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itsonlydana · 1 month

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"passenger princess" | chapter eight

the hobbit | a modern!AU by itsonlydana

❱ pairing: Thranduil x fem!reader

❱ wordcount: 4,6k

❱ summary: the stormy side of summer; falling down a rabbit hole of doubts

❱ warnings: mature language, descriptions of weed & alcohol, description of a panic attack

❱ an: forgive me? This is the second to last chapter and I'm not me without a bit of drama

general m.list + series m.list

🌿 reposts and comments are appreciated, they motivate me a lot - especially with longer projects <3

CHAPTER EIGHT: PANIC

The music around you was loud, the air sweltering hot. Heavy bass pulsed in your veins, mixing with the cold beer that you lifted to your lips trying to cool down just the slightest; it helped only a little and only for a brief moment, a hint of moisture in your throat before the stale and stuffy air caught up with you again.

No matter how many frat parties you had been to, the number of guests fitting in the much too small and mostly couch-filled houses always surprised you.

And here, in the living room you got dragged into, were obviously far too many. A mass of sweaty bodies pressed tightly together and swaying back and forth to the songs blaring from the speakers.

You leaned against the wall where you'd spent most of the evening, staring over the rim of your cup at your roommate.

'Oh, you really need to come to this party,' you repeated her tearful words from this morning in your head. She had blindsided you as you were about to head off to Aragorns, had begged you to accompany her because 'Oh I don't want to go there alone and we haven't been out in so long'.

Apparently, there was a tiny bit of guilt in you. In the weeks before university had started, you knew no one and had blindly followed her to these parties until you had met your boys, and yes, she was right about you then going with them rather than her.

Plagued by your good heart and the promise of 'We'll do it like we used to, just the two of us!' you had forced yourself out of your comfy clothes and Thranduil's sweater and thrown on one of your party outfits instead.

Nothing came of the "just the two of us".

Within minutes of your arrival, she'd been pulled onto the dance floor by one of the (in your opinion, look-alike) blonde residents of the house.

The only thing you had done together was pre-drink some shots in the car of an acquaintance who had given you a ride.

It didn't sound nice, and to most others, your roommate's behavior would probably be 'unfriendly' and 'selfish,' but while she preferred to dance with strangers, you had previously used these parties to, well, make acquaintances elsewhere.

With the promise of a real date from Thranduil and the text messages you'd been sending back and forth to each other all day and even for the past weeks, the thought of repeating your earlier party experiences left a bitter taste in your mouth.

And it was almost more disgusting than the beer here- however that was possible. The beer was disgusting. Really fucking disgusting.

Life had taken a turn on you, growing rosy and soft at the sharp edges.

The giddy feeling of bridging that space between you and Thranduil accompanied you throughout the days and nights, you saw no need in the hook-up culture that came along with these kinds of parties.

As if on cue and as if he had read your mind, your phone vibrated in your other hand.

Thran: Darling, I hope you arrived safely! xx Thranduil

The smile that spread on your face when you read his message was unavoidable.

Thranduil had a habit of signing every message with his name, even though you (and Legolas) had explained to him several times that it was not necessary.

With every day that passed, you discovered more very kind and terribly sweet quirks about Thranduil, and every day you fell more in love with him.

You: we did. four shots into the night and i want to leave again

Thran: Oh no! Did anything happen? xx Thranduil

You: nothing that should surprise me, its a frat party lmao

Thran: You seem to enjoy them when you go out with Legolas. xx Thranduil

Thran: A lot, if I remember the many nights where I had to pick you guys up from some house correctly xx Thranduil

There was a truth behind it that you couldn't deny.

Frat parties with Legolas, Aragorn and Gimli were clearly preferable to you, because your boys wouldn't just leave you alone.

Well, at least not for an entire evening.

Legolas had a knack for wandering off at these parties, though he never got far until he was surrounded by swarming girls and boys.

Another advantage of going to parties with them was that Aragorn knew everyone and you never had trouble getting in anywhere, no matter what kind of party it was.

The pick-ups by Thranduil increased again, now that summer break called for more parties and more outings.

With you last on the route and Legolas asleep and unresponsive in the back seat, Thranduil drove the rest of the way always with his hand in yours or on your legs and every time he accompanied you to the front door you hoped.

Hoped his lips didn't land on your forehead or your cheek. Hoping that he would finally kiss you like the look on his face showed. It was frustrating to stand in the dark alcove with him, looking up at him and feeling only his thumb on your lips as he put his hand on the back of your neck.

It was tempting to call him, just ask him to pick you up from this party and then you could drive around in the night, hands intertwined and without a care in the world.

To be honest, you were already dialing his number in your mind when you lifted your cup and looked back at your roommate as you drank.

Your clear conscience gnawed at you as you grimaced slightly biting into the plastic without breaking it. What you could use besides your less-than-ideal mood was a beer-soaked dress.

You: yes, with the boys!

You: roomie ditched me to make out with some Beta Chi Theta guy

You: i got crypto explained to me three fucking times

You: and i swear either i will die of boredom or blackout from the bowl they are serving here. its like 90 perc vodka

Thran: Typical for boys. Thinking a woman has nothing in her head because she is gorgeous. xx Thranduil

You: You think i am gorgeous? ;)

Thran: You are really cheeky for someone that got ditched xx Thranduil

You: wow. shouldn't you be reading a book or play golf, old man?

Thran: Shouldn't you be dancing and not texting with a still young and handsome man? xx Thranduil

Thran: Why are you going to these parties with your roommate if you suffer this much? xx Thranduil

You: most times you get free entry and drinks just bcs you got your tits out :)

Thran: That is definitely not the sentence that I have expected xx Thranduil

You: you want proof?

Thran: ...

Three dots ...

Nothing

Then again the three dots …

You had to bite your lip, and yet the grin spread all over your face as Thranduil visibly tapped away at an answer for a long time.

As much as it frustrated you to see the dots disappear again, the flirting had clearly improved your mood.

"Oh my god, girly–"

With both hands in front of her face, trying to catch her breath, your roommate fell against the wall next to you, her cheeks flushed and her eyes wide open.

Without words, you held your cup out to her and grinned as she put her head back and drank the beer in a few gulps, after which she puckered her mouth.

"This shit tastes like ass," she said, wiping a hand across the corner of her mouth.

"Are you surprised?" you asked, letting your gaze wander over the crowd. "Where did you leave your boy-toy? The way he had his hands on you, I'm surprised to see you here beside me and not on some bed upstairs."

Snorting, your roommate held her hair to the side "Fuck me, it's so hot in here," she cursed and you longed for some fresh air as well, there was only one window open in here and a group of smokers were leaning out of it. "Kíli just went to get his brother," She turned her head, grinning broadly and started giggling "We were at a party at their place the other night and Girly— Fíli is such a hottie!"

"Brothers?" you asked, one eyebrow raised skeptically "Don't you think one is enough?"

At that, the giggling died down and a surprised and slightly reproachful look landed on you. "Babe, you of all people shouldn't be judging, don't you think?"

Slightly startled at the tone in her voice, you leaned away from her, seeking eye contact, but she rolled her eyes and then there was that smirk on her face again.

"As much as I would appreciate a trip to Paris," she was the only one laughing at this innuendo, "Fíli isn't coming for me. Well, at least not today." She paused to fan herself again and you thought you had to shake her to make her continue speaking. When she did, however, you wished you had never started the conversation.

"Fíli is coming for you, babe! Look at you, standing around all alone at this party, it's so lame," She smiled at you and put a warm hand on your bare arm. "In the old days, I would have had to hold your hair now or found you in one of the bedrooms."

"Coming for me?" you asked in horror, your thoughts a single merry-go-round at the sudden change in mood. "Why would you invite a boy I don't know over because of me? Just because I made the mistake of sleeping with some fratboy once in the very beginning?"

"You've changed sweetie and I just want to help you have fun again."

"I'm having fun," you replied bitterly, "Believe me, it's not on me why I'm standing around here alone. You wanted to come here together!"

"Yeah, because I thought that would make you finally stop thirsting after old men!" your roommate cried, and a slap would probably have been more pleasant than her words.

They came crashing down on you like a bucket of cold water while you got even hotter. You could feel your breathing first stop and then become faster, more irregular, and it slipped slightly into the uncontrollable.

She wasn't done, though. Cheeks flushed, she pressed a long fingernail against your chest and pushed you against the sticky wall.

"Do you know how disgusting it is to see you being driven home at night by a man as old as my father? Not to mention it's your best friend's father, Girl. You're constantly on the road, sleeping in his sweater and even here you prefer to write with this old fuck instead of finally finding someone your age. At first, I really believed you were sleeping with Legolas since you were always with him and god I would have understood that."

Anger burned in your belly, bubbling and hissing, fighting its way up with every word thrown at your feet, and by the last sentence, you were ready to forget all your notions of moral rightness.

The temptation to show her what you could do with your anger was as present in a twitch of your hands as the taste of blood in your mouth. You hadn't even realized you'd bitten your lip until metal spread across your tongue.

"You have no idea what you're talking about," you snapped at her in a tone that couldn't have been more bitter.

"Oh no?" She challenged you, her red-painted lips twisted into a sardonic grin. "Tell me," she moved closer, leaning far too close into your personal space for your liking right now, and you tasted alcohol and the acrid smell of weed on her breath.

"Is he paying you for sex? Or what does he want from you of all people?"

The music around you was loud and you felt hot and cold at the same time. The bass boomed in your ears and yet you thought you perceived nothing louder than the suspension of your heart at that moment.

It happened very quickly, the poisoned words had barely bitten you, you already felt a touch of dizziness, a spinning of the room and with it disintegrated the image that you had had so far of your roommate.

You couldn't find words to express what you wanted to say. You wanted to scream at her, push her, insult her, tug and tear at her and beat her with similarly poisonous claws until she felt even a hint of the pain spreading through your body.

There was so little air in that house.

Sweat and alcohol, weed and smoke stung your lungs with every attempt to take a deep breath.

Your legs moved on their own as you fought your way through the crowd, past blurry faces.

Out, you had to get out.

You needed air.

You fled the house, the words anchored deep in your chest, where they dug deeper with each breath until your chest threatened to explode.

Not knowing where to go, the main thing your brain screamed was away, you stumbled across the porch, hearing someone calling your name, but you didn't stop.

You kept running, lapsing after a while from running to walking more slowly until even that became far too much for your feet.

Looking around you didn't recognize the houses around you, and the thought of going back the same way you pushed away as quickly as it had come.

The silence coming from the sleeping family homes around you was almost as bad as the music of the house. Your heart beat loud enough that it throbbed dully in your ears and no matter how athletic you might be, your breath rattled and burned in the freezing night air that crept around your free legs and arms.

Shivering, from anger, cold or pure exhaustion from it all, you couldn't tell, you pulled at the hem of your dress and lowered yourself to the curb.

Legs pulled to your chest you ran your hands over your face, over glowing cheeks and as you tried to take a deep breath you felt your jaw tighten and only a sniffle could be heard in the silence.

A "fuck", slipped over your lips, quietly and rather an exhalation of air instead of letters. Your mind was in chaos, driven by a big 'what the fuck just happened?' thoughts piled up in an unassailable crowd. It felt surreal, and as much as you pleaded it was a figment of alcohol, the events burned inside you.

You stared at the ground in front of you, your roommate's last words echoing in your ears, and the image of your friendship tore before you like a rubber band stretched too long. It had been inevitable in the end, that was clear to you, because you had never really fit together.

Only the hostility had been a surprising guest.

She had been so driven to hurt you and her weapons had found their target.

What had seemed to you before like a solid foundation of trust and respect crumbled beneath you and your throat tightened at the thought of going back to your dorm.

Sniffling, you unlocked your phone, which you thank god hadn't dropped as you'd run. Immediately you stared at the last opened chat with Thranduil and the wave of emotions crashed over you again.

Before the bitter words could bite into your insecurity, however, you had already dialed his number and held the phone to your ear.

Only a few seconds later the dialing sound disappeared and was replaced by a coarse, "First you leave me on a sweet promise and then you call when I want to sleep? Tze tze, darling" A single, miserably failed attempt to suppress a sob was enough to change the tone in his voice from a drawled tease to concern.

He spoke your name with such concern that a second sob followed the first, "Is everything alright... what happened? Darling, the background is so quiet, where are you?"

You didn't have it in you to repeat the argument, didn't want to say hateful things to him over a phone even if they hadn't been your words.

Instead, you hugged your legs with your free hand, pulling them closer to you. "I don't know where I am"

On the other end of the line you heard him inhale sharply, a commotion of rustled blankets, then bare feet on floor.

"Nothing happened to me," you quickly forestalled his question, and then immediately felt the pain in your chest again, and tears gathered in your eyes on your next breath. "Thranduil, I–" you began, but your voice broke. Hearing him had been enough to open the floodgates of your held-back despair, the battle with yourself for your composure was lost.

Alone on the side of the road, in a neighborhood that was foreign to you and with nothing on you but what you were wearing and your cell phone, you felt so cut off from all warmth that you couldn't help but cry.

Thranduil said your name again, this time with more urgency, "Send me your location and I'll come to get you."

"You don't have to," you protested weakly "You wanted to sleep"

"The only way I'm going to be able to relax and close even one damn eye today is if I know you're safe, and nothing is going to stop me from making sure of that myself."

While sending him your location you also put him on speaker phone, your phone cradled in your hands.

"Okay, I can be there in fifteen minutes. Are you safe where you are?" asked Thranduil and you heard his front door slam.

You looked around, but except for a dog in the distance, no one seemed to be near you. "Yes," you managed to say before the tears took over again and shook you.

A car door was pulled open and closed again, the familiar click of its key and purr of the engine followed, and despite your crying, the familiar sounds filled you with a slight warmth.

As much as you wanted to make yourself smaller, to put your head between your legs to hide from the world, you didn't dare to turn your back completely to your surroundings.

It tore you apart piece by piece.

The evening had not gone at all as you had wished. It didn't have to be much, a few free drinks, conversations about courses of study and how awful some professors were, then maybe a couple of dances with girlfriends and before you knew it you would have been back in your bed, snuggled up in Thranduil's sweater.

But no.

How could you have been so wrong?

Your hands clawed into your upper arms as your body shook from your sobs. Nails pressed into your skin in a way that would surely leave marks, but you didn't fight back. Didn't stop.

Why had you opened up?

A bitter voice haunted your thoughts, whispering to you that it had been inevitable. Of course, you couldn't even enjoy a relationship; if you could call that with Thranduil a relationship.

He wouldn't even kiss you. They were ghosts, insecurities hidden under white sheets with grimaces cut into them, who knew how to use their tricks so that within a few minutes you were a complete mess.

What had started as anger toward your roommate took a quick downward path into your fears.

Your roommate had given the ghosts an opening, had purposefully punched a hole in your walls, and now your head was trapped in a stream, ever downward.

Doubt ate at you, made you question Thranduil's feelings.

You clung to whispered words at movie nights, the feather-light touch of his hand on your back wherever you were, and the smile, very different from his grin, much more genuine, gentle, and given only to you.

Tears fell too fast to wipe them away and sucked the last bit of strength that had kept you upright until now out of you like it was never there at all.

In another state, it would never have occurred to you to give in to doubts.

In another state, you were aware of how much progress you'd made in conversing and growing comfortable being the person the other could rely on, how heavy his touches were in their meaning.

A fleeting brush of his fingers over your shoulder or back as he passed you, a hand in your side as he walked you to the guest room after long parties, as Legolas fell asleep on the couch, or when he grabbed your hand to help you out of the car, because no matter what the weather, he was always at your door to open it.

It was easy to lose yourself when you were hurting, to question what was real.

You must have switched off completely, because suddenly you were bathed in the bright light of headlights and a dark car shot towards you much too fast.

What would have otherwise been guaranteed to send you running was a welcome sight to you, and you were on your feet even before the car stopped in front of you.

The next sob that went through you and shook your whole body was accompanied by a simultaneously relieved but also longing wail.

Thranduil jumped out of the car, the door open behind him and the engine continuing to purr, and you didn't wait a second longer before throwing yourself at him.

For a moment the ghosts disappeared, driven away by the oh-so-familiar face whose eyes anxiously scanned you for injuries.

His arms immediately embraced you, pulling you to his chest and wrapping around your torso like a shield. One of his hands grasped your waist, stabilizing you as he realized you were falling fully against him, his other stroking your back first in even motions until they brushed up your shoulder blades and then wrapped around your neck.

Your hands clawed at his sweater, crumpling the fabric between your fingertips as you clung to him. Turning your head so that your ear rested against his chest, the place your cheek pressed against was quickly drenched with tears and there was no doubt you would apologize when you could speak more again without being interrupted by sobs and whimpers from your throat.

"Shh, I'm here," Thranduil murmured, lowering his head to yours. Soft lips traveled a familiar route from your forehead, to your temple, down to your ear, leaving kisses so gentle that your heart contracted in shame at ever having doubted them.

"I'm here," Thranduil repeated, and you could feel the movement of his lips against your skin, feel the vibration of his deep voice in his chest. "Follow my breath, in and out, okay? In, you're doing so well my love, and out slowly, very good."

A few minutes of deep, concentrated breathing passed to force yourself back into a stable state.

Eased through it by Thranduils low voice in your ear, reverberating through your entire body just like the breaths he took for you to mimic him.

Guided by the slow rise and fall of his chest, your lungs filled themselves with his scent instead of the harsh and cold wind, clouding you in the faint smell of lingering perfume that had worn off this late of an hour.

"I'm sorry," When you spoke, your voice was raspy. The words were scratching in your throat, it would most likely be sore later, and half of them are muffled by his sweater, but you felt that he heard you in the way that his muscles tensed. "I'm so sorry."

Your eyelashes were sticky with tears, pealing open to tilt your head just the slightest bit for you to look up at Thranduil.

His eyes were on you already, and with a soar of your heart you discovered the puffiness under them, the redness coloring his cheeks.

Had he been crying? For you? Because of you?

Slowly you raised on arm, stroking over the slight discoloration of his ivory skin.

He caught your hand in his, breathing another kiss on the inside of your palm.

"I was so fucking scared," he started, holding your gaze through half-lidded eyes "I was trying to talk to you on the phone but you stopped talking and all I could hear were your cries and god, I was so fucking scared that I wouldn't be here in time. The scenarios in my head–" his whole body shuddered trying to fight those thoughts visibly coming up again, the breath he lets out hot against your hand. "I would have never forgiven myself."

"I'm so so sorry," you whispered "I wasn't sure who to call."

"You have no need to apologize for this. Okay? Never apologize for calling me, whenever and whatever it is about. I rather drive through the country to pick you up than have you call a cab." Thranduils nose nudged against your forehead.

His gaze was slowly softening, the initial worry not disappearing but dwindling to be replaced by a relief that you at least seem to be physically alright.

