#might paint over it sometime but rn it stays
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05.12.23, tuesday
not fully sure whether I like this or not. Originally was just gonna do some semi-abstract chandeliers but being the way I am, I had to add some face things bc paintings without some creepy factor are boring to me
#might paint over it sometime but rn it stays#I have a (bad?) habit of painting over my paintings once I’m bored with them#one of these rare pics I’m not filtering to death (bc paintings dont rly love that)#bookblr#studyblr#booklr#aesthetic#books#study#reading#read#book#artblr#painting#december 2023#2023#alcohol tw#tw alcohol
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Hihi! Can you plz do a Leo Valdez x reader one shot where Leo meets reader and their sister on a mission and Leo tries getting with their sister but reader is head over heels over Leo at first sight but keeps away for their sister and Leo’s happiness and it’s kinda like an angst to fluff? Like a “always the second choice” type of oneshot plzzz???? 🙏🙏
🍒┊ ༑ ࿐ྂ。I WAIT FOR YOUR LOVE . .
leo valdez x fem!reader angst to fluff oneshot <3
📬 sunni’s notes : THANK YEW FOR REQUESTING ARTIST!! hearts and kisses!! (i absolutely adore this req,, i haven’t written anything angst yet so this is super exciting) sorry it took a while, again, my writer’s block is CRRAAAZY. AND I HAVE A BANDAID ON MY THUMB SO ITS 10x TO TYPE IT MAKES ME WANNA GO FERAL. this is for the leo girlies who want to be wanted, who yearn to be held, who feel like nobody will truly love them. (did i just call myself out? yes. yes i did.) lowkey in the clinic rn for feeling dizzy af 😵💫😵💫 happy reading bebis! >3<
the sun shined over (name)’s [hair color] hair. she soaked in the warmth, closing her eyes as she bathed in it, her mouth slightly hanging open and slowly curving into a smile as she heard her older sister’s voice calling her name.
“(name)! (name)! (name)!”
she turned her head to gaze over her rushing sister, her white sundress flowing behind her. “someone’s here!! someone new!” she exclaimed, picking her sister up by the hands. “new? eli, there hasn’t been anyone new in like years.”
eli was (name)’s older sister. she was both much prettier, smarter, soft-spoken, and all above, definitely more of a first choice to any guy out there.
not like they’ve met alot of guys. they lived somewhere rural in the woods, since, ever since they had found out they we’re demigods, they didn’t want to be out in society, and near monsters.
yet, they also didn’t know about camp half blood. nobody truly told them. living in the woods wasn’t that bad, it was peaceful, and there were lots of fresh fruit around.
yet, it could get lonely sometimes. the only time they had seen anyone new ever, were these three other demigods. an older boy with a scar over his eye, and two younger girls. saying that they were on a mission to find a camp for demigods.
the sisters didn’t want to believe it. when they were offered to come along, they decided to stay back. afraid of what might come out of it.
and here they are!
“are you sure it was a person, eli?” she narrowed her eyes at the brown haired who dragged her, “oh my hades— yes (name)! why won’t you believe me?!” eli turned back to (name) with a cold stare.
(name) scoffed, her wrist still enveloped by her sister’s fingers. “because the last time you said that, it was a sloth wearing underwear.” eli giggled at the memory, “i mean, we got a good laugh out of it.”
her younger sister nodded, “fair.”
the two marched back to their tiny little cottage, and near them was a burnt out campfire and three other tents. “see! what animal would have tents?” eli shot, waving her hands around the campsite.
“HANDS WHERE I CAN SEE ‘EM!”
the sisters turned back, raising their hands out of impulse, their faces painting both shock and frightened. there were three other teens, one with blonde hair and glasses. the other was a girl with brown choppy hair and native earrings. the last one had caught (name)’s eye more than any of the others.
he was curly-haired and dark-skinned. he had mechanical goggles over his head, and bandages all over his body and face.
and it seemed that eli thought the same.
who the hell were these three?
“oh. nevermind.” the girl in the middle let her hand fall on her side, the dagger still in hand. “didn’t know princesses still lived in the forest.” the blonde to her left looked genuinely confused.
“oh they’re princesses alright.” the curly-haired to her right remarked, sending a wink to both (name) and eli.
(name) and eli confusingly put their arms down, sending each other a puzzled look before turning back to them. “do you guys own these.. tents?” eli asked.
the blonde nodded, “don’t worry. we don’t mean trouble.” he raised his hands in defense, he had dropped his sword to the side after realizing their potential enemies both wore sundresses to their ankles.
“i’m jason, this is piper. leo.” he had introduced themselves.
leo. she could feel as if the name slipped out of her tongue so effortlessly. “i’m (name), this is my sister eli.” she tried to introduce her sister, but she was far too busy staring at leo. leo curved his lips into a smile after seeing the heart eyes eli had for him.
“oh god.” (name) mumbled to herself. piper sent her a laugh, “tell me about it.”
the sisters had let them stay in the spare rooms of the cottage for as long as they wanted, and later finding out they were demigods just as they were.
and after about a day or so, eli and leo had hitted it off like crazy. it made (name)’s stomach churn. how could she let this happen? how could she let her first crush slip away like this? she had her eye on him first. not eli.
but again, she wanted them to have all the happiness. she couldn't take that away from them.
—
a month passes.
eli and leo are still together, and the sisters decided to finally give this camp half blood a try. still unclaimed, it didn't matter to them because they we're just having fun meeting other demigods and finally having a place.
and yet, (name) was still in love with her sister's boyfriend. she was over the moon. but she continued to deny it, trying to bury her feelings with empty promises and unfulfilling hope. she loved his curly hair, but it was irrelevant. she liked how he stuck his tongue out when he concentrated, also irrelevant.
she'll always be the second choice.
and that was okay.
one of the days, leo stopped by the hermes' cabin for eli to apologize for their recent arguement, almost ending in a break up. but the girl was gone doing errands of her own, so it was just (name) in their corner of the cabin engrossed in a book.
"oh, it's just you (name)." leo walked inside with his grease-covered hands in his pockets. (name) and leo though they weren't dating, they happened to grow to be best friends over time. "hi leo. eli's not here." she sang, her eyes glued to the pages.
leo laughed, "come on! can't i just come by to see you?" he hopped on the edge of the bed. (name) shot him a puzzled expression, "um.. sure." she nodded hesitantly. leo gave the same expression, shoving her knees away that covered her face, "hey! the hell do you want valdez?!"
she didn't know where her tone came from. neither did leo, who was bug-eyed by the irritated reply. (name) rolled her eyes, trailing them back to the book. leo scoffed, "geez sorry ms. sassy. don't know where all the fucking attitude came from." he mirrored her eye roll.
"maybe if you didn't act like such a goddamn dumbass all the time." she said in a whisper, but she hoped that he heard. leo grew red, his eyes becoming even wider. "dude what the hell's wrong with you?!" leo shot, standing back up on his feet, his hands out of his pockets and now curled up in fists.
her eyes shot open, "the hell's wrong with me?!" she tossed her book away, standing up to reach his level. their angered faces we're inches apart, they could feel each others' hot breaths on their faces from panting irritation.
"i never noticed how pretty your eyes were."
(name) felt her heart sink to her stomach. she stepped a few blocks back, and as if all the feelings she had for him drifted away, "go to hell valdez." leo kept his narrowed eyed look at her. "what?! now i can't compliment you?!" (name) groaned, burying her face in her hands. leo anxiously ran his fingers through his hair anxiously.
campers from the hermes' cabin had stared at them for a good five seconds before running out of the heated cabin.
"it's not that! it's the fact that you do stupid stuff like this, and be so blind!" she exclaimed, finally moving towards him with her hands hugging her arms. leo scrunched his brows, "what do you mean blind?"
(name) stayed silent, looking away; finally realizing what words slipped out of her mouth. the brunette scrunched his brows further, "(name), what do you mean blind?!" leo was angry. irritated. he could feel the fire in his hands build up.
"fuck! i love you leo!"
silence.
the silence had passed them like wind. leo's expressions softens, finally letting go of the tension from his brows. (name) ran her hands through her hair, they had locked eyes. "you what?" leo breathed. "i.. no, sorry, i don't know what i'm saying." she breathed back.
what am i doing? what about eli? crap, no no-
"i didn't know." leo had his hands fully relaxed, the fists gone. (name) lifted her head to look back at him. god the brown eyes she fell in love with. "why would you?" she sighed, mostly out of exhaustion.
"eli's probably in the fields, picking-"
"i don't care (name)."
she was eye-shot once again. leo took her by the shoulders, "(name), if i knew, gods, (name), if only i knew." his lips curved into a smile. "but eli-"
leo rolled his eyes, "please. eli doesn't love me. pretty sure she's walking around looking for her next boyfriend. the whole relationship was bullshit." that was true. eli wasn't one to stick around long, (name) had noticed how different she was acting ever since coming to camp half-blood.
"yeah, i.. i guess-" she laughed, finally feeling relief in her shoulders. she was cut off with leo pressing their lips together, and it was as if (name) was lifting from the ground. her arms embracing his neck as his hands trailed down her waist.
pulling away, a soft dreamy sigh escaping leo's lips as he melted in (name) eyes. "you could've let me finish." (name) smiled, sarcastically remarking. "eh, i waited this long."
she smiled.
#— sunni adores leo (ꈍᴗꈍ)♡#yall know that scene of gilbert of anne w an e? YAYA AND WE HE FOUND OUT ABOUT ANNES LETTER? YUP. YUP.#leo valdez x reader#leo valdez#leo valdez pjo#pjo#pjo hoo toa#pjoverse#heroes of olympus x reader#heroes of olympus#hoo boys x reader
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camp spiderpine
characters: miguel o’hara, miles morales, hobie brown, gwen stacy
notes: this is a camp au! i love writing these so much. for my AOT followers i promise i will be posting some more stuff soon and hopefully i will get some AOT reqs. as of rn i have one that i am excited to write but i think it might take me a bit as i really wanna take my time with it. sorry i didn’t include pav in this, just wasn’t feeling too inspired with him. might add him later lol. not proofread!
warnings: none!
Being a counselor with Miguel is both fun and exhausting. Your campers have a great bond, which is always lovely to see, but they are so energetic that it is tiring. It’s always fun to do it with Miguel though! He is always super helpful, especially with things like putting on sunscreen. His hands are gentle when he rubs it in, though they seem… hesitant? When he pulls away, his face looks strangely pink, but he says it’s just because of the sun. Strange. Sometimes, Miguel will guard at the lake while some of the kids swim. It’s hard not to check him out. Yet, lately you’ve been a bit… tempted by him. His lips look more enticing than ever, his voice is sweeter to listen to, and he seems more eager to be near you. It doesn’t surprise you when you two share a kiss late one night, outside the cabin on the porch. For each other’s sake, and to avoid the nosy questions from campers, you and Miguel agree to keep it secret. You think some of the campers are noticing with the amused smirks that they give you, and the way Lyla, another counselor, giggles when she sees how close you sit together. It’s all extremely exhilarating and lively, but the summer’s ending soon, and Miguel has to go back home…. which is hours away. Will you two stay in touch?
Miguel’s favorite camper is Miles, but he always denies it. He supervises many different activities for each camp season, but the ones he does the most often are diving, paddle boarding, and baseball. He always forgets to put on bug spray, so every night you see new bug bites all over his body. Sometimes, he accidentally spends too much time in the shower. Gets yelled at for it. Loses his only towel on the first day of camp.
Miles is a nervous camper. It’s his first time at Camp Spiderpine, so it takes him a while to adjust. For his activities, he chooses kayaking, basketball, arts & crafts, and mountain biking. His bunk is right above yours. It’s nice to be bunk mates since Miles is super respectful of your space and your luggage. He shares candy with you, tells you questionable stories from his school, and lets you do messy face painting on him. You’re a bit bummed out after you finish your face painting session on him. Not because you don’t like what you painted, but because you wanted to stay being close to him. His warmth is comforting, and so are the brown hues of his eyes. The next day, when Gwen asks you if you have a camp crush, she laughs when you say Miles. She tells you she’s been waiting for you to realize since the beginning of camp. On the night before the last day, Miles finally gains the courage to kiss you, and it is glorious. It’s messy, extremely nerve-wracking, and not perfect at all, but it’s amazing. Miles promises to stay in touch with you to see where the relationship goes. You’re his first girlfriend, and he wants to make it work.
Miles loses his flashlight early into the camp session, so he trips all the way to the bathrooms in the night. During his first time kayaking, he somehow flipped into the lake, and it took him 5 minutes with your and the instructor’s help to get back in. He laughs it off but is super embarrassed. Has so much trouble getting up so early in the morning that one time he just walked around all day in PJs. Kills all the bugs for everyone who is scared of them.
