#wet clay series
Text
Fantasy Guide to Interiors
As a followup to the very popular post on architecture, I decided to add onto it by exploring the interior of each movement and the different design techniques and tastes of each era. This post at be helpful for historical fiction, fantasy or just a long read when you're bored.
Interior Design Terms
Reeding and fluting: Fluting is a technique that consists a continuous pattern of concave grooves in a flat surface across a surface. Reeding is it's opposite.
Embossing: stamping, carving or moulding a symbol to make it stand out on a surface.
Paneling: Panels of carved wood or fabric a fixed to a wall in a continuous pattern.
Gilding: the use of gold to highlight features.
Glazed Tile: Ceramic or porcelain tiles coated with liquid coloured glass or enamel.
Column: A column is a pillar of stone or wood built to support a ceiling. We will see more of columns later on.
Bay Window: The Bay Window is a window projecting outward from a building.
Frescos: A design element of painting images upon wet plaster.
Mosaic: Mosaics are a design element that involves using pieces of coloured glass and fitted them together upon the floor or wall to form images.
Mouldings: ornate strips of carved wood along the top of a wall.
Wainscoting: paneling along the lower portion of a wall.
Chinoiserie: A European take on East Asian art. Usually seen in wallpaper.
Clerestory: A series of eye-level windows.
Sconces: A light fixture supported on a wall.
Niche: A sunken area within a wall.
Monochromatic: Focusing on a single colour within a scheme.
Ceiling rose: A moulding fashioned on the ceiling in the shape of a rose usually supporting a light fixture.
Baluster: the vertical bars of a railing.
Façade: front portion of a building
Lintel: Top of a door or window.
Portico: a covered structure over a door supported by columns
Eaves: the part of the roof overhanging from the building
Skirting: border around lower length of a wall
Ancient Greece
Houses were made of either sun-dried clay bricks or stone which were painted when they dried. Ground floors were decorated with coloured stones and tiles called Mosaics. Upper level floors were made from wood. Homes were furnished with tapestries and furniture, and in grand homes statues and grand altars would be found. Furniture was very skillfully crafted in Ancient Greece, much attention was paid to the carving and decoration of such things. Of course, Ancient Greece is ancient so I won't be going through all the movements but I will talk a little about columns.
Doric: Doric is the oldest of the orders and some argue it is the simplest. The columns of this style are set close together, without bases and carved with concave curves called flutes. The capitals (the top of the column) are plain often built with a curve at the base called an echinus and are topped by a square at the apex called an abacus. The entablature is marked by frieze of vertical channels/triglyphs. In between the channels would be detail of carved marble. The Parthenon in Athens is your best example of Doric architecture.
Ionic: The Ionic style was used for smaller buildings and the interiors. The columns had twin volutes, scroll-like designs on its capital. Between these scrolls, there was a carved curve known as an egg and in this style the entablature is much narrower and the frieze is thick with carvings. The example of Ionic Architecture is the Temple to Athena Nike at the Athens Acropolis.
Corinthian: The Corinthian style has some similarities with the Ionic order, the bases, entablature and columns almost the same but the capital is more ornate its base, column, and entablature, but its capital is far more ornate, commonly carved with depictions of acanthus leaves. The style was more slender than the others on this list, used less for bearing weight but more for decoration. Corinthian style can be found along the top levels of the Colosseum in Rome.
Tuscan: The Tuscan order shares much with the Doric order, but the columns are un-fluted and smooth. The entablature is far simpler, formed without triglyphs or guttae. The columns are capped with round capitals.
Composite: This style is mixed. It features the volutes of the Ionic order and the capitals of the Corinthian order. The volutes are larger in these columns and often more ornate. The column's capital is rather plain. for the capital, with no consistent differences to that above or below the capital.
Ancient Rome
Rome is well known for its outward architectural styles. However the Romans did know how to add that rizz to the interior. Ceilings were either vaulted or made from exploded beams that could be painted. The Romans were big into design. Moasics were a common interior sight, the use of little pieces of coloured glass or stone to create a larger image. Frescoes were used to add colour to the home, depicting mythical figures and beasts and also different textures such as stonework or brick. The Romans loved their furniture. Dining tables were low and the Romans ate on couches. Weaving was a popular pastime so there would be tapestries and wall hangings in the house. Rich households could even afford to import fine rugs from across the Empire. Glass was also a feature in Roman interior but windows were usually not paned as large panes were hard to make. Doors were usually treated with panels that were carved or in lain with bronze.
Ancient Egypt
Egypt was one of the first great civilisations, known for its immense and grand structures. Wealthy Egyptians had grand homes. The walls were painted or plastered usually with bright colours and hues. The Egyptians are cool because they mapped out their buildings in such a way to adhere to astrological movements meaning on special days if the calendar the temple or monuments were in the right place always. The columns of Egyptian where thicker, more bulbous and often had capitals shaped like bundles of papyrus reeds. Woven mats and tapestries were popular decor. Motifs from the river such as palms, papyrus and reeds were popular symbols used.
Ancient Africa
African Architecture is a very mixed bag and more structurally different and impressive than Hollywood would have you believe. Far beyond the common depictions of primitive buildings, the African nations were among the giants of their time in architecture, no style quite the same as the last but just as breathtaking.
Rwandan Architecture: The Rwandans commonly built of hardened clay with thatched roofs of dried grass or reeds. Mats of woven reeds carpeted the floors of royal abodes. These residences folded about a large public area known as a karubanda and were often so large that they became almost like a maze, connecting different chambers/huts of all kinds of uses be they residential or for other purposes.
Ashanti Architecture: The Ashanti style can be found in present day Ghana. The style incorporates walls of plaster formed of mud and designed with bright paint and buildings with a courtyard at the heart, not unlike another examples on this post. The Ashanti also formed their buildings of the favourite method of wattle and daub.
Nubian Architecture: Nubia, in modern day Ethiopia, was home to the Nubians who were one of the world's most impressive architects at the beginning of the architecture world and probably would be more talked about if it weren't for the Egyptians building monuments only up the road. The Nubians were famous for building the speos, tall tower-like spires carved of stone. The Nubians used a variety of materials and skills to build, for example wattle and daub and mudbrick. The Kingdom of Kush, the people who took over the Nubian Empire was a fan of Egyptian works even if they didn't like them very much. The Kushites began building pyramid-like structures such at the sight of Gebel Barkal
Japanese Interiors
Japenese interior design rests upon 7 principles. Kanso (簡素)- Simplicity, Fukinsei (不均整)- Asymmetry, Shizen (自然)- Natural, Shibumi (渋味) – Simple beauty, Yugen (幽玄)- subtle grace, Datsuzoku (脱俗) – freedom from habitual behaviour, Seijaku (静寂)- tranquillity.
Common features of Japanese Interior Design:
Shoji walls: these are the screens you think of when you think of the traditional Japanese homes. They are made of wooden frames, rice paper and used to partition
Tatami: Tatami mats are used within Japanese households to blanket the floors. They were made of rice straw and rush straw, laid down to cushion the floor.
Genkan: The Genkan was a sunken space between the front door and the rest of the house. This area is meant to separate the home from the outside and is where shoes are discarded before entering.
Japanese furniture: often lowest, close to the ground. These include tables and chairs but often tanked are replaced by zabuton, large cushions. Furniture is usually carved of wood in a minimalist design.
Nature: As both the Shinto and Buddhist beliefs are great influences upon architecture, there is a strong presence of nature with the architecture. Wood is used for this reason and natural light is prevalent with in the home. The orientation is meant to reflect the best view of the world.
Islamic World Interior
The Islamic world has one of the most beautiful and impressive interior design styles across the world. Colour and detail are absolute staples in the movement. Windows are usually not paned with glass but covered in ornate lattices known as jali. The jali give ventilation, light and privacy to the home. Islamic Interiors are ornate and colourful, using coloured ceramic tiles. The upper parts of walls and ceilings are usually flat decorated with arabesques (foliate ornamentation), while the lower wall areas were usually tiled. Features such as honeycombed ceilings, horseshoe arches, stalactite-fringed arches and stalactite vaults (Muqarnas) are prevalent among many famous Islamic buildings such as the Alhambra and the Blue Mosque.
Byzantine (330/395–1453 A. D)
The Byzantine Empire or Eastern Roman Empire was where eat met west, leading to a melting pot of different interior designs based on early Christian styles and Persian influences. Mosaics are probably what you think of when you think of the Byzantine Empire. Ivory was also a popular feature in the Interiors, with carved ivory or the use of it in inlay. The use of gold as a decorative feature usually by way of repoussé (decorating metals by hammering in the design from the backside of the metal). Fabrics from Persia, heavily embroidered and intricately woven along with silks from afar a field as China, would also be used to upholster furniture or be used as wall hangings. The Byzantines favoured natural light, usually from the use of copolas.
Indian Interiors
India is of course, the font of all intricate designs. India's history is sectioned into many eras but we will focus on a few to give you an idea of prevalent techniques and tastes.
The Gupta Empire (320 – 650 CE): The Gupta era was a time of stone carving. As impressive as the outside of these buildings are, the Interiors are just as amazing. Gupta era buildings featured many details such as ogee (circular or horseshoe arch), gavaksha/chandrashala (the motif centred these arches), ashlar masonry (built of squared stone blocks) with ceilings of plain, flat slabs of stone.
Delhi Sultanate (1206–1526): Another period of beautifully carved stone. The Delhi sultanate had influence from the Islamic world, with heavy uses of mosaics, brackets, intricate mouldings, columns and and hypostyle halls.
Mughal Empire (1526–1857): Stonework was also important on the Mughal Empire. Intricately carved stonework was seen in the pillars, low relief panels depicting nature images and jalis (marble screens). Stonework was also decorated in a stye known as pietra dura/parchin kari with inscriptions and geometric designs using colored stones to create images. Tilework was also popular during this period. Moasic tiles were cut and fitted together to create larger patters while cuerda seca tiles were coloured tiles outlined with black.
Chinese Interiors
Common features of Chinese Interiors
Use of Colours: Colour in Chinese Interior is usually vibrant and bold. Red and Black are are traditional colours, meant to bring luck, happiness, power, knowledge and stability to the household.
Latticework: Lattices are a staple in Chinese interiors most often seen on shutters, screens, doors of cabinets snf even traditional beds.
Lacquer: Multiple coats of lacquer are applied to furniture or cabinets (now walls) and then carved. The skill is called Diaoqi (雕漆).
Decorative Screens: Screens are used to partition off part of a room. They are usually of carved wood, pained with very intricate murals.
Shrines: Spaces were reserved on the home to honour ancestors, usually consisting of an altar where offerings could be made.
Of course, Chinese Interiors are not all the same through the different eras. While some details and techniques were interchangeable through different dynasties, usually a dynasty had a notable style or deviation. These aren't all the dynasties of course but a few interesting examples.
Song Dynasty (960–1279): The Song Dynasty is known for its stonework. Sculpture was an important part of Song Dynasty interior. It was in this period than brick and stone work became the most used material. The Song Dynasty was also known for its very intricate attention to detail, paintings, and used tiles.
Ming Dynasty(1368–1644): Ceilings were adorned with cloisons usually featuring yellow reed work. The floors would be of flagstones usually of deep tones, mostly black. The Ming Dynasty favoured richly coloured silk hangings, tapestries and furnishings. Furniture was usually carved of darker woods, arrayed in a certain way to bring peace to the dwelling.
Han Dynasty (206 BC-220 AD): Interior walls were plastered and painted to show important figures and scenes. Lacquer, though it was discovered earlier, came into greater prominence with better skill in this era.
Tang Dynasty (618–907) : The colour palette is restrained, reserved. But the Tang dynasty is not without it's beauty. Earthenware reached it's peak in this era, many homes would display fine examples as well. The Tang dynasty is famous for its upturned eaves, the ceilings supported by timber columns mounted with metal or stone bases. Glazed tiles were popular in this era, either a fixed to the roof or decorating a screen wall.
Romanesque (6th -11th century/12th)
Romanesque Architecture is a span between the end of Roman Empire to the Gothic style. Taking inspiration from the Roman and Byzantine Empires, the Romanesque period incorporates many of the styles. The most common details are carved floral and foliage symbols with the stonework of the Romanesque buildings. Cable mouldings or twisted rope-like carvings would have framed doorways. As per the name, Romansque Interiors relied heavily on its love and admiration for Rome. The Romanesque style uses geometric shapes as statements using curves, circles snf arches. The colours would be clean and warm, focusing on minimal ornamentation.
Gothic Architecture (12th Century - 16th Century)
The Gothic style is what you think of when you think of old European cathedrals and probably one of the beautiful of the styles on this list and one of most recognisable. The Gothic style is a dramatic, opposing sight and one of the easiest to describe. Decoration in this era became more ornate, stonework began to sport carving and modelling in a way it did not before. The ceilings moved away from barreled vaults to quadripartite and sexpartite vaulting. Columns slimmed as other supportive structures were invented. Intricate stained glass windows began their popularity here. In Gothic structures, everything is very symmetrical and even.
Mediaeval (500 AD to 1500)
Interiors of mediaeval homes are not quite as drab as Hollywood likes to make out. Building materials may be hidden by plaster in rich homes, sometimes even painted. Floors were either dirt strewn with rushes or flagstones in larger homes. Stonework was popular, especially around fireplaces. Grand homes would be decorated with intricate woodwork, carved heraldic beasts and wall hangings of fine fabrics.
Renaissance (late 1300s-1600s)
The Renaissance was a period of great artistry and splendor. The revival of old styles injected symmetry and colour into the homes. Frescoes were back. Painted mouldings adorned the ceilings and walls. Furniture became more ornate, fixed with luxurious upholstery and fine carvings. Caryatids (pillars in the shape of women), grotesques, Roman and Greek images were used to spruce up the place. Floors began to become more intricate, with coloured stone and marble. Modelled stucco, sgraffiti arabesques (made by cutting lines through a layer of plaster or stucco to reveal an underlayer), and fine wall painting were used in brilliant combinations in the early part of the 16th century.
Tudor Interior (1485-1603)
The Tudor period is a starkly unique style within England and very recognisable. Windows were fixed with lattice work, usually casement. Stained glass was also in in this period, usually depicting figures and heraldic beasts. Rooms would be panelled with wood or plastered. Walls would be adorned with tapestries or embroidered hangings. Windows and furniture would be furnished with fine fabrics such as brocade. Floors would typically be of wood, sometimes strewn with rush matting mixed with fresh herbs and flowers to freshen the room.
Baroque (1600 to 1750)
The Baroque period was a time for splendor and for splashing the cash. The interior of a baroque room was usually intricate, usually of a light palette, featuring a very high ceiling heavy with detail. Furniture would choke the room, ornately carved and stitched with very high quality fabrics. The rooms would be full of art not limited to just paintings but also sculptures of marble or bronze, large intricate mirrors, moldings along the walls which may be heavily gilded, chandeliers and detailed paneling.
Victorian (1837-1901)
We think of the interiors of Victorian homes as dowdy and dark but that isn't true. The Victorians favoured tapestries, intricate rugs, decorated wallpaper, exquisitely furniture, and surprisingly, bright colour. Dyes were more widely available to people of all stations and the Victorians did not want for colour. Patterns and details were usually nature inspired, usually floral or vines. Walls could also be painted to mimic a building material such as wood or marble and most likely painted in rich tones. The Victorians were suckers for furniture, preferring them grandly carved with fine fabric usually embroidered or buttoned. And they did not believe in minimalism. If you could fit another piece of furniture in a room, it was going in there. Floors were almost eclusively wood laid with the previously mentioned rugs. But the Victorians did enjoy tiled floors but restricted them to entrances. The Victorians were quite in touch with their green thumbs so expect a lot of flowers and greenery inside. with various elaborately decorated patterned rugs. And remember, the Victorians loved to display as much wealth as they could. Every shelf, cabinet, case and ledge would be chocked full of ornaments and antiques.
Edwardian/The Gilded Age/Belle Epoque (1880s-1914)
This period (I've lumped them together for simplicity) began to move away from the deep tones and ornate patterns of the Victorian period. Colour became more neutral. Nature still had a place in design. Stained glass began to become popular, especially on lampshades and light fixtures. Embossing started to gain popularity and tile work began to expand from the entrance halls to other parts of the house. Furniture began to move away from dark wood, some families favouring breathable woods like wicker. The rooms would be less cluttered.
Art Deco (1920s-1930s)
The 1920s was a time of buzz and change. Gone were the refined tastes of the pre-war era and now the wow factor was in. Walls were smoother, buildings were sharper and more jagged, doorways and windows were decorated with reeding and fluting. Pastels were in, as was the heavy use of black and white, along with gold. Mirrors and glass were in, injecting light into rooms. Gold, silver, steel and chrome were used in furnishings and decor. Geometric shapes were a favourite design choice. Again, high quality and bold fabrics were used such as animal skins or colourful velvet. It was all a rejection of the Art Noveau movement, away from nature focusing on the man made.
Modernism (1930 - 1965)
Modernism came after the Art Deco movement. Fuss and feathers were out the door and now, practicality was in. Materials used are shown as they are, wood is not painted, metal is not coated. Bright colours were acceptable but neutral palettes were favoured. Interiors were open and favoured large windows. Furniture was practical, for use rather than the ornamentation, featuring plain details of any and geometric shapes. Away from Art Deco, everything is straight, linear and streamlined.
