bringing some popcorn over to the sofa

“Harry Potter”

“The first one?”

“Duh! We have to start from the beginning before the last film comes out” I say pressing play on the TV remote aa Cookie jumps on to my lap and the film starts.

Half way through the film I get a text off Emma asking if I’m at the house party. Hearing James if drunk worries me a little, but I trust him.

#harry styles x y/n #harry styles x you #harry styles x reader #harry styles x oc #harry styles imagine #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles #6th one direction member #sixth one direction member #one direction x reader #one direction

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bumblesimagines · 1 year

Text

The Sun and Moon

Part 13/END

Request: Yes or No

God it feels good to properly end a series

~~~

The Granville house had been quiet for days. All their typical parties had been abruptly canceled and their friends had received no further word from them. The couple did not speak a word to each other nor to their servants, keeping to themselves instead. Dolly spent her days shuffling in and out of the guest room where the youngest Granville resided, labored breathing and occasional twitching being the only thing telling them he still had life in him. Five days, Theodore had counted, since the young man had fallen unconscious and remained in his sickly comatose state. The servants had quickly gotten used to the silence, working around the couple and continuing their work. The doctor visited once every day, taking the man's vitals and reporting the same thing to Henry.

"His health has not improved, but it has not declined either. We'll see what we can do when he awakens."

On the third day of no improvement, Lucy had lashed out and sent a flurry of insults toward the doctor, screaming as her husband dragged her out of the room. Since then, the doctor avoided giving any sort of report to them with her in the room. The only other visitors they got were servants sent from the Sharmas and Bridgertons. Flowers, letters, small gifts. Dolly made sure to replace the flowers once they began to wilt, replacing them with the ones Violet Bridgerton sent. Carnations, peonies, orchids. She made sure to add a card for Lucy each time, words from one mother to another. Lady Danbury had extended her help, offering to pay the doctor for his work. Or rather lack of.

The Bridgerton residence felt no different than the Granvilles. Quiet, solemn. Benedict kept to his studio and when he got home, he asked his mother for news before locking himself in his room to write letters or sketch. Anthony had been no different. He remained in his office most days, drowning himself in bourbon and endless work, just as he did prior to getting closer to (Y/N). Hyacinth and Gregory asked for news at least thrice a day, having the same reaction when their mother told them the same thing.

On the sixth day, when the sun began to peek through the curtains, (Y/N) flinched and opened his eyes, squinting up at the unfamiliar ceiling. He could hear birds softly chirping outside and as he heaved himself up into a sitting position, he spotted his furry friend at the foot of the bed, peacefully napping. Something wet slipped from his head, falling on his lap with a squelch. A wet rag. Furrowing his brows, (Y/N) set the rag aside and leaned back into the pillow.

"Poppy, darling, you can't be on the bed." He turned his head as Dolly entered the room with a vase of flowers in hand. She looked up when she noticed movement, gasping and dropping the vase, the shattering sound echoing through the room and awakening Poppy as well as alerting the rest of the house.

"Christ, Dolly, do you wish to give me a heart atta-" Stopping himself, Theodore stared at the young man as he rubbed his eyes.

"It's too early for this." (Y/N) muttered, voice barely audible and throat dry.

"What is the meaning of this?" Lucys' voice rang through the hallway and she stepped into the room, eyes falling on the broken vase before she looked up at her servants, brows furrowing and head turning in the direction of her son.

"Dearest.." She breathed, taking slow steps, almost as if she were afraid if she moved suddenly it'd shatter the moment. Lucy reached forward and hesitantly touched his face, gasping softly as the tears freely fell from her cheeks. Sniffling, she waved to the servants. "Someone fetch Henry!" She ordered, climbing further onto the bed and cradling her son in her arms, frail body shaking from the sobs.

"I-I'll inform Mr. Granville a-and get the doctor." Theodore stuttered, stumbling over the wet flowers scattered across the floor as he exited the room.

"What's going on?" (Y/N) questioned, arms weakly wrapping around his mother.

"You've been asleep for five days," Dolly explained quietly, blinking a few times before she crouched down, frantically picking up the flowers on the ground and setting them on a drawer before stepping closer to the bed, releasing a breath of relief. She lifted a hand and fanned herself before letting out a soft, relieved chuckle. "I'll get some soup for you, (Y/N). You must be famished." With that, the maid left the room as the other servants began peeking into the room, collectively gasping and muttering amongst themselves.

"What is Dolly talking about?" (Y/N) looked at his mother when she pulled back. Lucy wiped the tears from her cheeks and sniffled, affectionately stroking the side of his face.

"Lord Bridgerton went to see you at the estate. He claims that when he got there, you could barely walk. You collapsed in his arms. He tended to you until a doctor arrived the next day and you were brought back." Lucy explained, gently taking his hand and setting it on her lap, rubbing her thumb back and forth. (Y/N)s' lips parted, eyes shifting onto the flowers on the nightstand, the many letters beside it stamped with the Bridgerton symbol.

"He-"

"He left as soon as you were brought here. He hasn't returned." (Y/N)s shoulders slumped at his mother's words. Had he flaked cause things had gotten hard? Cause he couldn't handle it? Henry entered the room, disrupting (Y/N)s' thoughts.

"Father..." (Y/N) breathed. The first time Henry had looked had him since the wedding. Henry glanced at his wife, stepping over the glass and wet floor before he took a seat on the bed.

"Theodore... he- he said..." Henry swallowed, raising a hand to his face and releasing a shaky breath. A parent's worst nightmare; facing the possibility of losing their child without warning. Lucy reached over to rub her husband's back soothingly, sighing as all the tension from the past few days left her body.

"I'm okay." (Y/N) assured softly. "I'm okay."

"And we are so glad," Henry whispered, sniffling softly.