Hobie’s a veteran camper, and he’s been going since he was 6. He knows where pretty much every cabin and building is at camp. He always ends up helping new people get around. For his activities, he chooses BB-Guns, guitar, paddle boarding, and hiking. The two of you meet when your counselor, Miguel, partners you up with Hobie for the first day of camp. He is required to help you find your way around, and answer any questions you may have. Soon, you learn that you get along great, and become great friends. The two of you partner up together for paddleboarding, but he always falls off. He also gets bit by the fish a lot when the two of you are in the water. Your face feels warm when he helps you get back on when you fall off. His touch is so much more… captivating now? You find yourself wanting more. Now, when he guides you around camp, his hand is rested on the small of your back and his other one lingers near your waist. It’s very alluring. At night, you wonder if maybe it could be more? Are you imagining things? Or is this real?
Hobie plans on becoming a counselor himself when he’s older. Miguel rolls his eyes when he hears about it. All of the campers know him. He’s super popular!Always comes in clutch during ultimate frisbee. His team almost always wins just because of him. Knows all of the camp songs and cheers, but his face is deadpanned when it’s time to sing them.
All the counselors know Gwen as “the quiet one”, but that’s just how she acts around them. Around her friends, Gwen is always laughing and doing weird things like “rating people’s feet”. For her activities, Gwen chooses arts & crafts, creative writing, volleyball, and snorkeling. She is the first to help you find a bed in the cabin you’re both assigned to. The two of you decide to do arts & crafts together, where you make bracelets for your water bottles and tie-dye shirts. One day, during a camp game, you’d taken a horrible fall. You tore a muscle in your leg and could barely walk around. Gwen immediately volunteered to help you to the nurse with your counselor, Miguel. Even though you were in agony, the way Gwen’s supportive words were whispered to you made you feel hot. Suddenly, you began to see her in a different way, especially when she still helped you around camp. Her caring hold was so… comfortable, and wholehearted, and swiftly your heart began to beat faster when she was around. Camp’s ending soon, and you desperately want to tell Gwen how you feel… will you?
She smells like sunscreen and sunshine. Has so many stickers on her water bottle, and half of them are peeling. Dyed her hair pink at camp so her dad wouldn’t know. Miguel was too tired to do anything about it. Her hair takes hours to dry, so her clothes are always sopping wet after she gets out of the lake.
#atsv fluff#atsv x reader#itsv fluff#itsv x reader#miguel o’hara fluff#miguel o’hara x reader#miles morales fluff#miles morales x reader#across the spiderverse x reader#into the spiderverse x reader#gwen stacy x reader#gwen stacy fluff#hobie brown x reader#hobie brown fluff
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ash dump ideas u never completed or just had on me
idk what fandom. and idc
feel high but also dead rn so j need some brain juice.... please, dickmaster ash the smash.....
oh boy i can do you one worse better. here’s an unfinished first chapter of a cassidy blake fusion au idea i had for magisterium. (u don’t need to know what cassidy blake is to understand but it’s by v.e. schwab)
Call had always been able to see ghosts. Somewhat. He could feel ghosts than he could see on a regular basis, it required a little work to actually see the ghosts. There were some rules. The Veil rule, for instance. How ghosts could only be seen in the Veil. With one exception of course.
Some people think ghosts only come out on Halloween, or during the night. That was not true, not by a long shot. Just because people couldn’t see them doesn’t mean they weren’t there. They could be anywhere, in some poor old lady’s garden, the bread aisle of the supermarket, the front seat of a bus, anywhere.
Call could feel when a ghost is near. It was something reminiscent of the pitter patter of rain on a window, or maybe someone lightly tapping him on the shoulder. In other more severe cases, sometimes it was like a pulsing headache or someone digging their nails into his brain.
It happened at random. And this certainly wasn’t the first time he felt it, and it wouldn’t be the last, either. Call was sitting in his desk during Algebra when it began, the tap tap tap. Like always, he tried to ignore it. Key word was tried. It chiseled away at his focus, and there was only one way Call knew that would make it go away. If he went and saw for himself.
Which more often than naught, he doesn’t want to go do. He can tell Aaron doesn’t either, because across the room when Call met his eye, met the intense glare he’s giving him from his seat. Very intense, like terminator laser death intense (Calls never seen the Terminator, so he doesn’t know if they actually shoot lasers but he thinks they probably should because that would be cool).
Aaron couldn’t feel the tapping, but he knew his best friend well enough to realize when Call does.
Call shifted in his seat, bouncing his leg absentmindedly. It had gotten stiff and painful from sitting down all day. The teacher just kept droning on.
“When you get the variable X in this scenario isolated then you’ll have to…” Mr. Graves wheezed out as if he’d been smoking for thirty years. Knowing the amount of stress his students cause him, he probably had.
People around the room were getting antsy with their boredom. No one could even stay still. Rafe wqs sleeping with his eyes open, Kai doodles on their shoes, Kylie and Lacy were giggling and passing notes to each other.
It was nothing good, Call assumed, because nothing good comes out of popular kids. That’s what Kylie and Lacy were, popular. He could tell because of their bleach blonde hair and perfectly painted nails and how they all looked like carbon copies of eachother.
They’re usually all had similar personalities too — being general assholes. Kylie has once told Call not to get too close because she thought his bum leg might be contagious. Call fumed for at least 2 weeks after that (and still, 7 years later, he still was).
Maybe he should’ve wanted to be popular, but that was never his style (both literally and figuratively). There were just too many rules, like laugh at jokes but don’t laugh too loud. Smile but not too wide. Wear the right clothes. Play the right sports. Care, but don’t care too much. Etcetera, etcetera.
Call had rules he lived by, like rules with Aaron, but those were different.
Kylie flicked the note in front of her, over to Lacy’s desk, but she missed and it floated to the floor like a leaf in the wind. From his seat, Call can see Aaron strike a rare, impish grin.
“I know just what will get your mind off this ghost tap,” said Aaron. Call looked over at him, cocking an eyebrow with mild surprise.
The thing about Aaron was this: he could be popular. He could be the star quarterback. He could be the teenage heartthrob of the school. But he couldn’t.
Because Aaron was dead. He’s a ghost.
Aaron got out of his seat and sauntered over to Lacy’s desk, she’s retrieved the note and is stifling a giggle as she scribbled a reply.
He read aloud over her shoulder, but Call was the only one who can hear him, “Top ten cutest boys in the school,” Aaron feigned surprise, “not to spoil anything but.. number one is Ryan.”
Call rolled his eyes. He could see as Lacy turned around and placed her response on Kylie’s desk, her arm went straight through Aarons torso. Aaron shivered. Then, he turned his body to face Kylie's desk, gingerly putting his fingers on one of the many multi-colored pens that lined it. He focused all his attention on it, scrunching up his semi-transparent tan face. It doesn't move.
In movies, poltergeists could throw TV's and slide beds across the floor. But in reality, it took a lot of ghost energy to cross the Veil -- which is what Call dubbed the little curtain that separated the living and the dead. And the ghosts who do have that energy are typically super old and not very pleasant. Luckily they've never had to deal with one of those. Call was secretly glad that Aarons wasn’t made of all that stuff.
Aaron caught Call staring at his pen escapade and sheepishly smiles, as if he knew he's probably not supposed to be doing that. Then he gracefully clipped himself through the floor and reappeared next to Call.
He perched himself on Calls desk, effectively hindering what little attention Call was paying.
“I’d say that didn’t get your mind off it, hm?” Aaron cracked a half smile.
Yeah, actually maybe a little, but now all I can think about are Ryan’s chiseled abs, Call thought to himself, careful not to speak aloud. That was one major perk of having a ghost best friend, he never even had to open your mouth to have a conversation, with the mind link and all. He doesn't quite understand why their minds are linked, however.
“Better than thinking about ghosts right?” Aaron said, but as he does Call could feel the tapping getting stronger. Like an itch at the edge of his vision, pulling and begging for him to look that way. Aaron sighed and shot him a sympathetic look as he hopped down from his desk.
It really only made Call think more about ghosts, and not just the one pestering him, somewhere far in the school, but also Aaron. Call doesn’t know how long it’s been since.. the incident. He tried not to think about it too loud, since Aaron typically gets a little upset when Call mentioned it— how he got stuck actually being a ghost.
He couldn’t have been dead for too long, since there’s not anything retro about him with his floppy blonde hair, Nikes, and Marvel T-shirt. And also because he’s only showed up as of lately, and lately being the last 2 years. It was when Call was 12, and his dad had gotten some weird antique with some weird ghost boy seemingly attached to it.
“I prefer the term corporally challenged.” Aaron rolled his eyes at Call.
Quit reading my thoughts you freak, Call shot back at him, can’t I get any privacy?
“It’s not my fault you’re a loud thinker,” he retorted. “Also for the record, I wasn’t attached to the antique! I was following the pull back to you. Things aren’t haunted like that. You know that’s not how it works.”
Thats not what my dad says, Call hid his laugh with a swift cough into his hand. A few people turn and look at him anyway. He sunk lower into his seat and eyes the clock. The tapping was getting worse.
Calls dad, Alastair, had always been a little obsessed with antiques and the history behind them. Lately, he had been inching towards supernatural territory. Actually no, not just inching, it was a full on sprint into spectral space.
It was like a switch being flipped in his brain, and all Alastair wanted to buy now are creepy old dolls that looked like they would be haunted but weren’t. Call would’ve known if they are. And it wasn’t like Call could ever tell his dad that, because he’d go crazy and try to interrogate him. Alastair had even been talking to some medium that claims he can see ghosts, but Call doubted. He’d met the guy and he couldn’t even see Aaron, so that was enough evidence for a faker for him.
Maybe he’s going through a midlife crisis, Call thinks to Aaron. He just crinkled his nose at Call and shook his head.
”I don’t think Alastair believes the medium can actually see ghosts,” Aaron said slowly. “Maybe he just likes the company. If you’re catching my drift.”
Call tried hard to not let his face twist up and make it look like he was constipated. No? Whats the drift i’m missing here?
”You know,” he sighed, “that they’re not just chatting about ghosts? They’re getting… romantical?” At Call’s blank face, he gave up the ghost (ha) and soldiered on. “Is the tapping still there?” Aaron asked, even though Call was pretty sure he already knew the answer.
Sure is, he replied and rubbed the back of his neck. Like a knock, knock, knocking on the base of his skull. It was telling him that there’s some serious paranormal activity going on. Call sighed. He could certainly do without all this spectral nonsense, he couldn’t wait for Summer. Because in Summer, Call could get full nights rests without hearing the tap of the Veil and rather the sounds of Alastair tinkering with cars in the garage. There's something odd about the Hunts house, because Call found that it’s strangely quieter than the rest of the town, especially in Summer. Six weeks of quiet, six weeks of Summer sun and reading comic books with Aaron, six weeks of almost feeling normal with his best friend. All Call has to do was make it through these final days.
Call raised his hand like the dutiful student he was. Mr. Graves saw him and gave him a stern look, already knowing Calls question wouldnt be about math.
“Yes, Callum?” He exhaled, sick of him even though he hadn’t even spoken yet.
”Can I use the bathroom?” Call shuffled in his seat and rolled his shoulders, trying to shake off the feeling, but the tapping was persistent. Out of the corner of his eyes, he could see Aaron sigh and frown. It didn’t take a genius to understand where Call planned to go with this.
”Can’t it wait?” Mr. Graves sighed wearily, “I’m in the middle of very detailed instructions. You’ll miss them.”
Call scowled, ”You know I’ll miss them anyway, even if I was in the room, now c’mon I really gotta go!”
Mr. Graves looked considering, eyeing Call like he was some disease-ridden freak. Then he sighed again and pinched the bridge of his nose with his pointed and his thumb.
"Fine. But make it quick, do not dawdle," he waved him off and turned back to the board.
Call was already out of his seat and snatching the hall pall before Mr. Graves could even think about finishing his sentence. He shuffled out of that stuffy classroom as fast as his leg would allow. In the hallway, Aarons slightly transparent head popped out of a wall, and he didn't look too pleased. Call hardly spared him a glance as he limped down the staircase, his footsteps audible in the nearly silent hallway
"Can we just be normal for once?" Aaron asked, sounding a bit sad. He’d floated down the steps instead of walking, which Call was jealous of. If he was undead, he’d sure love to go without the constant pain in his left leg.
"You're a ghost. And I can see you. That's not normal, so I doubt normal is something we could even achieve." Call hissed at him, the tapping was pulling him somewhere weird.
Call back tracked. It pulled him like a rope attached to his gut right down into a completely seperate hallway.
A locker door swung open and hit Aaron in the face. Call instinctively flinches, but he passed through it like it was nothing. He appeared to be sulky.
"Well you could at least try and be normal," he muttered.
"Whats that supposed to mean?" Call stopped dead in his tracks and glared in the other boys direction. Aaron held his hands up in surrender. He looked apologetic enough for making Call mad, which irked him a little because Aaron was just too nice.