#This took forever#I'm very tired#But enjoy#I covered as much as I could find#Fantasy Guide to interiors#interior design#Architecture#writings#writing resources#Writing reference#Writing advice#Writer's research#writing research#Writer's rescources#Writing help#Mediaeval#Renaissance#Chinese Interiors#Japanese Interiors#Indian interiors#writing#writeblr#writing reference#writing advice#writer#spilled words#writers
3K notes
·
View notes
Text
Warrior Bites: Clan Tools
[Image ID: Reedwhisker, a black RiverClan warrior cat, sits behind two terracotta pots, some strips of willowbark, a traditional wooden pot called a firkin, and a rock. He has a stick in his mouth.]
Warriors of the Clans are shown in-canon to be able to weave, dig tunnels, decorate with shells, and do whatever it is that BloodClan’s got going on with those collars and manicures. Have you considered what other tools a semi-realistic warrior could handle?
A guide to the various tools and methods that the Clans can use to prepare complex dishes, including the equipment needed for smoking, baking, pickling, and so on. Part of the Warrior Bites series for Bonefall’s Clan Culture.
(The art in this guide was once again provided by my partner who hasn’t read a single page of warrior cats in their life but so help me god I’ll drag them down with me)
Tools + Equipment
Fire Starting
Containers: Twine + Baskets + Buckets
Cookware: Smokers, Ovens, “Grillstones“
1. Fire Starting
Flint can be used to start a fire, especially for Clans that lack lumber. Because flint is most easily found around the Mothermouth, it’s associated with StarClan’s glow and considered somewhat divine.
But for those situations without a flint starter, the Clans generally teach their apprentices the paw-drill method using a spindle. But these days, SkyClan uses stolen Glass to start fires quicker and easier than any other Clan…
Except on cloudy days, where some unfortunate apprentice still gets saddled with spindle duty.
[Image ID: Reedclaw, a brown tabby Warrior Cat from SkyClan, sits on his haunches and spins a long stick called a ‘spindle’ with his front paws. Smoke is rising from the board the spindle is spinning against.]
2. Containers: Twine + Baskets + Buckets
RiverClan has the easiest access to twine; Willowbark can be peeled right off the tree and used without any processing for simple string to tie things with. WindClan uses woven grass as twine. ShadowClan, SkyClan, and ThunderClan are able to make cordage from Blackberry brambles.
Once the cat has twine, it can be woven into a simple basket to gather things, like berries, clams, or insects. In order to carry liquids, forested Clans can create firkins-- a small wooden bucket that requires some carpentry ability, namely creating wooden nails.
But these tremble before the value of pottery, which is needed to store liquids, ferment and pickle food, and create stew.
Pottery is made from clay, which has to be baked in order to go from wet mud to terracotta. RiverClan is responsible for making the majority of new pottery because of the river, and ShadowClan’s marsh gives them lots of access to low-quality clay.
WindClan was once unmatched in the quality of their pottery thanks to tunneling leading them to the finest clay deposits known to the Clans. Though SkyClan is now rivaling the finest ancient WindClan pottery, due to their willingness to steal buckets from twolegs.
(Leafstar says, “if you cant make a firkin, store-bought is fine”)
[Image ID: Leafstar, the brown tabby-and-cream Warrior cat leader of SkyClan, sits behind a counter in front of an audience presenting a man-made firkin, parodying shopping channels. A speech bubble says, “Meow meow meow meow meow, storebought is meow.”]
3. Cookware: Smokers, Ovens, “Grillstones“
A smoker is very easy to construct, all that’s needed is some straight branches, twine, and fire.
First, a round pit is dug into the ground and filled with soaked woodchips. It is important they’re damp, because wet wood gives off more smoke than dry. Then, three beams are set and tied at the top, like a triangle. From there, a shelf is made inside of the beams. Multiple shelves can be made if a lot of food is being smoked at once.
ThunderClan wraps the smoker in a leather pelt, to keep the smoke in. Their prowess with smoking and seasoning a wide range of meats gives them the title of BBQ champions.
[Image ID: A primitive smoker setup, made of three sticks leaned against each other in a triangular shape and tied at the top. Two shelves are tied into the structure, the top row with minnows and the bottom with hanging strips of meat.]
An oven is a large construction. Capable of cooking several meals at once, each clan would have just one to use communally. Because the communal oven is such a big project, each Clan would have one that looks unique to their environment.
ThunderClan’s, for example, is flat and made of stone, simple in design but very sturdy and capable of cooking a lot of meat at once.
[Image ID: A stone oven made of flat, piled rocks. A fire is lit at the bottom and meat is browning on the top shelf. A stick leans against the side.]
For the quickest and easiest way to make a hot meal, meat is roasted on a spit or loose stick over an open fire. The best sear comes from a large, flat slab of rock propped up over a flame, known to the clans as a grillstone.
[Image ID: Firestar, ginger tabby warrior cat leader of ThunderClan, watches bacon sizzle on a large, flat rock placed over a fire. His daughter, Squirrelkit, sits beside him. A thought bubble above her head contains a waffle, and a question mark.]
(Clan blood be damned that kittypet can work a grill)
#cooking#warrior cats#Clan Culture#Warrior Bites#smoker#cookware#oven#grillstone#twine#why do they call it an oven when you of in the cold food of out hot eat the food#Firestar#Squirrelflight#Reedclaw#bushcraft#leafstar#Warriors
2K notes
·
View notes
Text
ˋ Let me Love you༄ ☣
Neteyam Sully x Na'vi Fem Reader <SERIES >
Warning of the Serie: MDNI. Dom Neteyam x Fem Na'vi Reader.
SMUT: Dirty Talk; Fangs; Bites; fingering; Blood; Spit; Jealousy and Possessiveness; Foreplay; violence; Swearing; Teasing; Unprotected Sex; betrayal; slut shaming; oral sex; dacryphilia; outdoorsex; jealousy BDSM.
ANGST: mention of suicide, toxic relationship, words inherent in death, sexual assault, self-harm, derealization, suffering, Requited / Unrequited love, prejudices, bullying and insults. and FLUFF. There will be flashbacks in this series
Aged characters: Neteyam 22 y.o / You 19 y.o.
Synopsis: In the darkest point of your life, swallowed by the abyss, you decide to put an end to your sufferings, seeking relief in the extreme act. Your life was an intricate dance between life and death, and when life decided to take leave and leave death alone in you, you got lost. And as if he had been sent by Eywa himself, a mysterious Na'vi, saves you from hitting bottom, sacrificing himself so you don’t give up. Becoming the light that shone in your darkness. He is the sun that faces your night, and you are the Moon, eternally distant from him.
He grabbed your hand and dragged you away, taking you to his village, a place of healing and hope where he will try to make you love life again, showing you the light you had long lost. Starting a journey of healing, to fight against your demons that tormented you relentlessly, to finally find happiness where you would never have bothered to find it.
Two fates crossed under the tacit protection of the Great Mother, to show that even two opposites can create something perfectly chaotic.
And what happens when night and day dance together, to the rhythm of the stars and waves of balance, eternal opposites that are inevitably attracted?
This is the story of how death falls in love with life; how the sun one day decided to save the moon and how darkness is not so dark if light can penetrate. But also a story of suffering and torment, where not everything is roses and flowers.
CHAPTER WARNING: Mention of suicide and slight violence.
Lenght : 5.1k
NA'VI WORDS: Yawne: Beloved; Tspangoe: I invented this, it means "Suicidal". It comes from "Tspang": Kill and "Oe": I/Me. I couldn’t find a word that came close, so I made it up.
TW: THE SERIES WILL BE FULL OF DELICATE TOPICS!
⇠ Previous chapter ✵ Next Chapter ⇢
· · ─────── · 𖥸 · ─────── · ·
Chapter II: Poisonous as Death
The morning light seeped through the drawn skin curtain, dancing gently over your still pale skin. As you opened your eyes annoyed, your vision was blurred at first, but gradually the world around you materialized. You found yourself in a tent that was filled with scents of herbs and burnt incense, noticing a woman sitting on her back with a shawl of red beads that shone on contact with the blinding light.
As you tried to orient yourself, the sounds of nature gently entered your ears. The melodious chirping of birds filled the air, creating a natural symphony that seemed to sing its awakening. You breathed deeply as the earthy aroma of wet earth, mixed with wild musk struck your nostrils, while the smell of wet wood and flowers charged the air with the typical smell of the forest clan.
With caution, you got up to sit on the carpet where you were lying, passing a hand between the braids while strong twines hit your head with pain. The mysterious na'vi pulled the curtains, opening them to change the air once she noticed your awakening, remaining silent. The woman held aromatic herbs in her hand, which she carefully mixed in a clay pot. The air was imbued with the therapeutic scents of the ingredients, which tickled your senses.
She looked up and a grimace spread across her wrinkled face. "You’re awake." She suddenly said in a tone that was too acidic to be even vaguely the Great Mother, but you thought that maybe it could really be her and that she was just angry with you because of the act you did.
"I am…" you whispered with a thread of voice, feeling strange pain at the height of the stomach, while you noticed bandages covering some points of your body.
The old woman approached you, grabbed you by the jaw, carefully looking at your face, turning it as she wished to look for signs of possible trauma or other. "You have a strong spirit, not many survive a fall from such a high waterfall." you opened wide your eyes, pulling yourself back from her grip, observing her with incredulity
"Where am I now?" Your tone was impatient as you looked around, beginning to realize that perhaps your attempt to end it had not come to an end.
The one you identified as the Tsahìk sat next to you, looking at you with hard eyes, filled with contempt. Her time-stamped face and wrinkly hands silently told the story of a woman who had spent her life saving the lives of those who struggled to hold onto it, and who had now healed and saved the life of someone who didn't appreciate the Great gift. The silence weighed heavily between you, interrupted only by the whisper of the forest, which bore the typical melody accompanied by the lively sounds of the village in which you had involuntarily happened.
"You are in the Omatikaya clan, in my tent." she began, acidly, poisoning your body with a few simple words.
You were alive, still stuck in this hell, in the darkness and in the shame that you couldn’t even get it over with.
Meanwhile, Neteyam slowly approached his grandmother’s tent, the heart in his throat and a mixture of hope and fear gripping him. He expected to find you in a comatose sleep, as he had already seen you in those days, but when he lifted the curtain and crossed the threshold, he was surprised. His eyes met your bandaged back, sitting, feeling a sense of happiness and relief to see you awake, remaining still in his footsteps even before opening the mouth.
You turned at once, peering at the boy you reluctantly recognized as 'the one who saved you'. Your gaze was tormented and angry in his. Your irises were like a stormy sea, overflowing with a mixture of gloomy emotions. There was a deep wound in your eyes, a palpable pain that reflected the anger and frustration of being saved against your will.
He looked down, noticing your sharp eyes as blades penetrating directly into his soul. He felt slightly guilty, as if he had somehow broken something sacred by intervening in your choice without your consent. Though on one side of him he was happy to have saved you, to have given you a chance to redeem yourself and enjoy everyday life.
In the meantime Mo'at had left the tent because of the strong and silent tension that was in the air, believing that it was better to leave you two alone to talk and clarify the situation.
"You." You hissed with disgust and acidity, making him shudder at the pungent tone as he approached and you automatically put yourself on the defensive. Your words remained suspended in the air, unable to really break the silence that permeated the tent at that moment.
Neteyam tried to pronounce his name, but held back, fearing that it would make the situation worse. He approached with caution, with a soft step, trying to show respect for the emotional space you needed to feel safe somehow.
You tried to stand up, but the strong pain of stitches and bruises forced you to sit again, while the worried look of the na'vi burned your skin, stretching out a hand as if to prevent you from trying the stupid move again.
"No, don’t move" he said harshly, albeit with a sweet and thoughtful undertone. "You must take it easy, you risked a lot in these days of coma" His tone presented an obvious sign of concern.
You walked away from Neteyam’s close hand just as a wounded animal did, as if you wanted to protect yourself from the outside world, a world that had shattered your expectations and inflicted unimaginable suffering on you. You carried a hand between the now slightly damaged braids, feeling other pains to the head that made you tighten your eyes for the pain.
" Why am I still here?" You hissed while your gaze was focused on your legs, becoming empty and devoid of emotion like your voice. " I threw myself. Why did you save me?" you growled and gritted your teeth, as faint sighs came out of your cerulean and tired lips.
Neteyam listened to you in silence, keeping his eyes down as he searched for the right words not to hurt you. He felt the desperation in your voice, your need to find a way out of that emotional chaos that was pressing you like a rock on the sand. He wishes he could offer you comfort, healing and redemption, but he knew you would be hostile to him because of his 'heroic' act.
"Because I would never let a young Na'vi like you throw her life away like that. Not on my watch." answered with solemn confidence, looking up only for that moment. "You may not see it, but your life means something, you are important to someone" he approached you slightly, still trying not to cross the line he himself had drawn for you.
"I asked you to let me go, to leave me alone. I asked you to leave me, not to save me. And you ignored my words and saved me." You growled as you took a break, meeting his gaze with wrath. "You don’t even know me and you saved me! Why did you do it?! Who are you to decide whether or not to save someone?!" some frozen tears cut your face because of frustration. "I don’t want to live. Why didn’t you let me die?" your tone became weaker, as your heart began to pump blood faster and faster. "You should have let me die…" you whispered as your eyes silently chained. Your look dull, dead, almost extinct, while the only desire that seemed to shine in that amber mirror was death.
Neteyam felt a bitter taste in his mouth, answering urgently. "No, I didn’t and I won’t. I won’t let you die" he retorted, approaching you, taking you by the shoulders almost instinctively. "I don’t need to know you to know that you are someone’s daughter, someone’s sister, someone’s friend, and you belong to a clan. You mean something to someone who will one day regret not being able to save you in time. Please stop saying those words" His golden eyes looked at you pleading, while his voice cracked. < Possible that she suffered so much…? > he asked himself looking at your glassy eyes.
You walked away from his touch again, growling at him, with anger and melancholy. Your soul was still fragile and vulnerable, so hostility was the mask you decided to wear, hoping that for this reason they would also abandon you.
"I WAS someone’s daughter, I WAS someone’s sister, I WAS someone’s friend, I HAD a people and a clan. Now I HAVE nothing. because I WAS someone’s loved one, not now, not me." you felt a bite to the throat, a knot that held the words while you vomited them with blood, tearing you with every sentence. "They’re all dead and buried. so whether or not I join the death toll, you don’t have to decide that for me." Your eyes were like pools of dark, deep water, reflecting the abyss of pain you carried inside of you. They are eyes that once could shine with life, but now they were dull and lifeless, hopeless. Your gaze was charged with an overwhelming mixture of anger and sadness, a storm of emotions ready to crash against the man in front of you. Your bitter voice ruined by yet another growl. "As I said, we don’t know each other. So why do you insist on saving me?"
"You were… if you really don’t have anyone, then let me be your people, introduce you to mine and make them yours. I will be your friend, your sister, your family and a companion to cry on if it is necessary. But I won’t let you disappear, because I know there’s still a flame of life inside of you that wants to shine again." His voice began to flicker, but soon he intensified with something reminiscent of hope. A mixture of desperate determination and concern, with a desire to make you understand that there are reasons why it was worth living. "You’re a stranger, it’s true, but I won’t let you do something so stupid. I won’t let you go." He said seriously. He would like to eradicate the pain from your heart somehow, give light to your dead eyes. "You don’t have to do it alone. I will help you, and if you allow me, we will find a reason for you to live, together. Just let me help you."
You looked away from him, gritting your teeth as your jaw twitched. Your heart so heavy it crushed the organs below.
"You don’t understand…" you whispered in an absent voice, looking out at the curtain walls as you scraped the palm of your hand because of frustration. "I don’t want to live. I don’t want to live anymore. This is not life, it’s not my clan and you can’t be the piece that stops the sinkhole. My life… died with them. But don’t you see? this is only a body that pulls forward and that will turn off" Your voice made the blood freeze to Neteyam, who raised his ears as his tail stopped moving in the air, finding rest behind him. You were honest, you weren’t lying, and he understood that. "I need you to let me go."
"You’re not listening to me. We can find you a life here, even if the life you had before was taken from you… give this a chance." He said gently, trying to hide the pain you had given him. You can form a new family here…" his head bent to the side looking for your eyes, pleading. " Please… believe me" he timidly extended his hand, before leaving it hanging in the air. "Look at me, please. You will not be alone in this." Neteyam was determined after a long time.
He will be patient with you, he will listen to you and he will try to advise you, these were the resolutions that he had fixed in his mind. He will try to understand the pain that burns inside you, and he will burn with it if it helps you.
You didn’t look at him, just taking long breaths, not wanting to answer what you had just been told.
"I promise I will never leave you alone in this fight. I will be here for you, even when it seems like no one else is, and even when you treat me this way. I will not give up, just let me in" he said before he got up. And in that instant, you felt yourself drowning once again, no longer in the waters of the oblivion of that river, but in an unexplored sea of conflicting and inextricable feelings. "You cannot let go like this. You cannot let the dark take over… "
With one last look full of compassion, the man quietly withdrew from the tent, letting you face your emotions in the silence and privacy you needed. Knowing that the path to healing will take time.
For hours you found yourself alone in the hut, not knowing that Neteyam had forbidden anyone to disturb your solitude, still keeping you under surveillance from outside. The Tsahìk’s hut was comfortable, the atmosphere that enveloped the tent was warm and full of positivity, in which the smell of herbs mixed with that of the skin of the tent
You sat on the floor, on the soft carpet, with your legs crossed and your gaze lost in the void. The light of day burst in creating small shadows that seemed to reflect the storm that was stirring in you. Your hands clasped softly around your knees, the contact with your now rough skin offered you an anchor point in reality while the chaos of your emotions threatened to drag you down again into the abyss. The memories of your attempted act tormented you, making you relive the darkness that you had tried so hard to escape. You wondered how you got to that point, how you got so overwhelmed by the pain that you wished it was over.
