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spop-romanticizes-abuse · 2 months

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Last Night

A Glimmadora Fanfiction

It was midnight. Glimmer was not sure how she knew that it was, considering how most of Etheria's lights had been snuffed out for a while now. But she knew it was midnight. And she couldn't sleep.

From where she lay, Glimmer could see the faint glow of the Failsafe on Adora's chest. A mark of approaching end. Based on how still Adora was, Glimmer reckoned she was probably awake too. She whispered to Adora, careful not to wake the others.

“Adora?”

There was a pause. Then Adora's voice reached her. “Yes?”

In that one syllable, Glimmer could pick apart at least three emotions. Uncertainty, fear, sorrow. Adora was already mourning herself. Her inevitable death.

Glimmer quietly got up from her sleeping bag and walked across to Adora's, sitting next to her.

“Why are you still awake?”

Glimmer could now see Adora's face in the Failsafe's glow. Adora always looked somewhat tired, Glimmer had noticed it a long time ago. She acted peppy and energetic, she always tried to cheer up and inspire her friends. But there was always that look of fatigue and some faraway sorrow that you could catch when she wasn't completely aware of herself.

And now, what with dealing with Catra and the threat of world destruction looming over them, Adora looked more exhausted than ever. She shrugged in reply to Glimmer's question.

“I don't know. I just couldn't sleep.” Adora glanced at Glimmer and sat up quickly. “Are you okay?”

Oh, Adora. Even when it was her life that was on the line, she still always cared so much about everyone else. Too much, maybe.

“I'm fine, don't worry,” Glimmer reassured her quickly. “What about you? How are you feeling?”

Adora sighed. “Does it matter?”

Glimmer took Adora's hand in hers. “It does. It matters to me. And Bow. And everyone out there who loves you and wants you to return safely.”

“I just—” Adora gave a slight ironic chuckle that was somehow even more chilling than her previous depressed tone. “I don't want to get your hopes up. Whatever happens happens for a good reason. Etheria will be safe again.”

Everything was silent for a while, except for the soft chirp of the cicadas. Glimmer tried not to think about the implications of that sentence. She squeezed Adora's hand as she willed herself not to break down into tears.

It took her some restraint and a deep breath to get her next words out, even though her voice was giving up on her.

“Does it always have to be you, Adora?”

She saw a shift in Adora's expression in the Failsafe's glow. “Doesn't it? Isn't that what She-ra is for?”

“Maybe.. but what is Adora for?” Glimmer met Adora's steady gaze. “What do you want, Adora?”

“I—” Adora's voice faltered as she failed to come up with an answer. She looked away. “It doesn't matter. I have to do this.”

A sudden thought struck Glimmer as she grabbed Adora's other hand and looked at the girl earnestly.

“I'm a lot more powerful than I used to be. I- I'm in total control of my powers now. Maybe I can handle the Failsafe, I could take it to the Heart of Etheria instead!”

“No!”

Adora covered her mouth, surprised at her own ferocity. Lowering her voice, she continued. “No. You're not the one who needs to do it. You have a kingdom to rule. You have people who care about you.”

“So do you, Adora,” Glimmer's voice caught in her throat, tears pricking the corners of her eyes.

Adora smiled sadly and touched Glimmer's forehead with her own, tears trickling down her cheeks. “Don't worry about me, okay?”

Glimmer didn't reply. She pulled Adora into a tight embrace instead.

Glimmer doesn't know how long they stayed that way or when they finally dropped off to sleep in each other's arms, comforted by the thought of spending their last few hours together.

#it's been a while since i've written something so i'm a bit rusty forgive me #but this was something i've been meaning to write #spop #she ra #spop fanfic #spop fanfiction #she ra fanfic #she ra fanfiction #glimmer x adora #glimmadora #spop glimmadora #glimmadora fanfic #adora #spop adora #glimmer #spop glimmer #fanfiction

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suashii · 6 months

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꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ 𝐵𝒜𝐵𝒴 𝐼𝒯'𝒮 𝒞𝒪𝐿𝒟 𝒪𝒰𝒯𝒮𝐼𝒟𝐸

info ⭑ nagi seishiro x reader ﾉ 0.9k wc ﾉ sfw ﾉ fluff

note ⭑ something short and sweet for the boy! it's been a while since i've written so forgive me if i'm rusty :3

“jeez, sei, walk any closer and people might start thinking you’re my shadow,” you mumble into your scarf, tipping your chin up so your next words will be more audible. you’re walking home with nagi now but instead of the man taking steps beside you, he’s closely tracing your footsteps, arms wrapped around you and his hands stuffed in your pockets with yours.

he’s stuck to you like super glue—like you’re his personal space heater.