"Come, let's get you out of this dreadful cold. It looks like it will rain soon and you, my darling, deserve to be warm and comfortable."

'I am warm', you thought loosening your grip on his sweater, 'you make me feel warm.'

You didn't say it, instead, you let him guide you to his car, his arm still around your waist and when he opened the door for you you had to hold back another sob.

There, laying on the black leather, was the green sweater you loved so much on him.

The one he wore when he had you pressed against the painting in his hallway, the one he had worn the first morning you came over after that evening, still giddy and blushing all over, as he had sat next to you at the breakfast table and his legs had ever so slightly brushed against yours, while Legolas and Gimli were discussing your weekend plans.

He had worn that sweater the first time he had held your hand in the darkness of his living room, a movie playing on the TV and Legolas asleep on the other end of the couch, and you had held your breath, as he slowly reached between you, intertwining your fingers in each other and smiling at you.

Pulling it over your head you felt your hands trembling.

There were so many words on your tongue, forming sentences out of the feelings bubbling inside you like a hot pot of water that surely would boil over sooner or later and you could pinpoint the exact moment it did because as soon as Thranduil sat down in the driver seat he reached over and gently placed his hand on your leg.

"You don't need to tell me what happened but know that I'll listen to you when you want to."

You were fighting the tears once again, this time it was from the overwhelming warmth that spread through you. Thranduil was here, with you, and his voice carried to you like a comforting embrace and you no longer were alone.

Oh, how wonderful it felt. The kindness in his words was a flame inside you, lightning all the places that were left raw and hollow and cold with haunting ghost touches and it soothed away the pain that the venomous words had left you with.

There was not a chance that you could get anything out of your mouth without breaking down into a crying mess. so you just nodded, resting your hand over his and squeezed it.

It wasn't much.

But it was enough for the moment

taglist [still open]: @mushroomemeralds, @mssuguru, @solartoge, @12134z03, @fruitymoonbeams-blog, @lady-of-imladris @finallyforgotten , @123forgottherest @tomhockstetter7-111 @marshymallo @emily-roberts @howlerwolfmax @tigereyesf

#📁files: passenger princess #thranduil x reader #lotr x reader #thranduil fanfiction #thranduil x you #the hobbit fanfiction #the hobbit x reader #lord of the rings fanfiction #thranduil oropherion #king thranduil #thranduil #thrandaddy

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cainluvr69 · 5 months

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Surely, We Can Make Miracles Chapter 11

Previous Chapter

Cain: That's true… His Majesty, the First King, led a group of both humans and wizards. Wartime is always a time of social unrest. But despite that, wizards and humans were able to fight side by side as brothers in arms… Their bonds must have been amazingly strong. It's almost like a miracle.

Arthur: …Miraculous bonds, huh…

Cain: …Hm? I think I just heard Chloe's voice…

Chloe: Prince Arthur! Cain!

Arthur: Chloe!

Chloe: Really bad news! Lennox kidnapped Shylock…! He pulled him into the ocean…!

Arthur: Lennox did?!

Cain: Into the ocean…?!

✦✧☾✧✦

Shylock: (…It's dark…) (…Am I dreaming…?) (…Where am I…)

Shylock: …

Lennox: You've finally come to.

Shylock: Lennox… …No… …Balthazar…

Lennox?: Hmph.

Shylock: Is this…underwater…?

Lennox?: It is. You can't use your magic right now, can you, Shylock? This is within a magic circle I've drawn. Suppressing a Western wizard's magic is more than easy enough.

Shylock: …

Lennox?: The only reason you can breathe is because of my protection.

Shylock: …Have you been living here at the bottom of the sea ever since…? Ever since Adams Island sank below the waves…

Lennox?: …

Shylock: Why won't you show yourself? Are you too scared to show your face to me? Please, don't feel like you need to hold yourself back. Though I can understand why you'd feel so ashamed you wouldn't want me to see you.

Lennox?: …Excuse me?

Shylock: Damning such a beautiful island to the same fate as you is disappointing enough… Why, I can only pity you for forcing yourself to survive by hiding here at the bottom of the deep, dark sea-- …! … Glub…blub…

Lennox?: You seem to have forgotten what it means that we're at the bottom of the sea. Shylock. You can't defy me anymore. I can stop that silver tongue of yours so easily now. Never defy me again. Now nod your head and prove your obedience.

Shylock: …

Lennox?: …

Shylock: …

Lennox?: …

Shylock: Glub… ……… …

Lennox?: …Stubborn man! <Mare Praeda>

Shylock: …hah… Cough, cough…cough…

Lennox?: … He's lost consciousness again… And when he'd only just awoken. … Hm…? That mermaid is missing… …She's escaped again! I'll rip her tail right off her body once I find her.

✦✧☾✧✦

Nero: She's a…?! A blonde-haired, red-eyed mermaid?!

Shino: What's with this fish thinking she gets to cling to you like that, Heath.

Heathcliff: She's not a fish, she's a mermaid.

Shino: I know that. So what's with this mermaid?

Heathcliff: It looks like she got stuck in a large piece of magical technology. I was planning on returning her to the water, but it seems like she has something she wants to tell us…

Shino: Got it. First things first, I'll carry her instead of you. Hey, you, get over here.

Seashell-Crowned Mermaid: …! …!

Shino: Ow…! She just hit me with her tail!

Nero: Ain't she just on guard because of how unfriendly you're bein' towards her? C'mere, miss mermaid. Heath's gonna get worn out like that.

Seashell-Crowned Mermaid: …! …!

Nero: Wah, cold…!

Shino: Nero. Did you really think you were a nice and friendly young man, unlike me?

Nero: I mean, the Sage said I'm easy to talk to. And I did work in the service industry…

Faust: Heath was the one who rescued her in the first place. That's why she trusts him, I think.

Heathcliff: I'll be just fine. This mermaid is… I mean, she's pretty light. I wonder what her name is.

Shino: Do mermaids even know what names are?

Nero: You can't just say they don't. I mean, look at the detailed craftsmanship on that seashell hair ornament she's wearin'. If they're makin' hair accessories, ain't that mean they're not too different from human civilization?

Seashell-Crowned Mermaid: …

Nero: Haha… What big ol' eyes you've got, starin' at me like that. Yer a pretty fancy one, ain'tcha. Cute.

Seashell-Crowned Mermaid: …

Heathcliff: She's…embarrassed?

Shino: I can't believe you'll even make passes at a mermaid…

Nero: That ain't what I'm doing! You've got it all wrong! I just thought she'd like it more if I were more friendly…

Faust: Given she can understand us, I do feel awkward just calling her "the mermaid". Let's come up with something to call her for now. Any good ideas, Heath?

Heathcliff: For her name?! Um, a name…how about… How about Vespa?

Seashell-Crowned Mermaid: …!

Faust: She nodded.

Nero: And she's smilin'. Sounds like she likes it.

Shino: What?

Heathcliff: Huh?

Shino: I want to get a name from you too.

Heathcliff: Shino, you're already "Shino". Vespa has something she wants to tell us. She understands us, too. For "yes" she raises her right hand, and for "no" she raises her left.

Nero: D'ya have somethin' you wanna say?

Vespa: …

Nero: Woah, you're right. She raised her right hand.

Faust: Has something happened underwater? Or maybe, on land? Your right hand for underwater, or left hand for on land.

Vespa: …

Heathcliff: Her right hand… Do you need us to help with whatever happened underwater?

Vespa: ……

Heathcliff: She raised her right hand halfway…

Shino: I don't get it. If Owen were here, we'd be able to understand what she's saying.

Heathcliff: No…

Shino: …

Heathcliff: (Even without being able to understand the words of any living creature like Owen can, I can somehow understand what she's trying to get at.) (I can sense her unrest. I can see the thin flame of fear and mistrust in her red eyes as she stares at us…) (I don't think she fully trusts us yet.) Vespa. I'm the Eastern wizard, Heathcliff.

Vespa: …

Heathcliff: I'm one of the Sage's wizards. Do you know about Eastern Country and the Sage?

Vespa: …?

Nero: Doesn't look like she does.

Faust: I wonder what kind of information is circulating in the undersea mermaid culture.

Shino: She does know what wizards are.

Vespa: … …!

Nero: Now she looks like she's kinda thinkin' about somethin'. That's what her face's sayin', anyway.

Faust: Her expressions are about as easy to read as Shino's.

Heathcliff: (Yeah… I think so, too.)

Shino: My expressions aren't that dramatic.

Heathcliff: (Hm…? Vespa's rubbing her tail over the ground…) (Is she itchy…? Does she have a little crab or something pinching her…?) (No, that's not it. She's drawing something.) Are you drawing that picture to show us something?

Vespa: …! …!

Faust: That's some passionate nodding.

Nero: Then let's get to askin' someone in the castle where we can get her some writin' utensils.

Heathcliff: Yeah.

Nero: Oh, right. Speakin' of the castle, its new lord is…

Heathcliff: You mean Miss Dianne?

Nero: Yeah. Her reputation ain't very good. She's the previous lord's granddaughter. It ain't that they hate her, but the people in the castle are still bein' put in a bad position.

Heathcliff: (A brand-new lord with a poor reputation…) (I can't say I'm not going to be put in a similar position, since I need to take over as the Lord of Blanchett someday…) (My father has been called an uncommonly wise and benevolent ruler. He's fair to both his servants and his people, not letting himself be restrained by his social status or position in the world.) (Of course I'm proud of that, but I'm scared that I'll be a disappointment in comparison…) (After all, I'm a wizard…someone the populace avoids as much as they can…)

Vespa: …?

Heathcliff: Ah, I'm sorry. Nero, do you know what's troubling the castle's servants?

Nero: As soon as Miss Dianne took the helm, she started makin' decisions about all sorts of things without askin' anyone for advice, and now everything's a mess. Seems like her decidin' to completely abandon magical technology is what really got them all worked up. Sounds like the kitchen had a piece of magitech in its oven… And Miss Dianne ordered it removed. When the head chef objected, he got demoted to gardener.

Faust: She turned the head chef into a gardener? So that's why our lunch tasted so off compared to the last time we ate here…

Nero: Yeah. The ex-vice chef who also used t'do gardening told me about it. Since the head chef can't cook anymore he up and left the castle entirely, and now he's makin'… What's it called. That thing Owen was talkin' about…

Shino: Torta di cocco.

Nero: …Yeah, he opened a shop for that, and it sounds like he's doin' great for himself there.

Heathcliff: Why is she getting rid of magical technology to that degree?

Shino: Because she wants to be friendly with wizards? Not that I thought she was all that friendly.

Nero: Nah, I know what you're sayin'. That little miss didn't seem like she actually had any interest in any of us. Pretty sure she only wanted the Sage to listen to what she had to say.

Faust: I see…

Claudia: I'm so sorry she's put you through so much trouble. She's not a bad girl, really.

Nero: …And you are…?

Claudia: Claudia Chenon. And you are part of the Sage's wizards, yes? Do you suspect Dianne of something? And this girl here would be… Wh-what?! Scales?! A mermaid?! Amazing! This is the first time I've ever seen one!!

Shino: It's your first time seeing one even though you're a local?

Nero: This ol' lady's actin' pretty cutely.

Heathcliff: Claudia Chenon… Um, would that mean that you're…

Faust: She's someone related to the disappearances on the island. Don't get too worked up about it.

Vespa: …! …!

Heathcliff: She keeps raising her right hand… Do you know something about the disappearances happening here?

Vespa: …! …!

Shino: She raised her right hand again!

Nero: Alright! Time to get her some stuff to write with…

Claudia: I can assist as well, if you're looking into the disappearances. There's a door that appears around the island that lets you take a peek into the past, and I've seen it.

Faust: A door that lets you see into the past…?

Claudia: Yes. In truth… …What's going on… The sky clouded over so suddenly…

Nero: … Watch out…!

Claudia: Huh…?!

Lennox: <Mare Praeda>

Faust: …gh, is everyone okay?!

Lennox: …

Faust: …Leno…?!

Lennox?: Wizards, I see. I suppose I can turn the lot of you to stone first.

Faust: …You're not Leno… You bastard! What have you done to Lennox?!

Lennox?: <Mare Praeda>

Faust: <Salliuqnart Mulcredo>!

✦✧☾✧✦

Akira: Hwylryn, you're a dragon?!

I looked over him again, from the top of his head down to the tips of his toes. Ignoring the mystical air that surrounded him, he looked completely human. I definitely didn't see anything huge and dragonlike. Hwylryn tilted his head, looking pleased with himself.

Hwylryn: Are you surprised?

Akira: Rather than surprised, it's more…

Mithra: Can dragons turn into people normally? Is that something all of them can do, not just you?

Hwylryn: Of course not! I'm just special like that.

Mithra sounded really excited, bouncing happily from one syllable to the next. He's always been a fan of big monsters, after all. Of course he'd be interested in dragons. Hwylryn crossed his arms, looking smug. It seemed like the two of them shared that opinion.

Hwylryn: While I can't say I've checked out every clan around the world, my family is quite proud, and they enjoy looking like themselves. I can't say the idea of turning into a human would have ever occurred to them.

Mithra: I see.

Hwylryn: But really, I'm not totally sure. There might be more of them like me out there. We were once twin sea dragons. My brother Gwawlyn had the rougher temperament. I had to get very good at being charming and entertaining so that he wouldn't kill me, or so it's been said. Am I charming and entertaining?

Mithra: Maybe…

Akira: Definitely.

Hwylryn: Haha, why thank you. Originally, I transformed by having a wizard cast a spell on me. But it started getting annoying to have to keep asking someone else to do it. Eventually I figured out how to do it myself while working through some other stuff.

Akira: Y-you figured out transformation magic while working through other stuff…?

Mithra: Dragons originally held domain over the weather. Tiletta told me they had enough power to rival Oz. It's probably not unheard of for one to learn how to use magic.

Akira: Then, Hwylryn is… A transformed dragon…?

There was a smile in Hwylryn's eyes, so silver as to be almost transparent. A dragon. A noble species, and one that I had encountered only so many times in this strage and wonderful world. The strongest magical creatures in the world; they were massive, rare, and held a power as terrible as that of a god. Fear and awe began to bloom in the deepest part of my chest.

Akira: (A dragon… That's so cool…)

I felt a surge of emotion welling up in my heart at being faced with a real dragon, probably as much as Mithra did with his brightly shining eyes.

Mithra: Could you turn back into a dragon for a little bit?

Hwylryn: You wanna see that?

Mithra: Absolutely.

Hwylryn: Do you wanna see it too, Akira?

Akira: Absolutely!

Hwylryn: Well now, what should I do?

Hwylryn was teasing us with a grin, keeping us in suspense. Mithra started pestering him for it, a big, radiant smile on his face.

Mithra: Please turn back into a dragon. And then let's try to kill each other.

Akira: W-wait… Let's not have any killing each other.

Hwylryn: You sure seem proud of yourself, wizard of the North, Mithra. But you're no match for me. Gwawlyn let the blood rush to his head and that led to him falling for the twins' plot and his subsequent death…

Akira: (The twins' plot?) (Hwylryn said he and Gwawlyn were twins, but…) (Surely the people who killed his brother weren't also twins…?)

Hwylryn: But I am more delicate and cautious than he. I won't be so careless.

Mithra: That's just fine. Let's just get on with it already.

Mithra tossed his crystal skull into the air. Hwylryn shrugged his shoulders, looking amused, and then wrapped his arms around my waist. He lifted me up with almost no effort at all, as if I were a toddler he was playing a game with.

Akira: Huh…wai--

Hwylryn: Akira, which do you like better, sharks or seafoam?

Akira: Sharks or seafoam?! I-I'd prefer having some time to think that over, but I guess seafoam…?

Hwylryn: Sounds good.

As soon as he said that, Hwylryn threw me into the air. I started to scream, but all of a sudden everything around me was wrapped in a membrane of water. It was as if I was looking out from inside of a bubble. And from there, I slowly drifted downwards, down to the waves below.

Next Chapter

#.mhyktl #.eventtl #.main story tl #4th anni

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ti-bae-rius · 2 years

Text

Bartender x Customer AU (Malec)

Best Served Cold - requested by @writing-in-verse

Note to self: when leaving an awful date, make sure they aren’t walking the same way as you.

“Well, this is me,” Alec announced awkwardly, and cut down a nearby alley before the inevitable ‘this was great, let’s do this again some time’ kiss. He’d be able to work out another route when he figured out where this alley would bring him. Still, it was probably best to wait at least long enough to avoid running into his date again. Digging into his pocket, he pulled his phone out and hit the power button. Nothing. In the blank, black screen, he could see his own despairing face reflected back at him. He looked around at the buildings that backed onto the alley, the fire doors and big kitchen extractor vents. From one, music was pouring - a club maybe? Or a bar? Surely there would be a payphone there he could use. Without any better ideas, and hoping he wouldn’t set off any alarms, he slipped through the fire door.

It didn’t take long to find the main bar area where, despite the music, it actually wasn’t too busy. After doing a lap of the place, looking for any possible hiding spot for a payphone, Alec sighed: he was going to have to ask someone. Could his night possibly get any worse? First the date, then his phone dying, now forced social interaction; it was Alec’s own personal hell, and the red-tinted club lights seemed oddly fitting.

The bar counter itself was kind of crowded, but that was okay. Alec wasn’t in a hurry. It was 11pm in New York City and last call was at least two hours away. He slumped onto a stool near the end of the counter, chin on his hand, and tried to work out where his date had gone wrong. The movie they saw was bad, the food truck they stopped at for tacos kind of sucked, but Alec knew that wasn’t really it. In the end, it was him. It was always him, being too nervous to make a move, too panicked by anything akin to PDA, too…Alec. So he kept going on these awful dates to try and get out of his shoe-closet-sized comfort zone. It would be good practice, he told himself, for when he met someone he actually liked. If tonight was anything to go by though, he should probably prepare for plenty more nights like this, Alec thought.

“Helloooo?”

Jolting so suddenly he had to bite back a yelp, Alec looked up at the person who’d clearly been attempting to get his attention for some time, who gave him an impatient but not unfriendly chuckle.

“Are you ordering?”

“Do you take card?” Alec stumbled, still adjusting.

“Do we take card? How old are you?” the bartender laughed. “Yes, we take card, grandpa. We even do contactless, if you can believe it.”

Alec smiled a little, nodding. “Sorry, I don’t have any cash on me and my phone’s dead so I only have my card and –” The man was looking at him, one eyebrow raised. Alec felt his face go red and hoped the similarly-coloured lights hid it. “Just an old-fashioned, please.”

“Oh my God, you are a grandpa,” the bartender said, bending to get a glass and a bottle from under the counter. “Tell me,” he went on when he stood back up, “what was it like before movies had sound and colour and all this new-fangled nonsense?”

“Wow, the bartenders here are so nice,” Alec deadpanned. “Why haven’t I come here before?”