As you watched the tent in silence, you thought back to the words that the one who saved you had addressed to you, words full of understanding and hope. His voice rang in your mind, like a lighthouse in the night, trying to guide you to a way out of that maze of despair.
"if you really don’t have anyone, then let me be your people, introduce you to mine and make them yours. I will be your friend, your sister, your family and a companion to cry on if it is necessary. But I won’t let you disappear" , "You cannot let go like this. You cannot let the dark take over… "
His words continued to echo in the walls of your mind, the urge to reject them was strong, but at the same time you knew there was a glimmer of truth in those words. A lonely tear turned your face unmoved, happy to be alone so that no one would see you cry again. The shadow of anger and resentment persisted in you as you erased his eyes and his face from your mind, attaching these words to him, that they were inevitably intertwining with a faint flame of hope ched in his little he had fed with a brief conversation.
You sighed deeply as you leaned your head on the pulled fabric of the curtain, trying to fend off that tornado of overwhelming feelings that the boy had sown in you. You decided to give yourself the opportunity to face your demons, but without being helped, you would have defeated your demons just so you could leave in peace.
The words of the Omatikaya boy could not erase your past and your pain, but perhaps they had unconsciously opened a window into the future, a future you thought you did not deserve and where hope and joy could still shine.
Suns began to fall on the horizon, painting the sky with pinkish and purple shades. The village was animated outside the tent in view of the eclipse, while families joyfully gathered in the center of the village to share the dinner as usual.
A voice crept into the solitude of the place where you were still sitting, drawing your attention with a calm yet concerned tone. "Can I come in?"
His words were warm, but you stiffened feeling cold chills hitting your back. You still felt the weight of his actions, the way your will had been ignored to save you from something you didn’t want to be saved from.
"No, leave me alone." You spit bitterly, cold and resolute, closing yourself in once again, hoping to be heard at least this time.
He hesitated for a moment, but then entered the tent with caution, trying not to disturb the dark and tense atmosphere that surrounded you. The dim light of the natural lamps began to light up gradually due to bioluminescence, casting some soft shadows on the skin walls.
"I thought you might be hungry…" he whispered softly and patiently. He was holding a small basket of food that the village had prepared for dinner. The inviting scent of food spread in the air, making you strive to ignore it, keeping your eyes away.
"I’m not hungry. You can leave now." Hissing as your stomach seemed to close to his concern and kindness. He laid the basket on the ground, cautiously approaching you.
"You have to feed your body. Please, just take something," he insisted as he stretched your food, keeping his distance.
You looked up at him, growling, the anger still present in your vitreous gaze. "Don’t you understand?" Your face was stiff, with a still palpable hostility. You squeezed on yourself, creating an invisible barrier between you two. "I don’t want your food." hissing with a grudge voice. "I don’t want anything from you."
The Na'vi’s gaze softened further, though he felt some remorse against his golden irises.
"I know it may seem difficult to accept my help, again… but please don’t deny yourself what you need because of me" he says with a tender voice, trying to make you understand that his gesture is motivated by concern and care. "Eating is a way to take care of your body and start healing. Please try to accept, do it for yourself." his firm, yet compassionate voice, hoping to find your consent.
You stared at the food in front of you, struggling with your inner resistance. After a moment of hesitation, a small sigh escapes from your lips.
You reached the food with your fingers trembling and swiped a piece of teylu towards your mouth. The first bite was reluctant, but slowly the taste and feeling of nourishment run through your mouth like a waterfall. The man’s sweet eyes lingered over you, smiling softly when he saw that you were finally letting him in somehow.
You gave him an indecipherable look as you chewed, with an ounce of admiration mingling with your strong resentment. Perhaps a small, hidden part of you wished for him to stay, believing that someone could still see past your wound.
While dinner was now taking place in the center of the village, you two remained in the tent, enveloped by the tension and uncertainty of the moment. He stood quietly watching you eat, making sure you really fed well.
"You must go, your village is dining…" whistling as you looked away from him, grabbing a yovo fruit, feeling the sweetness pinch your taste buds while the aromatic juice made you close your eyes nostalgically.
"I can eat later. now it is important that you eat" He answered gently, while yet another smile painted on his face, warming your heart in some strange way. "However, you can call me Neteyam" he whispered, offering his name to your ears.
You looked up, and your eyes seemed slightly more present. The sound of his name strangely resonated in your mind, sweet and melodious, like a caress to your ears.
"Ne-te-yam…Neteyam" you repeated in a low voice, experiencing the sweetness of the syllables of his name on your tongue.
Neteyam smiled again, spontaneously, as a light of joy lit in his eyes as you repeated his name without disgust or hostility. He had decided to share his name in the hope that it might be the first thread that could join you.
"Yes, Neteyam." he repeated, looking at how you seemed to want to engrave that name in your memory. His name gave you a strange feeling of calm.
You looked away from him, looking at the food you were tinkering with between your exiled fingers. "Thank you, Neteyam…" You whispered with a thread of voice and then filled your mouth again. You didn’t specify what you were grateful to Neteyam, but he warmed his heart to hear your words, feeling more relaxed in his presence.
The silence enveloped the tent, only the sound of your breaths and the rustling of the leaves outside could break the stillness. Neteyam put a hand on your head, stroking the braids, a tender contact that served to remind you that you were no longer alone, that there was someone who cared for you.
Your eyes crossed Neteyam’s honeyed eyes, needing no further words at that time. Your expressions, your looks, say enough, and time seemed to slow down in the quiet.
The eclipse gave way to the night, and the air outside the tent was filled with deep serenity. The village could now be heard again in the distance, and the sounds of their merriment were present, as the forest began to fall asleep with the calls of nocturnal animals.
"y/n" you revealed at your turn, breaking the silence. Your voice finally slightly warm, as if your name was still something dear to you. " My name is Y/n.." Your voice floated like a melody, a sound that intertwined with serenade night nature.
Neteyam was struck by the beauty of your name, not expecting you to return the presentation as he looked at you with eyes shining with something you couldn’t recognize.
"Y/n…" Neteyam whispered, echoing your name reverently. His face glowed with a new light, as if the name had unleashed something magical inside him. "I’m glad to meet you, Y/n" replied softly with a smile. "You have a very nice name" His voice is a gentle symphony that intertwined with the melody of the night outside the tent.
You nodded without smiling back. The wind blew lukewarm air outside the tent, bringing with it a slight air of unease. The interior of the marui was enveloped in a peaceful atmosphere, while you and Neteyam exchanged silent glances of understanding, needing no words while you finished dining.
However, the serenity and harmony that was being created between you was shattered by the entrance of a young woman whom you recognized as Tsakarem because of the clothing, hair and jewelry typical of her role. The figure with the regal bearing and the face twisted by annoyance made her appearance, as she approached with disgusted step by your figure.
Her eyes were full of annoyance, anger and perhaps jealousy as she watched the scene in front of her. She immediately noticed you, staring at you with apprehension and surprise, if not with much disgust and superiority.
"Look at that! The tspangoe is awake." Her voice was sharp and cold as a blade, as she spoke her words sarcastically. Her attitude was full of contempt, as if she considered you little more than a nuisance, an intruder in her territory who robbed her of precious time with her partner.
"Tsu'Län." He called her in cold voice, annoyed at her turning to you with so little respect. He stood up to face the woman with a nervous and tense expression.
"What, ma yawentu? I’m not saying anything wrong. I just expressed my surprise that the Tspangoe is alive and awake." She raised an eyebrow as she spoke in a feigned, challenging tone, waiting for Neteyam’s reaction.
"Don’t call her like that." Neteyam’s voice was loud and firm, as he was quietly devouring his partner. "Y/N. Her name is Y/n and now that you know it, use her name to address her."
Tsu'Län was a woman of a charming beauty and an enviable bearing, with long braids covered with feathers and jewels identifying the title, but there was a cold and petty aura surrounding her. Her hard eyes shook you, emitting an obvious contempt followed by a grimace.
"Ah, so you named your Tspangoe. Interesting. Very nice of you to welcome her among us after you…found her in the forest" Your face shrank in disgust at her words and then growl at her, receiving the same reaction. It disgusted you that she was judging you without even knowing you. Even though you knew you were a 'tspangoe', you didn’t think anyone would ever tell you that to your face with so little delicacy.
"It’s her name, I didn’t give it to her. Don’t reduce her to a definition, this isn’t you." Neteyam’s tone made clear his intent to come to her senses and take back the words she had just spoken to you.
Tsu'Län burst into a cold, cynical laugh as she bent over with laughter and carried a hand to touch her lips, amused by the words of her partner. "I don’t see why we should worry about a Tsapngoe" she said with contempt and then looked down on you "Exactly since when we started helping these… people. Ma Yawnetu, I will always love you but I don’t expect to share your affection with this… thing."
Your heart tightened within seconds when your mind was finally enlightened, realizing that the two of them were paired and that this meant that Neteyam was the son of the Olo'eyktan and next in the line of succession. You knew the Olo'eyktan of the Omatikaya clan because he was the legendary Toruk Makto, so the weight of what you were experiencing became even heavier.
You raised your head, looking at her as if her words hadn’t even touched you, looking at her in the same way she did at you. You wouldn’t let some random Na'vi knock you down and humiliate you like this.
"I don’t want to take your 'Yawnetu', nor rob you of his… affection?" you answered firmly, mocking her subtly for her insecurity. "I didn’t ask to be involved in this situation, but I’m only here because Neteyam chose to save me. It was his choice to bring me here, not me. So you can get out of this tent and bring him if you wish. But don’t disrespect me, Tsu'Län" Your tone full of superiority and dignity, so much so that it made the young woman grit her teeth.
Neteyam tried to intervene again, trying to reach an agreement between the two of you, but it was clear that Reyin'al is not going to listen reasons and that you would not bend your head. Two unstoppable furies, she’s determined to enforce her claim to Neteyam and humiliate you, and you’re determined to put her back where she belongs.
"Tsu'Län, stop it. Even if you do not like her presence here, she remains a Na'vi and as such deserves respect and understanding" He stood before her, watching her soured because of her behavior, starting to lose patience.
The Tsakarem laughed again, a sharp laugh full of contempt. "Respect and understanding? For a na'vi who tried to take her own life? I don’t think so. The Tspangoe lose all rights when they become such and you know it better than I do" Her gaze fixed on you with disgust. She seemed to enjoy every word she hurled at you, trying to erode your confidence and confidence, abnormal traits for Tspangoes.
"Keep your hopes up, little tspangoe. Sooner or later you will return to the abyss from which you came out, and Neteyam will understand how wrong he was to save you." She said as she approached you, leaning on your person, amused by your look upset by his words.
You instinctively took her from the braids, making her fall to the ground while you watched her with a newfound flame, but of anger. You could have overlooked the slight insults, but even you knew that enough was enough.
Your fingers tightened the braids, tearing off some of the feathers that adorned her hair, as she gasped out of pain, hitting your arm to free herself from the vise.Neteyam tried to get closer but stopped when he saw your burning look on her.
"Listen carefully. I don’t know who has spoiled you to the point where you believe that you can treat people the way you want just because of your status. But do not believe for a second that you can address me in these tones, of your title I can not care less. A Tsakarem lives under the guidance of Eywa more than anyone other than Tsahìk, try to live up to your title, nothing is due to you. You respect me, and I will try not to make you cry all the tears that you never shed, okay?" you hissed at her ear, before you let go of your grip and make her fall at Neteyam’s feet, that in the while he had watched the scene in silence. He knew your reaction had been a little excessive, but only Eywa knew how much he wanted to put her in her place like that when she was being a bitch.
One of the few privileges of having reached the point of reaching the bottom, is that empathy was your master and only guide, so you could not care about things like the status and moral codes of the Na'vi.
Tsu'Län stood back as she watched as some of her feathers remained in your hand and growled at you, massaging her sore braids.
"Remember, Tspangoe, this is my territory." her impatient and threatening voice made you smile internally, amused by the fact that she still tried to frighten you. You shrugged and then growled at her and pushed her back, annoyed, before she went out and left.
Neteyam looked back at you, not realizing that you had this strong spirit under that dark veil that shrouded you. You lay down on the carpet, giving your back to the boy before you snort. "You go too, now."
Within minutes, that woman had managed to ruin the little thread that Neteyam had managed to wrap around you, to get you close to him. And now he seemed to have returned to the starting point, making him frustrated and angry with his companion who had been petty and disrespectful.
✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧
Notes:
I hope you enjoyed this chapter, things between Y/n and Neteyam are still sour but you can see the soft spot of Y/n.
While I would like to hug Neteyam because he is so cute, please. So boyfriend coded
- Mel
˚ ✦ . . ˚ . . ✦ ˚ . ★⋆. ࿐࿔ . ˚ * ✦ . . ✦ ˚
#Let me Love you Neteyam#Mel's Avatar Garden#Mel's Neteyam Garden#neteyam sully x reader#neteyam x reader#neteyam sully#neteyam#neteyam smut#neteyam x you#neteyam x na'vi!reader#neteyam x y/n#avatar ff#neteyam fic#neteyam fanfiction#avatar neteyam#avatar smut#avatar#avatar x you#avatar x reader#avatar x y/n#avatar x na'vi reader#neteyam suli x reader#neteyam sully x y/n#neteyam sully x you#atwow neteyam#netyam sully#neteyam fluff#Avatar#avatar fluff#fluff
248 notes
·
View notes
Note
What if Kaveh's child became a talented sculptor/painter like in their teens? Say like 15 or so? Idk. That second part got me thinking so much abt them just tugging Kaveh by the arm to their next project like "OMG YOURE GONNA LOVE THIS ONE IM SO PROUD OF IT SPGUEJGEJLVWLHELHEJ"
artistic inclination.
summary. what if kaveh's child was artistically inclined?
trigger & content warnings. none applicable.
tropes, pairings, fic length, & other notes. fluff. adoptive dad!kaveh & reader. 0.5k words. they/them pronouns used for reader. this post is an expansion of what if kaveh adopted a child?
author's thoughts. GOD YOURE SO RIGHT ANON I LOVE THIS IDEA ITS SO CUTE..... guys. i BEG of you. please send me asks like this. i adore when this happens. getting asks about any of my ongoing series is an absolute delight. requests are always always always welcome, but this kind of ask? this kind of ask is my favorite type fr <3
kaveh's kid does absolutely end up being good with their hands, whether that's because of the time they spent with the forest rangers or simply because they lean in favor of artistic hobbies, and kaveh himself? he is overjoyed. the fact that [name], his [name], seems to have some inherent inclination towards the arts... archons. he loves that about them. it's like they were always meant to be his child.
he loves that his kid's first instinct is to run to him when they have a sort of creative breakthrough. he loves that their first instinct is to tug him by the arm and show him what they've made, even if there's still wet paint or clay on their hands because really, it's just a shirt. it can be washed. stains are just stains. he honestly understands on a very personal level; he gets paint all over himself, too. things happen.
it's worth it in the end, because he just loves them so dearly. their joy is his joy. their sorrow is his sorrow. their feelings are his. he resonates so deeply with the emotions of everyone around him, so you had better believe that his empathy increases tenfold for his own kid. he feels their feelings as if they were his own.
he understands their joy beyond the influence of his empathy, though. as an artist himself... he's so unbelievably honored that their first instinct is to share their work with him.
art is like a little window inside the artist's mind. the things they create give their father a deeper understanding of who they are, how they think, how they feel, why they think and feel that way. an artist sharing their work is an earnest display of vulnerability.
kaveh is so enamored with the way they are so willing, so eager to be vulnerable with him in such a sensitive way, especially in their teen years. he's heard a lot of things about raising teens; teens are supposed to be... difficult, aren't they? however, [name] just isn't difficult in the slightest.
...
well, children tend to be a reflection of the parent(s) they are raised by. [name] can be sassy and sarcastic, courtesy of tighnari and alhaitham's influence, but... they aren't difficult. they are kind and emotionally aware and warm and gentle.
overall, kaveh and his little co-parenting friend group did very well raising [name].
"baba, come look! i finished that project i was telling you about. it took me a while, but i finally did it!"
this happens multiple times on many different occasions, but kaveh's reaction never becomes any less enthusiastic. it doesn't matter what may be occupying his mind at that moment. he treasures their openness and could never so much as imagine disregarding their joy in moments like that. he always replies with a smile, wiping away a little bit of semi-wet paint that somehow ended up on their cheek.
kaveh only ends up smearing it more, but the gesture is sweet and appreciated nonetheless.
"ah, really?! i'm so proud of you. i know it can be hard sometimes. let me see what you've made this time."
please consider reblogging, it helps me out quite a lot!
#aphelion brainrots 🌸#: [ adoptive dad kaveh! 🌸 ]#favoniuslibrary#astronetwrk#platonic genshin impact x reader#platonic genshin#platonic genshin impact#platonic genshin x reader#kaveh x reader#platonic kaveh x reader
168 notes
·
View notes
Text
seize the clay | @sparkagrace
steve x bucky | t | 1.1k words
tags: pre-serum Steve, beefy Bucky, pottery, tiktok, modern au, social media
fills: @allcapsbingo | card AC1006 | march adoptable: social media
Steve has a tiktok series called Steve Skills Up where he duets with other creators and tries to learn new skills. One day he finds himself tagged in someone's video asking him to duet with a new viral creator. Bucky Barnes is a potter who posts videos of him making various bowls and cups. Oh, and he does this shirtless...
Steve didn’t intend to become a content creator. He was just bored and downloaded tikok after Clint kept sending him videos of dogs being reunited with their owners and cats becoming friends with ducks. The intention was to only use the godforsaken app whenever he was sent a video, but then the thing got interesting and he was being shown videos of dubious cleaning hacks (it did force him to do some of the deep cleaning he’d been putting off forever), cooking inspiration (he was able to impress his friends at the last potluck with his sugar cookies), and a few prank videos that was absolutely 100% scripted (but he still watched every single one).