“can’t help it,” he speaks up from behind you. if he’s able to get any closer, he does with his words. “it’s starting to get cold.”

besides being a notorious homebody, your boyfriend hates the cold. he hates how it makes his fingertips numb and his skin flush bright red and he especially hates how it makes his nose runny. even now, when the temperatures have yet to hit their coldest, he has a coat zipped up over his hoodie and a crochet bunny beanie sitting atop his head. snowy tufts of hair stick out from the hat but he’s sure to have the tops of his ears tucked away.

“poor baby,” you coo, fumbling for his hand in your pocket. you give it a squeeze before bringing up a suggestion that might help chase the chill away. “want some hot chocolate when we get home?”

you can practically feel him perk up behind you at the offer. nagi may hate the cold, but he loves getting warmed up—especially if it’s with you. he settles his chin on the top of your head and hums a confirmation, the vibration giving you all the answer you need.

he can’t see it, but you smile as you give his hand another loving squeeze. “anything for you, my snow prince.”

nagi groans at the unwanted nickname but it does little–nothing, really–to deter him from hanging off of you the rest of the way home.

it’s not long before the two of you are back at your apartment, settling into the warmth of the unit. while nagi readies the living room for your cozy night in, you stand at the counter with two mugs in front of you and a pot of milk heating up on the stove. the lyrics of the song that’s been stuck in your head these days drift through the air as you make your way about the kitchen to grab whipped cream from the fridge and marshmallows from the pantry.

when you’re back at your workstation and preparing to assemble your warm drinks, you call out for nagi. he’s particularly picky when it comes to the ratio of toppings and you’ve learned it’s best to simply have him supervise. you expect to hear his heavy footsteps alerting you of his arrival but are instead met with his icy hands snaking up beneath your hoodie.

you flinch and then squeal at the sensation, turning around in his hold to scold him. “sei! your hands are freezing!”

any attempt to push him away is futile. despite his lazy exterior characterized by oversized clothes and his floppy-eared hat, nagi is stronger than he looks. his grasp isn’t painful but it’s firm, like he has no intention of letting you go.

he pulls you closer and buries his head into your neck. his voice is muffled when he says, “i know,” he draws out the vowel, “but you aren’t. just help me get warm.”

“i’m trying to do that but it’s a bit hard when your ice packs for hands are up my shirt.” you turn your head to leave a kiss behind his ear as an incentive for him to let you get back to your task. it works, nagi loosening his hold on you in favor of standing at your side. there’s a pout on his lips but he silently watches and waits for you to continue making the drinks.

without the cute distraction, you’re able to pour the milk into each of the mugs and combine the liquid and powder to make the rich, chocolatey base. you add a pretty swirl of whipped cream to your cup before turning to nagi and spraying some of the sweet foam into his mouth. his cheeks puff out and you giggle at the sight before returning your attention to the mugs and beginning to add the whipped topping to nagi’s. through a mouthful, he tells you when to stop.

fluffy marshmallows come next. you sprinkle the minis on between each cup, glancing at nagi to see when you’ve reached his desired amount. he licks the lingering cream off of his lips while he nods in a silent gesture for you to continue. you’re sure you’re going to run out of space to pile them on when he finally says you’ve added enough. like usually, you dig into the bag for a few more of the bouncy treats to feed to your boyfriend.

he happily chews away while you return the ingredients to their place in the kitchen. you join him at the counter as he’s swallowing and like a magnet, he pulls you into him. you don’t fight it this time, choosing to melt into his hold instead.

nagi dips his head down, whispering a quiet, “thank you,” against your lips before capturing them in a kiss. he tastes like dessert, his mouth sweet from the whipped cream and marshmallows, lips soft from the chapstick he’s consistent about putting on in the colder months. and, unlike the rest of him, they’re warm.

you pull away with a smile, jerking your head in the direction of the mugs. “shall we go get warm under the blanket?”