The man slid the drink across and put a hand out when Alec reached for his wallet. “It’s okay, sir, I don’t need to see your ID. Just show me your Blockbuster Video card or the address of your retirement home.”

“I was getting my card out to pay actually.”

The man waved a hand dismissively. “I don’t feel comfortable taking money from the elderly.” He patted the back of Alec’s hand with a faux patronising smile and went over to take the next order. Alec watched, sucking on the flesh of the orange slice from his glass, and wondered if the man would come back.

It wasn’t long until the counter cleared again, though somewhat longer before Alec built up the courage to say anything.

“Hi,” he called, but probably not loud enough. Still, the man turned and coasted over. “Hey, um…”

“Magnus,” the bartender supplied. The name fit him like a glove, like a tailored suit. From the waistcoat over the mesh top to the eyeliner and the hair that glittered when the red lights hit it, this was a ‘Magnus’ if there ever was one.

“Alec,” he returned. “You don’t have any payphones around, do you?” Magnus shook his head and Alec sighed. “Wouldn’t have been much use anyway,” he conceded. “No loose change.”

Magnus looked around and then put a hand out. “Here, give me your phone. I keep a charger behind the bar. I’ll charge it for you.” Alec handed the phone over gratefully and Magnus leaned an elbow on the bar, slouching so the two of them were eye-to-eye. “So, what’s wrong?”

Caught off guard, Alec didn’t say anything for a moment. “Nothing. Just…wanted a night-cap,” was what he eventually settled on.

With narrowed eyes, Magnus surveyed him for a second, then pointed over Alec’s shoulder, making him turn to follow the line of sight. “See that couple there? They’re going to break up tonight - specifically, he’s going to break up with her. He always pretends he doesn’t mind she’s a messy bitch when she’s drunk but he’s sick of it.” His finger shifted to the other side of the room where a girl sat testing at a table. “She’s about to quit her job. Probably tomorrow, but maybe even before she leaves here.” His hand trailed to a guy chatting with a group, all half-shouting in that way that tipsy people did. “He’s leaving town tomorrow. Afternoon flight, luckily, but I do not envy the jetlag-hangover combo meal waiting for him when he touches down.” His gaze shifted back to Alec. “So?”

“How can you possibly know all that?”

“Bartenders see everything. We’re basically professional people watchers who occasionally do a little mixology on the side.” He smirked. “Don’t make me wipe down the bar and ask ‘Tough day?’ It makes me feel like a total cliche.”

“Fine,” Alec relented. “Fine. I’ve just been on a horrendous date and when we said goodbye we both started walking the same way. So I came in here to hide.”

Magnus laughed. “Been there. So what was it? Nothing in common?”

“Not even that. I wouldn’t be opposed to dating someone who was my polar opposite. But the conversation didn’t flow and it all felt awkward. There was just no…”

“Spark?”

“Exactly.”

“So,” Magnus asked, elbows propped on the bar and chin cupped in both hands. “What are you looking for? Who is the ideal date?”

Alec ran a hand through his hair nervously. “I don’t know. Someone nice?”

Magnus scoffed, topping up Alec’s glass. “Nice? What next? ‘Funny’ and ‘kind’?”

“Maybe,” Alec retorted. “Someone…fun, and confident, and who knows how to say no to those people who try to sign you up for mailing lists on the street. Someone who’s the total opposite of me. Someone who’s spontaneous, maybe who likes to travel. Just someone like…”

He trailed off and found Magnus smiling back at him. It made him blush a little for some reason.

“How about you?” he asked instead, trying to shift the conversational spotlight away from himself. “Unless you already…?”

“Probably just someone with money,” Magnus joked. “No millionaires have been in recently, so I’m still living the single life. Maybe I’ll hit up this Richard guy though.”

Alec’s eyes widened and he stared back, lost for words. “What?”

“Like I said, bartenders know everything,” Magnus insisted. He paused. “That and your phone’s turned back on and you have, like, 11 tests from ‘Richard, weird ears’.” He laughed. “I’m not even going to ask what–” He paused. “Wait…is one ear higher than the other?”

“Stop that! No way you guessed that!”

Magnus cackled, head thrown back, apparently thrilled. “We’ve been on a date with the same guy! The same awful guy!”

Alec groaned, taking a long drink from his glass. But, the same guy? That meant…

“You’re, um…” Alec flushed, not knowing how to ask. Was it rude? Almost definitely, yes, but Magnus was nodding solemnly.

“Also someone with bad taste? Unfortunately, yes, I am.”

Alec laughed and leaned closer. “He clicked at the guy making our food.” He paused for effect. “At a taco truck.”

“Horrific,” Magnus said with a wince. “He didn’t tip when we got dinner. And he flirted with all the wait staff.”

Alec grimaced. “We deserve compensation.”

“No, we need to right the wrongs,” Magnus insisted. “We need to go to that restaurant and tip like 40%, go to that taco truck and hype up the most basic of tacos.”

“Go to the cinema and not talk all the way through the movie.”

“Oh my God, he’s the worst. Yes, let’s do it. It’s a date.”

Alec’s heart gave a thud in his chest and goosebumps raced down his arms. A date. Before he could obsess over it, Magnus was beckoning him.

“Give me your finger to unlock your phone. I’ll put my number in.” He stopped suddenly, apparently shy. “If you want, I mean. Sorry, I just–”

Alec put his thumb on the home button of his phone, slid it back across the bar towards Magnus who smiled and took the phone, typing in his number.

“There. I’ll text myself so I have yours.”

He tapped away and then checked his own phone, putting Alec’s down on the counter. He put a hand to his chest, faux-scandalised. “That is a very bold first text, Alec. Such impropriety, and from an elderly gentleman like yourself, no less.”

Alec clicked into his messages, opened the top chat, and saw the text from him to Magnus: ‘Made you look. x’ He grinned. At the top of the conversation, he saw the contact name: Magnus, normal ears. Alec tipped his head, squinting, making a show of examining Magnus’s ears. Aside from all of the cuffs and studs, he had to concede that they were pretty normal. Magnus rolled kohl-lined eyes, smiling despite himself.

“Sorry, is anyone actually serving or should I just come behind the bar and make my own drink?”

The two of them glanced up to see a man leaning against the bar at the other end. Magnus sighed.

“Duty calls. Maybe we should set him up with Richard,” he grinned.

“I’ll text you!” Alec called, and the warm feeling inside him grew, totally separate to the alcohol in him. Perhaps the night hadn’t begun so great but, looking back over at Magnus as he headed outside to find a taxi, it had certainly ended on a high.

#malec #malec fic #magnus lightwood bane #magnus bane #alec lightwood bane #alec lightwood #cassandra clare #tsc #the shadowhunter chronicles #fanfic #the mortal instruments #tmi

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holocene-sims · 2 years

Text

next // previous

may 17, 2021 10:30 p.m. grant's house

grant says his final goodbyes to shannon at the front door when colm comes by to take her home, though it won't be long until he sees her again, given that she would not cease insisting upon accompanying him to see his doctors tomorrow afternoon.

he unlocks the door and slips in the house, and well...

unpacking his things feels like an impossibility. grant is running on empty–not that he had much energy in the first place–and his ability to power through crippling levels of pain collapses as soon as he enters his own home. rushing as best he can, he leaves his suitcase just outside the bedroom door–promising himself to attend to it later, when päivi isn't inhabiting the room–and puts in the freezer the numerous tupperware containers of food his grandmother sent along with him.

and when he’s done?

grant idles in the kitchen, dwelling on the fact that his only task left for the night is to limp down the stairs to the basement and force himself to curl up on the couch he’s much too tall to sleep on.

not that he’ll be blessed with sleep anyway.

he glances around the dimly lit kitchen and weighs his other options.

he'd do well not to smoke anymore, though the unopened pack of cigarettes hiding in the glovebox of his car is quite enticing. he replaced that fix with vaping, sure, but there's no fun to be had in that. most of all, he shouldn’t touch the liquor at the back of the fridge. buying it last week for the sole purpose of getting blitzed and engulfing his feelings was a mistake.

in fact...

grant cracks open the refrigerator and blindly fishes out the bottle of vodka. it’s tantalizing–it is, it surely is–but he makes a beeline for the trash can and tosses the bottle in before he gives it any more of his time and attention.

he won’t do it. he won’t drink it. he won't change his mind on a sudden notion and he won’t dig it out tomorrow after the dawn of a new day. he won’t drink it, if only so his grandparents will never find out he played with fire again.

he won’t touch the alcohol–won’t even glance in its direction. he won’t lumber outside and fetch his old cigarettes. he won’t go pilfering in päivi’s locked medication drawer again. he won’t plunge head-first into his old fatal vices. he won’t do it.

he won't disappoint his grandparents. he won't allow this relapse to spiral out of control. he won't wreak further horrors on his already ailing body.

god only knows he's in agony now, and he cannot risk upsetting the razor thin margins controlling his incurable disease, not after–

his train of thought comes to a screeching halt as the sound of running water slices through his consciousness. he startles, gasping out of sheer instinct. when he looks up, his heartbeat ringing in his ears, stands päivi at the sink, pouring herself a glass of water.

she must have heard him react. she glances over her shoulder at him, frowning.

“you don’t have to act like you’re scared of me,” she comments as she turns off the sink, “i apologized for how i acted before.”

don't make things worse. you can't trust her anymore but–

“i get nervous every time anyone sneaks up on me. PTSD stuff. i'm sorry.”

päivi takes a long sip from her water. “okay? all i did was walk into a room. there’s really no need for you to react like i stabbed you or something.”

the tone in her voice is suddenly unfriendly and ice cold, but more than anything, too familiar. too intimately familiar. it's just the way his mother spoke to him, like a snake waiting out its prey, venom seething at its teeth.

“again, i'm sorry.”

he can't help but shy away, fawning at the first sign of resistance. but then remembers his earlier conversation with his father and shudders from head to toe.

grant has fought tooth and nail to escape his fate, to avoid turning out anything like the fools who raised him, and yet–

fuck. you really are just like him. you’re just as spineless as the old bastard himself. just roll over and play dead, will you?

“whatever.” päivi rolls her eyes and marches towards the bedroom. “i already apologized to you a thousand times. for everything. you won't even hear me out anymore.”

don’t let other people decide your fate.

don't let her talk to you like this.

don't be like your father and back down like a coward.

fear overwhelms him but the words find his tongue, so he commits.

“i don’t owe you forgiveness.”

furious, päivi stops on a dime and spins on her heels to face him. she looks to say something, her lips quivering, but whatever it is, she abandons the thought. her eyes fill with tears, and then she’s gone in a flash, disappearing behind the wall and leaving her water behind to break her silence.

the glass meets the hardwood floors and explodes like a bomb.

grant could confront her. he could run after her, trying to avoid the millions of broken shards of glass certainly blocking the one exit out of the kitchen. he could yell for her to come back.

he considers it, but his stomach is already churning and he's shaking like a kicked puppy. a tsunami of panic swallows him whole, and the thought of fighting back a second time makes him wish for death.

but he’ll never be able to clean up the glass by himself. not when his vision is blown out. not like this, not when his pain is spiking into unmanageable levels. he'll never be able to.

but he can’t leave it. the water will corrode the flooring.

grant gives up.

he stands there, trapped in the prison of his own anxiety, and waits for a solution to materialize in his brain.

just as he begins to relax at last, after what seems like a millennium, päivi emerges from the void, reappearing in the haze of his vision.

“grant–” her voice has changed again, now soft and shaky, weighed down by a blanket of emotion. “wait, i–”

the fear and the fury return in tandem.

goddamn it. he'll do what his father never could do. he'll do what his mother would loathe.

he'll end it. right here. right now.

never. again.

don’t let other people decide your fate.

he didn't stand up to his mother to cower in fear again and again.

no, he's come too far in life to trap himself back in the patterns that traumatized him decades ago.

finally, he breaks.

grant interrupts her mid-sentence. “don't fucking bother. i don't care. be mad at me all you want that i'm uncomfortable around you after everything you did. you cheated on me, and then you lashed out when i dared to get upset. be mad, but you're not going to act like this. i'm done! i should have said that last time but no, i'm done. i will not stand here and let you treat me like this. clean the glass up and then get the fuck out of my house! you can stay until you have a place to go, but as soon as you do, get out.”

päivi sobs. “grant, please–”

he turns his back on her and vanishes down the stairs at the rear of the kitchen to the basement.

the moment he slams the door behind him, he bursts out in tears, grieving what could have been.

#ts4 #sims 4 #the sims 4 #sims 4 story #ts4 screenshots #simblr #hlcn: everything the stars promised #just to clarify: grant cannot like see her face at all LMAO #i described her expressions because it's important but your boy still can't see for shit #anyway!! much more to come!! this isn't it for them #also i am so sorry about the lighting skdjdskfjdksjfkds #i hate lighting at night in the sims #hlcn: grant #hlcn: päivi #holocene.docx #holocene.png

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blueberrypancakesworld · 11 months

Text

The symphony of the transformation

Warning : angst, comfort, horror, blood, nightmare

Masterlist, next part

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

The cold metal surrounded them and engulfed them. The pier that led to the ship was sealed off from the moonlight and showed only the risky shadow of the ship. With an uncertain look she looked at the ship and briefly flared up the thought that they might sink at sea.

She shook off the thought, however, so as not to get unnecessarily involved, but the worry was justified. Besides her and Michael and Martine, only Milo knew about the experiment, she had only told Katrine she would take a few days off, but none of the doctors knew if it would really be just a few days.

The heavy cast iron door with the wheel closed opened suddenly and one could hear the clacking inside. ,, Here you are at last," came an unfriendly rough voice of a man who had opened it with a swing. Y/n didn't like him, just the look was not inviting. The grim, annoyed look was unfriendly and she could only guess what the holster around his upper body was for. She noticed that Martine's hand briefly brushed over hers and her gaze went to the woman.

As if to reassure her she gave Y/n a gentle smile. But this had no effect, there was no symphony that beat with her except that of Michael. Michael, on the other hand, reached under his coat and pressed a bundle of money into the mercenary's hand. ,, We'll leave immediately," the black-haired man said before passing the man and disappearing inside.

Something like fear gripped her as if Michael would never come out of the darkness again. The nightmares she had plagued her and for the first time she took them into her mind. What if there was a spark of truth behind it and the darkness meant only death.

Only when Martine started to move did Y/n follow her. She felt the light leave her and coldness grip her as she felt the cold metal around her. She looked behind her and to her chagrin she could no longer see the light but the dark black weapon lying on the man's back, which made her fear soar. One shot and it's over she thought and had to force herself to take her eyes off the gun to avoid being spotted by the man staring at her. ,, Don't worry sweetie, it's safe" he said and took a step towards her.

Disgusting and dirty. No instrument a piece of trash he was disgusting and had no right to be in front of her. His heartbeat was abnormal she hated him. ,, Y/n are you coming?" Michael's voice snapped her out of her thoughts and she was so grateful to her heart.

Ignoring the man, she turned and disappeared into the ship. However, she did not miss the man's fixed and interested gaze. ,, Why do we have mercenaries on board?" asked Martine, who also seemed to be worried. The three were in the belly of the ship and Y/N could hear a drip coming from somewhere. An unsettling plucking of a violin that could quickly become a rapid bowing.

A disturbing piece of music. ,, You had to ask your boss, who organized it and apparently thought it was necessary," Michael quickly dismissed and his blue eyes briefly showed concern as he looked at Y/n. Martine closed the door with a roll of her eyes and muttered, ,, As long as you don't disturb us". Michael went to one of the chairs and put his materials on the tables. Y/n did the same and went to one of the tables before she started to set up the machines and computers.

,, Are we going to start today?" Y/n asked and looked at the laptop before entering the password and waiting for her to start working. ,, Yes, but first we have to get to the international waters otherwise the cops will be here faster than I can walk" he joked and got up from the chair.

Y/n looked after Michael as he went to the attached room. ,, Nothing will happen," he said gently and she could feel his hand on hers. ,, Then what's the high security glass for?" she replied, knocking on the massive glass. She saw that she had caught Michael, but gave him a weak smile. She didn't want to unsettle her lover and her derigent unnecessarily, after all, he was the one who had to undergo the procedure.

She squeezed his hand and gave him a chaste kiss on the pale cheek. In the light of the old ceiling lamps that swayed slightly back and forth due to the dark black waves, he looked almost dead. Sunken and thinly pale and so infinitely ill that it tore her heart apart.

Before she left him and turned to her tasks to distract herself. Time passed quickly, fortunately for her, and after a few hours the ship was on international waters.

,, You should rest, you need all your strength for the experiment," Martine said and seriousness resonated in her advice. Both Michael and Y/n knew that Martine was right. Shaking his head and probably too exhausted, Michael complied and lay down on the not-so-comfortable cot they had been given.

Y/n's eyes were on Michael's sleeping figure. His chest rose and fell slowly and in between it seemed as if he was not breathing at all. ,, So you and Michael," Martine snapped her out of her thoughts and a slight blush came to her cheeks.

Which is why she was grateful for the rather dim lighting. ,, Well, yes, but only for a few days," Y/n confessed and waited for Martine's reaction. A smile formed on the lips of the woman and in her look there was satisfaction. ,, You're doing him good, I've rarely seen him like this," Martine confessed and she briefly put a hand on Y/n's shoulder.

On Y/n's lips there was also a short smile and her heart was happy about Martine's kind words. She was happy that Michael seemed to be better. But the truth was different, he was at death's door. Martine left her and Y/n went to work with the woman. They wanted to have the remedy ready by the time Michael woke up.

It was easy, but again and again she found herself staring at some corner of the screen, thinking of Michael. More hours passed, hours in which she worked and watched Michael. ,, It's ready," she heard Martine say, pouring the drug into a vial. While Martine continued to work on the syringe and check the data, Y/n went quietly and gently to Michael.

She gently watched the calm expression on her heart and stroked a strand of hair behind his ear. Sleepy and visibly exhausted, Michael opened his blue eyes and looked into her soul mirror. ,, It's time, isn't it?" he asked and she nodded. She saw him reach for her hand and again the sight tore her heart apart.

His hand was thin and sunken, he looked as dead as a corpse. ,, Everything will be all right, my heart," he murmured and gave her a kiss on the back of her hand. He rose and Y/N handed him his crutches before going with her into the extra room. ,, Who is going to give the injection? "Martine called out as she slowly approached with the object.

Michael sat on the couch and Y/n gently and overcautiously took off his top, fearing to cause him pain. ,, Almost like last night" he joked and Y/n couldn't help smiling. ,, You are so beautiful," he suddenly said and his blue eyes ran over her form. However, just as in the night not eager in his bright blue eyes she was a work of art. An irreplaceable something very special and beautiful. Something that touched his heart and he surrendered.