All this is to say, somehow he started scrolling and ended up on various art pages, which were actually interesting and gave him a lot of inspiration to pick up his sketchpads and paints again. He started off slowly: filmed timelapses of his painting, showed how he went from sketch to canvas, talked a little bit about why he prefers oil painting to watercolors. All of that was fun and he had a very small following.
Until he decided he wanted to learn more art mediums and styles because thinking about what to paint was hard and sometimes he just wasn’t feeling it. So then he started a series called Steve Skills Up, where he dueted with other creators and tried to replicate what they were doing: knitting, cross-stitching, sculpture, splatter painting (that one was messy but fun). Usually doing it wrong but eventually working it out. That series started to get popular and then he started getting people tagging him in videos and begging him to ‘Skill Up’. It’s fun, but it’s hard work. He finds that some of it is frustrating and there are just some days he doesn’t feel like getting in front of a camera, especially when his asthma acts up or after a full day of working. Unfortunately his online fame hasn’t meant that he can give up his day job.
One day he wakes up to hundreds of mentions. He sleepily looks at his phone to find out what people want him to do now. It’s a video that has racked up almost a million views and the username is @BuckysBowls. The guy in the video is sitting in front of a kiln in between his legs – shirtless – and there’s Ginuwine’s Pony playing in the background. The guy on screen is extremely hot: practically all abs and toned biceps. He definitely knows what he’s doing when he oh so innocently drops the mound of clay into the wheel, wets his hands and begins manhandling it; the slapping sounds sending something strange down Steve’s spine. Steve cannot stop watching. He’s completely entranced by the way the wheel spins so quickly yet this guy – Bucky – is able to keep such control over the clay, seemingly allowing it to do what it wants but also bending to his will.
Bucky’s hands wrap around the clay as it moulds to whatever shape he needs it to, presses his fingers gently but steadily through the wet body as it continuously spins and forming a hole that gradually widens evenly. Both his hands remain steady and covered with clay as he draws up gently to lengthen the sides. And as he does, he shoots looks to the camera, smirks and gets back to work. Sometimes his face can’t even be seen, and Steve wants to reach into the screen to lift up his chin so he can look into his eyes. Steve thinks he might be drooling. The work is so precise and yet Bucky seems to be doing it so casually, as if he woke up that morning and was like “sure, I’ll make a bowl”. He may well have because Bucky’s hair is rumpled and there’s little bits of clay in it from where he’s pushed back his hair. Even from the phone, Steve can see where parts of his bare skin have specks of clay water as he works.
He has to watch the same video four times at least because he finds himself too distracted and missing parts of the bowl progress by getting too caught up with Bucky’s eyes and general being. Then he scrolls and watches video after video of Bucky making cups and vases and jugs and even more bowls. Every single time that his fingers press into the clay, Steve thinks he's going to pass out. Steve clicks through to his profile and sees the address to his store in Brooklyn – Seize The Clay – just twenty minutes away from Steve's apartment. This got much harder.
Despite him spending at least two hours lying in bed and watching Bucky’s tiktoks, he doesn’t respond to any of the requests aside from liking a couple. Steve doesn’t know how he’s supposed to get the materials for this first of all because he knows it’s expensive to get kilns and he lives in a small apartment. He has no idea where he’d even put one unless he found a pottery place that would let him film in there. Not only that, he has no idea how he’s supposed to even follow along without blushing because Steve is already unable to look at Bucky directly on a recording. He just doesn’t know where to start so he just presses 'follow' and puts a pin in it.
Over the next few days, the tags keep coming and his algorithm shows him Bucky's videos constantly. People are desperate for Steve to replicate what they’re seeing Bucky do. People even want him to do it shirtless, which is it’s own set of problems with the prominent scar down his torso from heart surgery as a kid. Besides, in a duet next to Bucky, Steve is going to look even weedier. Urgh.
BuckysBowls: hey! i keep seeing ur name tagged in my comments so i checked out ur videos. they’re pretty cool!
SteveGR: thnx. i’m sorry about the comments. i really like your videos too. so impressive
They go back and forth, talking about creating content, their backgrounds, Brooklyn, how weird it is to go viral.
And then...
BuckysBowls: so when are you gonna duet a vid? no pressure but i assume it’s on the list?
SteveGR: uhhh maybe a bit too skilled rn. beyond my wheelhouse haha
BuckysBowls: if u need any help getting started lmk
SteveGR: well, unless u know how i can get a kiln into my apartment…
BuckysBowls: come to the store?
SteveGR: i work fulltime and i don’t get many pto days
BuckysBowls: steve quit making excuses. i’ve seen your art and ur series. i know u can do this. give the people what they want! 💪
SteveGR: i wouldn’t even know where to start 🙈
BuckysBowls: i give private lessons after hours. the first one is always free…
After that, Steve doesn’t really have a choice.
notes: this is totally inspired by the many, many, many videos of guys doing pottery shirtless that somehow found their way to my fyp. Shout out to the accounts: potteryboy, stonemeetsclay, and lowham_ceramics who were all incredible Bucky inspo ✌️
172 notes
·
View notes
Text
Part 19: In the Bleak Midwinter
Fandom: Peaky Blinders
Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Grace Burgess x OC
Summary: The tunnel has to be dug and the jewels stolen, or else Charlie will be lost to them forever.
Word Count: 5,806
Notes: Warnings for depictions of panic attacks and sexual content and references to kidnapping and violence.
Masterlists: Main • Series • Fic
Previous Part • Next Part
Chapter 25: In the Dirt
The tires squealed as Tommy brought the car to a hard stop just beside the campsite Johnny Dogs and the clay kickers had set up around the entrance to the tunnel. Lucy could see Johnny standing, approaching the car with a puzzled expression.
“Take off your coat, suit jacket, holster, and waistcoat,” Tommy ordered her. She nodded, undoing the buttons with shaky fingers, tossing the garments into the backseat. They climbed out of the car in a flurry, Tommy still undoing the buttons on his blue shirt as they approached the large hole opened up within the ground. Johnny shouted questions after them as Tommy relayed the situation to him, but they ignored him.
At the sight of the hole, Lucy felt her chest tighten with nerves. It was big enough so that one fully grown man could climb in and out at a time, illuminated by orange-yellow light from lanterns and lights attached to the walls to illuminate the descent.
“You have any trouble, or you start to feel panicky, you come straight back up here and wait with Johnny Dogs,” Tommy told her, and while the sternness of the order was there, his voice was gentle. She nodded.
“Yes, sergeant major,” she whispered, wondering to herself if this was how he had spoken to his men back in France.
No wonder he had won all those medals.
He gave her arm a little squeeze, stepping past her to begin lowering himself down into the hole. She gulped. A little ways down, he looked up at her, and must have seen the apprehension on her face.
“You’re going to be fine.”
She nodded, wondering to herself why the fuck she had ever insisted on this. Johnny held out a hand for her to balance herself with as she stepped into the hole, her foot finding the first of many steps in a ladder against one wall.
She kept her eyes focused straight ahead on the dirt wall in front of her, trying to occupy her mind with finding each step in the ladder, and not how she was lowering deeper and deeper into the earth.
It was almost working until they hit the bottom.
There was just enough space for them both to stand, dim lanterns flickering, the only thing keeping them from being plunged into complete and total darkness.
She felt herself start to shake a little as she took in the sight of the tunnel, already extending far, far into the distance. A dark, yawning abyss of pure blackness if not for the lights attached intermediately to the beams constructed to keep the tunnel from collapsing.
It was tiny and low enough that they would have to crawl on their stomachs to fit. She was small enough she could maybe fit at a small crouch.
Maybe.
Just the idea of those dark walls around her made her heartbeat pick up, breaths coming in shallowly. The scent of wet earth all around them wasn’t helping. She squeezed her eyes shut, but a moment away from darting back up the ladder they’d just descended on.
Behind her eyelids, memories of waking up to the crushing sensation of the weight of earth pressing down on her danced before her. Dirt in her mouth and nose, digging painfully under her fingernails as she scratched and scrambled at it. Trying to dig herself out. Already in so much agony from the wounds inflicted on her during the attack that had left her assailants believing she was dead.
“You alright?” Tommy asked, hand on her arm, and his voice broke through the memory. She opened her eyes with a sharp gasp. The blue of Tommy’s eyes helped, and she made herself focus on that. Not the dirt around them.
Certainly not how eerily similar it all felt to being buried alive.
She took a deep breath, getting herself back under control, stuffing the panic down, and nodded.
He must have seen the resolution in her eyes, because he nodded back, and held out a rag to her.
“Tie this around your face, so it’s covering your nose and mouth.”
She did as instructed. It helped a little against the triggering scent of damp earth.
“Take this,” he held out a pickaxe to her. She clutched it in a white knuckled grip. “Follow me,” he glanced back to the tunnel. “Do what I do.”
She nodded, clenching her jaw against the panic in her chest. She could do this.
She could do this for Charlie.
Tommy touched her chin gently. “I’m right here with you.”
That sentiment made her feel a little better. She would be okay so long as he was nearby.
Watching him crouch down and start to wriggle and crawl his way through the tunnel, she made herself pay close attention to his movements, focusing on mimicking them. Stooping down, she took a deep breath, and started to crawl in after him.
It surprised her how warm she soon felt as they scrambled their way to where the other tunnelers were, the heat of the lamps and the physical exertion causing sweat to bead down her back. They came to a space a little bigger than the rest of the tunnel, where they were able to crouch as Tommy talked to William, debriefing him on the change in plans.
The walls felt like they were closing in, tightening like a vice around her. She squeezed the pickaxe, feeling her throat constricting with panic. When William and Tommy started moving through the tunnel again, she soldiered on through the terror, and followed them.
Finally, after what felt like a century, they came to the end of the tunnel. Tommy had removed his shirt at some point, his bare chest, abdomen, and back already covered in a layer of dirt.
“We dug a sinkhole to drain the clay, like you said,” William said, wiping mud from his face. “So long as we don’t hit anymore and we work fast, we can get it dug in time,” he shot a glance Lucy’s way. “Good thing you brought her. Timothy came down with the shakes a few hours ago and I had to send him back up to rest. He was useless down here,” he narrowed his eyes at her. “You know what you’re doing?”
“Tommy gave me instructions on the drive here. And I’m a fast learner,” she was momentarily proud of how steady her voice sounded.
William nodded. “Best get started, then.”
“Come here,” Tommy beckoned her, and she wriggled closer to him. She was small enough that they were able to fit side by side despite the narrowness of the tunnel. She watched for a moment while Tommy started to dig, adjusting her hands on the pickaxe to mimic his movements before taking her first swing at the dirt. “Distance your hands a bit more,” Tommy said, still scraping at the dirt. She did as he said. “Good.”
She still felt like she was having a panic attack, but having something to actually focus on doing helped. She was able to lose herself a little in the repetitive swings, the movements helping to displace some of the shakiness in her muscles. Fear still squeezed upon her from all sides, like the walls of the very tunnel that caused it, but she worked through it. Her legs burned from staying crouched for so long, but she needed the added strength from her legs to assist her movements.
Later, she would look back on the whole thing with awe towards Tommy in how he handled everything. It was incredible to watch him work, and a shame that in the moment they were both so frantic and rushed that she hadn’t been able to properly appreciate watching him work: muscles flexing, movements, though frenzied, controlled and deliberate. He knew what he was doing, and he was good at it.
It made her feel a little stupid to have even insisted on coming down there. Not just because she could easily tip over the edge into panic-induced uselessness at any moment, but because, in all honesty, he probably didn’t really need her.
He could have dug the whole damn tunnel by himself in record time, if he’d had to.
Behind them, William started to shout, and she turned to find one of the men curled on the ground, shaking violently. Tommy bellowed over his shoulder for William to get the man out, and he began to half drag him back the way they’d come.
A very large part of her wished that she could have followed them.
Dirt had caked all over her, turning her thin white shirt nearly entirely brown. Her face was covered in it, and it had stained her hands and dug underneath her fingernails.
She shuddered at the memories that particular feeling brought up.
Tommy accidentally jostled her a little, and her shoulder bumped into a wall. She recoiled from it with a small whine, having been doing the best she could to avoid touching any of the walls of the tunnel. It just reminded her how tiny of a space they were all squeezed into.
“Sorry,” he grunted. She shook her head, mumbling that it was alright.
It was hard to gauge how long it took William to return to them. Time seemed to have lost all meaning. She wasn’t sure what hour it was. Could they already be too late?
She doubled her efforts. Behind them, William was urging Tommy to slow down a little when a groan sounded above their heads, the entire tunnel seeming to shudder, and she could hear water running somewhere. For the first time since she’d really started digging, she looked around at the walls of dirt encasing them. She’d been trying to keep her eyes focused only in front of her, rather than taking in how truly tiny the space was. Her teeth sank into the side of her mouth to hold in a whimper, snapping her head down, imagining herself somewhere safe. Somewhere open and wide, like a meadow.
No, no, that wasn’t helping. All it did was remind her just how small and cramped the tunnel truly was.
William was saying something to Tommy about the dirt being too wet, but Tommy just shouted back at him. The strain in his voice was enough to shake Lucy from the downward spiral of anxiety she’d been set on, head turning to focus on him. He’d moved back to dragging away at the dirt, and she slowly inched her way closer to him. Their sides brushed, and that seemed to help them both; Tommy let out a small breath, and she felt herself relax just a fraction at the feeling of him strong and solid beside her.
“How are you doing?”
The rough sound of his voice surprised her. Other than him shouting orders to the men every once in a while, they’d barely spoken.
“I wish I’d gone with Michael to kill Hughes,” she had to clear her throat before she could get the words out, her voice hoarse from lack of use.
He made a small snorting sound through the material of the rag still tied around his face. “We’re almost there.”
She didn’t ask him how he knew.
It felt like they’d been digging for hours upon hours, but at the same time like it only took a few more minutes, when on the next plunge of Tommy’s shovel, they heard a dull, clanging sound.
“What was that?”
“We’ve hit the wall of the treasury.”
She could have wept from joy.
“William, dynamite,” Tommy ordered over his shoulder, then turned to her. “Move back.”
She did as she was told, scrambling backwards. She watched him lodge a stick of explosives into the wall, backing up after her with the coil connecting it to the detonator trailing the distance between them and the dynamite. Once he deemed them far enough, he fiddled with the button on the detonator.
“Get ready.”
She pressed her hands over her ears, turning her face away. Tommy shifted, until he was half over her, practically shielding her from the impending explosion with his body. She pressed herself closer to him.
Despite being a good deal away, the bang from the explosion when he pressed the detonator made her ears ring. A puff of loose dirt was blown directly into their faces, and the entire tunnel seemed to shake and buckle with the force of it. It had barely cleared when Tommy was half dragging her with him by the hand towards the newly formed, gaping hole.
A little sob left her lips at the familiar sight of the interior of the Russian treasury. She hopped out of the damned tunnel after Tommy, feeling for the first time like she could breathe normally in the wide-open space.
But there wasn’t any time to enjoy it. Not yet.
“Grab what you can,” Tommy said, already rifling through the boxes of jewels. Lucy followed suit, pulling a few cloth bags from the pocket of her trousers and stuffing them with as many precious stones as she could get her hands on. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted the boxes of gems that had been selected by clients or friends of the Russians. She grabbed theirs, plus a few more, and raced back to the entrance to the tunnel. Tommy helped boost her back into it, and climbed in right behind her.
“Go, go, go,” William urged, pressing himself flush against one of the walls so they could scramble past him. Lucy kept her eyes trained on the far end of the tunnel, slowly growing nearer.
So close.
The walls still felt like they were crushing in on her, as if they could collapse in on her and keep her down there in the dark, wet mud forever.
But she’d survived being trapped underneath the ground once before. She could do it again.
Her hands locked around the first rungs of the ladder, hauling herself up as fast as she could. The muscles in her arms and legs trembled, and she had to clench her fingers tight or else risk falling.
Up above, she could see the flickering light of a lantern.
Her head burst through the entrance of the tunnel, and all it took was the first kiss of cool fresh air on her face to have her bursting into tears, scrambling, like a trapped rat in a box, to pull herself the rest of the way out of the hole. Her bags of jewels dropped unceremoniously to the ground, and she crawled, the feeling of soft green grass under her dirt-caked palms only making her cry harder. She collapsed to the side of the hole, fatigued muscles finally giving into exhaustion. Drawing her knees up to her chest, she curled into a ball of hysterics, weeping and hiccuping uncontrollably as she finally allowed her mind to release the terror that had been building within it during the hours she’d been under the ground.
Somewhere near the entrance to the hole, she heard thumping, and then the low grunts of someone else pulling themselves from the abyss. And then there was weight, warm and gentle, against her back, as a figure collapsed beside her, somehow finding enough energy to purposefully wrap himself around her in comfort despite his own exhaustion.
Tommy gripped her tight, hand fumbling to pull the rag still wrapped around her nose and mouth down so she could breath more easily, then hugging her.
“Shh, I’ve got you. It’s okay. It’s done now. It’s done. You’re okay,” he started to whisper in her ear.
Her breathing was hard, coming out in tiny gasps that made it feel almost as though she wasn’t breathing at all. But even as she continued to cry and buried her face in her arms, he kept talking to her.
“It’s alright. You did good. You did so fucking good, Lucy. I’m so proud of you,” his hand smoothed over her head, kissing her temple despite the dirt still covering them both. Little by little, she started to calm down, breathing returning mostly to normal and tears drying up.