The thing was, they both knew that Call wasn’t a normal boy and Aarons not a normal ghost. There was an accident, snow and ice, cars screeching, and slipping into darkness. And then Call was whole again, flash forward 13 years, and a ghost soon-to-be best friend showed up in Calls house. (a/n: fix/ ??? dunno if i want this to be canon)
Call turned away, skulking off and letting the tapping pull him away. He doesn't even have to think about where he had to go. He ducked into the library, the librarian was somewhere in the backroom, therefore, she couldn't and wouldn't bother Call. Call slunk in between the rows of books. By now, the tapping was more a thudding. This was probably, no, definitely where he needed to be. Aaron appeared in front of him, bottom lip jutted out in a pout.
“I mean this: have you ever tried to ignore the tapping? Just wait it out?” Aaron crossed his arms, “I know, I know..”
“Do you though?” Call exclaimed, but quickly lowered his voice when he realized where he was, “We’ll be quick, in and out.”
Aaron frowned, “But…”
“In and out.” He repeated.
After contemplating silence, the tension in Aarons body eased and he sighed, “fine. Rule number 9 of friendship, friends don’t leave friends in the Veil.”
“Bingo.” Call shot him quick finger guns.
Behind him, Call reached for light airy fabric. It’s wasn’t actual physical fabric, but it was the only tangible way to describe crossing over into the Veil. He pulled it away and let himself fall. Then it was all black and Call felt sharp cold air pierce his lungs, his fingers turning icy, and his whole body becoming overwhelmingly cold.
And then it was again, Calls was back to his normal self. Except, he wasn’t. Not in the veil. He was slightly more translucent than before, and there’s a glowing blue, almost grey, light inside his chest. Beside him is Aaron, looking more solid than not— however he lacked the glowing light inside, telling Call he is indeed still a—
“Ghost?” Aaron sighed, “You’re thinking a lot today? What’s up?”
“Now is not the time for our therapy sessions,” Call snapped back.
(the ghost is jennifer? idk? canon book was that ghost died in a fire but maybe the bookshelves crushed her / someone pushed the shelves?)
(call goes home. uhhh. oh yeah the medium is constantine this is another alastine au. alastair is like surprise we’re going on vacation to salem and call is Fuck)
the only other notes i had for this was
Salem, Massachusetts
(3 locations minimum:
Burying Point Cemetary,
The Witch House,
Protectors Ledge,
House of the seven Gables,
Rockafellas(I HAVE AN ACTUAL FUNNY IDEA),
The Salem Inn,
Wicked Good Books(Tam), Gallows Hill)
- Ghost boy!Aaron
- Ghost Hunter!Call
- Ghost Hunter!Tamara
- Regular boy!Jasper deWinter that gets dragged along w/ Tamara
- Big bad!Maugris, steals Souls in hopes to get a body because he’s a fucking idiot and doesn’t know that’s Not How It Works LMAOOOO
- one sided calron :( but call doesn’t end up with any one in the end
- this is future ash i don’t remember how aaron died but i think he got murdered? idk it was really really weird. in cassidy blake, jacob (the ghost best friend) drowned to death trying to get smthing for his sibling but. eh. aaron has no siblings)
- deadass remember nothing abt this au. btw don’t remember what the funny idea was for rockafellas im so sad i remember losing it at SOMETHINg
Anyway
YO reblog this shit if you want me to share more of my unfinished ideas / chapters
#also some of this is present tense and some is in past tense. yeah idk what’s going on either#this is from a while ago#like#A WHILE. ago#magisterium#the magisterium#callum hunt#aaron stewart
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oops
lol yet again i missed doing my friday update schedule. in my defense, a lot's been going on. before I say anything else I should also say-- DMs on Tumblr currently do not work for me, the message thing shows me the preview but if I click on it, I absolutely cannot open the window, it will hang for literal days. I have the square blank in the corner of this tab as I am composing and no longer remember what I was trying to get it to open. So if you send me an IM on Tumblr I will only be able to read whatever of it is in the preview! So don't be offended if I never respond, because I can't write back because the window literally never opens. I got one to open yesterday but it was about 45 minutes and a lot of window reloading. I think it's safe to say that feature's just gotta be dead to me. RIP.
Anyway what's been up! my BFF from high school came thru Thursday night with her kids to stay in my cabin and i was a bit frantic getting the place ready, as it's not exactly listed on AirBnB. (She was like "oh wow this is a lot bigger and nicer than i thought" girl you were going to cram your children and yourself into a tiny half-finished shack with me? what??? jeez) and at the last minute Dude was like "oh i'm coming too" which, fortunately, I had put myself into a full-size bed on the pull-out couch so there was room for him to be there too but if this were any smaller a tiny house that would not have been possible. see, this is why i didn't actually build a tiny tiny house, it wouldn't have worked.
Anyway they left friday and i spent the day making sausage as fast as i could, and then in the afternoon dude helped me package it and then! i had! two full days! off! (ok i'm in the second of those days rn) so
saturday being My Birthday I made a snap decision that we were going to go see some art, so we drove over to the Clark Institute in Williamsburg MA (like a long half-hour away, it's not far) and saw some of my good buddies in the permanent collection.
(Mom used to take us kids there when we were little, and there are a lot of Renoirs and John Singer Sargent and some Frederic Rembrandt and Winslow Homer and whatnot, many of which I have seen so often as to consider old friends. (This Bougereau, Mom had a poster of on her bedroom wall, and I have always loved it. Apparently, my grandpa upon seeing it-- not the letters grandpa, the other one-- exclaimed of the one whose back faces the viewer "Oh Betty, it's you!" Betty being my grandma.)
I discovered quite by accident, while fucking around on my phone, that there was a Pokestop out in the courtyard, and the Pokestop was titled something about Jenny Holtzer, and i was like wait what and sure enough. There's a set of four white granite benches out there with Jenny Holtzer engravings on them.
This one is fucking brutal, as her shit tends to be:
[image description: a white granite bench engraved with the following text, somewhat darkened by pooled rainwater: "BY YOUR REPONSE TO DANGER IT IS EASY TO TELL HOW YOU HAVE LIVED AND WHAT HAS BEEN DONE TO YOU
YOU SHOW WHETHER YOU WANT TO STAY ALIVE, WHETHER YOU THINK YOU DESERVE TO, AND WHETHER YOU BELIEVE IT'S ANY GOOD TO ACT."]
There was also a temporary exhibition of paintings and woodcuts/lithographs/prints by Norwegian artist Edvard Munch, yes including a lithograph of That Painting. Fairly stunning! Running thru October, I recommend it if you're in the area!
ok idk what else has been happening. i am so tired. i might play some pokey mans today but i also might just. not. really. do much of anything. which is boring and dumb and won't make me feel better next week when i have to go back and do more work and have achieved none of my personal goals. but sometimes brain no worky, and that's that.
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Okay so I love love LOVE the way you draw the monkey d family it FUELS MY SOUL. I’m new to this app and I have lived my whole life thinking nobody drew them due to there being a lack of it but HERE WE ARE!! I absolutely love the luffys mom design and need to know everything about her. May we have a fun fact abt her? (If not that’s cool too)
thank you sm!!! ABSOLUTELY. i love her too. was waiting for someone to ask. this might be a little long.
she acts JUST like luffy. same mannerisms and everything. not as “empty headed” or frivolous but you get the idea. confronting, loud, blunt, selfish to the point where she’s extraordinarily selfless, etc..
samoan-austronesian ofc !!
she’s an international big-time con artist who steals(pirates) from local corrupt, rich leaders of different islands through her sea voyaging. she rarely uses the money for herself, but for the purpose of gifting it to the poor people who really need it. it’s a robin hood allegory. she’s very bright and quick-witted. and beats people up if they deserve it most importantly
traveled usually with friends from her home village and sometimes new people met venturing. unironically, very good wayfinder. she can navigate extremely well even without the help of her best friend, who was their ship’s navigator. she did this for 10+ years. the government wishes she would explode.
garp is more or less angry about this but mostly because her bounty would only continue to rise. meaning it’s dangerous. at that point, he’s like “oi sole !! fine! whatever she can handle herself i guess. it’s not like i can stop her !” it’s so funny to me, he can’t control his kid, his grandkids to come, or his son in law who just so happens to be the most wanted criminal in the world 😭 no one listens to him. i’m sure he feels crazy. most of his aiga are considered criminals.
may or may not be a devil fruit user. probably not tbh.
i figured since oda keeps insisting that luffy looks just like garp when he’s young and when he’s older, i thought yeah exactly ! luffy’s the spitting image of his mum too.
her and dragon met on her island when they were young. i’d say around the age 14-16. when they married many years later, dragon took her last name for reasons iykyk
before they married though, her and dragon went voyaging as well. they did many revolutionary missions/undertakings together. even before dragon named the endeavor a “revolutionary army.” this was the beginning.
dragon developed feelings for her and of course, it took her a long while to realize this.
luffy’s mom knows dadan. she’s an old friend of hers. wink wink. this is why garp is familiar with dadan and trusted luffy (and ace)with her.
i’d like to think(i DO think) they gave luffy over to dadan for safety reasons if we’re being honest. this is why luffy probably never saw his biological mom.
i like to paint luffy with a bit of pink in his eyes, a feature his mom and his grandpa garp, and previous maternal family members inherit. notice how gear 5 has pink-reddish eyes too !
after luffy was born she doesn’t scheme as much. things happened. with her bounty it’s not safe to stay in one place, but she does get to relax in her home village on every good occasion. she kinda has to play hopscotch between islands so they won’t be targeted.
*
these are just a couple of ideas i had about her. a little might change later but this is how i feel about her (possible) character. AUGHHH i really wish to expand more on this and draw more of her. i do have unfinished drawings of her in my cloud though. im super busy with college rn. i will post more art of the monkey d aiga (family) when i have the time to !!! i’m SO happy you like how i interpret them 💗💗💗
#luffys mom#monkey d dragon#monkey d luffy#monkey d garp#one piece#headcanons#i personally think she’d be cool asf#didn’t really consider herself a pirate until everyone else did cause she doesn’t like labels#high bounty so i guess that equates to pirate#she just does what she does#ask
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I can’t stop thinking abt soft, sweet, wonderful jeonghan in an established relationship and all the little tiny infinite displays of love and domesticity skcnkengekfj idk if this is too general of a request bUT I love him :((
love love love all your writings🥰🥰
a day spent with you is worth a thousand forevers
pairing: yoon jeonghan x gn!reader
genre: established relationship, fluff, headcanon
warnings: food mentions
a/n: i know it took me two whole days to answer but i was literally obsessing over this. jeonghan in that ponytail? i needed to emotionally recover. i am so soft for him rn. i definitely went overboard so… enjoy <3
✿ there’s never been a time since you’ve met him that you haven’t felt loved in the purest sense of the word. from the minute you wake up—
✿ if he’s awake before you he’ll try his best to be one of those fictional boyfriends who like to stare at you sleeping, but once he realizes how creepy it actually is he’ll start peppering you with kisses instead to wake you up too, bc why would he want to start his day without you?
✿ it’s usually you who has to convince him to get out of bed; if he had his way he’d be under the covers with you doing absolutely nothing for 24 hours straight (nothing meaning cuddling and watching a tv show while talking over it anyway)
✿ once you finally manage to get him out of bed he’ll walk with you to the kitchen where you’ll ask him if he’ll help you cook and he wraps his arms from behind you instead and presses a kiss on your cheek and says “no way in hell :)” with the sweetest voice
✿ he won’t help you cook, but he’ll definitely stay to tell you how pretty you look while flipping pancakes and to sneak behind you and steal pieces of bacon while you’re not looking and to distract you with kisses until you remind him of the sizzling stove behind him and he relents momentarily only to let you flip whatever needed to be flipped.
✿ sometimes though, when he can bring himself to separate from you, he’ll go down to the cafe to buy your favorite coffee while you cook. a hunter-gatherer relationship he calls it. he hunts for coffee while you gather breakfast. don’t try to explain to him that’s not what it means because he doesn’t care.
✿ after breakfast, he’ll always try to convince you to take a nap. he’ll say that you burned too much energy by cooking and that you’ve spent too much time away from him. sometimes you give in, unable to resist his charms and spend another few hours back in bed with him until hunger once again calls you to rise.
✿ sometimes, however, if the weather is just right and the leaves on the trees are just the perfect shade of red and orange, you might be able to convince him to walk with you through the park. he’ll hold your hand in his and if it starts to get chilly he’ll stuff your intertwined hands into his jacket pocket as an excuse to pull you closer (not that he ever needs one)
✿ just like breakfast, any meal you share together is filled with laughter and sweetness from him. despite his playful teasing, you can feel the warmth of his kindness in every word that slips out of his mouth. no matter if the “honeymoon phase” has passed, he always looks at you as if you personally took the time to paint every sunset.
✿ speaking of sunsets, one of his favorite things to do with you is to sit outside and watch the sun dip down into the horizon. to watch how the day fades into the night, and every time he panics just a little when he feels like the hours sped by too fast. no amount of time is ever enough when it’s spent with you, he thinks. he looks forward to thousands of sunsets shared with you.
✿ evenings are spent for movies, tv shows, and the occasional 1000 piece jigsaw puzzle strewn across the living room floor. time to unwind and relax with his favorite person, especially if he’s spent the day away from you. for jeonghan, these moments are like being able to breathe again after being underwater for just a little too long; a minute to recharge before he has to leave you again tomorrow. these moments are above all, sacred to him.