However, she broke away from him and took the syringe as he pointed to Y/n and Martine went to the monitors. ,, It's going to hurt" . ,, I know but if you do it it won't" he said and she could see the faint smile. She felt over his individual vertebrae before finding the spot. ,, Everything ready?" she called to Martine who was looking at the screens.

She confirmed, and Y/n stroked his back soothingly one last time before injecting the drug. He gave a painful gasp before leaning back on the couch. ,, Make me stay firm" he pressed out as his body began to tremble. She tightened the buckles on his arms and legs and torso before stroking his cheek soothingly one last time and walking out of the room.

,, Now it's time to wait, you should get some rest, it will take a while" Martine said pointing to the bed. Y/n sighed, knowing that the doctor was right, and went to the bed. ,, Please wake me up as soon as something is wrong or he wakes up," she asked the older woman before turning on her side and closing her eyes.

Darkness surrounded her again nothing new but still threatening. No candles and no door, no lock and no monster or Michael. She seemed to be in complete emptiness. However, when she wanted to make a schirtt forward she immediately fell on the dark floor. Astonished, she looked down at herself. A chain made of heavy iron was attached to her ankle. Panic overcame her when she noticed that she could not open it.

But from where the chain came there seemed to be no answer, because the metal disappeared into the blackness. Again she tried to break away, but nothing happened, as if the darkness would not let her go. ,,My Rose" a voice sounded and Y/n listened. That was not Michael. Fear overcame them if it was not Michael or the monster then who was it?

Out of the darkness slowly came a red light, like a candle, flickering every now and then. It dazzled her and unconsciously she crawled back into the darkness behind her. With shock in her eyes, she saw Milo emerge from the darkness.

She made a pained sound as she looked down at her leg and saw that the metal had formed a rose vine. The thorns were digging into her skin and holding her down. She fled from Milo, not wanting to see him or have a dream about him. He was what made the darkness unbearable. Unlike Michael, he brought safety to the darkness.

He came closer before he knelt down in front of her and put the candle next to them. His hand stroked her cheek and she only wanted to pull back further. But as if on command, her back hit the wall and she was trapped. ,,Go away, I don't love you," she said, her heart pounding as she finally found the courage. The eyes that showed desire became dark and angry, he hated her words. He hated that her heart was not his.

He rose, grabbed the candle and disappeared into the darkness. She was relieved that he was gone, but the fear that he would return was always there. A pained scream was heard as he dragged a second person.

,,Michael!" she screamed as she saw Milo dragging the black-haired man by his long hair and throwing him to the floor. ,, If I can't have you, no one can," Milo shouted jealously, and before Y/n could even react, he threw the flame at Michael.

Her heart instantly burst into flames and screamed in pain. The flames took over his entire body and burned him to the ground, there was never any escape. He will die. He is going to die. He will die

All at once she opened her eyes and turned her gaze to look for Michael. Almost hastily, she stood up and looked through the glass for her lover. He was still sleeping peacefully and was stable. ,, Hey, are you okay?" she heard Martine's voice and winced. There were no thorns in her flesh and no Milo or a dead Michael burned to ashes. She was back in reality but for how long?

,, Yeah, it's all good, just a nightmare," she said, turning away but immediately holding onto one of the tables again as a short jolt went through the boat. ,, I'll be glad when this damn ship is back in the harbor," she grumbled and went to one of the computers to monitor Michael's vital signs for the last hour. She ran her hands through her hair and sighed, but was relieved to find no anomalies.

What caught her attention was the creaking of the metal door and her mood did not improve. ,, My pretty ones, everything is fine down here," the mercenary's voice rang out, and Y/n instantly tensed. ,, You shouldn't be down here," Martine said firmly, giving him a punishing look. ,, A nurse and her friend and a sleeping dead doctor," he quipped, coming closer anyway. ,, We're doctors and he's not dead," Y/n now interfered and she didn't like the way he was talking about Michael. ,, Is that so princess?" he said annoyed and Y/n got up from her chair. She didn't know if it was because she was afraid or because she wanted to escape.

,, What the fuck are you doing anyway?" he changed the subject and seemed to find Michael much more interesting. As he walked towards the room, Y/n and Martine followed him in quickly and went in with him. ,, You've seen him, now go!" came from Martine and she turned to the couch where Y/n was looking with worried eyes. ,, Michael?" she said anxiously as she looked up at the ceiling. Her heart beat faster when she saw her lover hanging from the ceiling.

Martine grabbed her hand and rushed out of the room while locking the door. Martine moved away from the room while Y/n looked at the scenario in shock. Michael jumped from the metal ceiling to the floor made of the same material. A dull thud was heard before a cry of pain filled the room.

Michael her Michael. Her heart her lover. Killed the mercenary brutally before her eyes. The blood splattered on the walls and she backed away as Michael looked at her. The blood dripped down his chin and she saw the fangs flashing out. There was no longer Michael. There was only a monster.

#michael morbius x reader #michael morbius #morbius the living vampire #morbius #angst #comfort #blood #horror #nightmare #reader is female #vampire #morbius martine

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votava-records · 2 years

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Aesop Rock x Blockhead - Abandoned Malls

LYRICS: I was staring off into the water, looking for some undiscovered colors, like a blue that really wasn’t, but it wasn’t any others, the synesthetic cousin to the hum of his discomfort, I been a punching bag for some truly deluded garbage, now his handshake is a unicorn, his hug a moving target, dark days either sparing change for the square pegs, or in his fav chair sipping on bear mace, tripping through his daymare, marathoning monster flicks, zombie in the stale air, logging his Hayashi pics, I been trying to teach your kid to ollie, she got the basic motion and glow when she show her mommy, I get they want the hows and whens of water cooler powder kegs, that shit that get your saintly favorites ousted from the power grid, I know I know some shit about some shit, I guess that gotcha gossip simply isn’t part of how I live skin cold to the touch, eyes open, no pulse, diagnosis in flux Traffic in a mad world, mad world, whereupon, often times the body spits the spirit out and carries on, to engineer some semblance of a normal life, yours and mine, then of course it’s normalcy where paranormal’s normalized, normal is a phantom force that levitates the forks and knives, or otherworldly parasites that quarrel over portion size, hit the floor and you could be the next unfriendly energy to organize, ordering corpses into the chorus line, best friends and death beds, red cents, and headwinds vs one man who’s ten men, I bubble to the surface legendarily imperfect, purging slurpee from a head that turns incessantly in circles, it’s concerning, my psychic likes to focus on a orb, and tell me how she sees me coming home to goldfish on the floor, in perpetuity, I been sleeping in my armchair. taking weird walks and speaking to folk who aren’t there skin cold to the touch, eyes open, no pulse, diagnosis in flux The same alleys we used to imagine Babylon, feel like abandoned malls overgrown with Spanish moss, commotion froze in time with no sign of your lamb of god, It’s a land of the lost, scrambling for canned applause, Damnit, rip the bandage off, Rant or panic if you must, Any way you manage it, the plan was always pick the cuffs, eventually, Fixtures who were questionably prisoners, and ventured out, now we’re never anything but visitors, spent the winter sitting pretty on a sleigh to hell, ok to look away if you need to forsake and save yourself, it’s underneath what’s underneath the dungeon, that layer of dysfunction, that ain’t for the weak of stomach, I freak an Archeology that reek of repercussion, If you need to pick some pieces up come dig a hole to jump in, Light sleeper, I’m a fighter, I’m a feeder, Earth, wind, fire, water, aether skin cold to the touch, eyes open, no pulse, diagnosis in flux

#Aesop Rock x Blockhead #Aesop Rock #rap #leftfield hiphop #rhymessayers

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wearywinchester · 3 years

Text

Regrets

Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: When a fight leaves you both having some regrets, a little space brings some clarity.

Word Count: 3.8k

Warnings: angsts, injury, mentions of death, guilt, comfort, fluff

The tension swirling around in the car was nearly unbearable, thick and heavy as you sat pressed to the passenger side door. You’d been doing it out of spite for the older Winchester, feeding off each other’s anger, each other’s huffs and puffs. He’d noticed just how far away you were sitting and it had him tensing his jaw because he knew exactly what you were doing and it was working.

It was working and he absolutely wouldn’t admit it.

The hunt had gone all kinds of wrong, couldn’t have gone worse apart from one of you dying. Actually, you almost did and that was the problem. That was every bit Dean’s problem and the very thought of it sent his anger from a simmer to a boil in the pit of his stomach every time it crossed his mind. To be more specific, it’s the only thing he’s been thinking about this whole time. But in true Dean Winchester fashion, the fear and concern eating away at him didn’t come out so clearly.

His vulnerability was mostly expressed through anger. Yelling and shutting down, mumbling strings of curses— it was anger in its truest form just to hide how scared he really is.

It was quiet, no radio no nothing save for the occasional clear of his throat or a heavy exhale coming from either one of you. It was quiet and you couldn’t wait to get out of that car, couldn’t wait to be back at the and take up residence in your room, maybe even one of the spares just to be farther from him. You have plenty of them to choose from. You felt like you’d scream if you spent even so much as another ten minutes with him.

You’d gotten hurt that day, gotten hurt and it wasn’t unlike other times. It wasn’t ideal how the hunt should have gone, ideally you wouldn’t have been a ghost’s kebab as she stuck her hand right through you and around your heart. Ideally you wouldn’t have been thrown against a wall without care for where you landed by Casper the unfriendly ghost. You almost sealed your fate that day all for the sake of getting the job done. All for the sake of saving lives.

That was his problem.

But, his problem wasn’t expressed in the best of ways. It was expressed in shouts and running his hand through his hair, in telling you he never wants you hunting again and a tightly clenched jaw. You argued back and forth for the better part of half the trip home, that lump still sitting heavy in your throat as you suppress your tears.

You were dying to be back home, in fact, you weren’t waiting another minute.

“Let me out,” you said, tone angry as you spoke.

His brows furrowed, looking at you for a moment. “What?”

“Pull over and let me out.”

“Not a chance, it’s ten at night and it’s about to freakin’ rain, Y/n. Who knows what’s out there,” he says, his voice raising.

“I know what’s out there, Dean, we hunt it for a living. Let me out. I’d rather walk than spend another minute listening to you huff and puff.”

“No.”

He pretended that it didn’t sting as much as it did, he pretended it didn’t make him swallow thickly and hid it with a little more tension in his jaw. They were just words. Just words spoken out of anger much like all of the things the two of you had spoken in the last half hour.

You could hear the frustration in his voice, in the single word, could see the tension in his jaw and just how tightly he gripped the wheel. That crease between his brows was deeper than ever and it showed each time a car passed you by.

“Dean.”

“Do you like throwing yourself in danger, Y/n? Is that what it is?” He asked.

You rolled your eyes, breathing out a huff that’s more than dramatic as the anger you feel only gets worse, both your anger is. You’re both feeding off of your own frustrations at this point and you can bear another second of it.

“Pull the damn car over or I’ll jump out myself,” you grit out, because if you talk any louder your voice just might fail you.

In a matter of seconds he veers off to pull over as you insisted, braking with a little more force than necessary as he stared ahead at the road. You were blind to the incoming storm, and Dean definitely wasn’t, couldn’t have been. But he pulled over anyway just like you wanted him to.

“You hate me so much, fine, you’re free to go.”

You pause for a moment, gaze narrowed at him before you grabbed your bag. “Yeah, well, maybe I do.”

Without another word from either of you, you got out, missing the way he looked at you as you did and the way he bit the inside of his cheek. And you missed the look on his face when you slammed the door shut, slinging your bag over your shoulder. After a beat of silence he pulls away, tires screeching against the pavement as he sped off down the road with the rev of his engine muffling the farther he gets.

You swallow thickly as you tighten your jacket around yourself, gaze narrowed as you watch the red of the tail lights disappear. Your anger still simmered as your heart raced, but that lump in your throat became near impossible to suppress as you walked along the gravelly side of the road by yourself. But that’s just it—you were by yourself. Those tears you fought so hard to hide glossed over your eyes now, spilling over your cheeks now. All of that built up frustration was seeping it’s way out.

You didn’t have to be so stubborn now that you were all alone, didn’t have to keep that front you put up for the sake of looking strong in front of green eyes.

Gravel and fallen leaves crunched under your feet as you walked along, the noises almost uncomfortably loud in contrast to your surroundings. You felt like an easy target for whatever is out there, felt like all eyes were on you despite the very real fact that you were all by yourself. But a part of you didn’t care at this point.

That adrenaline from the hunt still coursed through you, fueled by dwindling frustration that came and went in waves. It was seeping out in the form of tears, in the form of you kicking rocks in your path and throwing caution to the wind as you walked with heavier footsteps.

You weren’t that far from the bunker, not really. You had your knife tucked in your boot, you could handle yourself. You’re not as weak as you felt in that moment, and the emotions running wild through you was enough to have you putting up a good fight should you need to.

But you needed space. Needed space to keep any more words of regret from spilling past your lips. Needed space before you felt like your heart would burst right out of your chest.

You stuffed your hands in your pockets as you sniffed, tears running hot down cold cheeks as you watched the way your breath puffed out against the cold air. You tried to ignore the drizzle of the rain, tried to ignore it as you put your hood up, only for the wind to blow it right back down once more and after a few hasty battles with Mother Nature you decided to give it up. Decided to toss away your comfort as the icy droplets fell down on you heavier and heavier as the seconds passed.

You settle for picking up your pace as you walk down the road, the one that’s never been ideally lit for as long as you can remember. You weren’t that far, not really, you could make it back.

You tried not to think about your wavering anger, and the way it wavered more and more each time you thought about your conversation in the car. You tried not to think about how comforting one of his flannels would be, or the warmth of his arms. You shook it from your mind because you had yourself convinced you had to be angry at him.

What happened that day wasn’t just some run of the mill incident on a hunt. It wasn’t scraped knees or busted lips, it was sprained ankles or bloody noses. You almost bit the bullet and hunted your last hunt that day. You still felt that pain in your chest despite the threat of that ghost being long gone and put to rest. You still felt that jarring fear, that shake in your hands, and you still felt that urge to cry over it despite your overwhelming need to feel like you’ve got to be tough even when you don’t.

It was all still there, and now you’ve gone and had a screaming match with the older Winchester. Now you’ve both gone and spewed more than enough things you regret.

You didn’t know what was worse, the regretful anger sitting heavy in your stomach, or your overwhelming desire to get out of this awful weather so you could sulk in the warmth of the bunker. To get rid of that heavy sense of feeling vulnerable walking by yourself even though you’d insisted on doing so. You insisted and you got what you wanted.

But you picked up the pace once you reached that familiar stretch of road, once you spotted home tucked in that hillside. You picked up the pace despite the fatigue you felt telling you to slow it down.

You were cold, you were wet, you were miserable.

Meanwhile, Dean was back at the bunker stewing in his own regret unbeknownst to you. He’d debated a million and one times on turning back and going to get you. He could’ve handled you arguing with him, could’ve handled you hating him. Well, you’d gone and said that you did and he doesn’t know if he really could handle it as much as he’d like to act like it. But you were angry, you were angry and so was he and nothing good ever came out of arguing.

You snagged the key from where the three of you kept it hidden and sniffled once more before you pushed the door open, shutting out the terrible weather behind you in favor of the sheltered warmth of the bunker.

The place seemed empty despite the fact that you knew it wasn’t. Sam should be back after a hunt with Eileen, and surely Dean was around here somewhere. You knew he was judging by the fresh tire tracks in the gravel but you tried not to think about it. You tried to think about going unnoticed until you could get a change of clothes. He didn’t need to see how miserable you looked, how right he was about the rain, how right he was about how scared you truly were after that day.

If he knew that, then that tough guy act you put up after all this time would crumble to pieces in an instant.

You may have been able to snag a dry change of clothes without being seen, may have been able to sneak off to the bathroom without it either. But he knew you were here, and he knew you had to have been worse for wear and it had his guilt and regret simmering in a frenzy.

He saw the wet and slightly muddy footprints in the hall, he saw your rain soaking jacket on the coat rack, heavy with the accumulated rainfall. He saw the way those footprints first went to your shared room, tracked them all the way down the hall to a room that’s farthest from his own. And in there were more wet clothes, cold and heavy as he gathered them to toss in the hamper, in there were soaked leather boots with mud caked on the edges.

You were stubborn as hell and so was he.

But that anger was beginning to wash away with the cold as you cleaned yourself up, as you tried your hardest to have the day roll off your shoulders. But that pain in your chest was only a dreadful reminder of its events. You wanted to be angry, and a part of you still was, because being angry was better than facing Dean Winchester in that moment.

You swiped that dampened wash rag over your face once more, too tired to go so far as to take a shower. Too tired to do much more than sulk and stew in a heap of emotions as you changed your clothes into dryer, warmer ones. They only comforted you so much with the feelings you’ve got weighing you down.

You didn’t know how much time had passed since you exchanged some less than desirable words with him, didn’t know where he was as you walked down the hall and slipped into the room you’d claimed that night. You didn’t notice the pile of wet clothes that’d gone missing, but you saw the extra blanket on the bed. It could’ve been Sam, could’ve been, but deep down you knew it wasn’t.

There were plenty of things you would’ve noticed had you come home a little bit earlier. But you didn’t.

He cleaned up the books he’d swept off one of the tables in the library out of his own frustration. He’d righted the chair he kicked, cleaned up the mess of anger and frustration he’d made in his room. He picked up the pieces of his regret for letting you get out of that car at the dead of night.

You got in bed, you switched off the lights and climbed under the covers as you let out a sigh, one that was just as shaky as ever as your tears decided they were quite done with you. As you lay there on your side you fail to see the shadows of the boots on the other side of your door, standing there for a moment before they’d disappeared once more.

You were tired as ever, physically fatigued and emotionally exhausted as you lay there in a bed that’s worse for wear as the springs dig into your side. The room didn’t feel quite so welcoming, didn’t feel quite so comfortable as yours did because a certain green eyed hunter wasn’t on the other side of the wall. He wasn’t on the other side of the mattress.

That anger and that hurt still coursed through you, but it wasn’t scorching and hot, it wasn’t singing your actions like they had been a while ago. You tried to push it out of your mind, trying your hardest to convince yourself that a good night’s sleep would be the best answer to all of this, that it would keep you from saying anything else you surely would regret saying as soon as they’re spoken.

But you know you’re far past doing that.

You try anyway, try to tuck yourself further under the blankets and close your eyes. You were beyond tired, the day robbing you of any energy, stripping you of a good mood for a good long while. You tried your hardest to fall asleep and put the day behind you like you know you probably should. Things were said and done and there was no changing it, so the most you could do was sleep and restart the next day. But you couldn’t.

You tossed and turned on that mattress for a good half hour, riddled with discomfort and your mind plagued with just one thing, just one person. You knew he’d be awake, that was something you were certain of even if he pretends to be asleep like he sometimes does.