(Y/N) spent most of the day, resting. He kept himself entertained by reading the many letters, all from different friends. Kate, Benedict, Violet, and even Edwina. Not a single one from Anthony. He could hardly recall anything from the day he fell unconscious. The whole day had felt like a blur and the only thing he could remember distinctly had been Anthony calling out to him. Had Anthony truly taken care of him? Why had he left as soon as he could?

"The doctor says you'll be feeling better with some medicine," Dolly revealed as she got a spoonful of the liquid the doctor had given them. "Says it could be as early as tomorrow." She smiled, placing a hand under the spoon to avoid making a mess before bringing it to his lips. (Y/N) wrapped his lips around the spoon, swallowing the medicine and cringing, the bitter taste making the hairs on the back of his neck stand tall. Dolly offered him a glass of water which he gladly took, hoping it'd wash away the horrible taste.

"Your parents have refused to see any visitors for you until you feel better," Dolly stated, setting the spoon down on the table and taking a seat on the bed. "But, I did hear from one of the maids that Lord Bridgerton plans on visiting as soon as possible."

"Now? After all this time?"

"I know, but... The day you collapsed, he came here. He wanted to speak with you and your parents. I wasn't present, at that moment, but Theodore told me he gave a rather heartfelt speech and claimed he wished..." Dolly trailed off, a small smile toying at her lips.

"He wished what? Dolly, come on!" (Y/N) gently took her arm, shaking it lightly. Dolly laughed and shifted to face him, leaning in playfully.

"He wished to propose. Said that no matter what your parents thought, he was set on doing it. If you accepted, he'd said a small private ceremony could be held." Dolly giggled and scooted closer, taking his hands into hers and giving them a squeeze. "I believe him, (Y/N). Theodore may be hesitant, especially because of this sudden illness, but I truly believe he cares for you."

"What if he gets bored, Dolly? What if in a few months he realizes he wants a bride and a child? These types of relationships rarely last long. The thrill of secrecy and meeting under the cover of night... It can grow tiring and boring. What if he realizes the only thing he felt for him was just... a rush, or lust even? I cannot deal with another heartbreak, Dolly." (Y/N) shook his head, feeling his eyes begin to water. "I- I cannot."

"My darling, you've let the doubts plague your mind. Miss Edwina would not have called off a wedding hosted by Her Majesty if she did not believe Anthony loved you. I know you're afraid... Heartbreak is terrifying. But how will you know if you don't take risks? Take it from someone who did not take a chance on the one she loved... and now spends most days wondering what could've been." Dolly squeezed his hands once more.

(Y/N) wiped away the tear trailing down his cheek with his shoulder and sniffled. Dolly was right, that he knew. He couldn't let fear guide him forever. He had to trust himself and his heart. He had to trust Anthony and his words. He had seen something in Anthony had Somerset House, something that had pulled him toward the Bridgerton.

(Y/N) looked forward and bit back the smile toying on his lips, clearing his throat softly. “Is the painting to your liking, My Lord?” (Y/N) asked, seeing him turn to look at him out of the corner of his eye. (Y/N) kept his gaze on the painting and smiled fondly at the memories it came with. The painting was of Primrose Hill at sunset; when the sun would cast lovely shades of soft pink and warm orange against the shimmering water.

“It is quite lovely, Mr. Granville. I don’t believe we’ve ever been acquainted, have we?”

“We have not, I’m afraid. Lovely to meet you, Lord Bridgerton.”

“Please, call me Anthony, I insist.” (Y/N) turned to look at him and felt his skin lightly flush. As handsome as the ladies made him out to be, but he had a past of being arrogant and belittling.

“It’s impressive how much talent you posses at the mere age of..”

“Five and twenty, My Lord.”

(Y/N) had been so unprepared for what would happen over the course of a couple of months. But the more (Y/N) thought about his time spent with the Bridgerton, the more he realized that he wouldn't change a thing if he could go back. Even if it meant having to go through heartache once more because of Anthony. Even if it meant disobeying his father again and being the source of his disappointment.

"I suppose... We'll see how he truly feels." (Y/N) smiled at Dolly. She smiled widely and brought him in for a hug, sighing softly as she rubbed his back. She pulled back, giving his shoulders a squeeze.

"The Featheringtons are hosting a ball-"

"The Featheringtons?"

"Yes, I know, shocking. But, I heard they've invited everyone, including the Bridgertons and Sharmas. While the chances of Lord Bridgerton attending are low, if he does, you'll be able to speak with him." Dolly told him, running her hands down his arms. "If you're feeling well, perhaps we can convince your parents to allow you to go."

"It'll be a battle, for sure." (Y/N) laughed softly, smiling as he leaned forward to rest his forehead against hers.

"Thank you. For everything you've done for me, Dolly." (Y/N) whispered. "You do not get nearly as much credit as you deserve."

"Being part of this family is enough for me." Dolly smiled, pulling back and cupping his cheek. Her eyes watered and she chuckled softly. "You are the child I never got to have." She added, voice cracking toward the never of her sentence. A life filled serving the Granville family and she spent half of it raising a child. Dolly was a mother just as much as Lucy. They all knew that.

Sighing breathily, Dolly stood up and collected the dirty dishes on the nightstand, giving him one last smile before she left the room, greeting Lucy and Henry quietly as she walked past them. The two entered the bedroom and Henry lit the candle on the nightstand as Lucy took a seat on the bed.

"It's shameful for me to say that I did not realize certain things until I stood in this room and wondered if I'd ever see your eyes again." Lucy began, cupping her hands on her lap and staring forward. (Y/N) leaned back into the pillows, glancing between his parents silently. Lucy inhaled and turned toward her son.

"I failed you... As a mother, I failed you in every aspect. I was so caught up in wanting to be like the other mothers of the ton that I realized... I wasn't necessarily ready for a child. I felt as if I needed to prove I was as much a woman as the rest of them by having a child and in the end, I barely know you. I don't remember your first steps or your first words. I don't remember which lessons you excelled at as a child or which ones you had difficulties with. I- I... I have... no excuses. I made a choice when I approached Henry about having a child. I made a choice when I didn't play with you or when I didn't bring you around to the houses of my friends so you could play with their kids. I'd be lying if I said I had a role in the man you are today. And I am so sorry that I didn't try harder. That I didn't put you first above all else. I failed you, I admit that to you. And I hope that you forgive me, even if I don't deserve it. I was selfish and you deserved better." Lucy pressed her lips together and wiped her runny nose, the tears slipping from her cheeks and onto her nightgown.