✿ and when your eyes begin to droop and yawns seem to accent your sentences, jeonghan will pull you off the couch and into his arms as he convinces you that it’s time for bed. much like how you convince him to get OUT of bed in the morning, he bribed you with promises of kisses and cuddles and suddenly the sound of jeonghan begging you to come to bed is a melody.
✿ he’ll run through his routines together with you, washing his face, brushing his teeth, and changing into your pajamas, all while never being separated from you. he’ll hand you one of his large hoodies and his heart will do flips as he watches you tug the sleeves over your hands and the hood over your bed. (he’ll tease you and tell you it looks much better on him, but it’s never true. if he had his way, your wardrobe would consist only of his clothes)
✿ and finally, as he coaxes you to bed and he pulls you against his chest, he’ll tell you just how much he loves you and how he can’t wait to spend every tomorrow for the rest of his life with you.
#jeonghan#yoon jeonghan#seventeen jeonghan#seventeen#seventeen fluff#seventeen imagines#seventeen headcanon#jeonghan x reader#jeonghan x y/n#yoon jeonghan x reader#yoon jeonghan x yn#yoon jeonghan fluff#jeonghan fluff#yoon jeonghan angst#jeonghan angst#svt jeonghan
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The Ransom Love Note pt 1/?
Wrote this because of some back and forth with a moot. It will have several parts since my brain is running at 100mph rn 💀
You had a very strict schedule.
Up by 8, out of the house to work by 9, lunch by 12 but no later than 1:30, home by 5, bed by midnight. Your schedule was strict, but it still left room for fun.
Your schedule didn’t dictate what you were doing between getting home and going to bed after all, which left you with several hours on your hand to do as you pleased. Most of those nights were spent in, painting, reading, watching that new movie you had heard about while shopping after work the other day.
Your schedule kept you safe. It kept you secure. Sane. At peace. You ever so rarely deviated or changed it, though you had faced that in the past when it had occurred. A new job meant a new schedule, a different hobby meant a new schedule. Road work, important people in your life, events and such.
Sometimes deviation was fine.
You weren’t expecting a knock at your door tonight, but you knew you had friends that liked to stay up late and party. You knew you had friends who would get absolutely plastered and show up at your door if they had tea that just needed spilled that instant.
You liked drama, on occasion, and so you wander over to your door and open it without much of a second thought. Mot suspecting anything amiss until you’re looking at your empty porch in confusion.
Furrowing your brow, you frown and glance around quickly in an attempt to find any of your friends, thinking they may have hidden to scare you or that you may have even been ding dong ditched, which leads your eyes to land on the bundle of flowers with a note laying on your welcome mat.
“What?” You practically whisper the question to yourself, stooping to pick the gifts up and inspect them closer. Daises, colorful ones, though they don’t appear to be painted. The note folded so that you couldn’t read it quite yet.
Glancing around again, you freeze when you spot him. Just down the street, two or three houses, behind a tree like it might actually hide him, is a clown.
Watching you, watch him.
To say you panic would be an understatement, but you don’t want him to know how scared you are of him. No. You’re in here alone, but he doesn’t need to know that.
So you smile, awkwardly sure, but you manage. Waving stiffly and only relaxing a slight bit when he seems to perk at the attention and wave back, though his wave is definitely flirtier. Curling fingers and all.
Right. Time to go in.
So you look back down at the flowers before stepping back into your home, closing and locking the door. Locking it twice, just to be absolutely sure, before taking the flowers to your kitchen and putting them in a vase.
Only once you were sure they wouldn’t die so quickly, do you open the note, and it gives you some serious pause.
The damn thing is slapped together like a ransom note… not that the content is threatening anyone in your life in exchange for money. In fact, it’s a rather lovely note… though it probably should have been handwritten if the sender wished not to send you into cardiac arrest upon first sight.
Then again, if the clown you had seen was your secret admirer, perhaps that was his goal. Hm.
A sane, logical person would probably call the police. Toss the flowers away with the note, lock themselves inside for a couple days or even run away to a friend or relatives for extreme safety in numbers.
You normally considered yourself sane and logical… but you found yourself looking at the flowers demurely as you place the note next to them on your kitchen counter for now. Humming as you wander back to your sofa, curious thoughts of your clown admirer rolling through your mind as you considered what this may do to your schedule.
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TIMING: recent
SETTING: emilio's apartment
PARTIES: @mortemoppetere + @rn-zane
WARNINGS: alcohol, suicidal ideation, child death mention
SUMMARY: zane and emilio chat about recent events.
Silence had always felt overwhelming and even the bad days, where the previous inhabitants and guests at the house had been driving him up the wall, were preferable to this. Not that he wanted those people in particular back but at this point, anything was better than the quiet. The size of the house didn’t help, coupled with the fact that Zane could see the offending barn from his window. If not for the creeping doubt that he would currently do more harm than good at the ER, he would have been drowning himself in work.
When it was finally dark, Zane had raced outside with no set purpose, wandering around aimlessly. How could he feel so different when everything around him seemed unchanged. The weight of a stake in his hand was unforgettable, the smell of blood and fear overwhelming, every petrified and monstrous expression flashing through his mind when he blinked. He still needed to talk to Wynne, to their friends, even though an apology felt worthless. Still needed to thank Emilio for showing up.
It was that thought that gave his aimless walking a purpose, with a quick pit stop. Zane knew nothing about alcohol so he’d just pointed at the expanse of bottles behind the counter, accepting what was handed to him. The paper bag felt unnatural in his hand and even worse was walking up the steps to Emilio’s apartment. He’d never been inside, only left behind money for what would later cause a lot of anger towards the slayer. That anger was long gone, not really replaced by anything in particular. All he knew is that Emilio was no stranger to pain.
These bits of backstory Zane had acquired by accident painted a picture of loss, hurt and anger. So even though he was probably the last person the slayer wanted to see, Zane figured at least they might be able to share in those feelings for a while. There was no hesitancy when he knocked on the door, although he did take a step back, just in case Emilio opened the door swinging.
—
His hands were shaking. His hands were still shaking, hadn’t stopped shaking even when he washed the blood off, even when he covered them with dust instead, even when Wynne was home safe and sound with a couple more stitches than they’d had before and a little more trauma to add to the pile. Everyone was fine now, everything was fine, and his goddamn hands were still shaking. He didn’t know how to make them stop.
He’d fallen into old habits since the barn, defaulted back to the familiar pattern of hunt, drink, sit, hunt, drink, sit that always left him feeling worse than he had before. He didn’t know how to step out of it, didn’t know how to ask for help, didn’t even know if he needed help. Was this the sort of thing someone could help with? Was there some mystery cure that would erase the tacky feeling of phantom blood on his hands, some magic word that would stop his mind from replaying every moment of what happened and changing the details. Sometimes, he didn’t get there in time. Sometimes, he saw Flora instead of Wynne, or himself in Zane’s place, or both. His mind was an unstable, unreliable thing. He’d never been able to make it grieve in a way that made sense, in a way that was convenient or timely.
Right now, he was in the sit portion of his routine. Straight up on the couch, staring blankly at the wall. Perro’s head was in his lap, nose occasionally bumping against his hand as he begged for attention that Emilio wasn’t sure how to give him. It wasn’t until there was a shifting outside the door that either of them moved. Perro pounced off the couch, trotting over to the door and sitting in front of it just a moment before the knock sounded. And Emilio stayed still. He stared at the wall, at the couch, at his trembling hands. Whoever was out there, he thought, it wasn’t someone he wanted to see. There was no one he wanted to see.
Perro scratched at the door, trotting back over to sit expectantly at the hunter’s feet before walking back to the door again, as if he was asking him to follow. Emilio didn’t know how long it took him to sigh, to give in, to pull himself off his ass. Longer than it should have, he suspected. It usually did when he was like this, even if he had no real words to explain what like this meant. He limped over to the door, closing his eyes for a moment as if to steel himself before opening them and tugging the door towards him.
Whoever he’d expected to find on the other side of it, it wasn’t this. Zane, looking about as wrecked as Emilio felt, bottle in hand. For a moment, the slayer only stared. And then, “If you’re going to yell at me for killing something, can we do it another day?”
—
In the time it took the door to open, Zane came close to bolting. This was a stupid idea, brought on by overwhelming feelings and why share those feelings with someone who, for all intents and purposes, still kind of wanted him dead? And then, a scratch at the door. Sure enough, the smell of some kind of animal reached his nose, a pleasant surprise. He hadn’t pegged Emilio for someone who could be bothered to have a pet. Unless this was some sort of vicious guard dog. Yeah, that definitely fit his mental image of the slayer better.
Thoughts about pets distracted him long enough to prevent an escape before the door swung open and the realization of just how stupid of an idea this had been came crashing down. Emilio looked like shit, big words coming from Zane with unkept stubble growing and wearing what basically amounted to pajamas. Emilio finally spoke and at least the words were somewhat in character. Asking whether or not something was a possibility instead of demanding it, though - that proved that Zane had been right to presume that his awful emotions would find a home here.
“No yelling,” he replied simply, voice gravelly from lack of use. Then he thrust the bottle at Emilio before letting himself in, sidestepping the curious dog that looked much smaller and less intimidating than the vampire had imagined. Without hesitancy, Zane moved for the couch and took a seat, unable to suppress a quirk of his lips at the sight of the dog. “Hey, buddy,” he murmured, as if he hadn’t just walked into a slayer’s apartment without explanation and plopped onto his couch.
—
Rather than launch into some annoying lecture about how everyone deserved a second chance or whatever shit he was spewing this week, Zane handed Emilio a bottle. The weight of it surprised him, somehow; his hands dropped slightly as the bottle was placed into them, and for a moment, he stood perplexed. He looked down a the label, brow furrowed. A familiar brand, a little more expensive than Emilio’s usual bottom shelf purchase but not anything considered expensive by any means. Still, it was far more than he’d expect from Zane, largely because he expected very little from Zane at all.
By the time he gathered his thoughts and looked up, Zane was already on his couch. Perro, ever the curious little dog, had trotted over to follow the vampire and was now seated in the floor in front of the couch, looking up at Zane with his head tilted slightly to the left. Emilio wondered, sometimes, if all members of certain species smelled the same. If Perro smelled another werewolf and mistook them for Alan, if Andy and Rhett smelled like Emilio. But Perro didn’t seem to mind Zane despite his past experiences with vampires, so maybe that was an answer of its own. The dog didn’t judge one vampire for the sins of another. Maybe Emilio should take notes.
“Why are you here?” Emilio’s voice was hoarse, and he shut the door before dragging himself over to stand in front of the couch. His leg ached, but sitting next to Zane on the sofa felt strange; maybe some paranoid part of his mind refused to allow him to put himself in the vulnerable position of sitting in the presence of someone he wasn’t sure he trusted, even though Zane had given him no reason at all for the distrust. What happened in that barn, Emilio knew, wasn’t Zane’s fault. Zane was the one who’d told him what was going on, who’d given him a chance to stop it. In a lot of ways, Zane had saved Arden, Zack, Wynne, and the other humans in that cage more than Emilio or Metzli had. “Wouldn’t exactly call us friends. Sure you’ve got better people to go to.”
—
Once the fact that he had actually just walked into Emilio’s apartment stopped overwhelming him, Zane managed to really take it in. He hadn’t expected a royal suite considering everything else about the slayer but this… well, he was definitely grateful for his ability to not have to breathe right about now. The only thing that didn’t currently look like shit in the apartment was the curious dog staring up at him, although the animal was missing one leg. Tentatively, Zane reached out a hand to offer the dog, soft smile growing when the animal didn’t recoil. At least someone wasn’t afraid of him.
Emilio’s question wasn’t entirely unexpected but that didn’t mean the vampire had an actual answer to it. Why was he here? Why not seemed to be the general consensus he had reached on the way here. Finally looking up when the slayer had moved to loom over him, Zane shrugged. “Not really. Most of the people I had are…” His words trailed off and he cleared his throat before nodding at the bottle still dangling uselessly in Emilio’s hand. “Are you going to open that?”
Sure, it probably wasn’t fair to drag Emilio further into this mess by showing up here, probably confusing the slayer on all accounts. But dragging down whoever else Zane knew in this town felt more unfair, rather than just joining Emilio at the bottom for a moment. Just to see what it felt like. Just escape for a while.
—
Zane didn’t look entirely out of place on his couch, though he didn’t look completely comfortable, either. And Emilio couldn’t help but wonder how they’d gotten to this. How had they gone from that first meeting outside the hospital, with one of Zane’s clanmates blowing away as dust in the wind after meeting Emilio’s stake, to Zane sitting on his couch and holding a hand out to his damn dog? He thought of the way Zane had spoken to him in the emergency room when he’d given him those meds, or the way he’d looked at him in that alley when the vampire’s voice sliced through him more painfully than a blade could ever hope to. Which of those moments had made Zane see fit to call him when Alma’s plan got too big to stop on his own? Had what happened in the barn been enough to make Zane think that this was where they were now? Sitting on each other’s couches, petting each other’s dogs? Emilio couldn’t decide how to feel about it.