Indecision weighs you down as you sit on the edge of the bed, feet pressed to the cold concrete floor. It tugs you in every direction as you walk to the door with reluctance and ultimately step into the dimmed hallway. It was quiet as ever as you walked, footsteps much quieter than the squeak of your rain soaked boots.

It took some walking before you saw the light in the kitchen streaming into the hall, heard the clatter of a few dishes. You made it to the doorway, made it all the way there before you froze. You paused and waited, waited to work up the nerve. It could have been Sam, it very well could have been him but the thud of his boots answered that for you, a sound that drew closer and had you turning and walking away.

You didn’t get very far.

“Y/n?” You froze once more and paused, waiting a moment before you turned around. His gaze was on you as you looked up at him, your brows furrowing. “It’s raining, isn’t it?”

You sigh, shifting on your feet. “No, not really.”

“You’re wet, Y/n.”

“I took a shower,” you counter, too fast for your words to be true. It’s quiet as he nods, completely unconvinced by your words and he hears the edge to your tone.

His mouth opens and closes a few times with words he doesn’t even know are on the tip of his tongue. There’s too many things he wants to say at once, namely the bang up job you did at cleaning that scrape on your cheek. Or the way you look like you’re chilled to the bone. Or maybe a spew of words of how much he regrets listening to you, how he hates himself for listening and letting you go like that.

But he finds he doesn’t have the opportunity when you find yourself doing the same, only you do find words to say.

“You don’t have to worry about me,” you say, looking at him for a moment before turning away and walking back down the hall.

You don’t see the way his hand reaches out, or the way it drops back to his side because you’re too busy rushing back to that miserable spare bedroom with another regret to add the the hefty and ever growing pile. It grows heavier when you hear that door close down the hall. It grows more and more as the seconds pass, as the minutes pass in that less than comfortable stupid spare room.

It’s laughable for you to think you’d make it a night on your own in there, not with the way you’re wiping angry tears away. It didn’t feel good to be at odds with him, not when it’s fueled by nothing more than stupidity and stubbornness at this point. There was no good reason to avoid him, no good reason to leave him standing there like you did.

You couldn’t take another minute.

You were quiet as you slipped out of that room with the intention of never returning to it, quiet as you padded back down that dimly lit hall towards your true home, rather the one that resides in that room. You’re timid as you twist the knob and open the door, finding green eyes laying on his side of the bed, the lamp switched off.

You swallow thickly as you stand there timidly, your lip between your teeth in a nervous habit. You let the moments pass as you stand there unsure of yourself, waiting a moment more before you close the door behind you. You circle the bed and climb in quietly, under the blankets before you turn and lay on your side too, your back to him.

It’s tense at first, tense for a good long few minutes with nothing other than the sound of the two of you breathing and the sound of the blankets rustling when one of you moves. But that tense quiet is melted as you feel his arm draped over you, tugging you closer and closer until you’re pressed to his chest.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers into your skin, soft but enough for you to hear.

You can hear the regret in his hushed tone, can hear the guilt weighing the two words down. At first you’re quiet, staring ahead as your lip wobbles under your emotions. You don’t say anything but after a little while you turn around, face to face with the expression that matched the words.

You look at him for a moment, gaze bouncing over every inch of his face. You swallow as you look at him, quietly mulling everything over that you wish you hadn’t said that day. But there’s one thing that keeps coming back, one thing that weighs heavy.

“I could never hate you,” you murmur, soft and embarrassed.

You see the way he nods softly, see the way the corner of his mouth quirks upwards in a half smile as he reaches up and traces the tips of his fingers across your cheek, along the curve of your ear. He nods until he rests his forehead against yours, noses bumping.

“What do you say we take a break from hunting for a little while,” he says softly, eyes falling closed as his breath puffs warmly against your lips. “Just for a little while.”

He’s sick of the close calls, doesn’t want to think about that day for a while even though he knows he won’t ever stop dwelling on it. This was too much and he desperately wants to have a break from the fear of losing you for a little while.

You take a breath and nod, you nod and you kiss him softly and it settles the nerves rumbling around within him.

“Yeah, yeah I’d like that, De,” you whisper, kissing the tip of his nose down to his lips in a lingering kiss.

That tension of regret still hangs heavy in his shoulders, still hangs heavy in your heart no matter how many times the two of you apologize. He knows you’ll never blame him for pulling over like that, you insisted after all. He knows he’ll never let himself off the hook either. But he doesn’t want to bring it up, not now that you’re safe in his arms once more.

He doesn’t want to bring up just how much he wishes you wouldn’t play tough guy after hunts like these, just how much that day bothered him. And you feel like you could tell him a million times over just how much you love him but he knows, even if you’re beating yourself up for what you said in the heat of the moment he knows it’s just that.

You were home, he was your home. Past the arguments and huffs and puffs and words spoken out of anger. None of that mattered in that moment.

You could apologize all you want another time and surely you would, but you keep yourself in that moment.

—

Tags: @flamencodiva @stixnstripesworld @elegantbutedgy @humanmistakes @agalliasi @campingmonkey @deandaydreaming @lanea-1 @akshi8278 @kidd3ath @taikawho @lyarr24 @happyt0exist

#dean winchester #dean winchester angst #dean winchester oneshot #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester fluff #dean winchester imagine #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester x you #dean winchester fic

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taizi · 3 years

Note

Could you write something about natsume getting a hug?? Just, from whoever n for whatever reason. I keep thinking about how no one ever really hugs him n it makes me sad

The absolute last person Joji expected to see today was Natsume Takashi.

Joji slows to a stop on the corner of the street, a block away from the train station, and stares shamelessly.

It's been a decade since the last time he saw Natsume, but he recognizes him immediately. Of course he does. His light hair and eyes aside, Joji has thought about him on-and-off since junior high.

Joji remembers that rainy day when he was thirteen, an empty desk in the middle of his eighth grade classroom, Ito leaning over in his chair to whisper, "Did you hear? Natsume was in the ER. He almost died. The police are looking at his foster parents."

It was as if he'd been plunged into a pool of ice water. He sat there, frozen, while their teacher called them to attention for homeroom and announced that Natsume wouldn't be in their class going forward.

What was the last thing Joji had said to him? "It's no wonder your parents didn't want you." Why the hell had he said that? A book, if he remembers right. He'd lent it to Natsume and Natsume gave it back all water-damaged, like he'd gone for a swim with his backpack on. Natsume's eyes were on his hands, on the ruined book, and he'd tried to apologize, said he'd pay for it, but Joji just snatched it away, ticked off.

"This is what I get for trying to help you, I guess. It's no wonder your parents didn't want you."

Joji is almost twenty-four now. He's going into pediatrics. His fiance, Sakura, is a foster parent. She is currently the proud and fiercely protective mother of two beautiful twin girls.

Sora and Miu are terrified of adults and they go everywhere together and sometimes they make up stories. Sometimes they lie, about why their uniforms are torn, why they're home late, why their lunchboxes are covered in dirt. They have this look in their eyes sometimes like they're just waiting to get hurt again.

Sakura has the patience of a saint. She never raises her voice. She stitches their torn uniforms, replaces their lunchboxes, and, on more than one occasion, has marched into their junior high school and threatened the staff with physical violence if her babies come home with bruises one more time.

Needless to say, Sora and Miu adore her. It took them longer to warm up to Joji, but they're there now; no longer flinching when he moves in their direction, greeting him happily when he comes over for breakfast, smiling shyly when he staggers into the apartment underneath the weight of two giant stuffed rabbits that cost nearly half his paycheck, because it's their birthday, Sakura, they need them.

Joji tries to imagine someone telling them "this is why your parents didn't want you" and goes absolutely breathless with rage.

Natsume glances up from his phone to look right at Joji, as if someone had pointed him out. Caught staring, Joji shuffles in place for a moment, and then squares his shoulders and heads over.

He's expecting the Natsume of his memory; he's expecting him to curl his shoulders and duck his head, the way Joji's girls still sometimes do when a stern auntie wants to talk to them.

He's not expecting Natsume to level him with a clear, politely confused gaze. He pockets his phone, and shoves his hands into the front pockets of the cardigan he's wearing; a size too big, like something he borrowed out of someone else's closet, but it's a charming look on him. He's dressed well, in dark-washed jeans and white high-top sneakers, and his silvery hair is long, probably long enough to fall past his shoulders if he didn't have it piled up in a bun. There's a squat calico cat at his feet, glaring up at Joji with judgmental green eyes.

"Can I help you?" Natsume asks kindly. His voice is a shock to the system; Joji remembers him like it was yesterday.

"Oh," Joji says, stymied. It never occurred to him that Natsume might not recognize him in turn. "Um, I'm Watanabe Joji. We were classmates in eighth grade."

"That's right," Natsume says with gratifying quickness. He looks a little embarrassed now and returns Joji's short bow. "Sorry, it's been a long time."

And we weren't exactly friends, he doesn't say, but that common knowledge sits neatly between them.

"Ten years!" Joji replies with some forced enthusiasm. "Is that why you're here?"

"Sorry?"

"The, ah, reunion this weekend? Ito, from our homeroom back then, put together a whole thing. Our whole class is getting together for dinner and drinks."

It occurs to him that Natsume might not have been invited. Joji thinks that's less because he isn't welcome and more because Ito almost certainly didn't have his contact information. The few times his name has come up, Joji's friends have gone quiet and melancholy. A few of them are parents now, or aunts and uncles at least. All of them know better than they did when they were mean, shitty little teenagers.

Joji opens his mouth to assure Natsume that they'd love to have him, but Natsume cuts him off with a laugh.

It's not a mean laugh. It's not unfriendly in the slightest. But it stings anyway, because Natsume is laughing out of pure disbelief.

"No, no," he says, waving a hand, "god, no. Could you imagine?" he adds, glancing down at the cat. The cat huffs, settling a little more solidly against Natsume's ankle. "We're just passing through, actually."

"We?" Joji asks dumbly. Did he mean himself and the cat?

It's Natsume's turn to get cut-off, this time by a long, drawn-out shout of "Takashiiii!"

A short, russet-haired young man around Joji's age comes barreling down the sidewalk toward them at a flat-out run. Joji's first inclination is one of alarm, but Natsume steps forward with his arms outstretched, and the stranger collides with him in an embrace that looks like it hurts.

Natsume is laughing again, but it's softer this time. It's the warmest sound Joji has ever heard him make.

"What's this for?" Natsume is saying, patting him on the back.

"Just missed you," his friend replies.

"You saw him twenty minutes ago, Satoru," comes the exasperated call from further down the road, and Joji glances over to find a small group headed their way, laden with shopping bags.

"Yeah, exactly," Satoru says, leaning back without letting go, just enough to gaze up at Natsume with a cheeky grin. "I'm all Takashi-deficient. It's pretty serious."

"Sounds serious," Natsume replies, and agreeably keeps an arm wrapped around his shoulders as the rest of their group catches up.

A tall, dark-haired man stoops to pick up Natsume's cat, and it settles agreeably in the crook of his arm. The brown-eyed woman beside him lets out a coo, shifting all her bags to one hand so she has one free to scratch it behind the ears.

"We're being rude," the dark-haired man says in a soft, pleasant tone. "Who's this, Takashi?"

Natsume introduces Joji as an old classmate, giving absolutely none of their history away in tone or expression, but somehow all of his friends seem to clue in to something anyway. Their collective demeanor shifts, in an unidentifiable way, even if their polite smiles don't slip an inch as Takashi introduces each of them in turn.

All but Nishimura Satoru, still tucked up against Natsume's side, who gives Joji a positively poisonous look.

"Okay, Satchan, you're going to lose privileges if you can't be nice," Kitamoto says dryly, and extracts him from Natsume's person with a deftness that speaks of years of practice.

"Nooo," Nishimura says, but it's curbed quickly by Shibata shoving a bag at him and snapping, "Carry this! It's that stupid lucky cat statue you just had to have, and it's heavy!"

"It looks just like sensei! Tooru loves it, too!"

"I do," Taki admits.

It's a warm afternoon, right at the end of August, the sky turning golden with the beginnings of dusk. Joji still manages to feel cold.

He grew up, but Natsume did, too. He always regretted what he did, he always wondered if Natsume was okay, wherever he went, but Natsume hasn't seemed to spare him a second thought. He's got his own friends now; bright, kind people who look like they'd raise hell for him. Who run to meet him.

Joji missed the chance to have a place in Natsume's life. He's a footnote, now, and not a very good one.

"Jojojojo!"

The bright voices have him spinning around, forgetting everything else, and he lights up when he spots Sora and Miu waving at him from the other side of the street. Sakura has a firm hold on their jackets so they can't go spilling out into the street until the pedestrian crossing sign lights up, and then she releases them like a couple of eager hunting dogs.

Natsume's friends shuffle to one side politely, and Joji steps forward to catch his girls when they reach him. They're so beautiful and he missed them so much, this weekend they were away to visit Sakura's parents. He kisses them each on the head, and then kisses Sakura on the head in the name of fairness, and it makes all three of them laugh.

Taki coos just like she did with the cat, hands clasped together under her chin.

"What sweet girls!" she says. "Are they yours, Watanabe?"

"Yes," Joji says proudly, putting one arm around each of their shoulders. They've come so far, not hiding behind him from the group of strangers, even if they press into his sides shyly. "This is Miu, and this is Sora. We're adopting them."

Sakura shifts her weight imperceptibly, a barely-there tell. Waiting, he knows, for the surprise, or outright condemnation. She's dealt with a lot of bullshit for taking these kids in, from family and ex-friends and even total strangers. It rolls right off her, and she usually gives as good as she gets, but she hates when Sora and Miu have to hear it. They don't deserve to hear it.

Joji will have to explain it to her, later, why he brought it up. Why he knew it would be safe to bring it up in front of these strangers.

Sure enough, all their faces soften immediately, a gentle transformation. Natsume crouches, gazing at the twins with an expression that Joji remembers from his childhood. The delicate resilience, the willingness to reach out even if he got hurt.

The look on his face ten years ago when he handed back that ruined book, owning up to his mistake and trying to fix it, buying Joji a replacement even after Joji said something unthinking and cruel.

"I was adopted, too," he says.

"Really?" Sora asks quietly.

"Really," Natsume tells her. "My parents died when I was little. I wasn't an easy child to care for, even though it wasn't my fault, so I got passed around a lot. It took me a long time to find my place, but I found it. Did you find yours?"

"I think so," Sora says, glancing around Joji at her sister.

"Me, too," Miu adds.

Sakura clutches Joji's hand hard enough to bruise. She won't cry here and now, but he already knows it's going to be an ice-cream-for-dinner kind of night.

Natsume looks up to meet Joji's eyes when he says, "That's good. I'm glad to hear it."

It's forgiveness. Joji hears it plain as day. He didn't get a chance to ask for it-- isn't sure he deserves it-- but there it is, freely given. And it's reassurance, too.

When Joji's daughters used to curl their shoulders and duck their heads, it would always tug at the memory of a boy he used to know, who was as kind as he was desperate for kindness.

Now, he thinks, when his girls are making a mess of the kitchen trying to follow a pancake recipe with their friends, or dragging a stray cat inside with big, hopeful eyes, it'll remind him of this afternoon. Natsume's clear, bright eyes, and the protective cluster of friends surrounding him.

The world wasn't fair to him; it left a mountain in his life that he had to climb, complete with all its pitfalls and crumbling paths and bad weather.

And here he is on the other side, goodness intact. Smiling. Loved.

He found his place. Sora and Miu found theirs.

And god, if that doesn't give Joji hope for everyone else.

"It was nice to see you," he says thickly, hoping Natsume hears his honesty. "Don't come to the reunion, that was-- a stupid thing to say, but-- would you-- dinner?"

Natsume hears it. He tilts his head, considering, and then says, "We missed our train, anyway."

"And I'm starving," Tanuma says agreeably. Clearly, he says it more to agree with Natsume than anything.

Nishimura is the hardest sell, watching Joji with hard eyes. But then his gaze dips to Sora and Miu, and all his sharp edges go soft, like butter melting in the sun. After a handful of tense seconds, he visibly gives up on his anger with a huff. His friends, watching patiently, all give absurd little cheers when it's clear he's on board.

"Fine, but if you live farther than three feet away, we're getting an Uber," Shibata threatens, rustling the shopping bags in his hands with annoyed fervor.

They drift in the direction of Joji's home, and Kitamoto talks Shibata down from the Uber with the promise of ducking into a 7-Eleven for ice creams instead, and Taki and Sakura are fast friends, rolling their sleeves up to compare tattoos-- Taki's is a strange, occult-looking circle that Joji makes a mental note to ask about-- and Tanuma lets Sora carry the fat cat, while Miu pets it with reverent fingers.

Natsume walks beside Joji, calm and unhurried, with Nishimura on his other side. He grew up with so much grace.

"Can I add you to the class groupchat?" he asks without thinking.

"Good luck with that," Nishimura butts in, not unkindly. "He's the most unreliable texter you've ever met. He left me on read for like two days once, and we live together."

"You'd have better luck with an email," Natsume says apologetically.

It's more than Joji thought he'd get; they exchange contact information, in the middle of this chaotic, noisy group making its way down the street toward the well-lit combini on the corner and then, beyond that, home.

Natsume doesn't seem to have any interest in reconnecting with his old classmates, and Joji doesn't blame him for that. Even though it will certainly piss Ito off to be kept in the dark, even just for a few days, Joji decides it's for the best.

Nishimura's goodwill can't be stretched that far.

#natsume yuujinchou #natsuyuu #natsume takashi #nishimura satoru #tanuma kaname #shibata katsumi #my writing #prompt #natsuyuu fic #cha-lii #wanna find a home (wanna share it with you)

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ourloveisforthelovely · 3 years

Text

Walburga Comes for Dinner (one shot)

Regulus Black AU

Summary: Walburga comes for dinner and sees her children for the first time in a very long time. (goes with the Dinner with the Dursleys and Tuesday night dinner one shot...see below for links)

Pairings: Regulus Black x Reader

Rating: T

Dinner with the Dursleys

Tuesday Night Dinners

_______

This will be interesting…

That was the thought that went through your mind when Regulus stepped through the front door after a long day at work. Joanna immediately waddled over to her father, hopping up and down screaming “daddy” until he was able to get his coat off and pay attention to the child.

“Good, Joanna. Get him buttered up.”

You thought as Regulus came into the kitchen snuggling his face against Joanna’s head.

“You look pretty, darling.’’

Regulus commented, looking you over. He was ready for nothing more than a quiet Thursday night. By quiet this meant having dinner, giving Joanna a bath, getting the child in bed without her needing twenty hugs while making Regulus look for a random spider under her bed that she was convinced would eat her toes, and alone time with you. People at the Ministry were driving him batty and Regulus didn’t have the patience for any calamities that night.

“I’m pretty too.”

Joanna said in an extra sassy tone that earned a smile from Regulus.

“Of course you are love. You’re the prettiest little girl ever. Why don’t you go play with your dollhouse?”