"I forgive you." (Y/N) murmured, feeling his own warm tears coat his cheeks in wetness. It'd taken twenty-five years for him to receive an apology for his treatment, for his childhood, for the gaping hole in his heart wishing to be filled. While part of him wanted to hold onto the anger and bitterness, the relief of finally being seen and acknowledged washed those feelings away. Lucy gently took his hand into her own and held it, sniffling softly.

"I love you, dearest." She smiled and stood, releasing his hand. Lucy gently patted her husband's arm and made her way out of the room, leaving father and son alone. Henry remained standing beside the nightstand, fiddling with his fingers and avoiding his sons' gaze. He sighed softly, running his finger over his wedding ring.

"I owe you an apology as well. I wasn't the father you needed, I realized this much earlier than Lucy and attempted to make up for it by trying to protect you. I ran from you and from my responsibilities when you were born. I traveled to distract myself from my duties as a father and then... When I saw you were just a little kid... Just a little being in need of me and your mother, I... I tried to do better. I taught you what I could and tried to shield you from society but..." Henry swallowed and shook his head, lifting his gaze to look at his son.

"I also failed you and when I realized it, I grew angry at myself. I was never disappointed in you. You're young and you'll make mistakes. I was afraid of what that could mean and forgot that I was once in your shoes trying to make sense of myself and trying to figure out what love was. I should've done better. I should've listened to you more. For that, I am so sorry."

"All I ever wanted was for you and Mother to love me... And I know you do, but it feels good to finally get an apology after years of wondering if I was just asking for too much."

"You were never asking for too much, (Y/N). You were a child who needed his parents. We love you, no matter what you choose to do."

ꕤ ꕤ ꕤ ꕤ ꕤ ꕤ

(Y/N) felt guilty admitting he hadn't been expecting much from the Featheringtons. Sure, he knew Lady Featherington wouldn't have wanted anything less than perfection, but considering the turbulent year they'd had combined with the new Lord Featherington, he figured they would've waited for next year to host a ball. Though, he supposed, the Featheringtons were always full of surprises. The room had been lightly decorated but the food and refreshment tables were worth salivating over. Of course, the most eye-catching thing they had must've been the stand where the musicians played. (Y/N) couldn't help but wonder if they were dizzy, especially considering the fact it actively rotated.

"Ah, it is a pleasure to see you are alright, Mr. Granville. It is quite kind of you to join us after spending so long bedridden. I do hope you're feeling better." What she truly meant was; I hope you didn't come while still ill. No matter how hard she tried, Lady Featherington had always been easier to read than most. Nonetheless, (Y/N) smiled.

"Thank you for your concern, Lady Featherington. I'm feeling quite alright." He assured and she relaxed, nodding and addressing his mother. Lucy glanced back at him as she left his side to chat with their hostess. It was a mystery how women could so easily pretend to enjoy each other's company.

Looking away from the two women, he spotted Kate and Edwina standing side by side, having what appeared to be a pleasant conversation. (Y/N) hummed and smiled. They'd finally put the betrayal behind them, it seemed. (Y/N) began making his way toward them and chuckled when Kate's face lit up at the sight of him. She looked stunning in her orange bejeweled dress and perfectly done hair.

"Oh, how good it is to see you. I was afraid I wouldn't be able to catch you before I left."

"You're still leaving for India?"

"I'm afraid so." Kate nodded with an apologetic frown. "But, fret not. I promise I'll continue writing to you." Kate's frown turned into a playful smile and she glanced at Edwina, looping her arm around hers. Edwina smiled in return and glanced toward the dancefloor, getting a sudden twinkle in her eye.

"How about a dance, Kate?" She questioned, wasting no time pulling her onto the dancefloor alongside the unsuspecting couples. (Y/N) chuckled as he watched them, almost missing the person staring at him from across the room. Anthony Bridgerton. Anthonys' gaze softened significantly and he leaned over to whisper something to his mother before slowly making his way around the room. (Y/N) turned his attention back onto the sisters, watching Anthony from the corner of his eye until the Bridgerton stood right beside him. The two remained silent, even after the dance ended and another began.

"It's good to see you on your feet."

"It's good to be on my feet." (Y/N) smiled, turning his head to look at him. Anthonys' shoulders deflated as he exhaled softly, eyes scanning his face, almost as if making sure (Y/N) looked okay.

"I can't imagine the fright you must've had. I apologize for the inconvenience."

"There's no need." Anthony dismissed quickly, shaking his head. "I assure you... There's no need to apologize. I am simply glad to know you are well."

"You've always been such a good friend to me, Anthony. Even going as far to play doctor for a day." (Y/N) teased lightly, chuckling when a grin broke out on Anthonys' face.

"Yes, well... I must admit I think I did a pretty decent job at it."

"Ah, did you now?" (Y/N) raised his brows and shifted his body toward him, crossing his arms. Anthony laughed softly and nodded, cocking his head.

"Don't believe me?" He raised his hand and held up two fingers. "How many?"

"Two." (Y/N) answered, only for Anthony to turn his hand and lift another finger in the process so there were three fingers instead. (Y/N) rolled his eyes and smiled widely, looking back toward the dancefloor as couples began to get into position.

"Mr. Granville, would you like to dance?" Anthony asked and (Y/N) blinked, turning his head to look back at him. He furrowed his brows, glancing toward the other guests around them.

"What are you talking about?"

"Right here, right now. Would you do me the honor?" (Y/N)s' lips parted as he stared at Anthony. Not a shred of doubt on his face. He swallowed. Could they really get in trouble for merely dancing?