And then, Zane spoke. Most of the people I had are… And it was hard, in that moment, not to think of Mexico. Of the bodies in the streets, of the empty feeling they left behind. It was different in Zane’s case, wasn’t it? And not just because vampires left no bodies to bury. Was it easier to lose everyone you had if you realized beforehand that they might not be worth having? Was it simpler if you were the one who took them away from yourself? Emilio thought of Lucio, of his blade in his uncle’s gut and the apology that sat between them, not quite big enough to earn forgiveness from something so unimaginable. He knew the answer. It hurt just the same.
Looking down at the bottle, Emilio grit his teeth for a moment. Then, with a shrug, he pulled it open. “I don’t have any glasses,” he said, taking a swig, “so you’ll have to be okay drinking out of the bottle.” He walked over to the couch, finally allowing himself to sit and thrusting the bottle out towards the vampire. “Drink.” Then, after a moment, he added, “Me too. Most of the people I had are… Yeah. The same.” It wasn’t quite a confession, if only because he gathered that Zane had guessed most of it. That vampire in the alley hadn’t left much to the imagination. Still, it felt heavy. He couldn’t decide if he wanted Zane to pick it up or leave it laying on the floor.
—
He hadn’t really looked at Emilio since sidestepping the man to barge into the apartment. It didn’t matter much - Zane didn’t have to look into the slayer’s eyes to vividly remember that gaze, the one that had ended with the expulsion of brain matter and him wielding the weapon responsible. If it hadn’t been so disturbing, Zane would have been impressed with Emilio’s ability to do this every day for however long the man had been killing vampires. Maybe it was easier if you grew up with it but he couldn’t imagine ever being someone who was okay with it. Even when the person in question had been whatever Alma had been.
The couch dipped beside him and Zane finally spared a glance over, just in time to get the bottle thrust his way. Uncertainly, he accepted it, wondering how this was the scenario in which he first shared a drink with another man. A depressing thought, enough so to not allow the vampire to overthink the first sip. It tasted nothing like the few drinks he’d ever tasted, didn’t really taste like anything. What it did do was burn, scratching at the inside of his throat and making him cough. Gross. He forced down another gulp before passing the bottle over, hesitating when Emilio spoke.
They died screaming. Emilio’s family, whoever they had been. Biological or not, Zane didn’t know but it had hurt all the same. Presumably killed by vampires, the thing Zane’s unlikely companion for the night was supposed to kill, protect against. Did he want to talk about his family or was he just trying to be supportive? The latter sounded very unlikely but there was so much hesitancy in Emilio’s voice, still.
“My parents sent me away when I was fifteen.” His voice was quiet, bottle still dangling from his hand, up for grabs. “I know it’s not the same but… I know being alone, I guess. And not being… good enough.” Emilio had wanted to save his family, that much was clear. At least he had saved Wynne, their friends, and a few other innocent lives. Saved Zane, too. “I never thanked you. For showing up. I know it wasn’t for me but… thanks anyway.”
—
It was strange, sometimes, the thought that other people were… affected when they turned something to dust. Emilio thought of that damn barn, his shoulder flaring with phantom pain at the memory. The look in Zane’s eye when he’d shoved that rod into Alma’s head, when he’d done what needed to be done… Would that guilty expression have been there if she’d been a stranger? Was that sick feeling of unease tied to the fact that it had been a familiar face, or was it the fact that it had happened at all?
Either way, Emilio struggled to understand it. He’d been so young when he’d killed his first vampire, so small when it had turned to dust beneath his hands. It was supposed to be a victory, wasn’t it? You were supposed to feel a sense of pride when it was over, a sense of accomplishment. And Emilio hadn’t felt that in a long time now, but he hadn’t felt much of anything else, either. Not guilt, not shame. Just the wide, echoing chamber of emptiness that had sat within his chest for years now. He wondered which was better — that emptiness, or the clear guilt that Zane felt? Which made you a better man: to kill the monster and mourn it, or to wash the monster’s blood off your hands and never think of it again?
Zane took the bottle and took a swig, coughing as the liquid went down his throat. It struck Emilio then how young he really was. Little more than a kid, and already dead. Unable to stomach the burn of cheap whiskey without choking on it, but able to drink strangers’ blood without the same hesitation. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, trying not to think about Wynne, about how limp they had been in Zane’s arms when Emilio had burst into that basement. They were alive. They were okay. They were fine. But he still felt their blood on his hands, still saw them on that living room floor in that long gone house in Mexico every time he closed his eyes. Would it ever stop, he wondered? Would any of it?
In all honesty, he wasn’t expecting Zane to speak again. Emilio had always been more of a ‘drink in silence’ kind of guy; it shouldn’t have surprised him that Zane wasn’t the same. He glanced over as the vampire started weaving a web that felt all too familiar. A kid, rejected by his family. A man, never good enough to be worth accepting. Emilio thought of his own mother, of days spent locked in a small room with something undead and instructions that the door wouldn’t be opened until one of them was dead. He took the bottle from Zane’s outstretched hand, bringing it to his mouth with a desperation he hated. “I don’t think my mother liked me very much, either,” he admitted, and it was the first time he’d ever said as much aloud. The words ached in his throat like a physical thing, because they shouldn’t have been true. If he’d been better, if he’d been brutal like Rosa or smart like Edgar, if he’d died a martyr like Victor or his father…
(But that wasn’t right, was it? He’d loved Flora. He would have loved Flora, no matter who she turned out to be. If she’d been slow in a fight, if she’d struggled to make the killing blow. If she hadn’t been brutal or smart, if she’d lived. He would have loved her. He loved her now, even though she was gone. Wasn’t that what a parent was supposed to do?)
A cold nose pressed against his palm, bringing him back to the couch, back to Zane’s words. Emilio took another swig from the bottle before offering it to Zane, shrugging. “Don’t have to thank me. They’re my friends. Arden, Zack, and Wynne. I would have done it either way. Even if it wasn’t them, you know? It’s what I’m for.” To fight and to kill and to die. That was all a slayer was supposed to do.
—
From the very start, Zane had known that there was something. Known might have been too strong of a word for it - guessed, or maybe just hoped. He had a tendency to see the best in people, something he’d burned himself with on more than one occasion but he’d been right about Emilio. It didn’t mean he sanctioned the countless lives the slayer had taken or even forgave the harsh words directed his way but he had been right. There was good there. Buried under hurt and loss and who knew what else. It had seemed so unreachable before until now, a sliver of something earnest slipped past Emilio’s mouth.
Curiously, he watched the dog pull its owner back into the living room, back into the conversation. Until the offending bottle was passed back and Zane forced himself not to gag before tipping it back once more. “Then I guess what I’m saying is thank you for not killing me.” His voice was quiet and apparently dejected enough to gain a confused look from the small dog. A part of him had been prepared to die when he messaged Emilio and it would have been worth it to get all those people out of there. It was a strange thing to still be alive, having planned for an untimely death. Although preparing for an untimely death had been the essence of his first fifteen years of life.
The question lingered on his tongue for way too long, requiring one more drink of liquid courage before it finally slipped out. “Who were they? The ones you lost.” The hesitancy was audible, everything about Zane’s posture and tone of voice indicating that he would back down the second Emilio wanted. It really did feel like the man wanted to talk about it, needed to talk about it, and clearly hadn’t. If he was willing, the least Zane could do was listen.
—
Thank you for not killing me. It felt heavier than it ought to, something that shouldn’t have to be said. Did Zane deserve to die for falling for the wrong words, for loving the wrong people? Emilio wasn’t sure. Years ago, he wouldn’t have needed even that much justification, wouldn’t have needed anything more than the dead heart in the vampire’s chest or the way his teeth ended in too-sharp points. But things were different now. He was different now. He still wasn’t sure if it was for better or worse, but he knew he couldn’t go back to who he’d been before even if he tried. And he had tried. More than once now.
“You didn’t want it,” he said quietly, thinking of the look on the vampire’s face when he’d pulled him away from Wynne. Gratitude. Not anger, not even fear. Just gratitude. Zane hadn’t cared, in that moment, if he’d lived or died; he’d only cared that he’d been stopped from doing something terrible. And couldn’t Emilio relate to that? Hadn’t he wished, a thousand times now, that someone could have stopped him from doing the same? “Wouldn’t have killed you for something someone else did. Wouldn’t have been right.” Zane didn’t deserve to die for his sire’s sins any more than Flora had deserved to die for Emilio’s. He couldn’t save one, but he could refuse to kill the other. He could pretend it made a difference.
He fiddled absently with Perro’s collar, rubbing at the fabric as the dog bent his head down to lick at his hand. Zane asked a question, and it was funny, almost, because no one else ever had. He knew people wondered. He’d seen it in Nora’s eyes, felt the question in Andy’s gaze, knew that even Teddy was dying to know. But no one had ever asked him before. And he thought about that alleyway, about the way he knew their names deserved to be said aloud even if it hurt to be the one to say them. He swallowed, staring at the blackness of Perro’s fur, longing for more of the cheap whiskey’s warmth. It’d never be enough. Nothing ever was. No amount of liquid courage could act as a suitable substitute for the real thing.
“I was married,” he said quietly, the ring feeling heavy on his finger. He thought of the matching one hanging around the necklace he’d put on Wynne, the cross a guardian beside it. “Juliana. Met her when I was… Christ. Twenty-eight? She was friends with my brother, you know. They went way back. I met her, and it was… She was it for me. I was gone. Got married a couple years later. She didn’t…” He swallowed, closing his eyes for a moment. He made a blind grab for the bottle, taking a swig so long that he had to gasp for breath when he finally lowered it. “She didn’t tell me she was pregnant until after the wedding. I don’t know why. She knew I would have married her anyway, but I think… I don’t know. She wanted to know why I was marrying her. She was like that. Always like that.” Passionate, fiery, determined. If she’d thought he was marrying her because he thought he had to, she would have been gone before he made it down the aisle. He knew that.
The bottle was mostly empty already, but he still took another long swig before holding it out towards Zane without looking at him. “We called her Flora. That’s who he meant.” His voice was quiet now, a near whisper. “In that alley. She died screaming. He meant Flora.” And he was still thinking about it, those words. He was still thinking about what they meant, about his little girl, terrified. Of the father who hadn’t saved her. “So what happened in that barn, Zane, what you did… Try not to let it get to you. You’re still not the worst person on this couch.”
—-
The slayer’s code of ethics continued to confound him. Upon their first meeting, and every sequential meeting with another slayer afterwards, Zane had started to chalk all slayers up to mindless killing machines. Made with a purpose and hellbent on executing it. Now, even though no other slayer had made an attempt to change their reputation, he wasn’t so sure. Emilio had threatened him - like, a lot - but never acted on it. Even in the midst of what had essentially been a mindless spree of murder back at the barn, he hadn’t suddenly decided that Zane had to go as well. Although Zane wasn’t entirely sold on the logic of not being at fault, to just brand everything that happened as ‘someone else’s mistake’. A part of him had known… hadn’t it?
Those concerns remained quiet. Maybe because he didn’t know how to put them into words or maybe because he wasn’t sure if voicing them was just tempting Emilio to rethink his position.
A heavy veil settled over the apartment when the first words left Emilio’s mouth. Not practiced in the slightest, just raw - a story that hadn’t been spoken in forever, if ever. A phantom heartbeat was racing as Zane sat and listened, stoic and afraid to make a sound lest he snap the slayer out of the remembrance. He watched and listened, tried to imagine Emilio as a husband, as a father. Imagine him happy. It was surprisingly hard, especially considering he barely knew the man but even so, he looked like he’d always been haunted.
The pain was infectious but also the love - Zane could feel just how deeply he’d cherished his family, every good and bad thing about them. To have someone care about you like this… that was the part he couldn’t quite imagine. Accepting what remained in the bottle, Zane polished it off while quiet reigned, if only to keep Emilio from devouring the rest.
Not the worst person. Spoken as if Emilio himself had personally seen to his family’s destruction. What could even be offered as a response to that? Hence the silence, dragging on and broken only when Zane put the empty bottle to the floor. Despite it feeling practically suicidal, he couldn’t resist. Stupid alcohol. A cold hand moved to rest on Emilio’s forearm, squeezing tightly. And then the insane part. It probably only lasted a second or two, cut short by fear of inciting pure rage, but Zane’s other arm wrapped around him. An awkward side hug if there ever was one, especially considering how fast he distanced himself from the slayer afterwards.
“Flora is a wonderful name,” he finally said, voice raspy from the lump in his throat.
—
How long had it been since he’d said their names? Emilio couldn’t remember. And there was something shameful about that, some sickening sense of regret. When he was twelve and his oldest brother had died, he remembered the way his mother forgot. He’d thought it was a terrible thing at the time, the way Victor’s name was only ever spoken as a warning or an example. If you don’t get your shit together, you’ll end up like your brother. If Victor had trained harder, he wouldn’t have died. Victor was weak. Victor did what he was supposed to do. It was a strange contradiction, the way he turned into both a demonstration of what not to do and a martyr to aspire towards. What Emilio remembered most, though, what stuck with him most of all was the way that Victor stopped being a person after his death. No longer a brother, a son, a nephew. He was a story. That was all.