he nods. “sounds good.”

hey there, it's manon :3 ! thank you for giving this a read! if you enjoyed, please consider reblogging and/or leaving a comment! much love from me to you ❤︎

#₊˚ପ⊹ signed: blue lock #nagi seishiro x reader #nagi x reader #bllk x reader #blue lock x reader #nagi x you #bllk x you #blue lock x you #nagi drabble #bllk drabbles #blue lock drabbles #nagi fluff #bllk fluff #blue lock fluff #bllk scenarios #bllk imagines #blue lock scenarios #blue lock imagines

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historiaxvanserra · 10 months

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please pleASE PLEASE FINISH THOSE NIGHT TIME HC. IM BEGGING BABY PLEASE

Midnights | Nighttime Headcanon's

I totally forgot I added this to my masterlist and never finished it! It's been a while since i've written any hc's so forgive me if i'm a little rusty.

Rhysand

Rhys is usually busy with his High Lord duties throughout most of the day so you don't see each other during busier days.

So nighttime becomes somewhat sacred as it is the only time you have his undivided attention.

Rhys is a bit of a night owl, and sometimes even when he's dead tired he'll procrastinate sleep just to spend more time together.

Night times are spent sharing stories about your days, lounging in bed with your Mate, doing your joint nighttime face routines (Rhy's is very extensive)

Eventually you'll settle into bed and drift to sleep in your Mates arms.

Azriel

Azriel hardly sleeps, and when he does it's not until the early hours of the morning.

Sometimes you have to bribe him to step away from his work and just come to bed.

When he does give in he is often dead tired and therefore very affectionate.

Not that he isn't regularly but sleepy Az is a different type of affectionate.

His guilty pleasure is taking a hot bath with you and using lots of soaps and oils to help him relax.

He practically melts into the water as he releases all the tension he's been holding.

You'll wash his hair and his wings and when you're done he'll take you to bed where he'll climb into the warm sheets basically curl around you like a cat often muttering praises and thanks into your skin as he gives in to sleep.

Cassian

Cassian works hard everyday and often his work is much more physical than anyone else in the inner circle.

He trains himself every single day on top of training everyone else, often he spends the majority of his day in the ring practising new techniques and strategies.

This often leaves him physically and emotionally exhausted at the end of the day.

His favourite part of his day is when the sun goes down and he can come home to you.

Usually he'll find you in the kitchen preparing a meal for you both.

Some primal part of him secretly loves the thought of you taking care of him like this, but he also loves that you're a strong and independent and could definitely put him on his ass in the training ring.

He'll often just watch you as you prepare the meal or sometimes he'll help out even though he's a terrible cook and definitely more of a hindrance than anything else.

Other days he'll immediately go and take a shower to wash off the days dirt and change into something more comfortable.

By the time you sit down to a meal with him the moon is usually high in the sky.

You'll enjoy a glass of wine as you watch Cassian clear away the dishes before he'll take you to bed.

Often you'll end up laying in bed talking until one of you falls asleep.

And after a particualrly hard day sometimes he won't say anything at all, just curl into you as you run your fingers through his hair until he starts to melt into your touch and gives in to sleep.

Eris

Eris is always busy he has so many duties and responsibilities to fulfil that he hardly finds the time for it all

That usually leaves him pretty tense though he can't let that show in front of his father.

Only when he is in the safety of his apartments can he let the mask slip a little and be the real Eris.

That usually involves coming back to his rooms at night and enjoying an hour or two of comfortable silence with you.

This usually consists of the two of your wrapped up together by the fire, maybe reading, maybe just enjoying each others presence and other times it involves the two of your surrounded by a pile of sleepy hounds.

Either way Eris is happiest in these moments, unburdened by his title or the weight of his responsibilities.

It's these simple, quiet moments he lives for.

His nights usually end with you un-braiding his hair and brushing it through before retiring to bed where Eris reads long into the night, one hand wrapped around you as you sleep peacefully.

Lucien

Lucien is more of a morning person, so he usually keeps a pretty consistent nighttime routine and never really stays up too late.

Lucien likes to finish his work for the day pretty early if he can.

He likes to take some time out in nature as dusk begins to settle, he might walk, or ride, or just sit, that all depends on the day really and he enjoys to do this alone though he will often invite you along.