"You can say no if you-"

"I'll dance." (Y/N) breathed and nodded. Anthony smiled once more and offered him his hand, pulling him onto the dancefloor when he took it. He could feel the gazes of everyone in the room shift onto them, whispering and murmuring erupting from the guests. The music began playing and (Y/N) took Anthonys' other hand, following along with the dance, even as the other couples glanced back toward them and stopped dancing.

"Just keep your eyes on me," Anthony whispered, and (Y/N) nodded. But eventually, they weren't alone. (Y/N) glanced over his shoulder at Edwina and Kate as they danced once more, the two sending them a supportive smile. (Y/N) released a breath and looked back at Anthony, feeling less anxious and more confident.

"Why is no one else dancing?" (Y/N) swore his heart skipped a beat as Her Majesty's voice echoed through the room. She didn't care, (Y/N) realized. She didn't care that two men were dancing together in public, in her presence. And when he looked in her direction, he only saw a genuine, pleased smile on her face. The very thing he needed to fully relax and enjoy himself, letting himself be immersed in the dance with Anthony. Taking his hand once more, the two stared into each other's eyes as the music came to a stop and the dance ended. They stepped apart and (Y/N) released his hand as Lady Featherington hurried into the room claiming she had a surprise for everyone waiting outside. (Y/N) turned his head when the Queen stopped beside them, her knowing smile telling them everything they needed to know. She continued on her way, her ladies-in-waiting quickly following after her. Once she had exited, so did the rest of the quests.

"I'll see you outside." (Y/N) said and turned, joining the crowd as they stepped outside into the garden. He slipped through the crowd and ignored the pointed stares and whispers. He didn't care about the rumors, not anymore. The Queen herself knew and she did not give a damn. So why should he? The people of the ton had and always would be cowards who hid behind their riches and looked down upon others. But (Y/N) had found something genuine and with the Queen's approval at that.

Chuckling to himself, he found a more secluded spot, away from the others where he could watch whatever surprise Lady Featherington had in store for them. Fireworks, most likely. Or perhaps some singers. (Y/N) inhaled the fresh night air and looked up at the sky. Peace, at last.

"You must really love to play cat and mouse, Mr. Granville."

"It's my favorite game." (Y/N) responded and turned to face Anthony, watching him approach. Anthony smirked and nodded, drawing closer until they were face to face.

"I was told what you planned to do once you reached my grandfathers' estate." (Y/N) revealed softly and Anthonys' face fell. "I'll admit, I had my doubts but... If it's true.."

"Yes, everything was true. I love you, and it has taken me far too long to tell you. I've loved you since the day you walked into my life and smiled at me. I love everything about you. I love your passion, your talent, and your kindness. You are everything I want in a person, in a lover, in a spouse. While we wouldn't be married in the eyes of the church and on paper, we would be married to our family and friends. The people who truly matter. You do not have to say yes-" (Y/N) leaned in as the fireworks were lit and set off into the sky, illuminating the two as the guests cheered and watched the fireworks in awe.

Pulling back and chuckling softly at the lovestruck look on his face, (Y/N) smiled and placed a hand on his cheek. "You may be an insufferable bastard sometimes... But my answer will always be yes." He cooed and Anthony smiled widely, leaning into his palm and placing a delicate kiss on his wrist. (Y/N) felt his heart warm and he turned his head to look up at the fireworks, resting his head against Anthonys' chest when he pulled him closer.

ꕤ ꕤ ꕤ ꕤ ꕤ ꕤ

(Y/N) shivered, feeling fingers dancing up his spine. He buried his face further into the pillow, hearing Anthony snicker. The bed shifted as Anthony scooted closer to him, pressing soft kisses along his shoulders and up his neck until he reached his ear. (Y/N) couldn't help but smile.

"You must get up, (Y/N). Everyone's waiting for us. Besides, don't you want to see your surprise?" He cooed into his ear, gently nipping his earlobe. (Y/N) squeaked and released a muffled laugh, raising a hand up to his ear and rolling over onto his back, face scrunching up when the sun hit his eyes. Anthony smiled and leaned down, greeting his husband with a kiss. (Y/N) melted, hands gently cupping Anthonys' face.

"Good morning, my love," Anthony murmured, swooping down to pepper airy kisses to his neck.

"I thought you said we had to go?" (Y/N) laughed softly and pushed him back by his shoulders, lifting his brows up at him. Anthony shrugged innocently and grinned.

"Yes, but I'm sure they can wait a little while longer."

"Mhm, come on." (Y/N) shook his head, lightly pecking the tip of Anthonys' nose and swinging his legs over the side of the bed. He heard Anthony groan softly and glanced back at him, snorting when Anthony dramatically collapsed back onto the bed, sprawled out and with a pout on his face. (Y/N) collected his clothes from the floor and set them in a pile for the maids to take before he searched for a new set of clothes, getting dressed whilst Anthony watched him.

"Weren't you making a big fuss about my surprise?" (Y/N) questioned, getting some of Anthonys' clothes out and setting them on the bed for him. Anthony sighed heavily and dragged himself out of bed, picking up his shirt and leaning over to give him another kiss before he got dressed as well.

"Give me a hint."

"No."

"Please?" (Y/N) pouted, arms wrapping around Anthonys' waist but the Viscount shook his head, one arm wrapping around his shoulders and pulling him toward the door. (Y/N) huffed softly and leaned his head back onto Anthonys' shoulder. The two walked down the halls of Aubrey Hall; the very place they'd had their loving ceremony. Anthony had kept (Y/N) occupied for days, refusing to leave the bed unless absolutely necessary. A new yet welcomed side to Anthony.

Heading down the stairs, (Y/N) nodded to one of the servants as they opened the doors for the couple. (Y/N) cringed and shut his eyes when the sun greeted them, taking a moment to adjust to the brightness before he peered down at the people below. The Bridgertons and Granvilles awaited them, along with three new figures. (Y/N) furrowed his brows and squinted at the familiar purple dress, only to gasp and smile widely, detaching himself from Anthony and practically flying down the stairs.