Joanna, appeased with Regulus’ comment, didn't fuss when he put her down. She toddled off. Regulus waited until Joanna was quietly amused before wrapping his arms around you.

“Now, as I was saying, you look beyond pretty...absolutely ravishing is more like it.”

You relaxed in Regulus’ arms enjoying the moment of quiet uninterrupted alone time. As much as you didn’t want to, you knew that you had to break the news to him.

“Guess who is coming to dinner?”

“Merlin, I don’t feel like entertaining.”

Regulus groaned. You had expected this reaction. Things were only about to get more interesting.

“It’s your mother.”

Regulus’ mouth dropped. He hadn’t seen his mother in ages. She wasn’t there when Joanna was born or through your pregnancy. Walburga had sworn that she would never speak to Regulus as long as he was married to “that mudblood girl.” Regulus was just fine with his mother’s promise. He had no use for the woman if she was going to insult his wife. All Regulus needed to be happy was Joanna and yourself. Walburga no longer fit into the equation of his life. When Regulus stopped believing in the “Black family way” he realized how messed up everything truly was.

“Why?”

Regulus said, crossing his arms over his chest. You put down the bowl that you were holding. To say that you were looking forward to meeting Walburga was a far stretch. You would much rather it be your mother and father coming for dinner.

“She wants to see you. I suppose she’s feeling guilty about not seeing Joanna yet. Maybe she even feels a bit guilty because she is getting old and has no son to look after her now that your father is dead.”

Regulus mumbled something under his breath before going off to search for the bottle of fire whiskey. He needed some liquid motivation if his mother was going to be stepping foot inside of his home.

“She can go to a home for the elderly. I am not looking after her. I was the good son long enough.”

Regulus commented before smiling coldly.

“Watch this.”

He said before picking up the muggle telephone and calling Sirius. You had picked up your teacup and were keeping an eye on your husband. He was up to something and you had a sneaking suspicion on what he was going to do

“Hey, it's me. Want to come over for dinner?I know you never wait for an invitation. See you at six.”

Regulus hung up the phone before grinning at you.

“He can’t wait to see his mother.”

You shook your head. Now things were about to be a shit show.

An hour later there was a knock at the door. Regulus stood up knowing who that was. Walburga fucking Black was back to ruin his life and cause problems.

“I’ll get it, love.”

He commented before going to the door. Walburga stood on the other side with her usual snobby expression. She forced a smile as she looked at her youngest son. Regulus was handsome and well put together as always.

“Regulus.”

“Mother.”

Regulus kept his tone cold and icy. Walburga expected Regulus’ off-putting and unfriendly attitude. She assumed that he was still angry over her calling you mudblood. In Walburga’s mind, she was correct. Her “darling boy” married a less than desirable woman and this seemed to wedge between the two.

“Come in.”

Regulus said, keeping his eyes locked Walburga’s unfriendly face. He reached out and stopped her before she was able to get too far inside.

“I’m warning you now. If you are the least bit rude to my family, I will not hesitate to throw you out.”

Walburga glared at him. She wanted nothing more than to throw a few nasty mudblood comments out but decided if she didn’t want to die alone it would be in her best interest to be decent.

“I understand.”

Walburga looked around the homey living room. The house was very nice. Clearly, Regulus was doing well for his family.

“Daddy, come play with me.”

Walburga’s head snapped up the moment she heard the little voice that she had been wanting to hear for some time. She would never admit it but she had wanted to see her granddaughter from the time that the birth announcement came in the mail. Walburga had sent Joanna an “add-a-pearl” necklace as a way to say “welcome to the world” and that was that.

Regulus never took the time to send Walburga a photo or anything. Now before her stood the most lovely child that she had ever seen (with the exception of Regulus, of course).

Walburga watched as Regulus bent down to pick the little girl up. Joanna’s raven curls wildly fell down her back as she pressed her face into her father’s cheek. It wasn’t until Joanna pulled away from cuddling Regulus did she notice the new face in the room. She looked at Walburga carefully. Clearly, the little girl was well versed in “not talking to strangers.”

“Joanna, this is your grandma.”

Walbruga forced a small smile as Joanna put her head on Regulus’ shoulder.

She’s shy...just like he used to be.

Watching Regulus with Joanna, made Walburga’s heartache. Had she really lost so much time with her own son? While Walburga had wanted no part of being a mother originally, after losing Sirius then Regulus walking away for a muggle-born she realized how much that she actually loved her children.

“You can sit down, mother. I’m going to check on Y/n.”

Walburga immediately did as her son said as Regulus sat Joanna down.

“Keep grandma company.”

Regulus said softly. Part of him was screaming about leaving his darling baby alone with the hateful old woman but he knew Joanna would cause Walburga more annoyance. That in itself would be amusing enough. Besides, from his place in the kitchen door, Regulus could see the two perfectly.

You had just pulled the ham out of the oven when Regulus stepped into the room.

“Everything okay?”

You questioned. Regulus shrugged.

“She just walked in the door and I already feel like the love has been sucked out of me.”

You put the oven mitts down and wrapped your arms around Regulus’ shoulders. Kissing him softly, you chose to ignore Walburga who was watching the whole thing.

“I’ll suck something else out of you later.”

You said in a low suggestive tone. Regulus slightly blushed to know exactly what you meant and he would argue.

“That sounds tempting. We can throw her out, put the baby in bed, and have all evening alone.”

Before you could respond the back door opened and closed. Sirius stepped into the kitchen and smirked looking at Regulus and yourself.

“It's a wonder I only have one niece. The way you two snog there should be three or four kids running around here.”

Regulus rolled his eyes.

“One is enough. What about your love life?”

Sirius’ amused expression faded.

“Moony can’t get pregnant.”

Regulus put a hand over his face while you quietly laughed.

“How are we related?”

Regulus questioned as Sirius moved to go into the living room to see what his precious little niece was up to. He froze the moment that he saw the biggest demon from hell parked on his little brother’s couch talking to Joanna.

“Oh hell no.”

Sirius snapped before turning to make a line for the door but was stopped when Regulus brought him to the ground.

“If I’m stuck with her then you should be too.”

Sirius fought the urge to scream.

“You’re just evil!”

“Is everything alright in here?”

Both Sirius and Regulus got off of the kitchen floor as Walburga came in. Her cold grey eyes locked on her eldest son. The disappointment returned in full force as she looked between both Sirius and Regulus. While Regulus was dressed in a nice suit, Sirius looked like he had just gotten out of bed in tight clothing that he had worn for a few days.

“Sirius.”

“Walburga.”

Sirius decided not to call her “mum” to antagonize her. Regulus fought the urge to put a hand over his face as he remembered you standing beside him.

“Mum, this is my Y/n.”

Walburga’s vulture-like gaze turned to you.

So this is the girl that stole my baby from me.

Walburga thought before muttering a quiet and unfriendly hello. You only nodded. It was probably best that you kept your mouth shut. You were afraid that you would start going off on the woman for the way that she did both of her sons.

“Uncle Siri!”

Sirius had to tear himself away from watching you plot evilly as Joanna came running to him holding her hands out. He quickly reached down and scooped Joanna up, pressing a kiss to her cheek.

“Jojo, where have you been all of my life?”

“In the living room. Did you bring me my pony?”

Sirius laughed as Regulus immediately started shaking his head.

“Do you want your daddy to kill me?”

“No, daddy wouldn't notice it if you stuck it in the back garden and tied it to a bush.”

Joanna commented, adding a sneaky little blink. Sirius laughed again.

“First things first, sugar, your daddy is standing right over there and can hear. Let's get you ready to eat.”

Dinner started off smoothly. You tried to speak quietly to Walburga but were only getting one or two-word responses. If you needed any more proof that your mother-in-law didn’t like you...this was it. You could feel Regulus tense beside you.

“It's okay, love.”

You whispered quietly as Sirius leaned back in his chair. He gave you an eyebrow wiggle before speaking.

“So, mum, what got you out of the stone-cold manor? Did you get that steak out of your heart finally? You have surely missed a lot of Joanna’s life...although she doesn't look very concerned.”

Joanna was happily ignoring everyone and nibbling on her little plate of noodles. She didn’t seem the least bit concerned with anything that was going on around her.

“That’s very amusing, Sirius. I thought that the two of you should know that I am remarrying.”

Both Regulus and Sirius dropped their forks as your eyes rolled up, clearly shocked.

“Is that supposed to be a joke?”

Regulus questioned. Sirius started laughing so hard that he had to put his head down.

“Is the guy desperate or already on the verge of death? Did you meet him on evil witch weekly’s personal page?”

Walburga frowned. This was clearly not the reaction that she expected. She had planned on Regulus being a little more supportive than her elder son.

“You’re not funny, Sirius. I decided to meet someone who enjoys my company?”

Sirius snorted.

“Does he enjoy you smacking him around or just ignoring him like you did dad?”

Walburga put her fork down.

“Regulus, do you have anything to say?”

Regulus chuckled. This whole situation was completely ludicrous.

“I thought that you only loved yourself.”

Walburga stood up and threw her napkin down on the table.

“I thought that I would get some support from my son. I didn’t come here to be made a fool.”

Walburga turned and stormed from the house without another word. Joanna was the next to speak.

“Granny needs a nap.”

Sirius nodded and stood up to take his plate to the sink.

“Sure does, Jojo, a nice nap in a big wooden box...six feet under. Who wants cake?”

_________

@amelie-black @vixen @fandomsxxregulus @realgaytrash @acciosiriusblack @fific7 @jessyballet @knreidy1 @wolfstar4lifee @saturntomars @sxsalvatore @georgeweasleydumbhoe @zievyimas @buttercup-beeee @justfinishthis @vvipgot7be @whymyparentscheckmyphone @criminalyetminimal @bennyberry @mimisparkle12 @teletubiswszpilkach @siriuslyceleste @dumybitch @quuenofblacks @lucasfilms77 @spiderxalmighty @moonythemilf @fangirlforever2412 @brokencasbutt67-writer @authoressskr @moldy-old-boot @hankypranky @summer-novak @emiwrites3reads @shaylybaby2032 @li0nh34rt @tas898 @deanwherescas @untoldshortsofthefandoms @knight-of-gleefulness @stuckinsaudi1 @shadows-and-padlocked-hearts @sprnaturallover @shitfaceddaniel @wontlookaway @mycuddlycorner @rubyroscoe1 @hazncalsgal

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stephspurs · 3 years

Text

A Family Affair | Euro 2020 Football Fanfiction

Hi besties!! here is the long awaited part 9!! I hope you all enjoy it as much as I did whilst writing it!! a big thank you goes to @emwritesfootball for proofing this part & making sure its up to scratch for all of you lovely readers! Let me know what you think babes hehehe!! Love Always, Steph xx

Part 9. | nona parte

word count; 2006. writing tools; third person until dashed line, first person thereafter. next update; Friday 13/08 5pm AEST. Updates are three times/week (Monday, Wednesday & Friday)! tags (as requested by users); @footballffbarbiex @obsesseds-world @abysshaven link to fic masterlist here

The season kicked off in the middle of August and Amelia had been more than prepared for her first match in the premier league. She spent day after day analysing the players in the first team, introducing them to the magical world of rehearsed tactics. It wasn’t all sunshine and rainbows for the brilliant girl; she had to learn how to implement the plays coupled with the speed of the game. But so far, so good. Chelsea have been winning and her plays have been working, the boys were getting the hang of it - no matter how apprehensive they were at the start.

Jorgi played a big part in demonstrating the success of the play, performing best in his midfield role to guide the game and direct the change in play to his teammates. By the time they had played a few fixtures, they had really gotten the hang of her approach to set pieces and began to put their trust in the young girl. They were starting to see results and wanted to keep the winning streak going while they could. The fourth fixture in the new season was one that Amelia was looking forward to, personally: Chelsea v Aston Villa, Stamford Bridge, 3pm kick off.

Jack and Amelia had grown closer and closer, FaceTime‘dates’ as Jack would call them, a weekly occurrence. She had spoken to him just as much as she had spoken to Jorgi - and they were still carpooling to and from Cobham together. Her friendship with Jack was full of easy conversation and flirtatious banter, teetering over the line of friendship but being that they were kept physically apart, the friendship line remained largely intact. One person that had drifted even further away from her, despite her believing that it couldn't be possible, was Ben Chilwell.

Every time she walked into a room that he was in, if he didn't have to be there he would immediately leave. Amelia didn’t understand what the problem was. Yeah sure, they were flirty together in Mykonos but they never crossed a line together, no matter how many times the wine went straight to their heads. If anything, she should be the one running away from him. She was the one who sent him a couple of messages here and there that he just opened. She spoke to Mason, Jorgi, Billy Gilmour - who was another one of the boys she had developed a strong friendship with - and all of them insisted they didn’t understand their friend's strange behaviour.

On the evening before the Villa match, Amelia was laying on the couch in her townhouse binge watching yet another docu-series on Netflix when her doorbell rang. This was strange, most people that came past the house these days had their own set of keys (her parents, her brother, Jorgi) or they texted to let her know they were outside. Her townhouse was three stories high, so if she was upstairs on the top level vacuuming the chances of her hearing the door were slim to none. Either way, she got up off of her loveseat and walked to the front door, peeking through the peephole - she lived in London, alone, she wasn’t opening that door until she knew exactly who was on the other side.

______________________________________________________________

“To what do I owe this visit, Benjamin?”

“Hi, Mils.”

“Wow, nickname basis already - I thought only friends called each other by their nicknames.”

“Did you think we weren’t friends?”

“Well, friends don’t treat friends the way you’ve treated me since the evening I left Mykonos.”

With a sigh, Ben looked down at his feet. I did feel a small bit of guilt for that one, but he deserved it. Continuing to find the cracks in the marble step of my door’s threshold more interesting than facing my expression, I took a step back and forced Ben to look up at me.

“Well, are you going to come inside? I’ve got the kettle on and a really good series going that I would like to get back to.”

With a charming smile, Ben took a step forward, took the door handle out of my hand and shut it behind him. Slipping out of his shoes, he followed me down the short hallway to my kitchen and pulled a seat out at the island bench.

“So, really now - why are you here? Nervous about tomorrow?” I questioned as I took two cups out of the cupboard and brewed one tea for him, one coffee for me. 3 years in Italy and coffee in the evening became the norm for me. It was my comfort drink.

“I’m here to apologise for the way I've been acting towards you for the past six weeks. I’ll be honest, I don’t know why I’ve been like this”

“Cut the crap Ben, you know exactly why you’ve been doing it. Now tell me the truth or, as far as I'm concerned, you never came here tonight and tomorrow we will be back to how we were yesterday - you running away from me and me pretending that it doesn't bother me. Even though all it does is bother me.” Not expecting that outburst to come out of me, and to be fair neither did I, Ben looked me in the eye and stayed silent, choosing his next words carefully.

“The first time I saw you, the night you told your brother off in the rec room at St. George’s Park, I thought you were the most determined woman I had ever seen in my life. Not scared of the 30 grown men who were very obviously all on the same side, literally. Then the next time I saw you, after the final match, how you comforted your brother when you were at the highest of highs and he was lower than low, I thought you had more compassion than every person in that stadium put together.”

“When you came to SGP again the next day and delivered the tactical analysis of the game you won, I thought ‘wow she is so intellectually brilliant’. And then when you turned up in Mykonos, all sunkissed and relaxed, sitting next to me and involving me in conversation with my pals but making me feel like you wanted my contribution...I remember it like it was yesterday. Amelia, you smiled at me and my heart did a somersault in my chest.”

“You shut me down outside the club that evening, and when we came back inside I caught the end of your conversation with Jorgi about Fede. Putting two and two together, I understood all that I needed to. The few days after that we carried on like normal. Then, you left and I didn't know if I would ever see you again to be fair. When you messaged me, I got too nervous to reply because I didn't know how to just be your friend. And then when I thought I had finally gotten through a day without thinking about my friend's little sister, you showed up at Cobham as my tactical analyst. I didn’t know what to do Mils, I don't know how to be just your friend when I've had nothing but unfriendly thoughts about you since the first time I saw you command that room of men you had never met in your life.”

The whistle of the kettle ringing out behind me is the only noise filling the kitchen. I’m staring at Ben; he’s staring back at me with nothing but truth behind his eyes and his heart on his sleeve.

“Benj, what you were feeling, what you are feeling is totally valid and I never want you to feel like you can’t share those feelings with me. You’re right, Mykonos changed things for me. What you were feeling was reciprocated, but Ben, I was going back to Italy. At that exact moment, I had no idea I would end up here. I thought I was enjoying a break before another high-intensity season in Italy. I wanted to kiss you so badly at the club that night, but I knew it would only hurt you. I’m used to being hurt, it's a feeling I've grown to expect. But you, you’re too pure to experience the kind of hurt that comes along with knowing you’re making a bad decision, but doing it anyway, because I wanted to be selfish with your heart.”

“Amelia, can I ask you something?” I nodded, holding my breath as I braced myself for the question poised behind his eyes. “If you were in the mood to be selfish, what would have come from that evening?”

“I can probably show you better than I can tell you,”

Walking around the island bench, I pulled the back of Ben’s chair slightly so he pivoted towards me. Standing in between his tracksuit-covered legs, I ran both hands up his arms until I got to his neck and finally beside his face. Threading my fingers through his hair, I pulled his face towards mine and our lips met. It was as soft as a butterfly kiss but as powerful as anything I had ever felt before. His hands wound around my waist and settled themselves on the small of my back before travelling down and giving my backside a gentle caress, forcing a laugh out of my lips and straight into his mouth. Pulling away slightly, so we both had a bit of breathing space to sort out our lightheadedness, Ben spoke his next words very softly.

“I need you to promise me something, Amelia.You need to promise me that you will stop thinking about my heart before your own. I am old enough to make my own decisions, and the decision to ignore you for these past few weeks has been one of the worst ones I've made in a really long time. But I did make it, and it was because I got scared, and I hurt you, and I am so sorry. The decision to come here tonight however, I feel like it more than makes up for that one very very stupid one”

“You’re such a smooth talker, Benj.”

“Say my name again, Mils, you don’t know what it does to me.”

“Down boy, your tea is going cold and I need to find out who killed Sophie in West Cork.Meet me in the lounge.”

A few hours had passed and it was nearing 10pm, well past Amelia’s bed time, but Ben was still sitting on her couch, feet on the table (despite her telling him to remove them) and arm around the back of her shoulders.

“Chilly, I don’t want you to think I'm not interested in you because I so am, I just don’t want to rush into anything. What I left behind in Italy was complicated and heavy; I'm still trying to learn how to exist without him if I'm honest. I want you to just give me the space I need to grow into my own here in the city, if that’s okay with you.”

“Of course it's okay, Mils. From what Jorgi has told me about Fede, I can understand why you want to take it slow now. But please, don’t call me Chilly. My friends call me Chilly, and Mills. I thought I made it clear before that I don’t want to be your friend.”