And Emilio couldn’t even make his wife or daughter that.
Instead, he let them turn into ghosts. He let them haunt every waking moment of his life, never speaking their names aloud, never reminiscing on their memories. They weren’t people, they weren’t stories, they weren’t warnings or martyrs. They were nothing. And what kind of a man let that happen? Bad enough that he hadn’t saved them, but how had he failed them so completely that he couldn’t even let them be properly remembered after the fact? Even with Rhett, he rarely spoke of them. He thought he could count on one hand the number of times his daughter’s name had passed through his lips since her death with fingers left to spare.
More shameful, perhaps, was that it never would have happened had any of the details of this situation been different. If he weren’t half drunk and aching, if he couldn’t still hear the chaos of that barn every time it got quiet, if there weren’t still specks of Wynne’s blood under his fingernails, if Zane hadn’t asked. If any one of those truths were taken out of the equation, they’d be a secret still. And they deserved better than that, he knew. They deserved more than he could ever give them, even now.
There was a touch on his arm, and Emilio started. Strangely, he’d almost forgotten Zane was there at all. His mind was never really great, hadn’t been all there since the massacre, but it had been more rattled since the barn. Back and forth between past and present, not quite sitting in one or the other. Zane’s touch on his arm grounded him for a moment and, though he normally would have protested, he didn’t pull his arm away. Even when the vampire pulled him into an awkward side-hug, he remained still. It was… nice, even if it was a little uncomfortable. Almost as if they were friends.
Zane spoke, then, and the lump in his throat felt as if it might suffocate him. Flora is a wonderful name. It had been so long since Emilio said it, longer since he’d heard it on someone else’s lips. He couldn’t breathe for a moment, eyes burning.
For a moment, his mind left him again, but not as it usually did. It didn’t take him to a bloody living room floor, to a street filled with corpses. It took him to a bedroom instead, to sweaty curls and a tired smile and an ache in his hand where someone had squeezed it a little too hard. Flora, he remembered saying, voice quiet to avoid waking a baby who’d only just entered the world, newly bathed and dressed for the first time in a plain white onesie and a too-big cloth diaper. I want to call her Flora. He remembered Juliana’s tired smile, the way she’d nodded without replying.
“I picked it,” he said quietly. “Didn’t name her until she was born. Until we held her. Felt better that way.” More natural, like they were naming a person instead of an idea. But she’d always be the latter now, wouldn’t she? The dead lost their chance to be people the moment the last breath left them. Maybe Zane, with his unmoving lungs and his unbeating heart, understood that on a whole other level. “I’m sorry,” he said, glancing over at the vampire. “What happened in that barn, I’m sorry. I didn’t want to be right. Not like that.”
—--
It could have been the effects of the booze, making everything that strange kind of hazy he’d only experienced once before, or simply the ridiculousness of the situation, but everything was dream-like. Sitting here, talking about Emilio’s family, hugging the man who was a stranger under the best of circumstances and an enemy in the worst. Zane still wasn’t sure that he liked the effects of alcohol but seeing as he probably never would have attempted a hug or even starting this conversation without it, he felt grateful for now. Seeing the painfully human side of Emilio, a man who had picked out a name for his daughter in a different lifetime.
“Makes sense,” he replied, voice just as quiet as the other’s. Time seemed to be passing in a strange way. The long delays between every word passed between them seeming both impossibly long and horribly short at the same time. How long had it been since he had last spoken when Emilio uttered those most unexpected of words. I’m sorry. He hated vampires, and for good reason, but still found it in himself to feel sorry for Zane? Was his situation really that pitiful? Was he? Probably.
“I should have known. Part of me did but I didn’t want to…” Admit it. It would have left him alone again. Was he simply bound to jump from one dysfunctional group to the next, never quite fitting in for whatever reason until some slayer finally caught up to him? Maybe not trying to belong was the best solution. “Guess it’s good I was dumb enough to stick around or you wouldn’t have shown up.”
It was a poor consolation prize, the only thing keeping Zane from spiraling completely the moment he thought about what kind of people he’d been associating with. It was a cowardly thing, an attempt to not own up to just how blind he had been. Grasping desperately for a silver lining amidst the murder, pain and smoke. Wynne probably didn’t feel the same way, none of them did. “You, uh… you’ll tell Wynne how sorry I am next time you see them?”
—-
He should have known, but he didn’t want to. It was a familiar kind of statement, and Emilio ached with it. He thought of Lucio, whose betrayal had come as such a shock. Would it have been more obvious if he’d been paying attention? How many warning signs had he missed back then? How many opportunities had his uncle given him to prevent the attack that killed his daughter, to stop a tragedy from occurring long before it started?
His thoughts turned, nauseatingly, to Rhett. To the inevitable blowup that was bound to happen there someday, to the way he’d been closing his eyes to the buildup since the moment his brother’s eyes locked with his in that vampire’s shitty apartment. Eventually, Rhett was going to hurt someone. Emilio knew that. And he loved his brother so goddamn much that the idea of doing what it would take to keep that from happening made him sick, made his stomach crawl. Was this how Zane had felt, he wondered? Stuck with a group of people who were dangerous, but beloved? Earlier interactions with the vampire started to make a little more sense with this new context, and he hated himself for it. He hated himself for loving someone dangerous just as much as Zane probably hated himself for the same.
“Yeah.” The word was belated, the pause between Zane’s statement and his response a beat too long, but he didn’t think the vampire would notice. It was hard to really take note of anything now, the heavy fog of grief that had settled over the couch too thick to be cut through no matter how bright a light you shone against it. It was the kind of smog that would sink ships and drive sailors mad. “Glad you called me.” The idea of what might have happened if he hadn’t left a sick feeling in the pit of Emilio’s stomach. Wynne, Arden, Zack… he didn’t want to think about it. He couldn’t.
Glancing up at the vampire once more, he hesitated. Part of him wanted to say you should tell them yourself, but he didn’t think that would be beneficial for Zane or Wynne. Some things you worked through, some things you pushed down. For Emilio, the latter was always more tempting. He didn’t know how Wynne would choose to deal with what had happened to them, but he knew that it should be on their terms. Not anyone else’s. “I’ll pass it along,” he promised quietly. “Any idea what you’ll do now?”
—
To say that Zane was glad to have called the slayer was quite an understatement. Thinking about what would have happened without the backup - turning Wynne into a monster, some others too, unsure of how exactly to get himself out of the situation he had created all by himself. Would he have gone even further, trapped with Alma and doomed to follow her vision of a sadistic vampire paradise? The fact that he couldn’t be sure that he wouldn’t have scared him. Made him wish that the bottle he’d brought wasn’t empty since it was doing a half decent job of numbing everything.
As if reading his thoughts about the future just barely escaped, Emilio asked about the next steps for the future Zane actually had to live. The road as someone who didn’t age, didn’t die, seemed impossibly long now that he was no longer surrounded by people in the same situation. “Not a clue,” he whispered, sinking further into the lumpy couch, arms wrapping around himself. Wishing Emilio was someone who could tell him what to do next, instead of someone who was clearly just as lost, if not more. “Try to… be someone worthy of still being here, I guess. Otherwise I should have just gone down with the barn.”
—
God, if that wasn’t a sentiment Emilio could understand. Their situations were different, of course; he knew that. Zane’s issue was the things that had happened before the massacre in the barn, while Emilio’s problems were all tied to the massacre itself. Zane had a lot to make up for, had to find redemption for what had been done to Wynne and the others, for the bodies that never made it out of that barn at all. But Emilio? Emilio’s crime was in his continued survival. You could find redemption for the wrongs you’d committed, he thought. But you couldn’t be redeemed until you stopped doing the thing you needed redemption from. You couldn’t find redemption for your survival until you stopped surviving.
He nodded anyway, looked down at his shoes like they might offer him some kind of an escape. He understood, too, feeling as if you’d missed your appointment with death. His was two years past due now, and no matter how hard he tried to get something down in the books, he couldn’t seem to catch it. He hoped things were better for Zane, then felt strange for hoping. “Yeah, well… You’ve got a job where you can help people. That’s a decent start. In the meantime…” He trailed off, grunting as he lifted himself off the couch and made his way towards the kitchen. Reaching up with the arm attached to his uninjured shoulder, he pulled another bottle of whiskey down from the cabinet and held it up. “Drinking helps.” Some days, it was the only thing that did.
—
Coming from anyone else, the reassurance that Zane was helping people at the hospital would have fallen flat. Delivered by Emilio, who had for the longest time assumed there was something insidious about his being there, it was precious. He wanted to tell him that; say just how much those words meant right now, how much this whole conversation did. Instead, he noticed how Emilio was protecting his injured shoulder and sighed. “Please let me fix you up next time you get stabbed? Probably too late now and I know you hate the hospital so… Let me at least try and help with the pain.” It felt as much of a thank you as saying anything else.
More booze was a stupid idea. How many people had Zane talked to about not drinking away their sorrows? Dealing with life without adding on another problem? Emilio’s eyes already looked a bit glazed and Zane was feeling strangely heavy but if leaving was the only other option… He held his hand out for the bottle, taking a drink that burned considerably less than the ones before, passing it over to Emilio once he was finished. Settling back on the couch, one hand distractedly petting Perro, he sighed again. “You really need to get some glasses.”
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⚰️ 🧸🌱 🏆 💍 for Riya, Jorina, and Lysandra!!
took me 3 years to get here but what can ya do when the brain shuts off. ANYWAY substituted lysandra out after a die roll of other kids bc i have literally zero braincells for that ice witch she’s up on the shelf with wheezy rn // prompts i’d like to receive
[ ⚰️ ] what are your muse’s greatest regrets? what would flash before their eyes when they’re on their deathbed?
RIYA — she would say that she has no regrets and believe it because she's lived such a fun, dramatic and privileged life. but. at this point if she was in a deathbed, she'd honestly probably start crying over her late partner. sobbing about how she should have stuck by his side, wondering if that would have made any difference at all in his fate.
JORINA — not begging for her mother to stay with the family during arl howe’s purge of the alienage, snapping at her father one too many times during the worst of his depression (her stress levels were so incredibly high but years later she doesn’t see that as a good excuse), not finding the courage to express her feelings to aleksi earlier. she spends so much time overthinking the negative in her life that i like to think on her deathbed she’d be focused on the positive, looking back on all the memories that bring her peace and love and joy and blah blah.
MEREDITH — mostly her regrets have to do with the night howe betrayed her family and attacked the castle. not telling her father that she felt something was off after speaking with rendon and his men, not waking up earlier to protect oriana and oren or anybody else she might have been able to save, not trying to locate nathaniel after so she could explain to him what had happened before the word of others painted a different tale. images of her family would be the last things she sees in her deathbed, the members who were taken from her long ago and the ones she made across the years.
[ 🧸 ] does your muse keep anything sentimental? if so, what do they keep and why?
RIYA — a necklace from her late love, a ring from her mother and a pair of gloves from her father. she had no idea they were sentimental until she was on the run and found herself desperate to keep them protected, clinging onto the feelings of affection and comfort that they brought her.
JORINA — a dagger that her brother crafted and sent to her at skyhold (it’s dinky and not usable in any way but still means the world to her), every letter her family sent her during her time with the inquisition, the first flowers aleksi gave to her pressed into the pages of a sketchbook, her mother's favorite shawl wrap. i don't think she'd be able to explain why she holds onto these things, she simply does. (it’s the Love of it all, she’s just dumb.)
MEREDITH — everything she was able to take from castle cousland before fleeing. she couldn’t bring herself to get rid of any of it, and for most of her journey whenever she looked at the family blade she would hear her mother’s voice saying that it should be used to sever howe’s treacherous head (which it did, in the end). she’s grateful for taking everything some years later after the blight, knowing she was able to save part of the family’s history at the very least. it’s not a very big comfort, but it’s one nonetheless. it took a lot of convincing from fergus for her to hand them over to be returned to highever years later.
[ 🌱 ] what themes are relevant to your muse?
RIYA —answered here!
JORINA — childhood trauma and how it shapes you, the unlearning of harmful coping mechanisms, learning to trust and open up easier, the little guy rising in the ranks, discovering a new wanderlust, dumbass who has repressed emotions for too long finally letting them in and not being able to put them to words.
MEREDITH — “sometimes there’s honor in revenge”, being slandered and mislabeled by enemies, struggling with a deep intrinsic rage for life, extremely slow and never fully complete healing of the soul, love in a hopeless place :’), royal who actually does stuff and interacts with their people.
[ 🏆 ] is your muse multitalented? what are their hobbies, and why did they pick up these hobbies? if they don’t have hobbies, why don’t they?