"Kate!"

"(Y/N)!" Kate squealed, releasing a surprised laugh when she was picked up, arms wrapping tightly around his shoulders as he spun her in a circle. (Y/N) gently set her back down and pulled back, looking back toward the amused Anthony.

"Was this your surprise?"

"I rallied the Sharmas after hearing how much the two of you missed each other," Anthony responded cooly, looking rather proud of himself as he placed his hands on his hips and grinned at them. Kate rolled her eyes and scoffed lightly, leaning in slightly.

"He hardly did anything." She whispered, leaning back and crossing her arms.

"I believe that." (Y/N) laughed and turned to look at Lady Sharma and Edwina, greeting the two of them with smiles. Anthony slithered his arms around (Y/N)s' waist and pulled him back against his chest, looking back at his siblings as they raced to grab their favorite mallets. Edwina and Kate laughed, looping their arms together and retrieving their own mallets as the parents took their seats a safe distance away. Anthony pressed a kiss to his cheek and reached for the black mallet, only for (Y/N) to scoop it up, leaving him with the baby blue one. Anthony squinted at (Y/N) and shook his head, taking the last mallet and facing his family.

Daphne smiled wickedly, swinging her mallet over her shoulder and placing her hand on her hip. "Who's ready to lose again?" A chorus of protests erupted from the crowd and (Y/N) chuckled, turning his head to look at Anthony.

"Hey, Anthony?"

"Mhm?"

"I love you."

#x reader #x you #x y/n #x male reader #bridgerton x male reader #bridgerton x y/n #anthony bridgerton #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton x you #anthony bridgerton x you #anthony bridgerton x reader #Anthony bridgerton x male reader #kate sharma #Violet Bridgerton #Daphne Bridgerton #edwina sharma #lucy granville #henry granville #the sun and moon

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per-the-jellicle-magician · 22 days

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In his den Mefistofeliks has a little stash of things that remind him of his human and of cats he's close with. It started when he was still a kitten because of his human and there's only a few cats who know this stash of mementos even exists.

The inspiration for it was his human, Erik, who made a little baby album of a sort after he adopted Feliks, and over the years has been adding pictures and other things such as his paw prints etc. So wanting to do the same Feliks stole a few of the printed pictures and scraps of paper with Erik's handwriting (the closest thing he could find as his human's paw print) and stashed them in his den at the studio. Over the years said stash grew, he kept stealing a picture or a note here and there, and few pieces of Erik's clothing including one of his favourite pairs of socks. He also got there his latest collar that he wore only once to please Erik. He doesn't like wearing it, but he still very much likes to have it (he knows Erik saved the very first collar he got for Feliks, tiny kitten one that also was worn only once).

Besides his human's things he has lots of mementos of other cats. Most weren't exactly gifts but more of a "oh you can keep it if you want" type of thing, but Ram Ram Tamek and Kasandra, who both knew about it for years have both gifted him things and would sometimes tell other cats that hey this specific thing you dont want to anymore, Mefistofeliks may want it. Eventually two more cats would learn about it, both by accident, said cats being Bombalurina and Munkustrap.

From Tam he's got a little round mirror, a scrap of an old blanket they often used to share as kittens and a photo of the two of them Tam stole from Erik (Tam may tease him a bit for being sentimental, but he still helps with getting the things, and he saved the other piece of that blanket and another copy of that photo too).

From Kasandra he's got two of her bracelets, a broken silver one he saved from when they first got together, and she didn't know about the stash yet (he gifted her a different one then), and a golden bangle with little stones she gave him when they finally and for good sorted their relationship out and went from partners to being just friends.

From his daughter, Wiktoria, he's got a piece of cardboard with her paw prints on it and red and black marble from a little stash of them she found in some forgotten corner of the studio (she saved herself a matching white one).

From his parents, he's got one of Bywalec' ascots and an old broken pair of glasses, and from Plameczka a couple of her hair rollers, plus a few feathers from her feather duster (it took a time to get those things to save, he doesn't see his parents as often anymore)

From Misto a long piece of the glittery rainbow he used in his tricks, from when it accidentally ripped one day and a few playing cards from his favourite, although very much no longer complete deck (Feliks wasn't the only one to receive cards from his cousin, few went to Tugger and Victoria as well).

From Victoria a gem that fell off her collar and a pink ribbon bow she made once for him so the 3 of them could match as family (Misto saved the one she made for him too).

From Bomba he's got her hair clip sometime after they become friends. It was an old one, with a broken clip part (she let him have it after he helped her find a replacement).

From Demeter he's got a silver and gold handkerchief which was bit of an "I'm sorry" note after she accidentally messed up his arm (he wore it over the bandages when it was still healing)

From Munkustrap he's got feathers, saved from every catch Munk would share with him all the times Feliks would visit his cousins at the Junkyard. Munk saw the arrangement Feliks made of the feathers several times when visiting before he realised they were from birds caught by him. It took for a very specific feather to appear there for him to catch on (Munk has saved all the flowers Feliks has ever conjured up for him too, took him one catnip fuelled visit to his den to learn that). Later, one of scarves Munk had in his den, a brilliant blue one, made it's way over to Feliks' (Feliks may or may not have said it reminded him of Munk the most of all things Munk's got and that he liked how soft it was)

#I've been having thoughts so it's a long one #this idea was living rent free in my head #maybe one day i'll write out what he got from other cats #if and when i get any ideas of what those things may be #cats the musical #cats warsaw #cats headcanons #mefistofeliks #mistoffelees #ram tam tamek #rum tum tugger #Munkustrap #kasandra #cassandra cats #only tagging the more important ones form all the mentioned #my headcanons #jellicle cats #my main cats au

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dollidot · 2 months

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fun little facts about hiina and mizu !!