He enjoys the sense of freedom it brings and the calm of being in the open air.

Lucien gets home and immediately melts into his favourite chair by the fire where he might read but often he prefers to sit and drink and talk with you, and sometimes his two closest friends, Jurian and Vassa.

Often this leads to loud recounting of epic tales and lots of laughter that drifts through the house.

When everyone else retires for the night Lucien will take you back to your room, draw a bath, which you usually end up joining him before retiring to bed.

He's usually dead tired by this point so it doesn't take long before he's sleeping, snoring lightly and drifting into dreams.

#acotar #acotar fanfiction #acotar x reader #eris vanserra #azriel x reader #azriel x you #eris x reader #eris x you #cassian x reader #lucien vandaddy #lucien x reader #lucien vanserra #lucien headcanons #eris headcanons #cassain headcanons #azriel headcanons

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bill-skarsgalactic · 8 months

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A/N: So, it's been a while since I've written anything, but I've had this concept rattling around in my brain for a few years and figured there's no time like the present to jump back into writing and posting regularly. If you've been tagged in this it's because a couple of you expressed interest in a previous post of mine - you're not obligated to read it (obviously) but if you do, your feedback would be appreciated. As I said before, it's been a while since I've written anything, so keep in mind I'm a little rusty. Apologies if the first part is a bit bland, I'm mainly just setting up the world and the characters.

P.S: If you interacted with my last post but weren't tagged, its simply because Tumblr wouldn't let me tag you :(

Description: Searching for a fresh start in the small beach town of Hemlock Cove, a young nurse takes a job caring for the recently paralyzed and exceptionally bitter Roman Godfrey.

(This takes place after the events of Hemlock Grove season 3, except Roman did not die and was instead paralyzed after his altercation with Peter. I'm not going to touch on much of the Hemlock Grove storyline and will instead be focusing on making this a standalone story)

Pairing: Roman Godfrey x OFC

Warnings: None for this part, but will update as the story progresses.

P A R T I

Hemlock Cove was meant to be a fresh start, a new life in a quaint sea-side town seemed like the perfect remedy to an aching head and a bitter heart.

I naively hoped the saline sea air would cleanse my hidden wounds, disinfect them until the scars healed pink and became nothing more than memories wrapped in scar tissue.

However, as I stood at the edge of the beach watching the black waves roll violently beneath the murky clouds, pregnant with the promise of rain, nothing about the briny ocean breeze felt healing. The air felt thick, weighed down and tasted acrid on my tongue as I inhaled deeply. I swallowed against the offending taste and cleared my throat, willing away the nausea that had accompanied it, before turning my back on the mercurial sea.

Weeks prior when I had conjured up images of what I imagined my new home to look like, I'd expected something vastly different to the gloomy wasteland that greeted me now. A quick Google search had described Hemlock Cove as a small, sea-side town, its cobbled main road dotted with colorful ice cream shops, humble beachwear boutiques and charming vintage stores, however, as I quietly surveyed my surroundings, it was not quite the fairytale beach town I had been promised. As it stood, Hemlock Cove was merely a carcass of what it must have once been, a ghost town filtered in gray-scale with an underlying tone of despair on its breath. If the vibrant ice cream shops and vintage stores filled to the brim with the nick-knacks of yesteryear had ever existed, they were replaced now with drab, sun-faded replicas of their former selves, their contents barely visible behind foggy, glass storefronts. Looking at it now, it was a wonder how the town managed to stay afloat.

A low rumble of distant thunder suddenly pulled me from my thoughts, and I cast a wary look over my shoulder at the looming, gray clouds on the horizon.

Time to go. A storm was approaching and I had no intention of being caught in it.

With my mood as damp as the impending weather, I adjusted the strap of my duffel bag on my shoulder and began the trek up the cobbled street towards number eighty-one Foxglove Lane.

As I trudged up the hill towards my destination, the town of Hemlock Cove appeared to be seeking my forgiveness. As though ashamed of its first impression, the formerly dreary facade of the town below began to slowly give way to lush greenery and between the beach cottages and holiday homes, tufts of brightly colored wildflowers sprung up, their stems waving gently in the breeze. The distant crash of the ocean was muffled now, obscured by evergreens and the ocean itself was now only visible in gaps between the branches and leaves that lined the road. Further up the hill, the more modest cottages became few and far between, suddenly replaced by more modern, stately homes that looked like they'd be better suited to the upper suburb of neighboring Hemlock Grove, here they just looked out of place.