“To me, you’re Benj. Thank you. Wait - what do you mean what Jorgi has told you about Fede?”

“I may have asked a couple times about you, and for the record, he is team Bamelia.”

“Bamelia? That is the ugliest word I have ever heard. Never use it again.”

“How can it be ugly? It's mostly your name, and nothing associated with you could ever be considered anything less than beautiful.”

“Stop being so smooth Benj, you’re going to make me blush in a minute.”

“Good, can’t wait to see how you could possibly look even cuter than you do right now.”

“That’s enough Benjamin.”

“Okay I’m done now.”

Part 10. | parte dieci

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nelapanela94 · 3 years

Text

Of ginger and cranberries

Fluff!

LevixYou

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It was a cold Sunday morning of early winter. You were walking through the market stalls looking for the most important ingredient for your ginger cookies: ginger. The town's main square was crowded, the bustling sound was getting louder and the smell coming from the different food stalls engulfed the place. People were gathering supplies for the upcoming new year celebration that would take place within a week.

After stopping by several stalls without success, you found an empty bench and took a seat. Walking around with a heavy jute bag on the shoulder was exhausting, and you deserved a rest. You placed your cane next to your leg where you could feel it and put the groceries bag on you lap just to make sure ginger was the only ingredient missing.

As soon as you opened it, a smell of cloves and cinnamon greeted your nose making you smiled. That's how winter is supposed to smell. Putting your hand in the bag, you hissed. The only thing you hated about winter was wearing mittens. Hands were the eyes for people like you, and having them covered make you double blinded. You took one of the mittens off and proceeded to check the content.

Flour. Checked.

Sugar. Checked.

Eggs. Checked.

Butter. Checked.

Cinnamon and cloves. Double checked.

You put the mitten on again before your hand froze and rolled your neck to stretch, placed the bag strap on your left shoulder and took the cane to continue your quest. Ginger was not slipping away from you; but the smell of freshly-baked cranberry pie filled the air forcing you to take a little detour. Your pace fastened following the source of the sweet, luring scent; however, someone blocked your way and in matter of seconds your bottoms hit the cobblestone ground. You whined, and your hand patted your surroundings looking for your guide.

"Tsk. Are you blind? Watch your step, brat" You heard and turned the head towards the voice's source. The man you had bumped into turned around and facepalmed inwardly.

"Sorry, but you're right, as you can see I am blind" You chuckled and waved a hand in front of your face. Levi sighed extending a hand and 'tched'' at himself when he realized his idiocy, you could not see his gesture.

"Give me your hand" He ordered.

You raised your hand in front of you, waited for him to take it and stood up with his aid. "Thanks" You smiled at him, or so you thought.

"I'm right here" The man lifted a brow crossing his arms over his chest.

"Oh" You turned towards the voice and thanked again.

Fortunately, all the ingredients were safe and sound in the bag, even the eggs. Nonetheless, your cane was still missing.

"Do you know where my cane is? I couldn’t find it" He looked around and found the stick broken in two. "I don't think it'll take you anywhere" he replied.

"Holy Walls!" You scratched your head and sighed. "Hey, stranger, are you free until noon?"

"I have no intention of becoming your guide" He harshly responded.

"But... would you let this poor, blind girl wander around on her own?" You sniffled with your bottom lip jutting out.

"Alright" He rolled the eyes. "What's our next stop?" You celebrated your little victory by throwing your arms in the air. Levi, indeed, was free until dinner time. Hange and the others had kicked him out of the headquarters and told him not to be back before seven bells. That's why he decided to go to the market and try his luck finding rare herbs and special blends.

"Wait, I'm not supposed to leave with strangers" You said adjusting your woolen cap. "I'm (name)"

"Levi"

"Pretty name" you noted. "Well Levi, I'm on a special mission to find ginger; but first, we must make a strategic stop at the cranberry pies stall" He took your hand and placed it right above his elbow. "Thanks" You muttered and gently squeezed his arm, feeling the muscle beneath his coat.

"Oi!"

"Sorry about that" You lowered your head in embarrassment, your cheeks getting warm. "but, you feel good" You mumbled. Levi snorted and shook his head, the corner of his lips lifted. "You're not bad looking yourself"

You lifted your head batting your lashes in a flirtatious manner and leaned closer to him. "You think so? Well, you're good looking too" You laughed. "No, but seriously, your voice is really attractive and I like the smell of fresh lavender of your hair"

Your words made him blush slightly.

As you walked, Levi studied you and found odd that your coat, cap, mittens, scarf and boots were all the same blue color. "Who picks up your clothes? An eight-year-old?"

"A ten-year-old actually. But my winter clothing is all blue because it's my favorite color, and I don't have to waste time matching each piece"

"So, you know about colors" His curiosity sparked.

"Yeah, I wasn't born blind. I lost my eyesight due to an infection when I was a child" you explained. "At first, I felt insecure and vulnerable, but as I grew up I started to accept my reality and learnt to adapt. Besides, I've been blessed with the people I've come across, they're always willing to help." you smiled.

You reached the pastry sale and bought two pies to go. You wanted to surprise your older brother, and if you were lucky enough, he would forget about your broken cane; the other one was all for you.

"Aw, you two make a good couple" The old lady commented while packing the sweet treats, making you blush hard. Luckily, you couldn't see the red shade creeping across your companion's face.

"We're not dating" You stated in unison. Levi shoved his hands in his pockets and his eyes darted around while you toyed with a lock of hair.

"I thought someone had finally stolen Captain Levi's heart" The elder woman winked and handed the bags to the ravenette. "Have a good day!"

When you were on your way to get the spice for your recipe, you were first to break the silence. "Captain Levi from the Survey Corps? Humanity's Strongest Soldier?"

"Are you a fangirl?" He lifted a brow looking at you.

"Nope, not me. My nephew is the fanboy" A chuckled scape your lips. "He wants to join the Scouting Legion when he grows older. My brother is not so happy, though." You shrugged.

Once you found the final ingredient, Levi offered to take you home. You didn’t live far from the main square and, even though you insisted you knew the way by heart, he didn't feel like taking any risk. In truth, he wanted to spend as much time as he could with you. In such brief time, he had fallen into your spell. It might have been your looks, or your charismatic, cheerful personality; or perhaps the combination of both. He wasn't sure about his feelings, but he wanted to learn more about you.

You didn't want to say goodbye either. The little time you had spent with him had sparked your curiosity. You had heard the rumors about Captain Levi, but you knew there was more behind his unfriendly personality and sarcastic remarks. There was more behind that hard shell and you were willing to crack it.

"Here" he handed you the two bags of pies and only released his grip when he made sure you had them secured in each hand.

"This one is for you" you kept one of your arms extended in front of you for him to grabbed the bag. "Happy Birthday Captain Levi"

Levi was taken aback and shyly took the craft paper bag from your hand. "Thanks, but..."

"I told you my nephew is a fanboy, and that lady said cranberry pies are one of your favorites"

You remained silent for a while; you opened your mouth then closed it again, as you regretted what you were about to say. Your heart was beating fast, and the warm feeling invaded your cheeks again. You removed your mittens off and put them in your pockets. With your bare hands you took your necklace off and walked closer to him, patting his coat until you found a pocket and put the piece of jewelry inside.

"What are you doing?" He asked squinting his eyes.

"I'm making sure we'll meet again. You already know where I live, all you have to do is to knock on my door"

"Clever brat" He admitted.

"And, I'm giving myself an excuse to touch you" You winked.

Levi leaned closer and whispered to your ear. "You better have freshly baked cookies for the day I come back"

"Count on it" you grinned.

After that day, you woke up every morning to make a batch of your best recipe of ginger cookies, yearning for his return.

#levi fluff #levi x y/n #levi x reader #levi x you #levi ackerman #Levi aot #shingeki no kyojin #levi attack on titan #aot fic #fluff #levi ackerman x you #levi fanfiction #levi ackerman x reader

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comprised-of-magpies · 4 years

Text

Some safety & survival tips

This isn’t something that I’d normally post, but with college starting I thought I’d share some tips I’ve gathered over the years for staying safe (edit: I was informed a lot of these are basic knowledge, but I’ll share anyway because you never know)

if a room in your house randomly smells like fish, check the outlets, melted plastic often gives off a fish odor and unchecked could start an electrical fire

don’t swerve for deer and risk you or your car, hit it, with the proof of hitting it insurance can help cover the damage (edit: sorry, I don’t mean to encourage killing an animal, and I know the deer can do some hefty damage, this is just if your options are swerving full speed into a ditch/other car, or hitting the deer, the deer might be a better option. obv if you think you’ll be fine swerving out of the way, do that)

speaking of ^, if you see a deer on the road and it runs off in time, keep going slow and stay on the lookout, there’s more often than not more than just one deer and you never know if it’ll jump into the road

however, swerve for a moose, you’re going to hit the legs and then you have 1500 lbs coming thru your windshield

if you’re in a dark, unfamiliar area, keep the keys handy, for one the key itself can easily be used as a weapon, two if you set off a car alarm it might grab someone’s attention if you’re in danger, or at least deter someone threatening you

try not to be wearing heels if you know you’ll be in the situation above. first of all, everyone knows it’s hard to run in heels, so an opportunist will likely target someone that won’t as easily get away. secondly, it just hurts to run in them. I was out past 10pm walking several blocks to where I parked my car and noticed two guys tailing me, and while my heels were thick and only about 4-5 inches, running a block to my car in sheer terror left my ankles beyond sore the next day, and I can only imagine how catastrophic it would’ve been if my foot got caught in a hole or if my ankle twisted.

if the water retreats quickly and farther than normal, pack it up and run, that’s a sign of an oncoming tsunami

stranded in the cold? don’t stop moving. shaking and shivering is good, that’s the body’s way of trying to stay warm, if you suddenly stop shivering, it means your body has given up and you’re past the point of it being able to warm itself. don’t let someone take their clothes off either in the cold. this sounds weird and obvious, but when you’re exposed to hypothermia-inducing conditions for so long, your nerves get fried, and you start thinking you’re boiling alive and don’t contain rational thought anymore

if you haven’t eaten or drank anything for a period of a couple days, pace yourself when food/water is available. If you consume too much immediately after starving, that’s a massive shock to your system. When concentration camp survivors were freed, they were given too much food for their malnourished bodies to process, and that’s fatal.

if vomit/poop is like black tar or coffee grounds, see a doctor, that’s a sign of internal bleeding (obv periods for girls are different, if menstrual blood is like coffee grounds there’s a good chance it’s just really, really old blood, but it’s still a good idea to check in with a doctor)

a lot of predators (I know at least mountain lions/cougars) are deterred from attacking if they see your face/eyes

if you’re hitting the gas pedal, and the tachometer is moving, and the car is not, you’re hydroplaning. Your first instinct is to hit the brakes. DON’T HIT THE BRAKES. Your best bet is to ride it out, gradually slow down, try and let other cars know what’s going on, pull over and calm down.

car windows are strongest in the middle, aim for the edges or corners

911 should work anywhere (even other countries), SIM card or not, for free, so don’t waste time scrambling for change at a pay phone

if you’re in a pool and the water tastes metallic, get out, there’s an electrical short in the water

a seriously upset stomach is another sign of a heart attack

if you’re getting manhandled into a van, don’t fight fair. fight to get away as soon as possible. elbow or palm to nose, heel to toe, thumbs or elbows to eyes, knee to groin, strike the ears, nails to throat, do whatever you can and make as much noise as possible. don’t get taken to a secondary location

don’t punch the face, punch the throat. no matter how weak you are, a fist to the windpipe is enough to stun anyone

the flesh on the underside of the arm is fragile. try pinching it, it hurts right? even lightly? pinch someone there hard, and PULL. you can tear out muscle fiber and tendons doing that, and it’ll hurt. a lot.

if you think you’re in danger, call someone, or even just pretend to call someone, and then make plans, loudly. even fake plans work, just make them soon. if someone is following you, knowing that you’ll be expected somewhere/your absence will be immediately noticed is sometimes enough to ward off the very unfriendly folk.

it’s worth it to keep pepper spray, I accidentally indirectly caught myself with it when testing to make sure it works, and the smell alone made me tear up. I was coughing and blowing my nose for several hours after, so imagine spraying it in someone’s eyes, the intended use.

it’s worth shining a light in the backseat of your car, especially if you left it unlocked. the previously mentioned unfriendly folk have used the method of laying in the back waiting for you to enter the vehicle, so a couple seconds to check can’t hurt.

keep valuable looking items away from windows, this hopefully lessens the chance a burglar will choose your house

be wary of a big truck or van parked next to your driver side door, that’s also a kidnapping tactic. It’s worth it to get in on the other side—lock the doors immediately—and crawl over

be wary of someone stopping you and asking you for directions, if you’ve seen a dog, etc, as opportunists prey on your inclination to be helpful (obv it’s not bad to want to help people, but don’t be afraid to say “no, sorry” and keep moving, this is how Ted Bundy lured in his victims)

if someone grabs you, drop your body weight. rag doll, go limp. the attacker will likely have to adjust his grip. If they manage to keep ahold of you, don’t try and pry away their hands, try and grab their thumbs and BEND

if you’re aware you’re having a heart attack, force yourself to cough, that’ll keep the heart pumping

You’re better off screaming “FIRE!” than “HELP!”, as people often don’t want to get involved, which is sad and frustrating but true, but a fire involves everyone around you

if you’re struggling to light a (gas) stove, and it’s making the clicking noise but there’s no flame, wait for awhile because now there’s gas in the air that depending on how many times you tried to light the stove, wouldn’t be a good idea to light

when giving cpr: dominant over nondominant, to the center of the chest between the nipples. it helps to hum Staying Alive, as the tempo aligns with the cpr treatment. don’t stop if you hear/feel a rib crack, bones mend, a stopped heart doesn’t

tip from firefighters: search rooms with the back of your hand. if you think a room is on fire, feel the metal door handle with the back of your hand, that way if it’s hot you burn the back and don’t reduce your ability to grip things. this also prevent grabbing ahold of an electrical outlet with a current in it, the electricity invading your body will contract your muscles making you unable to actually let go of the outlet

Keep adding your own please! This is a very short list, and you can never know too much on safety precautions

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plant-flwrs · 4 years

Text

heart of glass // fred weasley

masterlist!

request (from @bitchywhisperswizard <3): Hi! I absolutely LOVE your writing! Could I maybe request where Fred Weasley breaks up with reader before the war and thinks she died? Only to find her a year later in the muggle world like a celebrity performer? I understand if it doesn't make sense. Thank you!

a/n: thank u for the request!! i refuse to believe fred d*ed, but i am a sucker for fred lives au’s. also went a little grunge w this just because i love those pictures of metalhead james and oliver :) (i listened to miley cyrus’s new cover of heart of glass while i wrote this so i just called it that)

summary: Fred broke up with you just before the war, and when he couldn’t find you after the battle cleared he thought you died. You’re alive and well, living as a celebrity among the muggle world. One night reunites you two, and neither of you can deny the feelings that spark.

(2.5k)

------

Clutching the white sink beneath your fingers, you barely recognized the person looking back at you in the mirror. Your eyes were sunken and swollen, your lips puffed and red. Your cheeks were hollowed, casting shadows into your face. You lifted a shaky hand, pushing your hair out of your face and revealing a scar on your temple.

You had barely made it out of the war, and once you did, you had no intentions on going back.

You made a new life in the muggle world, and eventually you were able to do what you had always wanted to do: perform.

It was about ten minutes before you were due in stage, and your nerves had stopped buzzing a long time ago. You dipped a finger into some black eyeshadow, spreading it haphazardly across your eyes. You looked dead, and it showed what you felt like on the inside.

Not a day passed in which Fred Weasley hadn’t thought of you. Not a day passed in which guilt hadn’t plagued his heart and mind. Every day, for just over a year, the image of tears streaming down your face as he broke up with you was glue to the inside of his eyelids.

George tried to understand but he could never understand the pain. He tried to help his brother when he could.

“Freddie!” George called to him from across the store, heaving in a huge box.

“Yeah?” Fred replied from behind the counter, pushing heavy buttons on the loud till.

“Look at this,” George quickly removed a hand from under the box, shifting his weight. He handed Fred a flier he found posted in the side of the shop.

It was a black flier, advertising some muggle bar in London. It looked like the sort of crowd the brothers gravitated towards some odd five years ago. Skulls and grunge symbols littered the page, and Fred found himself smiling fondly at it.

“Want to go?’ George asked, setting down the box in its right place, starting to unload the new shipment of chocolate wands.

“Aren’t we a little too old for this, George?” Fred said with a sad smile.

In that moment, George had the feeling he didn’t recognize his brother. His own face, but tormented with worry, sadness, and the unfriendly effects of time. George furrowed his brow, and tried to continue.

“No! It’ll be fun,” George reassured, slapping a hand on his brother’s back.

This was how Fred found himself clung to the bar all night, nursing a beer in his hand. He didn’t like muggle alcohol as much, but he supposed it would do.

The bar was in the back of the crowded club, but it barely had any people by it. Everyone had rushed to the front of a stage, the entire room filled with enthusiastic screams. George hovered near the back of the crowd, where Fred could still see him, swinging back and forth to the music they played over the speaker.

Fred and George had liked going to concerts after the war. The flashing lights and loud noises were difficult at first, very difficult, but it was one of the things that helped them recover.

Fred looked around over the top of his drink, surveying the crowd. It was mostly made up of people who looked like him five years ago, people who hadn’t been through a war, or lost their ex-girlfriend in that war. People who didn’t feel like crying every second of every day. The crowd didn’t look like you or Fred.

Someone knocked on your door, their words muffled by the ringing in your ears. You shook your head, letting your hair fall naturally in it’s place over your scar. You pulled up the high boots you wore, and fixed the sheer tights that dove into them. Pulling the top of your tank top to cover your chest some more, you felt the cold air hit your slightly exposed stomach. You stood off to the right, backstage, waiting as people poked and prodded at you, fixing wires and handing you things to hold that they would eventually take back from you.

The nerves still didn’t come, but you hadn’t expected them to. Nothing made you nervous anymore, nothing made you feel anything, really.

Someone held the curtain open for you, and at the slightest movement the crowd roared. Fred turned his gaze towards the stage, and George moved forward in the crowd.

You looked out into the sea of people, and you could make out a few faces in the front. You had requested dulled lights for all of your shows, unable to handle the bright lights that often came with performing. A purple light hovered above you, illuminating you with the cool hue.

You cast a smirk out into the audience, moving to your mark at the center of the stage. Your band filed in behind you, and you tugged at the cord for the microphone, giving yourself some slack. The crowd was still just as loud as when you came out, and you started your first song.

You couldn’t hear anything but your own voice ringing through your head, booming through the earpiece tucked behind your hair.