modern au

hiina has bipolar and is autistic, much like me, and that brings quite a few problems for them

they fight at least once per month due to hiina's mood swings, and have broken up multiple times

only to come back to each other again while drunk and lonely

mizu, being a bassist, has written numerous songs about hiina and plays them for her at gigs (all of her fangirls hate hiina's guts)

they have a ragdoll cat called miso

hiina owns six horses, and the first time she introduced mizu to them her favourite horse (whiskey) took a liking to mizu and she cried.

their bedroom is PINK. hiina has littered it with pink and sanrio and lace and all her cute adorableness and mizu has a corner for her desk and the occasional trinket around the room (not that she minds)

their house is exactly the same.

hiina cannot cook. mizu cooks really well. mizu cannot bake. hiina bakes really well. it works.

"she asked for no pickles" "no darlin' it's fine really" "absolutely not, you're allergic"

they get each other really silly gifts when they're apart ("hey I thought of you when I saw this" "baby that's a rock.")

they both really like studio ghibli, it's how they bonded

hiina absolutely LOVES mlp and they dress as either rarijack or flutterdash every single year for halloween

they have matching tv girl bracelets because their entire relationship is a reference to it

THEIR song is either my girlfriend by tv girl or forever by the little dippers

they dance to their playlist in their kitchen (probably drunk)

hiina and akemi have regular conversations about their sex lives because they're the bestest friends ever (with taigen and mizu in the same room)

during all of hiina's depressive episodes mizu takes care of her as best as she can by cooking for her and cleaning the house etc because they're adorable

canon

for the first year of them travelling together mizu refused to let hiina join her in fights and made her wait outside so she wouldn't get hurt

that was until hiina killed a guy who was about to stab mizu and mizu realised she's good asf with a bow and reluctantly began letting her fight alongside her

there were about 13 instances in which they almost met or walked past each other before they officially met

mizu has killed men before for getting handsy with hiina when she didn't want it (even before they got together)

taigen had a feeling there was something going on before they even realised it and made a bet with ringo about it

"why do you sleep in trees?" "I'm a bird" "well you're as pretty as one" "awww-" "and just as annoying."

mizu calls hiina dove and the first time she did so hiina sobbed uncontrollably for about an hour because that's what hana called her and mizu forgot

mizu put hiina's singular hairpin in her new sword :3

I love my silly little lesbians they mean so much to me

#blue eye samurai #mizu blue eye samurai #bes mizu #bes #mizu x oc #i love my silly little ship #self inserts are not a bad thing stfu #oc x canon #modern au

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total-drama-takes-takes-2 · 7 months

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tta finale (original)

“Last time, on Total Takes Action: our final three competed in an all-out, extra dramatic laser tag challenge with a few… twists. Alliances were formed, friendships were broken, and it was Peter who took the fall to give Scruffy a chance at the finale. With just one exciting challenge left, I’m sure you’re all wondering who will win- and there’s only one way to find out: right here, right now, on Total! Takes! Action!”

The sky is clear and blue, the pigeons are cooing, and the smell of breakfast sausage is filling the air as Scruffy and O wait in a very short line for their complementary “final two breakfast” in the craft services tent.

Chef heaps a few sausages, eggs, and waffles on each plate and shoos the players off, both of which immediately gravitate towards the opposite ends of the picnic table and eat in silence. Scruffy paces around their end of the table, swiping forks, knives, and spoons, just in case. O draws a little smiley face on his plate with syrup.

---

O: “Well… this is it,”

---

SCRUFFY: “Today’s the big day,”

---

O: “I can’t believe how far I made it,”

---

SCRUFFY: “I can’t believe how far O made it,”

---

O: “I’m not exactly winning material… but then again, neither is Scruffy,”

---

SCRUFFY: “He’s a big softie. Not nearly as well-trained, unless you count psychology- but then again, I’m an expert at that, too. He’s just gone to- ugh- “therapy”. Who has therapy helped?”

---

O: “I’m thinking that once I get back, winnings or not, I might cancel my sessions with Dr. Anderson. I feel like… I don’t know. Pathologizing my problems has made them worse, somehow. Maybe it’s time to try a different approach. The… Scruffy approach, I guess,”

---

SCRUFFY: “Still, I can’t help but wonder if all of this dedication- all the hours I’ve spent rewatching the original show, all my community college classes, all my reading and training- has really helped me get here. I’ve been missing an obvious pattern. If only I could figure out what that is…”

---

O looks up from his syrup smile and waves at Scruffy. “Hey, bro. Good luck today,”

Scruffy blinks. “Um… okay,”

“Attention, campers! Your final challenge starts in five minutes out by the trailers. Time to bring your A-Game!”

---

Scruffy and O stand an arm’s length apart as Chris paces between them, humming to himself. “You’ve lived. You’ve loved. You’ve laughed. And most importantly, you’ve lost. Today is the final test of strength, wits, smarts and endurance- both of you will enter, but only one will emerge a hero. And with a big fat check,” Chris chuckles.

“Today’s final challenge is a multi-part rendezvous across the set. You will start here and make your way through the city,”

Scruffy immediately jumps into a running stance, ready to take off.

Chris grins. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you. The first leg of your race to the finish line was inspired by your very first challenge here- the birdocalypse. Thousands of territorial birds are having their afternoon nap on the city set. Wake them up, and you might have a problem,” he goes on. “After that, you’ll make your way through a ghost-filled maze, inspired by the video game and period flick challenges. Once you’re out, you’ll run the final stretch to Lot B- a functional studio next door. The first to arrive wins the prize. Ready?”

Scruffy and O exchange nervous glances.

“Go!”

The two don't run, but awkwardly walk off in the same direction, as if taking a pleasant afternoon stroll.

O’s eyes drift over to Scruffy and he winces.