Stopping to stare at one particular monstrosity, my brow creased as I took in the frankly odd design choices. While most of the houses in Hemlock Cove opted for more classic earth-tones and rustic stone walls, this one was painted a deep shade of charcoal. Everything about it was a grotesque display of modern hubris, all harsh lines and sharp angles, not even the kiss of natural, black walnut finishes were enough to save the home from looking alien amongst its counterparts. I couldn't help but roll my eyes, chuckling at the thought of the field day a psychologist might have with the eyesore before me, but my chuckle was cut short as my eyes landed on the metallic, black numbers fixed to the wall beside the front door: eighty-one. Eighty-one Foxglove Lane to be exact, my new home for the foreseeable future.

When I'd first scoped out nursing jobs in Hemlock Cove, the owner of eighty-one Foxglove Lane was the only one that came up, and while details of his condition were vague at best, the job listing described the client as a 27-year-old male, who had been paralyzed six months prior. The position itself required someone with nursing experience, who could stay on the property and see to the client's needs, as well as handle day-to-day chores - a relatively simple task considering food and accommodation came tacked onto a relatively decent salary. However, other than what had been detailed in the job listing, I knew little to nothing about my client... other than his inclination to have his home scream of its own spectacular opulence.

As if only to impress on me the wealth of my new employer, a large, black Mercedes Benz minivan say at the end of the stone driveway, which I skirted around gingerly, careful not to mar the pristine paint job as I made my way towards the path leading to the front door.

Swallowing a new set of nerves that had made their home in my throat, I gripped the strap of my duffel with one hand and rapped succinctly on the door with my other hand, hoping my knock would sound more confident than I felt.

Silence followed for what felt like an eternity, there was no jingle of keys in the lock of shuffling from beyond the threshold, just the crash of waves beyond the tree line and the occasional chirp of a sandpiper. Just as I was considering knocking again, a voice from inside stopped me before I could even raise my hand.

"Come around the side. Sliding door's unlocked."

The voice was that of a young man, I assumed my client, but it was neither friendly nor welcoming, in fact "irritated" was the first word that sprung to mind, and the misanthropic timbre of his voice turned my stomach to knots in its wake.

Unsure of the appropriate response, I settled for a shaky "Uh, th-thank you!", as my eyes wandered up the side of the house, my irises mapping a mental path to where I assumed the sliding door might be. After only a short amount of bush-whacking my calculations turned out to be correct, as I emerged from the foliage and found myself at the foot of a small set of steps leading to a wooden deck that overlooked the beach.

The view from the deck was magnificent and the house stood no further than 50 feet from the beach itself. Standing on that deck overlooking the vast expanse of ocean, the water churning beneath the ever darkening sky, it was hard not to feel like Poseidon himself at the helm of his war ship.

I could have stood on that deck for hours watching the waves crash and churn, but I was hesitant to annoy my client any more than he already seemed to be, so I turned and made my way over to the sliding door, easing it open gently as I reached it.

The curtains were drawn across four of the six glass doors, leaving only a small gap for me to enter through, and as I did, I stepped through into what appeared to be an open-plan living room.

Although I could not fathom why anyone would be inclined to rob themselves of the spectacular view just beyond the glass doors, I couldn't deny the living room was cozy. A small banker's lamp in the corner of the room enveloped the stony, suede couches and raw wood furnishings in a warm, orange glow, giving the room a homely feel. Most modern homes felt cold and unlived-in, but not this one. After a five-hour-long bus journey and an uphill climb, my aching body longed to curl up amongst the scatter cushions and thick, woolen throws that adorned the couch, and fall into a sleep as deep as the murky waters of Hemlock Cove.

A soft, electrical whirring suddenly disturbed the silence of the living room, and I looked up just in time to see a figure appear in the doorway to my right.

Despite the half-light cast from the lamp in the living room, the man in the doorway was somewhat visible to me. In fact, the shadows cast by the small banker's lamp only aided in highlighting his perfectly straight nose and high cheekbones. His thick, brown hair had been pushed back from his brow in a way that looked effortless, as though he'd haphazardly run his hands through it, only for it to settle perfectly. I'd have dared to call him handsome were it not for the look of absolute disdain on his face as he regarded me.