RIYA — yes she’s good at being cute And being a brat <3 tbh i think what she’s got going for her is her fighting capability, dancing and dramatic tendencies. is attending social events considered a hobby?? that’s pretty much it, she just enjoys having fun at galas, hanging out with her friends/lovers and participating in tourneys or displays of magic. kinda lazy outside of that lmao
JORINA — i'd say so, yeah. archery, crafting arrows for said archery, cartography, art, dance, paper making, parkour, cooking, maybe one or two other things i'm forgetting. dancing came from her mother and art came from her dad, cartography from the royal lessons, and the rest were out of necessity mostly.
MEREDITH — not as experienced as jorina, but meredith is into cartography as well. it was something she picked up to aid in her geography and history lessons, helped her commit things to memory. outside of that, some talents and hobbies: proficiency in most weaponry, dueling, dancing, singing, politicking, embroidering, reading. the embroidery came after the blight, when she desperately needed something quiet and time-consuming to do when she was feeling too stressed, others began pre-blight for some reason or other (usually #JustNobleThings).
[ 💍 ] does your muse have a “type” of people that they prefer to enter relationships with? is their type generally compatible with them, or does the dynamic tend to be toxic?
RIYA — people who enjoy treating her like a princess and just wanna have a good time. she’s really not that deep…and neither are any of her former partners lmfao one or two of them wanted something more than the casual "just here to fuck around, party and vibe" thing that riya was there for and she kicked them to the curb quick after that, but mostly they're compatible matches.
JORINA — yeah, none. zero. doesn't want to enter a relationship, thank you, but a certain half-qunari fucking tricked her into it by being hot and slowly pulling her out of her shell.
MEREDITH — i don’t think she has a particular type?? loyal is the sole Requirement for her tbh. she’s attracted to somebody with charm, whether it be the type that comes from good humor, poise or a good flirt. a nice smile never hurt either.
#ch: valeriya de clairmont#ch: scout jorina#ch: meredith cousland#i refuse to proofread any of this i'm tired of looking at it lol#thank you v much for the prompts tho!!! esp loved the sentimentality one
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❆ ᴇᴠʏ ᴀɴᴅ ɢᴡᴇɴ ʀᴀᴍʙʟᴇꜱ #1 ❆
✰ tell me your character’s art school major and i’ll ramble about the kinds of interactions they could have with my character✰
@golden--requiem
❆ be warned: i have never had a coherent thought in my life but i think these two are NEAT ❆
❆ anyway hello yeah a college au with these two would be so fun. gwen definitely walked in on evy staying late after school, and caught a glimpse of a painting she was working on as was like?? blown away? like yeah sure they’re already appreciative and passionate abt art anyway? but seeing evy’s painting was like.
“oh damn i might shed a tear.”
i could be so wrong rn but i feel like evy really pours so much emotion into her paintings? like none of her paintings look too similar because its like?? idk some deep emotional shit brain doesnt work the point is that gwen LOVES her art.
so imagine being evy rn. you’re cleaning up from a hard day’s work. and probably not expecting to be BARGED IN ON by some random student— let alone the one people keep trying to crowd and pick fights with? and they’re staring so hard and her works too??
no ‘hellos’ no ‘how are yous’ gwen straight up goes “stay after school tomorrow too.” and leaves. NO SOCIAL SKILLS ASS MF. like yeah they’re all cool and suave but when they’re interested in something? they’re fr just. AWKWARD. no sense of making friends or anything bruh.
they def keep going on like that. and eventually gwen starts ACTUALLY talking instead of just watching. probably perched on one of the counters and looking all engaged. again making friends is still kinda hard for them— they’re normally so used to persuading people to either leave them alone or do things for them. but w evy its like “hmbmgn how long have you paint? why do you paint? OH WHAT COLOUR IS THAT—“
theyre friends. again since people in gwen’s class, and some of the other fine arts students, actively try to mess with them— gwen kinda has this permanent scowl on their face? or at least they’re not approachable. so imagine all the other students seeing them go from “>:|” to “:D” - LORD.
evy definitely helps gwen with their final, even though she’s probably stressing over HERS as well.
gwen: “bUT YOUR BRAIN SO LARGE? HELP? PLEASE?”
evy: “?!!?!!!!!?!”
gwen has so many ideas but sometimes they don’t come out the way they want them to and they def cry to evy when this happens. sobbing uncontrollably like. sniffling and sulking in the corner and shit.
gwen: “my brain is broken..”
evy: “i’m sure it isnt that bad ‘^^ “
gwen: “ofc its not bad its HORRIBLE.” fucking wailing and shit
evy: “oh dear!!!!!!!”
gwen loves loves loves evy’s colour usage. its so evocative and leaves them like “oh damn where those my feelings or the ones she wanted me to feel?” def took some notes from her. sure everyone considers gwen the top student in their respective class, but evy’s pieces?? have them in tears.
gwen doesn’t really hang out with her much outside of school?? bc theyre not familiar with all of that— but i feel like evy would invite them out and they’d be like. “okay.”
def holds her sleeve in public bc they hate being in a place w so many eyes. like boy how do you aspire to be a famous artist but hate attention 🤨 ANYWAYS BUT THEY ENDURE IT. bc time with evy turns out to be a ton of fun— even when art isn’t involved.
bestest of friendships blossoms i swear.
LITERALLY NONE OF THIS MAKES SENSE— but i think these two are so fun and cute. lil art school buddies. OFC IF YOU WANT MORE I CAN DEF RAMBLE MORE. its like 2:15 in the am and my brain is like “mfnm” so all i can provide are incoherent rambles.
IF YOU WANNA ADD OR CORRECT ANYTHING PLS FEEL FREE. ❆
#gwen.rambles#muse.ramblings#evy blair#gwen exicor#((my brain battery is DEAD but imagination still moving so fast ndnd
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FFXIV Write 2022: #23 Pitch
(a/n: Definitely feel like the beginning parts need to be cleaned up in edits, but I’m quite happy with this one overall. A bit of bonding with Alphi and trying to help expand his camping skills repertoire aha. Cos he’s always so proud of that fireood skill, but baby you need more than that to rough it aha ^^
Vaguely-ish after 3.2? I might shift the timeline placement earlier or later in edits but rn its there.
Word count: 1216)
“We’ll set up camp here.” ‘Here’ being a spot under an overhang of rock, tucked behind the large roots of some caelumtrees. Alphinaud and Fhara had set out for the weekend to camp in the wild, a chance for him to learn how to ‘rough it’, so to speak. Their travels through the forelands and into the churning mists had proven just how lacking he was in outdoors experience, and with little and less to do in Ishgard following the peace conference, he felt he needed something to keep him busy.
“Can you pitch the tent? I shall go and collect us some firewood in the meanwhile,” Alphinaud suggested, summoning his Obsidian Carbuncle to join him. Fhara’s ears perked up, already pulling the equipment from the bag.
“Surely you should try doing this part? You won’t learn otherwise,” she said, “We can save the firewood until after it's set up; the sun is still high and we have dry rations to do us before we’d need to worry about cooking any food.” He grimaced at the thought, but shook his head before any ill comment could pass.
“No, you’re right,” he said, more to himself than to Fhara, “Tis only fair, and sometimes the best way to learn is by doing.” Fhara gave him an encouraging smile as he joined her in emptying their travelling bag.
Despite Fhara’s assurances and being a helping hand, the sun had already dipped low into sunset, painting the forest floor with deep purple shadows by the time they had finished. Fhara ran off to gather the firewood, leaving an exhausted Alphinaud to recuperate within the tent. He came crawling out again once she had returned and set up the fire, beginning to cook a skewered chunk of coeurl meat over the flames.
“I envy your skill, you make it look much easier than it truly is,” he grumbled, flexing his hand and wincing at the ache in his upper arm. A reassuring flick of her tail brushed his knee.
“It’s a lot of practice, but it’s good that you’re trying your best,” she said, turning the skewer over for the heat to sear the other side of the meat. She cast a glance over her shoulder at the hideskin shelter, standing up right finally after their trials.
“I’m just glad to have a tent this time. Sometimes with the way of things, you end up roughing it and wake up the next day to rain,” she chuckled, hoping to lift the mood.
“How fortunate that we did not meet such a fate in the Mists,” Alphinaud responded, smiling even as he rubbed into a knot in his shoulder. Though her words brought a curious thought to his mind.
“Did you often have to go without cover on your travels? Before or after joining the Scions?” he asked. Fhara’s ear flicked, acknowledging the question, then again as she hummed in thought.
“Before…sometimes. When my father took me out on to teach me how to use my bow, we’d stay out late. Most of the time we had a tent but one time he forgot,” she smiled wistfully at the memory, “We just spent the night under tree roots. It was cold, but it was kinda nice. Mother was worried sick though when we came back an absolute mess.” She chuckled at the thought, tail curling and once again catching against his knee.
“Then when I went to Gridania, still before I joined the Scions…I tried to avoid it. Stick to small town inns or garrisons. But then after joining, one or two missions took me so far out, I just stuck it out for the night where I could.”
“I see,” he mumbled absently.
“It wasn’t awful, I’ll say. And I managed to take care of myself,” Fhara said proudly, chest puffing slightly, “But I do prefer a bed, truthfully.” She removed the skewer from the ground and placed the steak upon a wooden slab, ready to cut it up and split it between them. However when she turned to ask him for his preference, she paused, noticing the distant look in his eye, trained upon the horizon and the rising moon.
“You okay?” He jumped, looking back at her.
“My apologies, you asked me something?” he coughed, cheeks heating up. She bit back an amused smile, more concerned over his absent moment.
“I was about to, but then I saw you looking a million malms away. What are you thinking?” His foot fidgeted into the dirt, kicking up a stone into the firepit.
“Lots of things. Everything that’s happened. Everyone we’ve lost. Those who may still be alive yet not here with us. I would hope they’re okay,” he said, looking far too regretful for one his age. Fhara was taken aback, but then found her own mind wandering in similar directions now that he’d mentioned it; Minfilia, slumbering deep in the aetherial sea alongside the light of the crystal, the light somehow both warm and cold in Fhara’s tactile memory.
And she thought of Alisaie, last she had seen she’d held her head up high and set off for parts unknown, determined. Wherever she was, Fhara hoped she was doing well.
“Do you think Estinien has somewhere to rest? Or does he no longer need such things so long as the wyrm has him?” Fhara stared into the fire, mind jumping back to the sight of their companion overtaken by the furious spirit of Nidhogg, roaring toppling her exhausted self clean over, unable to fight back.
“I don’t know. If he is sleeping, I hope it’s somewhere safe at least,” was all she could answer. Perhaps Nidhogg had returned to the Aery? Or found somewhere else quiet within the mountains of Abalathia’s Spine to call a resting spot? She didn’t know.
“I hope so too.” With nothing else to say, silence built in the space between them. The fire crackle, the trees rustled in the wind, a distant growl broke through the brush, though far enough away that she didn’t feel the need to keep an eye on it. Then he coughed, once again looking sheepish.
“My apologies, I seem to have made the mood rather dour,” Alphinaud sighed, “We were about to have food, yes?” Fhara’s ears perked up and she nodded.
“Right, of course. But,” she trailed off, hand hovering over the steak, “This has went a bit cold while we were talking.”
“Ah…” Fhara stood, cutting off any further apologies that she could see building beneath his chewed lip.
“It’s fine. I’ll try and make a stew with this instead. I have some spare water and spices I could test with.” The word choice made Alphinaud’s eyes widen.
“Test?” Fhara grinned.
“It’s a basic recipe I learned from the culinarian’s guild some time back but I haven’t tried it that often. But even if this doesn’t work, we have our dry food.” Though he didn’t look too convinced, he nodded.
“Very well then. Let’s try our best. That’s all anyone can ask,” he mumbled, getting up to join her in rooting through their bags again.
One can only try their best at new things; like pitching a tent and living rough, or making and trying new food, or helping a friend. It’s all anyone can ask.
#ffxivwrite#ffxivwrite2022#alphinaud leveilleur#fhara laali#my wol#my writing#keeper of the moon miqo'te
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Ok I need to start organising my thoughts on every possibly paranormal thing that's happened in this house because whenever people say "well how do you know it's haunted" I keep blanking on how to answer so here's a list I can reference:
(notes with a 🖤 next to them mean they could be mental health related instead)
Both my friend and I who have lived here have had constant nightmares and (tw) suicidal thoughts ONLY when in the house and they only started after we moved in 🖤 what's not so easily explainable is that we have both seen shadows in the mirrors and had nightmares about a woman in the bathroom (tw) killing herself in different ways.