“Mm. There you go,” Tommy purred, dirty face tucking into her neck. “That’s my girl,” he gave her a small squeeze. “We’ve got to go. Can you stand?”
Her nod was weak, and her muscles practically screamed in complaint when she started to move, but she ignored them, unfolding her limbs and pushing up off of the ground to drag herself to her feet. It felt like it took all of her strength just to do that.
Tommy pulled himself up with her, a hand hovering at her back to catch her in case her legs gave out. Once he was sure she was stable, he plucked up the bags of jewels they’d both dumped near the entrance to the tunnel. Grabbing her hand, he led her towards where the car was still parked on the outskirts of the camp, a few orders to rest and then commence work on filling in the hole mumbled to Johnny Dogs and William as they passed them. He grabbed a fresh shirt to pull over his dirt-covered torso.
Her steps were a little shaky and unsteady, and when she finally was able to plop down in the passenger seat, she swore she could have melted right into the leather of the seats.
“Where are we going?” her voice was slurred with exhaustion as Tommy started up the car and flicked on the headlights.
“There’s a phonebooth a little up the road.”
“Mm,” she hummed, trying to wipe the dried dirt off of her face with little success.
“Come here,” he wrapped his arm around her while he drove, letting her pillow her head on his shoulder.
“I’m sorry I made you take me down there with you,” she wetted her dry lips, then cringed at the taste of dirt in her mouth.
“Why?” Tommy sounded truly baffled.
“You didn’t need me. You could have dug the whole tunnel yourself if you had to. You didn’t need my help.”
He shook his head. “I think you’re a little delirious with exhaustion, love,” his thumb rubbed her shoulder. “Believe me, you helped. With Timothy already out of commission, we needed another person. And besides,” he kissed her forehead. “You kept me sane down there.
She gave him a look, and he chuckled.
“Okay, somewhat sane.”
Her chest spasmed with a tiny laugh. “I don’t ever wanna do something like that again.”
Tommy hummed in agreement. “You did well with not panicking.”
“Oh, I was panicking. I just found a way to keep working despite it.”
He hummed in understanding, pulling the car to a stop by a phone booth on the side of the road. Grabbing his coat, he pulled it on, checking to make sure he still had change in the pocket.
“This will only take a minute.”
She swallowed hard. It was painful with how parched her throat was. “You don’t think that we’re too late…?”
“It’s not past five yet,” but the look on his face told her he wasn’t wholly convinced. She fiddled with her fingers as she watched him get out of the car, then decided that despite how exhausted she was, she couldn’t take just sitting there and waiting for him to report back to her. Heaving herself up, she stepped from the car and followed him into the phone booth. He shot her a look like he wasn’t at all surprised that she’d followed him, and angled the phone so that she could hear what was said on the other end.
“Hello?”
“Ada? It’s me,” he cleared his throat. “I’ve got the jewels. Is…”
“Tommy!” Ada shouted into the receiver. “Tommy, it’s alright! Michael…Michael got him back! Charlie’s okay! He’s right here!”
A strangled sob broke from Lucy’s lips. Tommy’s entire body seemed to relax, slumping a little.
“Let me speak to him.”
Reaching out, Lucy grabbed a handful of his shirt to keep herself anchored. There was fumbling on the other end of the phone, and then a high, happy little voice chirped on the other end.
“Daddy?”
“Hello, Charlie,” Tommy grinned, eyes crinkling at the edges at the sound of his son’s voice. Lucy sobbed again as she listened to him babble excitedly to his father through the receiver. He didn’t sound upset or traumatized. Just happily chattering about his ‘adventure’ he’d been on with his cousin Michael.
“Lucy?” he asked suddenly, and she could practically picture it: his big blue eyes looking around curiously.
“I’m right…I’m right here, kiddo,” she said into the receiver, voice catching with emotion. Tommy wrapped an arm around her waist. “How’re you feeling, sweetheart? Are you okay?”
“Tired,” Charlie mumbled. There was mumbling in the distance on the other end. “Auntie Ada says bedtime now.”
“Yeah, you go to bed. Good boy,” Tommy said. There was shuffling, and then Ada’s voice was back on the phone.
“He really is alright. Just tired from all the excitement, I think. I was going to take him back to Arrow House. I’ll stay with him until you and Lucy get back.”
“Yes, alright,” Tommy agreed. “We’ll be there soon.”
“Hughes is dead.”
“Good,” Lucy hissed out, silently lamenting that she hadn’t gotten to watch the disgusting fuck die with her own eyes.
“We’ll talk more when we get back,” Tommy said, and hung up the phone.
They both sighed at the same time, arms going around each other, practically holding the other up considering how their combined release of tension and worry seemed to drain them of all their remaining strength. She could feel Tommy sobbing hard, burying his face in her hair while he clutched her to him. She buried her face in his chest, crying out her own relief.
Their baby was safe. He was safe. He was okay. They weren’t going to lose him too.
Sniffling, Tommy raised his head, a hand raising to cup her cheek, forehead landing on hers.
“It’s okay,” she whispered, both to him and to herself.
“I couldn’t have lived through this without you.”
She shook her head in disagreement, and he tightened his hands on her hips and kissed her, quick but deep. He tasted as he always did: of cigarettes and whiskey. But this time, there was the undeniable tang of dirt intermixed with the other two.
“Mm,” when they broke away she wrinkled her nose.
“What?”
“We both desperately need a bath.”
He laughed, dropping his face into her shoulder, then nodding in agreement, taking her hand and leading the way out of the phone booth and into the car.
She looked down at her ruined shirt and trousers, completely caked with mud. Angling the rearview mirror, she cringed at the sight of the face that looked back at her. Her entire face was nearly covered in dried mud, her red hair stringy with it and dried sweat.
She had to smell positively foul.
Replacing the rear view mirror, she resolved not to look at herself again until after she was able to bathe.
“Try to sleep a little, if you’d like,” Tommy urged as he started up the car.
“I’m afraid if I do, I’ll wind up sleeping for a solid two days before you’ll be able to wake me up again,” even as she said it, she was snuggling into his side, laying her head on him.
Tommy chuckled, putting his arm around her.
∗ ∗ ∗
They stopped at the house in Small Heath to get cleaned up. No one else was there, so they had the place to themselves. Lucy put together two plates of bread, cheese, and fruit from the pantry for them to snack on while he heated water to pour into one of the tubs they still had downstairs, even though no one really actually lived there anymore. Pulling his ruined, dirt-stained clothes from his body, Tommy grimaced, tossing them into a pile to go into the trash, thankful that he still kept a couple spare suits there for emergencies.
He groaned lowly at the soothing effect that the warm water had on his sore muscles as he sank into the tub, eagerly scrubbing away the dirt clinging to his skin. Lucy came in a moment later, setting a handful of towels down on a table. He watched her move around the room lazily. Even covered in mud, she was still beautiful.
“Love,” he said, recognizing her fussing movements as a manifestation of anxiety. “Come here.”
Those big green eyes fixed on him widely, her pale, freckled hand sliding into his, letting him pull her closer to the edge of the tub. He dragged her down until her mouth slanted over his, a hand on the back of her neck to gently hold her in place.
“Get in,” he whispered huskily.
She narrowed her eyes at him. “Tommy, I love you, but I am way too tired for sex right now–”
He chuckled, brushing his lips temptingly across hers again. “No, I know,” he dragged his nose down along the length of her shoulder. “Let me wash your back.”
She smiled a little at the offer, fingers already raising to start undoing the buttons on her shirt. Tommy wet his lips as he watched her strip out of her dirty clothes, holding out a hand to help steady her as she stepped into the tub, then wrapping his arms around her when she lowered to sit in front of him, back to his chest.
“Mm…” he groaned in appreciation at the comforting weight of holding her in his arms, gently sliding his hands across her skin to help wash away the dried dirt. She hummed, muscles relaxing as he set about tenderly messaging her. He knew all too well just how sore a night of digging could make the muscles.
“Lean forward?” he requested in a whisper in her ear. She did, and as promised, he cleaned the dirt off her back, then scrubbed her hair for her, careful not to tug on it too hard as he coaxed the dried dirt in it to loosen up and dissipate into the water. When he was done, she curled up on his chest, fingers idly tracing the lines of the tattoo there.
With all the touching, and her warm and soft and bare against him, his cock had stirred awake beneath the water, twitching with eagerness. He tried to think it down; she was exhausted and had said she wasn’t up for that right now. The last thing he wanted was to make her feel pressured.
She made a small noise, face scrunching as she cracked one eye open to look at him in mock sternness when his erection unintentionally bumped against her back.
“I thought I said no funny business, Shelby,” but there was no real bite to her words. He shot her a sheepish look.
“Sorry. Can’t help it.”
She just hummed, not seeming particularly perturbed, stretching out against him. “Let me get your hair for you.”
The tub wasn’t really meant for two people, and it took a fair amount of maneuvering despite neither of them being particularly tall to get repositioned in a way that allowed her to rub the lingering dirt out of his hair.
Tommy let his eyes fall closed, her gentle little fingers massaging into his scalp seemed to soothe nearly all the residual tension he was still carrying. He could have purred, curling in closer to her. If he wasn’t careful, he could have fallen asleep like that, his head on her chest while she stroked his hair and held him. It was one of his favorite places to be.
“We should head back home soon,” she murmured, though she made no move to get out. Opening his eyes, Tommy lifted his head enough to kiss her. She sighed into his mouth, both hands landing on his shoulders while he lifted himself up, bracing his hands at either side of her on the rim of the tub while he deepened the kiss. Water sloshed around them, dangerously close to spilling onto the floor.
The scalp massage had not helped at all on the ‘don’t have an erection’ front, his twitching cock pressing unintentionally into her stomach. He winced back a little, though her hands coming to rest on his face didn’t let him get very far.
“Sorry, sorry, I know you don’t want to right now…”
“It’s alright,” she bumped her nose with his. So close to her face like this, he could distinctly see the large, dark circles under her eyes, and while those big green orbs were alight with usual warmth and brightness, he could see the exhaustion lurking just beneath. Pecking her chastly on the cheek, he dropped his head to rest on her clavicle, arms going around her waist.
“I love you so much,” he murmured into her damp skin, hoping that she understood how deeply he meant it. His love for her was something embedded into his very being, making up bits of his bone and blood. There was not any world, and scenario, that he could envision where he didn’t love her.
Soft like a whisper, like a secret shared in the darkest part of night, she stroked his back. “I love you too, sweetheart.”
His eyes fluttered, throat suddenly constricting at the nickname. No one else had ever called him that; only her.
He hoped that one day he would actually be deserving of it.
The hand on his back trailed down his spine, curling over one of his hips. “Do you want me to…?” she started to offer, but he shook his head.
“I’ll be fine.”
“I’m sorry–”
“No,” he lifted his head to meet her eyes. “No, don’t apologize. It’s okay. Really,” he gave her a small smile. “We’ll have plenty of time for that later, after we’ve actually rested.”
As if on cue, she shielded a yawn with her hand. He chuckled, kissing her temple.
“Can’t have you falling asleep on me in the middle of fucking, can I? It would do terrible things to my ego.”
She giggled, face falling into his neck. Tommy genuinely smiled at the sound, basking for a moment in being the one to have caused it. He nuzzled at her hair, squeezing his arms around her.
“Shall we get out?”
She nodded, and with one arm around her and the other balancing on the edge of the tarnished and worn bathtub, he lifted them both out of the water. Droplets washed off of them in streams, dripping back into the tub.
They toweled off, then hastily got dressed. Lucy had kept a few spare clothes around as well, enough to make her presentable enough at least. When she reached out to straighten his coat, he let his hands fall on top of hers, running his thumb along her knuckles. She curled her fingers around his, smiling against his lips when he stooped to kiss her again.
“Come on,” squeezing her hand, he led the way back outside and to the car. The drive to Arrow House was quiet, Lucy dozing a little against his side. It was fully bright out by the time they pulled up to the front door, car jostling a little as he parked it and shut off the engine. Lucy hopped out and he followed her, Ada meeting them at the door.
“Where is he?” Tommy asked, trying to keep his eager desperation to see his son hidden.
“He’s upstairs,” Ada said, and he nodded. He and Lucy managed a normal gait as they walked past her, and to the stairs, but the second his feet hit the first step–and he was sure his sister wasn’t watching–he broke into a run, taking the steps two at a time. He could hear Lucy hot on his heels behind him, and within one breath and the next they were up the stairs and racing down the hall to the nursery.
He swung into the room, and Mary was there, crouched down beside a pile of toys on the floor. And seated on that floor, his little hands locked around a toy wooden train, was Charlie.
He ignored the housekeeper completely as he swept into the room, hardly even aware of her hastily excusing herself to give him, Lucy, and Charlie a moment together. He was too focused on scooping his boy into his arms, lifting him up.
Charlie made a little sound of disagreement when Tommy pulled him away from the train set, but he settled quickly once he was pressed against Tommy’s chest. One of his little hands rested on the collar of his coat. Cradling the back of his head, Tommy hugged Charlie to him fiercely, eyes squeezing shut at the weight of his baby held safe to him.
All the emotion he’d been keeping safely locked away inside his heart since learning that Charlie was safe came pouring out in a rush, and he felt tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. There was warmth against his side, Lucy hugging both him and their son.
“My baby…” Tommy heard himself whisper, pressing a kiss to his boy’s chubby little cheek. Charlie was soaking up all the sudden attention like a sponge, grinning when Lucy kissed his forehead. Tommy hugged him tighter, unable to fathom how, after everything that had just happened, he was ever expected to let his baby boy go again.
“Daddy, you’re squeezing me,” Charlie complained after a moment, wriggling a little. Tommy let out a quiet laugh, loosening his grip slightly so he wouldn’t hurt him.
“Sorry, son.”
But Charlie just snuggled into his neck with a coo. The hand not on Tommy’s collar reached out to pat at Lucy’s hair, and she giggled tearfully, catching his tiny palm in hers, letting him wrap it around one of her fingers.
“Lulu,” he said.
“Hi, honey,” Lucy stretched up to kiss his nose. “I’m so happy to see you,” the back of her hand stroked his cheek. “You daddy and I were so worried about you.”
Charlie looked between them quizzically, as if not quite understanding. Good. Better that he didn’t. At least not until he was much, much older.
Lucy gave a small tug to the sleeve of Tommy’s coat. “Let’s go sit down.”
He nodded, adjusting Charlie in his arms and following her to a chaise they had pushed up against the far wall. Grace used to sit there or in the rocking chair all the time when she was still nursing. The three of them curled up on it, Charlie settled in his lap and Lucy nestled into his side.
All three of them finally together, and safe.
Thank you for reading! Please consider leaving a comment, reblog, or like. I always appreciate feedback and love getting the opportunity to interact with you and hear your thoughts!
Previous Part • Next Part
Masterlists: Main • Series • Fic
#tommy shelby#tommy shelby x oc#lucy winters#peaky blinders#lucy winters x tommy shelby#my ocs#my fanfiction
20 notes
·
View notes
Text
For Research Purposes Only — Art
Thank you to julxluna for creating this masterpiece of one of my favourite scenes from my Gwynriel fanfic. Writing this fic has felt like working towards a goal I never dared to dream, and I’m forever grateful for everyone who has supported me and who I’ve met because I took a chance on creating this.
In short, For Research Purposes Only has:
modern Gwynriel
a grad school & wedding backdrop
fake dating
friends-to-lovers
You can read it here on AO3.
Read a snippet from Chapter 9 below:
Gwyn, too, felt her jaw drop at the sight. Azriel’s brown skin glowed bronze in the afternoon sunlight, his broad shoulders almost statuesque. Even without shadows, his muscles were well-defined, cut into his body like lines into clay. Gwyn’s eyes trailed his pecs, and the smooth skin of his abs where she could make out the slight sheen of sweat. She studied the black swirls of his tattoos, which Gwyn now saw covered the entirely of his upper arms and shoulders, curving down over his chest—they were a stark contrast against his otherwise glistening skin.
Azriel had his black t-shirt fisted in a hand. Smirking, he flexed his muscles.
Gwyn slapped her hands over her eyes.
“Put your shirt back on, Azriel,” she said.
She waited a moment before peaking at him between her fingers. He made no move to follow her command. No, he just lifted his arms above his head to stretch, drawing Gwyn’s attention to the V at the base of his stomach and the dusting of dark hair there.
Gwyn heard Feyre sigh behind her. Gwyn couldn’t believe it. She turned to glare at her friends.
She pointed at Feyre. “You’re married.”
At Nesta. “You’re going to be married in two weeks.”
At Emerie. “And you’re a lesbian.”
The three women just shrugged, and Gwyn doubted they were even listening to her. Their eyes were locked on Azriel, pupils wide as they delighted in his little performance.
Gwyn shifted her glare to Azriel, letting her eyes narrow and her expression darken. She made sure to only look at him above the neck. It was a hard task, Gwyn had to admit, but she silently applauded herself for her effort. Especially as Azriel continued to stretch and flex and move his body, letting light move over him like ripples in water.
“You’re cheating,” Gwyn accused.
His smirk widened. “And how would that be?”
Gwyn gestured in the direction of her friends. “You broke them.”
“And you’re unaffected, Gwyn?”
She swallowed. Nodded.
“Really?” He took a series of steps towards her. His gaze trailed over her body, at the biker shorts and sports bra she wore, at the slight redness to her skin. “That’s too bad.”
And then he was right in front of Gwyn, leaning down to behold her. He put a single finger under her chin, lifting her face until her gaze once again met his. Gwyn didn’t realize it, but she’d once again been staring at his chest. Her eyes flickered to the upturned corners of his mouth, and she felt him track the movement. His tongue darted out quickly to wet his bottom lip, and Azriel’s finger under her chin seemed to be the only thing keeping Gwyn upright. That, and his hazel eyes fixed on hers, challenging her with just a look.