---

O: “Is it weird to ask them for advice? I feel like it’s weird, but…”

---

“Hey, dude,” O says, looking over. “I know we’re competing and all, but-”

“Shh!” Scruffy interrupts him, holding a finger to their lips. They point ahead, where a black mass is covering the city set- it’s almost like an oil spill, but instead of the viscous glimmering liquid, it’s hundreds of sleeping crows.

Scruffy goes first while O hangs back, looking ahead nervously. The former moves through the set, stepping over birds on the road and ducking under birds on the street signs and lamps. They delicately step, roll, and skip through the set with expert agility while O watches on.

---

SCRUFFY: “This isn't so hard! Just a little yoga moves and some spatial awareness. Maybe I haven’t lost my zing after all!”

---

Scruffy reaches the other side and turns to wave at O- in a clearly taunting way. O crosses his arms and glares.

---

O: “Yeah- no chance of friends there,”

---

Scruffy reaches the mouth of the maze and chuckles. “Easy. Is this all you got, Chris?”

Chris rolls his eyes and pulls out a large remote. His thumb hovers over the big red button on the surface for a few moments, taunting Scruffy, before he slams it and the maze lifts off the ground and begins rotating on a large metal plate.

Scruffy watches the ground disappear beneath them and sighs.

---

SCRUFFY: “WHY would I say that? That’s the easiest mistake to avoid on this show!”

---

Back on the city set, O tip-toes over the birds, nearly stumbling over each one. He’s breathing heavily, and almost falls over at least ten times.

But, he reaches the end and sighs before jogging off. O reaches the entrance of the rotating maze and gawks at it.

“Yeahhhh,” Chris grins. “Don’t worry, though, we’re prepared for this.”

Chef wheels out a canon.

---

Scruffy wanders through the maze, dizzy and unbalanced as it spins around itself. They’re about as green as their hair, but still pressing on nonetheless.

---

SCRUFFY: “I’ve been trying to improve my gag reflex since island. I’m usually pretty good, but I have… a thing about other people getting sick in front of me. As long as that doesn’t happen, I’m set,”

---

O’s screams echo, growing closer and closer before he slams into the concrete of the maze behind Scruffy, leaving a hole in the ceiling. He coughs.

“Don’t throw up!” Scruffy shouts.

O stands, rubbing his head. “Wasn’t gonna. Don’t worry, man, I’ll leave you be,”

Scruffy nods and the two run in opposite directions.

---

O: “I get it! Scruffy has nothing to get from me, so why would I bother them?”

---

Scruffy steps through the maze, scratching their head as it spins. “This isn’t good. I’m all turned around,”

Chris’ voice blares over the intercom: “That’s the point, Total Drama Genius!”

They sigh and hold onto the wall while stumbling along. The maze suddenly lurches and begins turning in the opposite direction, sending Scruffy tumbling to the ground. They groan and sit up against the wall. “It’s hopeless. I keep lying to myself and telling myself I can do this, but I can’t! I don’t know what I’m doing,” they turn to the camera. “I’m sorry, Jules.”

---

O walks along, faring much better than Scruffy. A light breeze tussles his hair and he turns to where it’s coming from- and just around that corner, a beam of sunlight filters through. He grins and jogs forward.

As he rounds the corner and sees the exit, though, he hears a loud cry. The sound of Scruffy’s wailing carries through the maze, and it stops O in his tracks.

He hesitates.

---

O: “I know I shouldn’t go back. I mean, what if it’s a trap? What if Scruffy is just trying to get my help and then dump me after? But…” he sighs. “I’m not like them. I’m a nice person, and there’s nothing weak about that.”

---

O turns and jogs off into the dark.

---

Scruffy, curled into a ball on the floor, cries in anguish.

“Hey? Dude?”

They whimper loudly. O sits down next to them and sighs.

“Listen, I’m not gonna try to fix your problems, ‘cause I know that’s not what you like,” O says. “But you should know that… well, you don’t have to win this. You’re not a weak person for not being mean and conniving like the people who get far on this show…”

“But I want to be!” they whimper, eyes full of tears. “I want to be Heather!”

“But you’re not… Heather,” O looks around awkwardly. “You shouldn’t want to be, either?”

“I’ve been studying this show since primary, I’ve taken all the classes, done all the research, trained to perfection- why am I so bad at this?”

O pats Scruffy’s shoulder. “You’re not. You’re good.”

“But not like you. You didn’t even try and you made it to the same exact spot I got to! I don’t get it. Were you a pawn? A twist villain I didn’t see coming?” Scruffy rocks back and forth.

O raises an eyebrow. “Um… no… I don’t know, man, I’m just nice,”

“You can’t win just by being nice, I mean, that’s… that’s improbable! The nicest contestants always get got!” Scruffy says. “I’m nice! I’m not mean!”

“Yeah, man, but you’re kinda… uh, you know… you’re not the easiest to be around,”

Scruffy’s eyes water again. “Wh-what do you mean?”

O sucks in his breath through his teeth. “You’re… kind of intense, dude. All you talk about is the show, and, I mean… you’ve got some serious walls up, man,”

“I-I do not! Ask Jules, she’ll tell you! Julia knows!”

“Saying that one of the meanest contestants on the show knows you more than anyone is… not great, Scruffy. Haven’t you made any other friends?”

“Haven’t you?”

O frowns. “I guess not. But… I mean… I dunno,”

“When you say you’re nice, all I hear is that you’re a pushover. You let people use you!” Scruffy says, crossing their arms. “I’m not like that! I don’t like being pushed around!”

“Says the guy who went nuts cause they thought a girl would like them more if they won some dumb game show,”

“Says the guy who hasn’t had a single steady friendship since the show started!”

“Says the guy who needs to impress everyone with how great they are!”

“Says the guy who does the same thing, Dr. O!”

Both huff and turn away from each other. The intercom crackles to life and Chris’ voice sounds slightly peeved. “Hey, guys, this heart-to-heart has been great, but you are IN A CHALLENGE! Now get to it!”