Had my foot grabbed while getting into bed, since there's no gap between my bed and the floor I got grabbed from behind and dragged backwards to the point where I hit my knee against my bed frame
Heard walking around downstairs so clearly that I almost called the police
Heard something punch my bedroom wall while I was in bed then run out of the room and down the stairs (I heard every footstep no word of a lie)
Had coat hangers fly out of the wardrobe at me 2 minutes after opening the door (I don't mean fall because they didn't fall down into the wardrobe they feel horizontally out then down)
Seen a face peeking around the bannister at me while I was leaving for school last year, it stayed there even when I was looking directly at it, I turned around to pick up a bag, looked back and it had disappeared
Had lights flickering intensely as though someone was physically flipping the switch, said "STOP IT" because this had been going on for almost a full 20 minutes and it stopped immediately
This one happened less than half an hour ago, I put a towel in a crate on the windowsill in the bathroom, turned around for no more than 2 minutes and when I looked back it had somehow removed itself from the crate and was in the bathtub directly over the plughole (approx. 3 metres away from the crate nit including the drop down). I tried to debunk this by putting it in the crate at different angles to see if it could fall down to that position but half the time it didn't move and the other half it only feel directly onto the floor.
Sometimes when I'm not home mum hears me speaking in my room, a similar thing happened when I went out with my dad and left 2 friends on a video hat and they both heard me say "right! I'm back!" so distinctly that they were genuinely confused when I didn't appear on screen until an hour later
I've had my leg scratched before from the back of my knee down to my ankle despite not having left my bed all day
I used to see shadows so often I had to get counselling because I suspected they might be hallucinations, still unsure if I imagine these or no 🖤
The same thing that happened with the coat hangers happened with a painting on my wall
Recently heard something scratching the wall when I was downstairs alone, this happened 3 times before I freaked tf out and ran upstairs
I frequently hear someone walking around on the landing when I'm the only one in the house, I once had a friend on the phone who actually stopped me talking to ask if there was someone in the house with me
Heard glass breaking downstairs but not finding any broken glass when I went to check it out
Had a friend leave my house midway through a sleepover saying "I can't sleep here there's something watching me" not someone SOMETHING
Had a full jar of crochet hooks knocked off of my bookshelf in the middle of the night even though they're wedged in by two other jars and other random things on that shelf
These are only the ones I can remember rn, I will keep adding to this list cos shit keeps on happening.
Before you suggest it, I can't sage the house because my mum is religious and wouldn't approve and I've tried the bible-under-the-bed method and that failing (that was when I got scratched)
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Ur reply made me smile so hard ugh clairebear wanna squish u n YEA OK THEN SMOOCH U ON THE LIPS BIGTIME. I love u sm hope you’re taking it easy on yourself lately n filling your days with breaks n lots of water 🥺❤️ I saw your recent post and I want to let you know that what ur feeling is normal and I’d try to write it out if I were you just to get it out of the psychological state and onto something material that you can acknowledge and channel into—also take vitamin D tablets they’ll help so much I promise my dove 🕊🥰🥰 and lastly it’s good to immediately try to treat yourself once you feel yourself slipping slowly into a void again— I definitely just lay there and hope it washes over me but once it doesn’t I like force myself to get up and say shower for example or like rewire my brain by freelance writing or reading something that invigorates my senses (my horned up senses if you get the drift 😸😸) just bc it doesn’t allow me to wallow into my own miserable thinking at the moment as it would if I picked up a novel or bc I like to read sad shit like a rlly sad plot that i automatically attach myself to during a depressive episode. I love you, you’ve got this, you make so many people happy and feel loved (including moi ofc ur day 1) and also remember that your body and mind have gotten you so far and through so much more than what you might think it’s capable of ok? You’re stronger than anything that might come your way!!! Love u 👭
also p.muthafukin.s.— joe keery 😼🧎🏻♀️ I’ve been down bad since s1 of stranger things (which u need to hop onto asap— if I could somehow virtually come into your phone and snuggle up with u to watch with popcorn n m&ms ofc I sooo would) ALSO OFC WE R THE SAME PERSON SO YOU LISTEN TO DJO IM OBSESSED W CHANGE RN ITS SO GOOD 🤍🤍🤍
Yours always always always,
-🍿
i love you sosoos much<33 i work so so much these next two weeks, and bc im so anxious of messing up anything i always stay later to make sure everything is spick and span (im the closer most nights)
but when i dont work, i try my very best to do stuff i like, such as writing. sometimes i dont mind work just bc it sometimes distracts me from my thoughts telling me i need to die LMAO
you are the sweetest angel i literally cant even put into words how much you mean to me. oh my god i love you. so so much. sending so much love and kisses and hugs and those big ass stuffed bears people get on valnetines day to you. i hope both sides of ur pillow are cold, your water always tastes as good as it does when you wake up at 3am dying and willing to drink paint water, and that ur sheets always feel like they just came out of the dryer. MWAH
NA DJOE KEERYSBSBJ I CANT. HIS MUSIC MAKES ME CUM. CUM IN MY PANTS I SAY. I WILL LISTEN TO CHATEAU ( FEEL ALRIGHT) UNTIL I TAKE MY LASTBREATH ON THIS EARTHHH
anyways here are some photos for you bc he is so boyfriend material i love you mwah<3
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Quirks Arcane Characters Have Pt.2
A/N: I am fresh out of ideas but I wanted to give y’all something today so here’s this. Also, I’m working on a kinda long Viktor x reader fic rn so stay tuned for that! I might put out a preview for it tomorrow depending on how much more I get done. Anyways, enjoy!
Viktor
- Has a raging sweet tooth
- one of your cupboards is dedicated to his stash of sweets
- You’re the only one who’s allowed to steal from it
- Also, this man can put away food like it’s nothing
- Like, you would never guess just looking at him, but he can eat
- If you cook/bake as a hobby, he will gladly try anything you make.
- Will eat your food 100% of the time
- It does not matter if it tastes good or not. If you make it, he will eat it.
- He steals your clothes
- He says it’s because his are in the laundry but it’s actually because they smell like you
- Dw though cause he’ll give you his to make up for it :)
Jayce
- leaves his laundry all over the bedroom
- He doesn’t do it on purpose, but it can be so annoying lmao
- does a little happy dance whenever something goes his way.
- Sometimes it’s just a little fist pump, other times it’ll be, like, a little jig
- It depends on how big the success is
- Has a dream journal
- I will not explain myself on that one
Silco
- Doesn’t like sweet things very much
- If a food is too sweet, it actually makes him nauseous
- Cannot stand when you twist around to crack your back
- He actually gags
- He keeps all of the drawings Jinx makes for him on the fridge like the proud dad he is
Vi
- Drums random beats with her fingers when she’s bored
- does it on any surface that’s available
- Willing to fight anything that looks at you the wrong way
- Doesn’t mean she will, but she is ready to at the drop of a hat
- Physically incapable of remembering to make the bed
- Will do it with you when you ask her, but always forgets otherwise
- Her logic is that she’s gonna mess it up at the end of the day anyway (I mean, same, honestly-)
Jinx
- terrified of spiders
- Will not admit it though
You, running into the room after hearing a scream and several objects being knocked over: wHAT? WHAT HAPPENED??
Jinx, standing on a chair looking like a deer in the headlights: I-... um...
- you look at where she keeps glancing and spot the issue
You: ... You screamed bloody murder... because of a spider.
Jinx: wH- NO! ARACHNOPHOBIA’S FOR WHIMPS-
- You’re gonna have to kill the spider for her
- which is gonna suck if you’re also scared of spiders but like
- she’s not gonna do it so-
Mel
- Unlike Vi, she has to make the bed in the morning
- She feels like it makes the room look too messy
- Has so many pillows
- The queen at comebacks
- Unafraid to roast the fuck out of someone given the correct circumstances
- If someone ever makes a snide comment about you, she will make them regret every decision they’ve made that’s lead them up to this moment
- Makes you little paintings every so often just to show you that she’s thinking of you
#arcane#arcane x reader#arcane x y/n#arcane x you#viktor arcane#viktor x reader#viktor x you#viktor x y/n#jayce arcane#jayce talis#jayce x reader#jayce x you#jayce x y/n#silco arcane#silco x reader#silco x you#silco x y/n#vi arcane#vi x reader#vi x you#vi x y/n#jinx arcane#jinx x reader#jinx x y/n#jinx x you#mel arcane#mel medarda#mel x reader
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hello hello!!! i’m here to submit a request >:)
how about kiyoko and machi headcannons during the winter time and things you would do with them while it’s cold!! it’s snowy and very chilly rn, so i thought it would be fitting!! TYSM! :) (x female reader works btw!!)
WINTER TIME HC (fem!reader)
Ft. Kiyoko Shimizu, Hitoka Yachi and Alisa Haiba
Warnings: None
Genre: Fluff
A/N: As you can see, I’ve put my whole michussy into this first hc and I’m really proud of it! It says fem reader only because of implications but some hc fall into the gender neutral pov
🍋Kiyoko Shimizu
It’s something about how it darkens sooner that drags her gaze upon the stars, sitting by the window on the second floor, covered by what you think it might be 2 blankets or 3 if you’re wrong, she’s holding her hot chocolate and letting the moonlight bathe her skin, before turning her attention to you, inviting you to join her and listen to her unfiltered thoughts, she talks about everything on her mind, it feels like stepping inside a museum, it’s intimate, and comfortable and poetic and it ends up with both of you sleeping there, nuzzled on each other, impossibly close; to wake up on a sight covered in white, for you missed the snow falling through the night.
It’s ice skating and watching her gracefully make her way through the ice, ethereal, watching her body spin and dance without music, her nose red under the scarf because of the cold and sometimes she would close her eyes shut, scrunching them before opening it and looking at you. Staying by your side, holding your arm and sliding with you talking about what are you two gonna have after it, she always gets the hot chocolate with marshmallows on top and cookies, she says it reminds her of home.
.
.
.
🍋Hitoka Yachi
She is lovestruck watching you cook, her family celebrates Christmas and she got a cookbook full of traditional recipes. You were giving your body and soul to this gingerbread house, or what she called “Granny’s Amazing Secret Perfect Gingerbread House”. You got all you needed and worked hours on it, measuring things perfectly and acting as if it was a real architecture project for some sort of Eiffel Tower 2.0 that absolutely couldn't go wrong. It turned out more than perfect, flawless, it was a little square shaped house with a gable roof, the tiles were shaped over the dough with icing and covered with confectioner’s sugar for a fake snow; it had 3 windows drawn with thin icing, two on the sides and one over the door; the door was sealed open with icing and painted white, the candies and different icings gave it a colorful look and it couldn’t look any better, the little tree and a garden with a fence were the perfect final touch and it really did look a bit over decorated, but mersmerizing nontheless. “It was so fun, what do we do now?” You ask. She takes the peppermint swirl candy from the decoration, putting it in her mouth “We eat it” She answers without hesitation “WAIT!! ALREADY?? NOOOO LET’S TAKE AT LEAST A FEW PICTURES FIRST” You reason, trying to stop her from biting a part of the roof as she giggles and tries to sneak more of it in her mouth, muffling a “My phone storage is 100% dedicated to you… and pets!”
Absolutely loves your style, and takes you to the most beautiful places to take pictures and talk, you always end up laughing and staring at the view for a few minutes before aimlessly walking or going back home. It feels like you know every place around by now, like you tried on every street food, like you’ve memorized every single detail of the city. She rambles about how pretty her pictures look in the winter, how she loves the elements it brings and how it inspires her, before dragging you to a new neighborhood where they have gorgeous lights around.
🍋Alisa Haiba
She thinks she’s so sneaky, you found it in October an unnamed note on her phone, opening it to follow up the names of everyone close to her and things they mentioned wanting throughout the year, everyone’s name, but yours; you figured she’d hide yours better since you’re smarter than that, and maybe she just doesn’t want you to know, that’s ok too, you’d be in for a surprise. The surprise you didn’t expect was a small box under the dim light, the emptiness of a home after a gathering, the smell of the earlier food and the tv still on, the sound of cars in the streets and Alisa looking at you, both sitting on the couch and a whisper of “open it” to a new commitment riyourng, fancier, it looked expensive and she cuts your worries short saying it’s from her grandmother, taking hand close and kissing your knuckles before admiring how it looked in your hand; under the loving gaze taking in how the house feels so big all of a sudden, but not in a bad way.
Sharply hitting the back of Lev’s head, he had no idea where it came from but he frowned at you before realizing it came from his sister. The snow was taking it’s space on the winter view as it’s own and Alisa grinned at you before going back down to gather more of it on her hand; you wondered for a second if her grin meant you’d be an ally or the next victim but decided to hope for the first option and attack Lev too, approaching your girlfriend and dodging the horribly thrown snowballs Lev was trying to use as a revenge, while he complained about how this was unfair since he had no one on his team, it hits him again, right on his face and you get lost on thinking about how enchanting her laugh sounds and how her smile seems to dictate the beating of your heart to hear her “watch out!!” And feel a snowball hitting you, she drops the ones in her hand to go after her brother and you can’t help but laugh thinking how lucky you are.
TAGLIST: @veenxys @sergeant102105
#pumpkin.did#pumpkin.hq#pumpkin.gae <3#hq fluff#hq x reader#haikyuu fluff#haikyuu x reader#alisa x yn#alisa x you#alisa x reader#haiba x reader#haiba x yn#kiyoko x reader#shimizu x reader#kiyoko x yn#shimizu x yn#alisa haiba x yn#yachi x reader#hitoka x reader#yachi x yn
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