#gwynriel#gwynriel fanart#gwynriel fanfiction#acotar#acotar fanfiction#gwynriel fanfic#acosf#acotar fanart#gwynriel supremacy#au gwynriel#modern gwynriel#gwyn berdara#azriel#for research purposes only
217 notes
·
View notes
Text
If it is confirmed that this mysterious goddess is nuwa.
according to myth Nuwa lived on Earth but was lonely, so she made human beings out of wet clay on the seventh day
If the myth stays almost the same in the series, does that mean that humans and animals in Lmk are made of clay? Well, I don't think they are literally like that not all the time, I don't know what word to use to describe what I mean, spiritual maybe?
I think it's something like how humans in the lmk universe in normal situations have normal organs, skin and bones.
But in specific and strange situations, such as being possessed by a demon, for example, the soul slowly disappears and consequently the body turns into clay and crumbles.
At least that's what I think happened to the little girl's body.
I speculated that it could be the Lady Bone Demon herself who was falling apart and because she was possessed by her, the girl was also fractured.
but another speculation of mine was that the little girl is like mk (whatever he is)
#lego monkie kid#lmk nuwa#lmk Little girl#lmk bai he#lmk lady bone demon#lmk mk#lmk qi xiaotian#lmk theory
22 notes
·
View notes
Text
Stained Like Georgia Clay, Part 16
Summary: Life with Cole…
Pairings: Cole Turner X Reader
Rating: mild
Warnings: language, teasing, mentions of a breeding kink, tit worship, lactation kink, 18+ ONLY
Word Count: 6.6K
Previous
Series Masterlist
*dividers created by @firefly-graphics
The sun beams in through the bedroom window, and Cole glances down at your sleeping body. In ways it feels like no time at all has passed. You still curl into him, your hand mindlessly rubbing on his chest, while your slow breaths warm up his bare skin. Your fingers still flutter in your sleep. The difference now was there was the cutest little boy snoozing away downstairs.
With the monitor on the nightstand, he hears Waylon’s soft little snores, and Cole has never felt more complete. It was almost another fight getting you and Waylon to the house. There were constant words going back and forth between him and Alan. Your father did want to let you go, and really didn’t want Waylon to go.
He had begged you to just wait. Told you that you and Cole needed to date before you went rushing back to the way things were, but you ever so calmly told him you were going to be with your fiancé, and then there was another fight. So many words were said to Cole, but he had you and his son, and Loretta Lynn all under one roof. And that was what mattered.
He hates himself for not just showing back up, and demanding to talk to you. He could have had this all along. And you stayed faithful to him. You never moved on or found another man. You waited patiently because you knew that Cole would return.
He worried about how the town treated you as you walked around pregnant and alone. What Bill could have said to you. Or worse…Hal. Cole has half a mind to tell you and your folks exactly who was behind the missing letter. One thing was for certain, he was going to let Hal stew in worry on whether Cole tells you or not. Hal robbed everyone of a different life. Tried to insert himself into your life, and even then, it still didn’t work.
If it wasn’t for Waylon’s clear attachment to Hal, Cole would have already mentioned it. He couldn’t even decide if it was worth it to tell you. He had you, all of you. And Hal was left with regret. It pissed him off because Waylon would blurt out Hal’s name with his random jibberish and words. And would even ask where Hal was.
“Mmm,” you moan, sitting up a bit to look at him, “Oh my god,” you wince, and start to laugh.
“Are you okay? What’s wrong?” Cole’s hand was pressing up against your skin gently as he looks over your body trying to figure out what ailed you.
“I think you turned me inside out. Oh, god,” sitting up fully in the bed, Cole starts to lean forward, nipping at your tits, and you smirk, “Seriously? What is your obsession with my boobies?”
“Don’t call them that. You make it sound like I’m a child,” he mumbles with a mouth full of nipple. Flicking on the bud. “What? I like the look of them.”
“Really? And what are you trying to accomplish by sucking on my tit?”
“You know what I want to accomplish,” he pulls you back to the bed, moving to hover over you, and placing his thigh right in between yours, moaning when his skin touches your bare cunt, winding a hand down in between as well. Rubbing over your tender clit, and slinking two fingers down into your warmth. “I think I showed you exactly how…”
“Oww,” you start giggling when Cole removes his hand from between your thighs. “I’m not used to that right now.”
“Are you seriously raw?”
“Why don’t you look,” his head goes underneath the sheet, and his entire body positions itself in between your thighs while he playfully inspects you. Spreading apart your velvety lips, and kissing over your sore pussy.
“She’s still wet,” sitting up a bit more, you lift the blanket to see him smiling up at you. Giving the most gentle kisses to your core. “She’s really wet.”
“And raw. I said you turned me inside out. I swear we only took little naps all night. She misses you, but for this morning, she needs a break.”
“Bee…”
“Ehh,” you place a hand over his mouth. You missed him so much it hurt. You didn’t doubt that he would come back for you and his son, but now it seems like a dream. He was right here, and you had spent all night remembering each other’s bodies. “Cole, she’s tired, and we have the rest of our lives.”
“Mama! Bee!” You snort, starting to sit up more. “Daddy! Toe Wiggle! I up!”
“Daddy, Toe Wiggle, your son is up and ready. Waylon, be down in just a second, buddy.”
“Wayton Toe!” He screams, wiggling the gate a bit. “My Etta, yes!” Hearing a plop on the floor, it was obvious that Etta was occupying him for the time being. Giggles galore from him while he gets morning snuggles, and you turn to look at Cole with tired, but happy eyes.
He cups your cheek a moment, still thankful that you hadn’t moved on, “My son. I love to hear that, and he’s very sweet to hear, minus the fact he calls me Toe Wiggle.”
“It’s adorable. Even your mom says so,” grabbing his shirt, he stops you. Squeezing and kneading both tits before sucking on them both. Those piercing eyes looking up at you over your chest.”
“Wayton Toe!” Waylon demands from downstairs. Starting to stomp his feet around as he repeats his name over and over again. Doing a little jig to wake you and Cole up.
“Alright, alright, let’s go get the boy. I need those later.”
“They get bigger when I’m pregnant,” biting at your lip, you look at him over your shoulder. “But of course once Waylon was born they belonged to him.”
“That’s not even funny. Bee, I’m not even joking.”
“Did you just become a boob man?”
“I feel that’s very obvious.”
“Wayton Toe!” Your toddler growls out, shaking the gate again. “My mama! Get me!”
“That’s enough, sir. Let’s go make breakfast with your baby.”
Cole sighs, watching you practically skip to the door, hearing that sweet boy squeal when he sees you at the top of the stairs. This was the one thing he never even knew he wanted, and now he didn’t know how he could live without it. Scooping your son up in your arms, you kiss all over his chubby cheeks asking how he slept.
“Ahh! Hey, daddy! Toe Wiggle my daddy!”
“Hey, buddy,” Waylon makes grabby hands towards Cole, and you love watching them bond. It didn’t take much and Waylon was wanting to spend more time with Cole than he did you. Laughed and smiled at everything Cole said. And Waylon loved to trace Cole’s features with his fingers. Moving those tiny fingers over every bit of his daddy’s face. “What do you want for breakfast?”
“Nee and Appies!”
“You heard him, Bee. Our son wants apples and honey. Maybe we should have pancakes, too?” Waylon nods his head excitedly, and points down to Loretta, “We need to feed the ole gal, huh?”
“Etta not ode!” He frowns looking at Cole before pouting down at the dog. “Etta my baby!”
“No, you’re right. And Waylon Cole is my baby.”
Waylon takes a deep breath, patting a hand over his belly, and shakes his head. “No. No, me a big boy! Need a baby!”
“Yes, Yes we do,” both Cole and Waylon turn look towards you, and you are flabbergasted. Waylon hadn’t ever asked you for a baby.
“Waylon Cole Turner!” You yelp looking at the two of them. “What is this?”
“I not a baby,” Waylon shrugs, and looks over at Cole. “Daddy said.”
“Woah, why are you ratting me out like this, buddy?”
“You two feed the dog. I’m going to make breakfast. Waylon get daddy to help make your bed, and get your outfit picked out. You can get dressed after breakfast.”
“Ooh! Daddy naughty.”
“Daddy is going to go to timeout if he keeps talking like that. Now, boys. You have work to do,” you wait until Cole places Waylon on the floor, letting him waddle over to Loretta’s food, and help him assist Waylon. Checking her water before running to his room.
“Bee, are you really angry?”
“No, but…we’ve got so much going on. We want to build a house. We want to get married. You need to bond with Waylon, and you’re already hinting about a baby. Can we just slow down, please? I’m not saying I don’t want another baby. I just want to pause this. My dad hates this. We can’t do anything without you and him getting in an argument. And I know that Hal hates this, and…don’t roll your eyes. I know what your issues are with him.”
“No, you really don’t,” you really had no idea, and at this point it was best if you didn’t. It irradiated Cole to think about what Hal did with those letters. Did he read them? Did he still have them? Or were they trashed like it was nothing?
“Either you tell me all the issues, or you let it go. Waylon loves him. And he knows who his dad is, and that’s you. He just calls Hal, Hal. I’m not saying the two of you have to be best friends, I’m just saying that Hal had a big part of our lives. He was there,” Cole clenches his teeth. His Adam’s apple bobs, and as of right now, there was no making Cole understand. “Hal is the least of our worries. You want a house.”
“I want to experience everything I missed. The thing that everyone got to be a part of, and I didn’t,” this was the worst part of your situation. Cole missed out on so much, as did Waylon. They deserved to have every experience that a father and son should. And there was no going back.
“I’ll make a deal with you; after Waylon turns two, if we have the house mostly finished, then we can start trying. I don’t want another baby here. You’re the older one here, can’t you see that this just isn’t the time for a child or enough space for a baby?” He nods his head, pulling you into his embrace by your waist. His chin on top of your head, and you melt into his chest. “I want you to have all that you missed, but at the right time.”
“You’re right, sweet Bee. It’s not the right time, but if you could quit trying to force Hal on me, that would be great.”
“Daddy, mama, kiss!”
“I didn’t kiss her.”
“Kiss!”
“You better do as he says, Daddy,” you smile up at Cole, knowing that everyday you were going to get to have these moments. Everyday something new, and everyday have your family together. Sure, you had some things to work through, but they were right there in your grasp. And you were ready.
“And where’s your ‘fiancé’?” You roll your eyes, jumping onto the counter as your dad cleans up from supper. “Came here without my boy, too. Honey, you just whisked Waylon from everything he knows. Took my dog. And your…shacked up with Cole Turner. Are you even aware of how old he is? Or did you really just want to piss me off?”
“Are you finished?” Sighing, you lean back on the cabinets. Cole had kept Waylon just for you to have this conversation. “I’m not leaving Cole to make yourself feel better.”
“He’s not good enough for you. You deserve more than that…honey, you have no idea how he was in high school.”
“Why are you focused on that? Focus on how he is now. How he treats your daughter and grandson. All you care about is who Cole was, instead of who he is to me right now. Dad, he’s a good man,” your dad opens his mouth, but you only speak louder. It was his turn to listen, “Had Cole known about Waylon while I was pregnant, he would have been here. That man loved Waylon immediately. That is his son. He is our son. And he makes both of us so happy. That’s what matters. Did you know we spent the day looking at house plans?”
“He’s putting you on his family land, so you have nothing. If you split up, then what?”
“That’s a pretty big if. And besides, this land is going to mine, and then Waylon’s. I have something to fall back on for me and my child. And our home will be paid for with both of our money. That is what couples do. Cole isn’t going to own me. We are a team. And he is not only my fiancé but he is my son’s, your grandson’s, father. And Waylon loves his daddy. Can you not see that? Are you that pissed off that you don’t even see how he emulates Cole? Is it the age difference or because you know him? Because neither of us knew the connection. Quite frankly we weren’t even worried about anything like that.”
Alan exhales deeply, putting a cup into the cabinet before turning towards you. Leaning on the counter, trying to find the words to say. Everything coming to his brain was yet another insult. “Do you not see why I’m upset?”
“No,” you answer flatly. There was no reason for him to be upset. Cole didn’t even put up a fight while he let Alan punch him over and over again. “I would get why you are upset if Cole was a piece of shit. I could have brought Waylon for this conversation, and let him be with mom, but Cole doesn’t want Waylon away from him. He’s never going to get that time back. He didn’t hear Waylon say his first word, or see him take his first step. Cole missed him eating solid food. He missed him stomping around in nothing but boots while you let him pee off the porch. Cole has missed so much of his son’s life, and it wasn’t by choice. He was wanted by both of us.”
“I didn't need to hear that.”
“Then hear this; Cole and I talked about kids. About how we wanted them. We talked about our plans for our future. I wasn’t just some girl to him. We talked about marriage. Waylon might not have been planned, but he wasn’t really prevented either.”
Your father’s face falls blank while he stares at you, and you start to giggle. If he wanted to continue to not like Cole for you, and he still had no idea the dynamics of your relationship with him. Cole and you were both to blame for the creation of Waylon. He was such a pleasant surprise, and everything he did reminded you of Cole.
“Seriously? You have to bring up…I don’t want to talk about yours and — his life like that.”
“But you do. You want to assume because of our age difference that all it was between us was the physical part, and it just wasn’t. I lived with him. We spent every day together, and we talked. We wanted what we’re planning now. Seriously, we wanted this life. And I just want you to accept that Cole is not only Waylon’s dad, but he’s going to be my husband. I don’t want this constant fight or disagreement between the two of you. Cole Turner today is not Cole Turner from high school. Are you?”
His sight falls to the counter while he lets that marinate. You never once raised your voice or got irritated with your father. You were calm. And his attitude towards Cole was not going to sway you from being with him. You wanted Cole those two years, and you still did. “Tomorrow, if you like, we can take you out to the property where we want to build. Start planning our future.”
“He’s so much older than you, honey.”
“Maybe. But he loves me. Loves our son. Waylon loves him, and is loving having us together. I have to hear everyone else’s whispers about mine and Cole’s age difference, and for the past two years that’s all it’s been. Whispers about me being a single mom. Marrying Cole we’ll hear the same things, and we need support. So either you support us, or…”
“We’ll support you. I remember how everyone spoke about you, and you didn’t flinch. It was because you knew Cole was coming back, hmm? I don’t like this. I don’t know if I ever will. And if he…if he disappoints you or my grandson, he will have hell to pay.”
“So why don’t we worry about it if it happens. But it won’t. Cole’s the real deal. You’ll see. Now, can I go home to my son and fiancé?”
“Only if you bring my boy here for supper,” you give him a nod, jumping off the counter. You were warned this would be a hard transition for your father. Keeping Waylon away from him was never an option. He just wasn’t going to be living here, and with your parents. But you know just how much your dad was missing his buddy. How Waylon’s night routine was no longer laying back and watching the news with his Papaw until he fell asleep. He wasn’t being woken up by the pitter patter of Waylon’s feet in the morning. It was one thing that you liked to admit, Waylon had a good Papaw.
“Clean up your toys, buddy,” Waylon lets out a bit of a growl, looking up at Cole, while you ready him a cup of milk.
“Me no wanna. Me pay.”
“It’s naptime, and you made a mess,” Waylon’s lip starts to pucker, trembling with his incoming tears. He had stayed awake past his nap, and his behavior was showing it. You just wait, and see how Cole was going to handle Waylon. He had his moments, just like any other child. “Waylon.”
“No! Me pay!” And there was the stomp. The one that Cole loved for you to do, but with his son was a bit different. Same pouty face, and same force behind the stomp. “Me pay now!”
“No, you clean up now. Mama is making you some warm milk, and we’re going to take a nap,” he shakes his head no, stomping his foot again, and Cole looks up at you. You want Cole to be more proactive with dealing with this side of Waylon. It came with the territory. “Waylon Cole, it is time to clean up.”
“No nap! Wayton Toe no seep.”
Cole takes a deep breath, squatting down into the floor with Waylon, and the toddler immediately runs into his arms. The standoff anger was gone, and replaced with sleepy tears. “Wayton Toe seepy.”
“I know you’re sleepy, buddy. You wanna help daddy clean up?”
“No!” Waylon wails, burying his face into Cole’s chest. “Me seep. Me seep now.”
“Daddy. Is going to hold you then, and pick up your toys. You just tell me where they go, okay?”
“Otay. I seep wif mama and…and my daddy?”
“Yes, buddy,” Cole looks up to you, and with the most pitiful face. You don’t bother to make a comment. Just stand with his milk ready in your hand. Watching the two of them bond, and also clean up the mess. Waylon points over to a new set of drawers that Cole said that Waylon needed. Even crawling out of Cole’s arms to help assist his dad. Taking the time to put each toy back where it belonged. Finally smiling when he reaches back up for Cole to hold him.
Practically falling asleep in Cole’s arms as he carries him upstairs to the loft. Waylon wipes at his sleepy eyes, and reaches for his sippy cup of warm milk from you, and crawls to the center of the bed, “Etta?”
“Loretta Lynn, your boy needs you,” Loretta audibly groans before trudging up the stairs, and laying on her bed in there. “Better, baby?”
“Yesh, daddy. Shh, Wayton Toe seepy,” kissing on his sweet little forehead, Cole watches every second that it takes for Waylon’s eyes to flutter shut before he looks up at you, pouting.
“He’s not always perfect, daddy.”
“But he went from angry to the most pitiful little thing in just a few minutes. How do you resist not wanting to do everything for him? I was able to because you were watching, and you even told me we were keeping him up too long.”