From the bar, Fred found his glass shattered on the floor beneath him. It hadn’t even made a sound over your powerful voice coming from what felt like every angle. He couldn’t move, his eyes just locked on your almost unrecognizable face. Even though you looked like him, tired and full of regrets, eyes sunken and cheeks hollowed, he would recognize you and your voice from anywhere.

He had heard you sing almost everyday since he met you. You hummed next to him in class, you chorused obnoxiously in the common room, and you sang to him softly while the two of you laid in bed.

Looking at you now, bent at the knees and almost squatting as you nearly screamed the chorus for what he could assume was your own song, he felt like he couldn’t breathe. Everything washed through him, the guilt, the sadness, the worry, the pain.

George was next to him in a second, shaking him by his shoulders. A gleeful smile spread across his face and he just chanted: “She’s alive, she’s actually alive, Freddie!” over and over.

Fred couldn’t believe it, he had always wanted something like this to happen, to replay it all and make sure you hadn’t died, and now that he saw you living and breathing he didn’t know what to do with himself.

Fred ducked into the bathroom, splashing water over his face until he felt like himself again. He fixed his hair, regretting not getting a haircut earlier in the week like he had wanted to. You did always like his hair long, though. He looked down at his buttoned down shirt, the flowy sleeves rolled up halfway up his arms. He tucked it into his jeans, trying to smooth it out some.

George was waiting from him outside the door, biting his nails.

“She’s amazing, mate,” George said. Your voice echoed around the room, and still floated to their ears from the corner they had hidden away in.

“She always was,” Fred mumbled.

“I can’t believe it,” George said, his mouth agape and shaking his head in a disbelieving way.

“Do I look okay?” Fred asked his brother, holding his arms out a little.

George tugged at the sleeves, evening them out and making the rolls more neat.

“Yeah,” he said, pulling Fred with him.

The two sat and listened to you sing until Fred couldn’t take it anymore. The brothers left the venue, moving out onto the chilly London street. They walked around the back, where your crew had parked. They waited.

You finished your show, leaving the stage with the usual rush of adrenaline. You could never sit still inside after a show, and you rushed past your crew and out the back door. The cold air hit your skin, nipping at your sweat covered face and torso. You reached back inside, your hand finding a stool with a pack of cigarettes on them. You came back outside, fiddling with the package. You pulled one out and brought it to your lips, and realized you didn’t have a lighter. These were the moments you wished you still had your wand. It was always easier to smoke when you were a witch.

“Need a light?” someone spoke, coming from out of a shadow.

You immediately felt tears brimming your eyes, looking into the familiar brown eyes and flaming red hair.

“George?” you croaked, voice weak from the singing and the tears threatening to spill over.

George and you took steps towards each other, and he wrapped you in his arms. You cried into his chest, not really knowing why. You supposed you missed him, or maybe it was the fact that he looked strikingly like the boy who had broken your heart.

“Y/n,” another voice, a voice you would know always, called from behind him.

You shrunk from George hesitantly, wiping your eyes. You looked down at your hands, seeing them covered in smeared black makeup. You looked back at George’s shirt and saw a similar mark. You looked up at him apologetically, but he just beamed back at you, waving it off. You watched him pull his wand from his side, and with a simple movement, the stain was gone. You felt yourself crying harder.

You turned back to Fred, who had also started crying. The two of you lunged at each other, a mess of forceful limbs trying to wrap around the other.

“I thought you died,” Fred called out, burying his head into the crook of your neck.

You sobbed in response, your body shaking against Fred’s. He pulled your tighter, like he had regretted ever letting go.

You felt like you could never compose yourself, but you eventually did. Fred’s eyes were red and swollen, and you had wiped the tears off his cheeks. He did the same charm George had done to get the makeup off his shirt.

You led them inside, back into the venue. All of you sniffled as you walked together. You waved to security, telling them they were with you, and ignored your manager as you slipped into your greenroom.

“You were amazing up there,�� George said, taking advantage of the full bar you had in the room.

You took the glass he had made for you, gulping down the harsh alcohol in one swig. George chuckled, ducking into the mini fridge and handing you a soda.

“So your a muggle now?” Fred croaked, his eyes locked on his glass.

“Turned in my wand after the war,” you answered, putting the soda on the table beside you because you couldn’t trust your shaking hands.

“We missed you,” George spoke, sitting next to you on the couch.

You forced a smile on your cracking lips, glancing at him.

“I thought you died,” Fred spoke, finally looking up at you.

Your eyes widened, mouth opening slightly.

“Couldn’t find you after,” George said, forcing himself to remember, “looked almost all night. Lifted every stone we could find.”

Your eyes drifted down, tears filling them again. You swallowed hard, hating yourself immediately for the pain you put them through. You couldn’t even compare it to the pain Fred put you through, because at least you knew he was alive.

“I left,” you mumbled, lip quivering a little, “Just after the dust settled. I flew home and packed everything I owned.”

Fred scoffed across form you, and both you and George’s head shot up to look at him.

“I thought you died,” he repeated, sounding harsh.

“ ‘M sorry,” you mumbled, tasting the warm and salty tears falling into your mouth.

“Why didn’t you say goodbye?” George whispered from beside you, swallowing hard.

“I dunno,” you admitted, wiping your tears with the back of your hand, “I just had to leave. I didn’t think you would have wanted to see me.”

You spoke to Fred, referencing the harsh breakup a month before the war. He looked at you, hurt in his eyes.

“Of course I wanted to see you,” he said, sounding hurt that you could even think that.

“You broke it off with me, Fred, what was I supposed to think?”

“I only did that to keep you safe!” Fred yelled.

“Well it didn’t keep me safe! It just hurt more!” you shouted back, pulling your hair off your face and behind your ears in a stressful motion.

Fred looked at you, shocked. His eyes fell to your scar, and you covered it with your hair again.

“I’m sorry,” he finally spoke, sounding regretful.

You nodded your head, looking at the ground.

“I’ve missed you, Y/n,” George spoke, his voice soft, “here.”

He slipped a card into your hand, and you looked down at it. It was a business card. Your mouth widened into a smile, and before you could stop yourself, you were laughing.

“Did George Weasley just give me a business card?”

George smiled back at you, chuckling with you.

You examined the card, reading the gold writing. ‘Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes, Fred and George Weasley’. The card had an address on it.

“Visit the shop some time,” George said, standing, “I’ll meet you at home, Fred?”

Fred looked at George, furrowing his brow. George made a motion for Fred to sit, and Fred sighed. George hugged you and left you with Fred.

You two sat in silence, he nursed his whiskey and you picked at you fingers.

“You really were amazing up there,” Fred finally said, putting his glass on the table.

“Thank you,” you said sheepishly.

“I still love you, you know,” Fred said confidently, looking straight into your eyes.

Your lips parted, hearing the words you had wanted to hear for about a year, and you didn’t know what to say.

“I love you too,” you whispered.

Fred stood from his chair and moved over to you, sitting next to you. His hand found yours, and you sat together. Neither of you had felt anything like this in a long time. The numbness receded into you, allowing space for love and relief to fill you. Fred no longer felt the weight of guilt and worry, all that banished just by a glance at your face.

Your hand still shook in his, and he held it tightly until it stopped. He turned towards you, bringing a hand to your face. He pushed your hair off your face, looking at you scar.

“Is that from-” he trailed off, his thumb tracing the mark.

You nodded, flicking your eyes away from his. He snaked it hand behind your neck, and pulled your face close to his. His lips connected to your scar, and he held you there for a moment. You closed your eyes, melting into his touch.

“I don’t ever want to be apart from you again,” he mumbled into your face.

“Me neither,” you whispered back.

#fred weasley #fred weasley au #fred weasley fanfiction #fred weasley imagine #fred weasely fic #fred #weasley #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley grunge #fred weasley x y/n #fred weasley x you #harry potter

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lesbiansforboromir · 3 years

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If a person wanted to write Boromir fic, do you have any tips on how to capture the Tolkieny tone in writing/best scenes to re-read for characterization?

LET ME SEE if I can’t compile a nice guide for you;

First thing’s first! Boromir does not include his own feelings into his statements unless it’s utterly against his will, such as the ring-controlled scene. In fact his discussion with Frodo is the first and last time he expresses his emotions verbally at all and even then it seems to be squeezed out of him in the midst of his ranting ‘how it ANGERS me’ like he is almost shocked at how angry he actually is in that moment, so much so that he can’t hold it back like normal.

‘I am’ statements in general don’t come often either. He doesn’t use ‘I’ at all if he can help it. If he is describing the war or some conflicts or battles, he uses ‘us’ or ‘we’ ‘Some said that it could be seen, like a great black horseman, a dark shadow under the moon. Wherever he came a madness filled our foes, but fear fell on our boldest, so that horse and man gave way and fled. Only a remnant of our eastern force came back, destroying the last bridge that still stood amid the ruins of Osgiliath. 'I was in the company that held the bridge, until it was cast down behind us. Four only were saved by swimming: my brother and myself and two others.’ Here he mentions himself only as an explanation for the circumstances, and goes quickly back to talking as a collective. (This is the first and last time he mentions Faramir too, and never by name)

The times when Boromir uses ‘I’ statements most is for defining his own actions and intent or when he is offering advice. 'I have let my horn cry at setting forth, and though thereafter we may walk in the shadows, I will not go forth as a thief in the night.' He is clear to himself and others about what he will and won’t accept. 'I will add a word of advice, if I may,' said Boromir. 'I was born under the shadow of the White Mountains and know something of journeys in the high places. We shall meet bitter cold, if no worse, before we come down on the other side. It will not help us to keep so secret that we are frozen to death. When we leave here, where there are still a few trees and bushes, each of us should carry a faggot of wood, as large as he can bear.' Note here he is also polite but in a confident manner. ‘If I may’ is added to acknowledge that he is not the leader of the company, but he is not shy with offering his advice and assuming it useful.

When he’s in more familiar and less strict circumstances, and actually sometimes even when he isn’t, Boromir has what I would call a... hint of sarcasm in his tone at all times. He’s always got a little sardonic wit with him, `Let those call it the wind who will; there are fell voices on the air; and these stones are aimed at us.' See? It’s not... OVERT but it’s definitely a little long suffering/etc. Boromir... talks like an old man I guess is my point. 'What do you say to fire?' asked Boromir suddenly. 'The choice seems near now between fire and death, Gandalf. Doubtless we shall be hidden from all unfriendly eyes when the snow has covered us, but that will not help us.' ESPECIALLY when he’s talking to Gandalf, there’s just a bit of dark humour and ‘cheek’. `I do not know which to hope,' said Boromir grimly: `that Gandalf will find what he seeks, or that coming to the cliff we shall find the gates lost for ever. All choices seem ill, and to be caught between wolves and the wall the likeliest chance. Lead on!' jhadsjd BITCHY... but very funny and he’s right. And here also, ‘wolves and the wall’, he tends towards almost... poetic isn’t quite the word but he likes sayings and flowing dialogue.

Continuing on from that point, Boromir is also generally... not WARM but he’s got a way of speaking that is comfortable and confident in comradery. Especially with Gimli, actually, he often makes these lighter sighed statements that have a lick of humour to them. Again, it’s never particularly overt, more of a constant underlying note in his wording, even in the latter parts of the fellowship. `Ah, it is as I said,' growled Gimli. 'It was no ordinary storm. It is the ill will of Caradhras. He does not love Elves and Dwarves, and that drift was laid to cut off our escape.' 'But happily your Caradhras has forgotten that you have Men with you,' said Boromir, who came up at that moment. `And doughty Men too, if I may say it; though lesser men with spades might have served you better.’ This is one of my favourite lines of his it’s just like... confident, not over proud, you can hear him grinning and the leetle wry tone he’s speaking in. Even here! In like the very last days of his life, he still has this quality!

We might labour far upstream and yet miss it in the fog. I fear we must leave the River now, and make for the portage-way as best we can from here.' `That would not be easy, even if we were all Men,' said Boromir. `Yet such as we are we will try it,' said Aragorn. 'Aye, we will,' said Gimli. `The legs of Men will lag on a rough road, while a Dwarf goes on, be the burden twice his own weight, Master Boromir! ' (later) 'Well, here we are, and here we must pass another night,' said Boromir. `We need sleep, and even if Aragorn had a mind to pass the Gates of Argonath by night, we are all too tired-except, no doubt, our sturdy dwarf.' Gimli made no reply: he was nodding as he sat.

AND ANOTHER THING. Whilst Boromir CAN be an orator and give long speeches, he tends towards economy of speech. This is especially noticeable, again, between him and Gandalf. Gandalf will go on for three paragraphs about something, patronising him, explaining a lot of unnecessary stuff to sound clever. And then Boromir will just answer with; `We do not know what he expects,' said Boromir. `He may watch all roads, likely and unlikely. In that case to enter Moria would be to walk into a trap, hardly better than knocking at the gates of the Dark Tower itself. The name of Moria is black.' And that’s it! AND HE’S FFUCKIN RIGHT GGSHAHGS

So you’re usually going to be trying to narrow down his speech to it’s bare essentials in order to get the point across and nothing more. Stream lined, impersonal, confident and clear are the hallmarks of Boromir’s speech patterns. NO. SHOUTING. Unless to be heard or in a brief flash of shock, immediately restrained afterwards. Actually if Boromir has any kind of outburst, he tends to walk away from whatever situation caused it rather than allow anything to escalate. Boromir’s verbal tone is almost always neutral, wry or reassuring/comfortable. From experience, I can tell you this is... GRUELLING to write. You want so desperately for him to say what he’s thinking and feeling, what’s important to him, but he’s utterly incapable unless briefly possessed by evil. Not even when he’s literally dying will this change, though that might be because it was Aragorn at his deathside. Which brings me onto my final point.

We actually have no idea how Boromir might interact with people he actually likes and is friends with, let alone his family. I’m inclined to believe that warm comradery element just becomes more overt but little else changes. But you’re entirely at liberty to decide for yourself. Certainly though it is different from how he behaves throughout the fellowship. We never really meet Boromir... is a thought I can hardly bare so we’re STOPPING now.

#boromir #chats #erran vs tolkien #lotr #tolkien #rescue-ram #asks

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gh0stiiiii · 2 years

Text

Adeptal Surprise

Pairing: Xiao + Zhongli (nonship/parent-child)

Genre: Comfort

Synopsis: Xiao is a closeted crossdresser. Zhongli comforts their fears and anxiety.

Additional: Zhongli is a really important kin to me, and I use they/them pronouns for them because of that :)

Words: 878

Being such a reserved and unfriendly human being made it quite easy for someone like Xiao to keep secrets. Of course, his demeanor made it obvious that there was much to unpack.. but no one had to know exactly how much unpacking there was to do. Afterall, the chances of getting close to the small adeptus weren’t feasible, anyway. That’s why he got away with all of this so well.

Coming home from the Wangshu Inn and heading straight to his bedroom without another word to anyone wasn’t out of character for him, so no one should have expected a thing. He didn’t bother locking his bedroom door, as no one else ever entered the dark room anyways. He flicked the light on with ease as he entered the room, and simply stood in the center of the room for a few moments. He was standing in front of a full-body mirror that captured every inch of his frame. Strong but gentle fingers gently traced his limbs as he examined himself in the reflective glass. His frame was small, indeed.. but that didn’t mean he was weak or fragile by any means. He still had the muscles to spare.

After examining himself like an art project for what seemed like ages, he finally broke away from his curious reflection, and walked over to his drawers. He opened a drawer and dug underneath his shirts, before pulling out a different item. He turned on his heel and sealed the drawer by pushing it back into place with his shoulder blade. In his hands was a velvety black skirt. Once the drawer was closed, Xiao quickly got to work, peeling his layers of clothes off and gingerly setting them on the bed. He left a white t-shirt on, and then pulled the skirt onto his hips. He turned to his mirror, and his once cold glance turned into a vaguely happy one. It’s not that he had felt uncomfortable in his more masculine garments before, it was simply that he preferred the freeing feminine feeling he felt now.

However, it took Xiao a couple of moments to catch the amber eyes that stared at him through the mirror. Once he did, he instantly spun around with panicked eyes and met the amber gaze that peeked at him from his now cracked-open door.

“D-Dad-? I- I-“ The small adeptus began to utter.

Zhongli put up a hand to silence Xiao.

“I just wanted your laundry basket.” They stated simply.

Xiao stood frozen for a moment, before glancing over his shoulder at the decently full basket of dirty clothes in the corner of his room. He muttered a small “oh..” under his breath, before retrieving it, and setting it in front of the Geo Archon. Wordlessly, Zhongli nodded and picked up the basket. They turned around to leave, but were stopped by Xiao.

“Can we talk about it?” He asked, almost timidly.

“I hardly see a need to discuss anything, but we can, if that is what you want.” Zhongli responded simply.

And with that, they re-entered the room, set the basket down, and closed the door.

Xiao let out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding. “I- I’m sorry.. I know.. I’m a boy a-and I’m an adeptus-! I’m supposed to be f-fearsome and scary and I’m supposed to p-protect Liyue a-and-“

“Xiao.”

“A-And I know I should have told you! And that I- I’m a horrible son a-and-“

“Xiao-“

“And you probably regret ever taking me in! A-and I understand and I’ll leave right now if you want me t-“

“Xiao-!” Zhongli exclaimed, in order to silence the child.

Xiao’s jaw hung open in slight shock from the forcefulness of his caregiver’s tone, but he did manage to catch himself and shut his mouth as he looked up at Zhongli in silent worry.

Zhongli sighed and composed themself.

“This is nothing for me to be mad over. It is an article of clothing.” They started softly. “And I would be a terrible parent if I abandoned you because of this. I do wish you had told me.. But I also sympathize with your reasoning for remaining secretive. Now.. I do have some questions for you aswell..” they explained, and then stated.

Xiao let out a soft whimper, but it was mainly in relief. “What questions…?” He asked quietly.

“Should I still refer to you as he/him?” Zhongli questioned. “Or would you prefer something else?”

Xiao subconsciously began tangling and untangling his fingers against eachother. “He/they..” he answered quietly.

Zhongli nodded in understanding. “And what do you want for dinner?” They asked.

Xiao was stunned, once again. Did Zhongli seriously not care…? A smile crept its way onto his face as they looked up as his parent. “Almond tofu..” they responded softly.

Zhongli let out an exasperated sigh. “Heavens.. Your eating habits are so monotonous..” they muttered, as they once again picked up the basket of laundry and went to exit the room. However, they once again turned back and poked their head in through the door.

“Oh.. and, Xiao?” They asked.

Xiao looked up at Zhongli. “Yes..?” He responded.

“I love you.” And with that, the amber-eyed archon disappeared, leaving their child with a wide smile and rosy cheeks.

#genshin impact #adeptus xiao #zhongli #drabble #genshin fanfic #xiao headcanons #zhongli fluff #genshin #zhongli comfort #xiao comfort #genshin fluff

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