The maze suddenly starts spinning faster, throwing Scruffy and O to opposite sides of the hall they were seated in. Each grab on to a corner of the black walling and hold on for dear life as they’re thrown around like they’re getting flushed down a toilet.

“I- can’t- hold- on!” O shouts.

“Take my hand!” Scruffy throws out an arm as O flies off the wall, catching him just in the nick of time. “Maybe I can be… nice after all!”

O smiles gratefully and nods. “Let’s get out of here!”

The two fashion makeshift ice picks out of the forks Scruffy had swiped from the craft services tent and rake their way up the wall as the maze spins even faster.

“This way!” O instructs, retracing his earlier steps to the exit of the maze. The two reach the door and look to the ground below, where only a tiny kiddie pool was left to break their fall.

“Ready?” O shouts.

Scruffy nods. “On the count of three!”

“One!”

“Two!”

“Three!”

The two hold hands as they jump, both screaming and flailing their free arms until they land in the shallow pool below.

“We… we made it!” Scruffy shouts with glee as O coughs up a mouthful of water behind them. “We did it together!”

O stands. “We did, didn’t we? Together,” O puts an arm over Scruffy’s shoulder. “No strings attached.”

“No expectations,”

“No value!”

Scruffy nods. “Let’s wing this,”

The two start off on the final track, throwing the doors of a large set building open and running through it, approaching a final set of double doors.

“Hey,” Scruffy jogs up to O. “May the best man win, right?”

O salutes them. “May the best man win!”

---

“And that’s the story of how I lost my first tooth,” Staci says. “And no one ever found the hammer.”

Caesar massages his temples. “Another fascinating story from Staci. Anyone else have something to add?”

Luckily, before someone else can add on, Bonnie runs on stage. Caesar sighs with relief. “Bonnie, here to save the day again! What’s the news?”

“They’re coming!”

Caesar squeals, and the peanut gallery turns to the double doors backstage in anticipation. “Can we get a countdown?”

“Five!” Ass and Courtney both lean forward, then notice each other and glare.

“Four!” Sha-Mod and McLovin are busy giving each other crudely drawn stick ‘n poke tattoos of each other’s faces.

“Three!” Julia shoves Patrick out of her face when he gets to close.

“Two!” Mal blows a gum bubble and texts something on her phone.

“One!” Bonnie takes a seat and Caesar puts a hand on their shoulder.

The doors burst open, and O runs in.

“The winner of Total Takes Action, everyone!” Caesar shouts. “O!”

A shower of confetti and balloons fall from the ceiling and the crowd cheers. A group of former contestants- Kelly, Al, Michela, and Peter- run from the stands and hoist O into the air, carrying him in. He laughs merrily.

They set him down in the hot seat and Caesar grins. "So, O, you've just won a season of Total Takes- what are you going to do next?"

"I think... first, I'm gonna split some of the winnings with my friends. Then I'm gonna take a long, long vacation,"

"You don't have to do that," Peter states. "We're just happy you made it back in one piece."

McLovin pipes up in the background. "Did somebody say One-"

"Anyway," Michela interrupts. "We were kind of planning on taking you out for a celebratory-or-consolation dinner, anyway. On us."

O smiles.

“What a season, what a cast!” Caesar says. “And here’s our runner up, Scruffy!”

Scruffy jogs in behind him, breathing heavily. Julia stands and runs to the doors, hugging Scruffy. “I missed you!”. The peanut gallery continues whooping and cheering, and O gives Scruffy a big thumbs up as Patrick storms over and tries to pull the two apart.

Scruffy waves as the crowd cheers for them, then collapses as soon as Julia lets them go.

Caesar turns to Bonnie. “Thoughts, feelings?”

“Not many. I’m a little hungry,”

“Oh, God, me too. Those finger sandwiches are three parts air, I swear,” Caesar says. “Dinner tonight?"

"You're on. Maybe we can tag with O's crew and eat free,"

"I like the way you think," Caesar winks.

“Well, this has been Total Takes Action- The Aftermath. We’ll see you all soon for- what’s this?” Caesar presses an earpiece, and then bursts out laughing. “Oh, my God- no- really, you’re joking? You’re not?” he turns to the audience. “Chris McLean has been arrested and is currently in custody for illicit activities!”

The crowd cheers even louder, the big screen rolls down and displays a live newscast. Chris is being led from the Action set in handcuffs, Chef and the interns watching from behind a police barricade.

"You CANNOT do this to me! Do you know who I am?!" Chris shouts. "Chef- call my lawyer- call the producers- call my mom!"

"You should've remembered our anniversary,"

"CHEF!"

The police drag Chris into the back of their squad car while he screams. The wind picks up and his hair detaches itself, flying away in the breeze.

"MY TOUPEE!"

Chef rolls his eyes. A white van pulls up just as the cops slam the door of their cruiser on Chris, and a team of hazmat-suited scientists hop out of the back. The broadcast ends and turns back to the studio, where a blonde woman with a tight face reads off the happenings to new viewers. The monitor turns off.

Scruffy sits up from the floor and raises an eyebrow. “What happened?”

“No official reasons yet,” Caesar says. “In due time, I suppose. In the meantime, we’ll-”

An intern runs over to the host and hands him a letter. He huffs and opens it. “It’s from Scary. It just says “told you so”,”

Bonnie rolls their eyes.

“Well… if this is the end of the show, I just wanna say I'm glad we met. I'd be nowhere without you guys,” O says.

The former contestants turn to each other with warm smiles.

“And yet… this can’t be the end,” Scruffy interjects. “We haven’t had a musical season yet!”

“Woah, woah, let’s save that for the Gemmy’s,” Caesar chuckles. “We’re about out of air time, but… I want to say that it’s been a hell of a season, everyone! See you all soon!”

#tta #total takes action

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