“Cole,” your voice was so soft and sweet as you brush back Cole’s fluffy hair. “I’ve had a lot of practice with Waylon, you haven’t. I know his sleep patterns, and you will learn them. But that is nothing. Wait until you don’t give him an orange cup when he wants blue one. He’s a baby. His brain isn’t equipped for big emotions, so they come out extreme. We just have to teach him the more effective way to react. You did fine though. And he wanted you, instead of me. I don’t know how I feel about that. Kinda rude if you ask me. I’m his mama.”
“Psh,” Cole blows out a bit of air, and kisses over Waylon’s forehead. “Let me enjoy the moment of getting to hold this boy in my arms, before he’s thrashing around trying to spread himself out, and sweating to death. Just let me enjoy whatever moments he gives me, okay?”
“Okay, daddy.”
“I really got to get used to you callin me that in a non sexual way, you realize that, don't you?” Of course you did. You also enjoyed the cute little torture you were giving him, and his exasperated looks up at you, “It’s not funny, Bee. I know what you’re doing.”
“Just give me a kiss, and take a nap. We gotta show our son where his home is going to be built. Daddy,” if it wasn’t for that sweet boy that was snuggled up to his daddy, Cole would have had you rolled over on your back, ready to make you see exactly who daddy was. But instead he glares at you.
“You’re going to pay for that, sweetheart.”
“It’s what I was hoping for.”
Waylon squeals, running through the field with Loretta. Getting sight of the pond before he points at it. “Gonna have to get a fence around that thing, Bee. He’s also going to learn to swim as soon as possible.”
“But watch,” Loretta gives him a nudge to his stomach, and he runs in the opposite direction, “I do agree though. So you’re thinking that the house should go up there?”
“Yep, that way the pond is far enough from the entrance, but is sitting in front of the house. And when we come home, the view is the pond, with the house reflecting on the water, and then our home, and…Waylon! Do not go in the woods!” Waylon stops in his tracks, turning to look at the two of you with a mischievous grin, “Waylon Cole, don’t you dare go into the woods unless me or mama are with you.”
“Etta!”
“Loretta is not good enough. There’s snakes and bears!”
“Nakes? Beers? Nope,” his little body turns, and starts stomping further away from the woods. “No nakes. No beers. No painters. No no. Papaw daddy say no painters.”
“What is he talking about?” Cole looks towards you, and you start cackling. That little boy still walking around the property mumbling about snakes, bears, and ‘painters’. “What the hell is a painter and why is he worried about them?”
“Have you seriously forgotten your raising? Painters. Panthers.”
“Oh, good grief. Is he seriously telling our son about imaginary panthers that live in the woods of Georgia?” You shrug, going to stand behind him. Wrapping your arms around his waist, and resting your chin on his shoulder as you watch that crazy boy running around with Loretta. “There’s no such thing as panthers in Georgia. And black ones at that. Panthers that make such a terrible noise that it sounds like a woman being murdered. I have pushed that so far out of my mind I forgot about that old wives tale.”
“It’s keeping him away from the woods though. Look at them. And just think, Daddy, one of these days we’re going to have our home, and even more kids running around,” with a hand up under Cole’s shirt, he bumps his butt out to hit you, “Hey!”
“Quit trying to make me horny when I can’t do anything about it. Bee, I don’t know why, but I have always wanted this with you. Like our kids running around a field as the sun starts to set. And I want to wait as long as you want for another, but I am very jealous that I didn’t get to see your body change. And feel my son wiggling around in your belly. No pressure, but I’m just waiting on you, darling. I do agree we need this house built, so…tomorrow can we find someone?”
“Yes, Daddy.”
“And I swear, if you don’t quit calling me that when it’s not sexy time…”
“Shh, enjoy the view a little bit longer. Tomorrow Waylon will be slightly bigger. He’s only going to be just like that today.”
Your mom groans trying to zip your dress up before standing up exasperated, “Are you serious right now?” She asks looking in the mirror, while Rachel Turner tries to hide her beaming smile. Cole had already told his mother, and clearly you hadn’t. “Honey, your dress won’t zip.”
“Try harder.”
“It might be because you're pregnant, and far enough along to pop out,” looking down at your belly, you give the slight swell a little rub. The house was just about finished and Cole became insatiable. Every day and multiple times a day he needed you to feel him. “Why did you not wait?”
“Uhh…it’s kinda awkward having that conversation with my mom and my baby daddy’s mom present. So when a man loves a woman…”
“What are we going to do about your dress? You have less than an hour before your daddy is walking you up to the barn,” you grimace, looking at her. “What?”
“I have asked you repeatedly not to call dad that.”
“I don’t have time for this. Your dress will not zip. Your father is walking you to the barn, and to your new ‘daddy’ and…Rachel, stop laughing. This isn’t funny. The dress.”
“Tracy, calm down,” Rachel steps behind you, hand on your stomach, “Suck it in real good,” taking a deep breath, you do as she’s asked, and she holds the two sides closer together, “Alright, zip it up.”
Finally getting to the top, you let out a bit of air, and turn to the side, looking at yourself, “You can’t even tell.”
“I’m surprised they waited that long. They literally live together, sleep in the same bed, and my son has been wanting a baby girl, and...”
“Can we change the subject to anything, but me and Cole trying to have a baby. Yes, mother, it was planned. We talked about it, we worked for it, and now I’m pregnant, and Waylon kinda knows, unless Cole went ahead and told him. He was asking some questions when we were decorating the nursery. Now,” you take a deep breath, looking at yourself in the mirror.
It seemed like a lifetime ago that Cole and his crooked smile had bought honey from you out of the back of your truck. An immediate flirtation ensued, followed by urges, feelings, and thoughts you just couldn’t control. What started off as an exploration of your fantasies had turned into your best friend. The two of you had taken a journey of so many ups and downs, but the one thing that did remain was the love you had for each other. The need you had to stay together.
You had missed him while you were learning to be a mother, and now you got to see him become Waylon’s favorite person. No one ever thought the perpetual bachelor would become a father, and literally beg you for more children. A man that nobody saw settling down, came home every night to sit on the floor with his son playing with Lincoln Logs, and LEGO bricks. A man that left behind a life of leisure and settled down, back in the quiet town he fled.
Cole had grown just as much as you had. Growing roots deep in your hometown, and still pack up your bags, and traveling the country, and eventual world as a family. As long as Loretta could tag along. He was your dream, and you were everything he never knew he wanted.
Your dad grabs your hand as you look towards the barn, and Cole and Waylon are standing beside each other. The supers of bees are full as they buzz around in the background, and Waylon waves down at you sweetly. It's late spring, and everything is just starting to wake up. Willowing grass blowing in the wind, and you drag your father along to get up there sooner.
“Can I not just have a moment of you not being married?”
“Dad, you’ve had plenty of those moments, and now…I’m ready. He’s all I’ve ever wanted. He encourages me, supports me, and loves our son, and — he’s a good one. Just like my dad.”
“You better stop that. I’m giving you away to a former…I’m sorry, honey. To a good friend, and a good man. Even better father. Just didn’t think the first time that I introduced you to Cole, and he kissed your head…”
“Dad, can we not bring that up? I didn’t grow up with Cole. I met him as an adult, and no matter what you say, I’m walking up to marry that man. Get used to it, Papaw,” he gives you a bit of a nudge before stopping in front of Cole. Giving a final nod, and a handshake to your future.
“Papaw, I’m daddy’s best man!” Waylon shouts from a lower perch. “Shh, sit down, and don’t talk though!”
“Waylon,” Cole laughs, but doesn’t remove his eyes from you, “You gotta be quiet, buddy.”
“Okay, and don’t tell everyone about…” a hand presses up against Waylon’s mouth, and Cole shakes his head. Cole had given Waylon the pregnancy talk while they were getting ready. And how things were going to change in the new house. You couldn’t keep that peach colored room a secret anymore. Waylon was too curious. “Okay, daddy, I won’t talk about the little secret honeybee.”
While everyone else laughs, you and Cole still cannot tear your eyes away from each other. It didn’t even matter. You were pregnant with baby number two, and she was going to be such a welcome part to your life.
“Bee, I never thought I would find myself back here. Never thought that I would have all that you gave me. Never even wanted it. And then there was this beautiful little thing, steadily writing in her notebook in the back of a truck with a crate full of raw honey, and I couldn’t stay away. Thankfully, you couldn’t either. We’re anything but traditional, some may say even backwards, but it’s been perfect. We’ve also got the most adorable little boy to prove just how perfect our togetherness is, and…I can’t wait to fill our home up with little baby bees. And I just…thank you. Thank you for all that you have given me. Given us.”
Waylon wraps an arm around his daddy’s leg, looking up at you as you deeply breathe in and out. “Cole, I — oh my god, I’m supposed to be the one with words, and I can’t even think right now. But this place…I don’t know if you remember, but this was the place that you and I talked at all night. The place where you told me to get out of my head and to live life, and I’m still here, and I’m living my life with you. That first summer I never thought I would meet someone. Definitely not someone like you. I wouldn't change it for the world. You and our family have been the best part of my life. And I know you’re going to give me so many more years of living that life with you. Thank you. Thank you for getting me out of my head, and constantly reminding me that we would go at my pace. Because now, we have it. We have it all.”
Your little girl flops over into your lap, pulling your newest notebook down, and points at your chest, “Boobees!”
“Millie, it’s not bedtime,” you push aside her curls, booping her on her nose again. But she reaches for the top of your dress, trying to pull it down. “Millie, no.”
“Boobees. No daddy,” she says looking around the property for any sign of Cole. “No daddy.”
“It’s not just daddy that says that it’s time for you to stop nursing,” Amelia gives you a mischievous smile, starting to pull down your dress again. “Amelia Ann Turner.”
“Boobees, peas?”
You look out towards the field, and still there was no Cole or Waylon making their way back, and then back down to your sweet girl. Waylon was so easy to wean, she was a pain, and Cole didn’t help with his teasing. “Peas, mama? No daddy.”
“Fine. But this is the last time,” she gives a little smile before laying against your chest chest to nurse, her hand immediately going to your mouth, where you kiss on the chubby little fingers. Leaning your head back on the tree that was giving you and her shade.
Life had a strange way of working out. You are able to continue to write, continue to be a wife and mother, and continue to travel around with your family. Even if miss Millie was needy, and couldn’t get enough of you. Letting your eyes start to flutter close, while you are just here in the moment. Enjoying the life that you have made with Cole, Waylon, and Millie.
“Millie! Daddy sees you!” Millie pulls off you, giggling, and looking towards her dad and brother walking up from the pond. Fishing poles in their hands before Waylon hands his over to Cole, and starts running to their playset screaming for his sister. “Uh-uh, Amelia, what do you have to say for yourself?”
“My boobees!”
“No, they are not. It is time for you to stop,” she shakes her head no, snuggling more into you. “Have you even told her why she has to stop?”
“Not daddy’s boobees, mine. All mine,” trying to pull your dress down, you pull it right back up. “Ugh! Mine. Mama peas!”
“Bee, I swear, our kids have that bratty side to them, just like their mom. Those are not yours. They are for your baby…”
“Mine! No!” Amelia screams, pouting up at her dad. She had noticed that little bump many times.
“Nope, your mom’s got a baby in there,” Millie shakes her head no, pressing her head against you, and you start to giggle. “Yep, you’ve got a brother in mama’s belly.”
“Wayton in der?”
“No, baby,” you coo as she looks up at you. “You’ve got a baby brother in there, and…”
“My boobees?”
“No, they’re going to be the baby’s. He’s going to need them, so you’ve got to stop.”
“He stay der, den. No baby. Millie da baby,” she gives you a poke to your belly, and recoils away from you feeling the more prominent bump. “Millie pay wif Wayton. Boobees yater!” Her little chubby legs shuffle towards Waylon and Loretta, and the fluffy dog runs towards her to guide her over to the little playground when Cole sits down beside you.
Moving around until he lays in your lap. His hand caresses over the newest member of the Turner family, before his hands move higher to your chest, “The kids watching?”
“No, Daddy,” pulling your top down, he pushes his mouth against your tit, flicking his tongue over your nipple.
“You said you were going to stop,” he reminds you of Millie’s nursing before closing his mouth completely over your tit.
“I said, I would stop when she was ready. She’s not. Your mom says I’ll feel it in my knees. I feel nothing. Plus, our newest unnamed bee doesn’t seem to mind his sissy laying on me. He likes the warmth, he always gets so calm. What are you doing?” His thumb and forefinger steadily rolls your neglected nipple, while he continues to suck.
“You know why I like this angle on the property?” He continues to tease your other nipple, looking over at it to give a few flicks with his tongue before kissing over the swollen bud, and covering you back up. “They really can’t see anything from this angle. I could suck on you, and they wouldn’t know.”
“You better stop,” you coo down at him petting his face, “You ever miss your old bachelor life?”
“And miss all this? No, I got a beautiful and sexy wife that lets me use her body, shes giving us this amazing life with beautiful kids, I got those tits to play with whenever I want,” his hand spreads out over the property, and right on cue you hear both the kids giggling, and laughing. “Millie is a sassy pants, Waylon is our mister adventure, and who knows how John Scott will be,” you shake your head no, “Okay, you don’t like that name, what about Hank?”
“No! Our son literally wanted an Aussie dog to name Hank. Absolutely not. We don’t have to choose his name now. It’s just something to think about. He’ll be here before we know it. And Miss Millie is going to share the boobees.”
“I’m not sharing with two kids. No, she’s going to have to stop with the boobees. You said that once she could ask for it, she was cut off. She asks for boobees everyday. She’ll be potty trained, and still be asking for boobees.”
“She’s just a baby, Cole. Her can’t help it that her loves her mama, and prefers her mama over you.”
“No, she prefers the boobees. Do not get confused. Bee,” his hand snakes behind your neck, pulling you down to give you the most tender and soft kiss. “What’s this book about?”
“I’ll let you know when it’s finished. Take a nap, daddy. I just want to watch our babies for a minute. Enjoy our simple parts of life, until the work week starts again. We get to give them a charmed life. Let them run around barefoot, just so their feet can get stained with Georgia clay.”
“Bee?” You look back down at Cole, smiling at your handsome and beautiful man, “Am I still stained on your heart like Georgia clay?”
“Yes, daddy. Forever.”
THE END
Masterlist
Taglist: @tis-thedamn-season @marveloustaylortot @pono-pura-vida @sstan-hoe @softsatnin @peaches1958 @seitmai @patzammit @openup-yourmind @elrw24 @bxdbxtxh15 @buckysteveloki-me @lilac-tea-time @smile1318 @andydrysdalerogers @feyfantome @cjand10 @lavender-annd-lilac
#stained like georgia clay#cole turner#cole riggan#cole turner x reader#cole riggan x reader#cole turner x fem!reader#cole riggan x fem!reader#cole turner x y/n#cole riggan x y/n#cole turner x you#cole riggan x you#cole turner smut#cole riggan smut#cole turner fic#cole riggan fic#cole turner fanfiction#cole riggan fanfiction#cole turner fics#cole riggan fics#ghosted#ghosted movie#chris evans#ghosted fanfiction
115 notes
·
View notes
Note
I'm in a book club where, once a week, we read along a book acting out the story. We are quite big fans of Pratchett since his stories provide a wonderful reading for us. But I joined the club in 2020, and it had been going for a time before that, so I've probably read the books in a... probably not optimal manner. I've read these books in this order: Soul Music (I played Susan), Wyrd sisters (Narrator, Gumbo Lady and Duc), Feet of clay (Constable Visit), and now we're halfway through Jingo (Constable Visit and Leonard de Quirm).
I do have a really big interest in discowrld but ummm... that sure is a lot of books to read huh.
So I ask you, as a fellow -and more well read- fan, what order would you suggest I read the books in? I do plan to read at least all the main series' books.
I hope this isn't rude of me to ask, some people don't like being asked this kind of stuff...
oh dw it's not rude at all and your book club sounds fantastic, acting out the books is next level and that's a very wide acting range you got lmao
honestly if you've already got into the series and know a bunch of different flavors of it, you can just pick whatever sub-series you liked the best so far and read the rest of it in order/pick up random books and go to town - if you want quality later books that kinda stand on their own you can also skip to Industrial Revolution stuff (Truth-Going Postal-Making money) or even more stand alone books like Monstrous regiment or Small Gods
I do imagine starting the Watch series from the beginning and meeting the fucked up wet cat versions of them would be pretty hilarious after Feet of Clay and Jingo made you think they were kinda cool lmao, maybe that's the call
49 notes
·
View notes
Text
Part Two
GENSHIN IMPACT Character x GN!Reader Fic Series
Part one: Here
Word count: 1k+
Character: Cyno
Pairings: God!Cyno x SacrificialGN!Reader
Warnings: 16+ ONLY for dark undertones like sacrifice, mentions of wounds, and mildly suggestive themes.
Taglist: Taglist: @stygianoir @kurobakachan @hikomisan @silverwritesthings @minty-stays-tired @genshinparty @greyrain23 @belovedxiao @stellaris999 @theglowfly @floweiity @falling4fandoms @galaxyprison @alesixv @xiao-loyal-simp @chocozx @alizaneth @kanchistars @sxfieee
If you like what you read, come and check out my Discord!
Click below for more~
Cyno
You blink, bewildered, "Can you repeat that?" you ask, your eyes wide with interest. What could a God possibly do with a human besides sacrifice? Surely this God must be jesting; you think to yourself as you rub at your ankles and wince.
Before you can say anything else, Cyno picks you up abruptly, and you gasp in surprise. Chuckling, Cyno smirks, "I know what you must be thinking "What could a God possibly do with someone like me"?" he pauses for a moment, taking in your surprised expression, "You see, that's a story for a different day…for now, you need rest and patching up," Cyno says with a frown, eyeing your injured state.