I shuffled uncomfortably before speaking.

"Uh- hi, I'm Faryn Freeman, we-"

"I know who you are," he cut in harshly.

His wheelchair whirred to life again and he backed out of the doorway, leaving me alone in the living room once more.

I guess he wanted me to follow him, so I did just that. Weaving between the couch and the coffee table, I cut across the lounge and towards the room he had disappeared into.

When I stepped inside, I realized we were in what appeared to be his study, and my client was now sitting behind a large, ornate desk, pouring over a pile of official looking papers, a thick silver pen clutched between his slender fingers.

I lingered awkwardly in the threshold, the strap of my duffel bag growing teeth and biting into my shoulder, as I waited for him to acknowledge me. When he finally did, he didn't bother to look up, his long dark lashes fluttered only slightly as he jerked his pen towards a manila folder perched on the corner of his desk.

"Everything you need to know is in the file, your room is upstairs to the left," he remarked clinically, as he scribbled something indiscernable in the margins of the document in front of him.

I charged forward to retrieve the folder, stumbling slightly as my foot caught the upturned corner of the Persian rug. I cursed myself internally, embarrassed by my behavior. I was no longer the shrinking violet I had been growing up, and even in college, I was a professional, a nurse, over-qualified for the job I'd just undertaken, with years of experience working with men who thought they new more than I did, so why in God's name was I allowing this man and his bad attitude to throw me like this?

The feminist in me begged to put him in his place, but more than that I wanted to be done with this awkward interaction and retreat to my quarters where I could unpack and decompress. A lot had happened in a short space of time and I needed a moment to process it all, so if my new boss had no intention of getting acquainted, then I was more than happy to take the high road and seize a few moments of alone time.

"Well, thanks for this," I smiled politely, pressing the manila folder to my chest, "I'll make sure to familiarize myself with all of this," I assured him, giving the folder an emphatic tap with my index finger.

Again, he didn't look up, it was as if I hadn't spoken, and for a moment, I wondered if he had even heard me. Pursing my lips, I began to slowly back out of the room.

"Okay... well, I'll just head upstairs then," I explained, a little louder this time in case he was hard of hearing, "If you need anything-"

"I'll call," he interrupted, punctuating his statement with a dismissive wave of his hand.

Resisting the urge to bolt from the room, away from my new housemate and the dour energy that hung over him like a storm cloud, I turned fully and exited the study at a leisurely pace until I was out of his line of sight.

The stairs were directly to the right of the study and I took them two at a time, my duffel swinging precariously behind me until I reached the landing.

Unlike the lower level of the house the second floor was lighter, the walls were painted a soft, dove gray and the floor was covered in plush, cream carpeting. Despite the gloomy weather brewing outside, a large skylight above my head illuminated the landing giving it an airy feel that wasn't present downstairs.

I drew what felt like the first real breath of air I'd taken in hours and my lungs filled with the scent of wood polish and carpet shampoo.

At the top of the landing to my right was a dark, wooden door and directly across from where I stood was a small, guest bathroom and from there the hallway snaked to the left. Surely my bedroom was down there.

As I walked, I noticed there were no photos on the walls, no family portraits to liven up the stark landing, only grim, moody artwork. A large floor-to-ceiling oil painting of a snake arched in an almost perfect sphere, its mouth agape as though readying itself to consume its own tail, sat opposite the only other door on the landing: my bedroom.

I shivered involuntarily, my lip curled in distaste and turned away from the offending art piece, opening the door to my bedroom.

Upon stepping inside, I was pleased to see that my client's peculiar art choices did not extend to his guest bedroom. The walls were blank aside from a large mirror, and the room itself consisted of a vanity, a double bed and a sage green armchair in the corner of the room. Ultimately, the room seemed as though it had never been touched.

Grateful to be rid of my luggage, I unceremoniously dumped my duffel at the foot of the bed and flopped down atop the covers, the manila folder still clutched to my chest. Now that I had a few moments to myself, I figured it was about time I found out a little more about my client.

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#bill skarsgård fanfiction #bill skarsgard fanfiction #bill skarsgård #roman godfrey fanfiction #roman godfrey fanfic #hemlock grove fanfiction #hemlock grove fanfic #roman godfrey

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