Upon closer inspection, you can't help but let your eyes wander as if in awe or complete shock. The fierceness of his jawline, his intense citrine gaze, and his striking white hair got your heart pounding, and the only thing you could muster up was, "You're very handsome…I suspected the Gods to be, well, more terrifying," you say your thoughts aloud. Quickly realizing what you had just murmured, you covered your mouth from embarrassment, and you could swear you saw him blush.
Smirking at your slight backhanded compliment and he tilts his head down to get a better look at you. Torn, beat up, and exhausted didn't stop the beauty you showed from shining through. Your striking doe eyes and rather…soft looking lips made his mouth water, but before he loses himself, Cyno gulps, regaining his composure, "You're not so bad yourself…" he mutters.
"What was that?" you prod, edging him on in a playful manner, trying to make light of the situation at hand, but your trembling body told him otherwise.
"You know, it's okay to not be okay…" Cyno says abruptly and out of character, but for some reason, he's drawn to comfort you, and as quickly and quietly as he says this, tears begin welling up as they slowly trickle down, sobbing into your hands.
The rest of the walk toward the Mausoleum is quiet as you weep pitifully. Cyno merely offers comfort through his presence, making gentle circles around your back.
Must he be so gentle? So…caring? You weren't sure why, but it made your heart pound fast and your cheeks flush—smitten over a fearful God, how pitiful. This makes you cry harder, and the only solace you find is, The God of Judgment, Cyno. Breathing in a small breath, you collect yourself, "T-thank you…" you mumble, now feeling comfortable enough to wrap your arms around his neck.
Cyno simply looks on with one destination in mind: The Mausoleum. And one task to be done: patch you up. Finally arriving, Cyno places you on a hard stone slab, "Wait here…" he grumbles, and even if you wanted to, you couldn't move; your ribs were more cracked than you thought, so you nod your head, wiping away the excess tears that had escaped.
Seizing up this quiet opportunity, you glance around your surrounding area. Gold inlays decorated the glorious walls around you that you were sure were made of clay. You felt undoubtedly small in such a powerful place. The God of Judgment's residing area is nothing short of incredible, and it showed, "Amazing…" you murmur just as Cyno is making his way back with what looks to be a wet cloth and some rolled cloth.
Sitting down beside you, Cyno is curt with you, "Take off your shirt," he commands, and you gape at him.
"E-excuse me?!" you cough, surprised at his sudden demand.
"I need to inspect how badly they damaged you. Do you trust me?" Cyno asks, his tone changing softly.
"I—," you start before pausing, staring into his citrine gaze, searching for any semblance of a threat, yet you can't find any, so taking a deep breath, you gulp, "Don't try anything funny or so help me—I-I'll," you trail off when you notice he's laughing at you, "Are you seriously laughing right now?" you glower.
Trying politely to hold back his laughter, he can't, and he bursts out, "You're a feisty one; looks like I better be on my toes with you…" Cyno says, trying to contain the rest of his laughter, but he shuts up immediately as your rags are thrown at his face, leaving you bare as you shyly cover yourself up.
"Don't you dare cup a feel…," you say, glaring at him, yet you catch the sadness in his eyes, glancing your bruised and scarred body up and down with a frown upon his face, "W-what's the matter?" you ask him, tilting your head to the side, "Is it that bad?"
"Just what have they done to you…" Cyno says with resentment, feeling defeated. With a gentle touch, he grazes over your wounds with the wet cloth, only for you to cry out in pain, "Shh… it's alright. You're safe now; no harm will come to you ever again—I'll make sure of it," he gently says, the dried blood from your wounds clinging to the cloth until it can't anymore as Cyno, with steady, strong hands, begins to weave a brace around your chest tightly, restraining you from moving around too much, "I know it's uncomfortable, but please bare with me, your ribs are cracked," Cyno states, turning his head from you, hiding a very obvious blush with his hand, "Now get dressed, you're much too indecent for my liking!" he says gruffly, making you giggle, taking your robes back from him.
You struggle with your robes, and much to your dismay; you end up asking for help once more and, with a disheveled sigh Cyno complies, pushing the robes down onto your head and once you're fully dressed you adjust yourself to face him, "Thank you…uhm?"
"Just Cyno," he states, offering you more comfort.
To call a God by their first name is unheard of, so taking a moment to yourself, you ponder. Just what could this God be up to, and what did he mean by his? With all these questions arising, you didn't even know where to start, but what you did know, was the kindness he showed, "Then, Cyno," you start confidently, "I'll be in your care from now on!"
To be Continued
#rebby writes#genshin impact#genshin impact fandom#genshin impact fanfic#genshin impact fluff#genshin imagines#genshin scenarios#genshin impact x gn reader#genshin x reader#genshin x you#cyno x y/n#genshin impact cyno#genshin cyno#cyno x reader#cyno fluff#cyno imagines#cyno
238 notes
·
View notes
Text
Of Fear and Statues
Based on some of my fears manifested by watching a certain analog horror series :')
(Enjoying a lot of fun for the upcoming Halloween season 😅)
Hey, at least Gordon will suffer with me XD
@teapotteringabout @skymaiden32 @knyee @janetm74 @the-original-sineater @amistrio @thundergeek59 @riallasheng @katblu42 @yarol2075 @mariashades @room-on-broom
-0-0-0-
Virgil had always wondered why Gordon - a once military man within WASP and a fearless rescuer of International Rescue - was too darn nervous when around statues. More specifically, ones from their mainland.
It was something that he noticed since the Little Squid was a teenager.
He remembered the first time that happened: when Alan wanted to look at the Statue of Liberty, the 16 year old Gordon turned pale as a ice.
"Don't go! T-There's a giant ass horned snake in there! He'll zap you out of dimensions!"
What the heck?! Was everyone's first thought.
What was that "snake" was he talking about?
And why freaking out over a monument that just stand there? And existed for a very long time and representing the liberty of their people... for a certain time.
Usually, strange rumors and scary stories that his school friends would tell him just give Gordon something to make the old age "Unsolved Mysteries" joke.
But, since then, he was terrified for even seeing a face of one of those legendary pieces of sculped art.
Thankfully, his fear had eased for the poor Little Squid. And it seemed - at least what Virgil thought - that his phobia was long forgotten...
Until recently.
Coincidentally, Virgil was sculping a beautiful gargoyle based on a Kirin, when he heard a scream booming through the Tracy Villa!
It was Gordon's...
With wet clay on his face, hands and art apron, the pilot of Thunderbird 2 rushed out of his art studio towards his wing-man's room.
When he eventually arrived, another scream nearly made the poor Virgil deaf for a moment.
Then there was a loud crash.
And then there was silence. The Fish and the Tank simply stared at each other.
Beside a trampled Gordon, lay a film box that used the house a file cylinder, a discarded bowl of caramel-flavored popcorn, and some spilled spinach juice on the floor.
On the screen of the television, was a rather terrifying looking menu screen. The visuals replicated that of analog film nearly half a century ago, the colors were black and white. A certain statue of a warrior lady with a sword in her hand, flickered in and out in the background of the static. Along with some other strange anomalies in the semi-dark sky and a muffled vintage music was playing.
The older brother reached for the remote, convientely thrown at the edge of the doorway and turned the TV off.
"Gee Wiz, Virgil!" the aquanaut broke the silence, finding his breath, "that face paint of yours made me think you were 'Freedom' coming to chop my head off, bro!"
After another moment of awkward silence, the artist slowly put his hands on his hips, with the most deadpanned expression that rivals that of Scott's.
"Gordon? What on Earth were you doing?" he stood before the curled up joker for a brother.
"Trying to face my fears... The last ep of season one still killed me!" Gordon smiled with embarrassment as he gave the Tracy Puppy Eyes.
Virgil took the box and glanced at the cover. And then suddenly, all of the puzzle pieces just clicked into place!
He had found culprit of Gordon's odd fear, written in two words:
Monument Mythos
#thunderbirds#thunderbirds 1965#virgil tracy#gordon tracy#FishTank#thunderfam#thunderbirds fanfiction#mentions of horror#horror#comedy#my fanfics
25 notes
·
View notes
Text
[Eleven]
For my Hadvar/Ralof fic, I decided I wanted to write a series of vignettes of important events in their life, starting with when they were childhood best friends in Riverwood. Since I headcanon them being about the same age (though Ralof is a few months older, and this is a source of great contention between them when they're young), each chapter will be titled with the age they are when the event occurs.
There's no romance yet since they're both children here and that isn't really on their mind.
-------------------------------------
As far back as Hadvar could remember, Ralof always had a knack for getting him into trouble.
Enticed by the first snowmelt of the year, Hadvar let Ralof drag him out of his uncle’s house and across the bridge, scampering along the riverbank as they made their way upstream. Their laughter turned to puffs of steam in the crisp air, winter’s chill still clinging to the shadows, frosting the grass and hardening the ground, but anywhere the sun touched the earth was wet and alive with the promise of spring. Hadvar’s shoes were caked in mud by the time they’d made it to one of their favorite summertime spots: a shallow valley that cut into the mountainside, scattered with thick trees and boulders perfect for climbing.
Hadvar looked up the steep hill in awe, a shiver running down his spine as he caught sight of the stone arches of Bleak Falls Barrow glinting in the midmorning sun. He kept the Barrow in his sights, side-stepping along the valley floor to follow Ralof upstream even further. If he turned his back, the Draugr might come charging down the mountain and run him through with one of their ancient swords. He swallowed, the fear turning his mouth dry.
“Come on!” Ralof goaded, far ahead of him. “Why are you walking weird? You look like a mudcrab.”
“Shut up!” Hadvar snapped, finally managing to tear his eyes from the Barrow. “Where are we going anyways?”
“It’s a surprise.”
Hadvar let out a nervous huff of laughter, but trotted to catch up. “I hate surprises.”
“I know. Because you’re a milk-drinker.”
“I am not!”
“Are too.”
Hadvar gave Ralof a shove and his friend laughed, turning his forward momentum into a run. Hadvar ran after him, his muddy shoes clinging to the wet ground as if they were trying to hold him back. They stumbled along the riverbank, laughing breathlessly until they reached Ralof’s ‘surprise’.
It was a cave.
Hadvar shivered as they stepped out of the sun and into the shadow of the overhang. A cold breeze brushed his hair away from his face, like the death rattle of a corpse, smelling of mineral and earth and wet clay.
“I don’t wanna go in there,” Hadvar said.
“You’re such a milk-drinker!” Ralof said again.
“I am not!”
“Are too!”
Hadvar got right up in Ralof’s face, puffing up his chest and pressing their noses together. “Am not.”
Ralof just smiled wickedly, crossing his eyes and sticking out his tongue. “Are too.”
From within the cave came a sudden noise, causing both of them to jump. It was a deep, stuttering growl causing every hair on Hadvar’s arm to stand on end. Ralof pushed himself in front and unsheathed the small dagger that seemed to be permanently affixed to his belt. Hadvar’s uncle, Alvor, had made matching daggers for the two of them. Hadvar had left his home by accident…
“Ralof don’t,” Hadvar whispered, his stomach sick with fear.
The growling got closer.
Ralof had his arm out as if to keep Hadvar from moving forward. “Stay behind me. I killed a wolf with my pa three weeks ago.”
“Please!” Hadvar tugged on the back of Ralof’s shirt, panicked. “Come on!”
The growling turned into a loud bellow, and a massive river troll lumbered forward out of the shadows, teeth bared, meaty fists swinging at its side.
“RUN!” Ralof screamed.
Hadvar slipped in the mud as he scrambled backwards, nearly falling if it weren’t for Ralof catching him by his shirt and hauling him forward. They sprinted out of the mouth of the cave and back down the river. Hadvar could hear the troll right behind them, grunting as it pursued, heavy footfall pounding into the wet earth.
Ralof grabbed Hadvar by his arm and jerked him away from the riverbank and the valley towards a massive fallen tree. Hadvar recognized it on sight. It had a hollowed trunk that they’d used as a fort last year. Hadvar pushed all of his will to survive into his legs, sprinting alongside his best friend as if the very wind of Kyne’s breath was at their backs. They dove into the tree and scrambled as far back into the trunk as they could squeeze. Hadvar felt splinters stabbing into his palms as he crawled, panting and wheezing as the passage narrowed.
The troll roared at the opening of the tree and attempted to shove its way into the opening, wood scraping and cracking against its thick, hairy shoulders.
Hadvar was trapped between the back of the trunk and Ralof. He gasped for air, breathing so hard his lungs felt fit to burst. Ralof still had his dagger drawn, pointing it at the troll with a shaking hand.
Unable to squeeze itself into the tree trunk, the troll pulled back, roared again, and reached a long arm into the trunk in an attempt to grab them. With a yell, Ralof lunged forward and drove the dagger into the troll’s hand. The thing shrieked and yanked its hand back, taking the dagger with it.
Ralof pressed himself harder against Hadvar, and instinctively Hadvard wrapped his arms around his friend’s chest, pulling him as far away from the opening as possible. They were silent, breathing hard as they listened to the troll raging outside. There was a loud thump above them as it climbed onto the tree trunk, followed by an even louder whack. Whack-WHACK. It pounded against the tree, scratching at the bark, trying to tear its way in.
“We’re dead,” Hadvar whimpered.
“Shut up,” Ralof said. “No we’re not.”
The troll continued to claw and beat against the tree, but the thick trunk held strong. Hadvar buried his face against Ralof’s shoulder, willing himself not to cry. After what felt like an eternity, the noises of the troll’s rage fell away, and only the sounds of their labored breathing in the hollowed tree remained. Birdsong returned to the woods outside along with the babble of the river, and as Hadvar raised his head he could make out the grinding of the sawmill far off in the distance.
“Do you think it’s gone?” he hazarded to whisper.
Ralof shook his head, his blonde hair tickling Hadvar’s nose. “Trolls are stupid, but they’re also smart.”
Despite everything, Hadvar managed to squeeze out a laugh. “Kind of like you.”
This earned him an elbow to the stomach.
“I just saved your life!”
“Yeah, after you led me to that cave!”
“I didn’t know there’d be a troll in it!”
Ralof scooted away from Hadvar, putting space between them.
“Well, thanks to your surprise, now we’re stuck in this tree,” Hadvar grumbled.
“We couldn’t out-run it,” Ralof reasoned. “We’d be troll shit right now if it wasn’t for me.”
“Pfft, we wouldn’t be troll shit,” Hadvar said. The foul word felt strange in his mouth—Ralof always made cursing sound cool and easy in a way Hadvar had difficulty mimicking. “We’d be in its stomach. We’d be troll shit tomorrow.”
Ralof huffed irritably before crossing his arms and curling up against the side of the trunk.
Silence passed between them as a bird trilled loudly nearby.
“So… now what?” Hadvar asked.
“We should wait a while. Make sure the troll gets bored and wanders off.”
Hadvar shifted to lean against the opposite wall of the trunk, facing Ralof. He picked at the mud on his pants. “You lost your dagger,” he said after a moment.
Ralof groaned, dropping his head into his hands. “My pa is gonna kill me for that.”
“Uncle Alvor can make you another one,” Hadvar said. He continued to pick at his pant leg. “Or you can have mine.”
“Don’t give away your weapon, Hadvar,” Ralof scolded. “That’s no way to get to Sovngarde.”
“Well, you lost yours protecting us. And I didn’t even bring mine. Seems fair,” Hadvar argued, heat rising in his cheeks. “Besides, I’m useless with it, so…”
Ralof kicked Hadvar’s boot. “Shut up. You’re not useless.”
Hadvar just sighed, wrapping his arms around his legs and resting his chin on knees. He wanted to argue, but he knew it would only make him look even more pathetic than he already felt. Ralof was braver than him. Smarter, too. He would have just kept running forever until the troll caught him, like a dumb scared rabbit. He wouldn’t have even thought to hide here.
“What kind of sword do you want when you grow up?” Ralof asked out of nowhere. “I think I want a greatsword.” He held his arms out as wide as he could in the cramped tree trunk. “Big as Ysgramor’s.”
“Ysgramor had an axe.”
“Bigger than his axe, then. With carvings up the blade and a big sapphire in the hilt.” Ralof tucked his hands behind his head with a satisfied smile.
“I want two short swords so I can cut down twice as many enemies,” Hadvar said. “Plus, they’re lighter and you can move faster. They’ll call me Hadvar… Wind-Steel.”
“That’s a stupid name.”
“Is not!”
They argued about sword fighting and battle names, about how they’d both be soldiers one day, like their parents had been in the Great War. Hadvar swore through unwanted, bitter tears to avenge his parents for dying at the hands of the golden elves, while Ralof assured him that they’d died with honor and that he’d see them both in Sovngarde one day. They talked about Talos, about joining the Companions, argued over the lyrics of Ragnar the Red and which of them would take Matilda as a wife, and, before Hadvar knew it, the sunlight had begun to fade.
They slunk from the tree trunk, peering cautiously around the shadowy valley. The troll was nowhere in sight. They ran as fast as their feet would carry them back down the river and across the bridge, sprinting into town just as the last of the sun’s rays slipped behind the distant mountains and the lamplighter began to make his rounds. Ralod thumped Hadvar on his back before turning at the Sleeping Giant Inn and heading to his house. Hadvar watched him go, chewing on the insides of his cheeks. He didn’t turn to head home until Ralof had disappeared inside his own house, offering Hadvar one final wave.
---
Part 2
95 notes
·
View notes
Text
A very long overdue analysis on the two big loser knights and how the relationship between them is something that developed majorly over time.
Understandable that Clay and Lance’s friendship wasn’t really that understood in the very first episodes of the series, considering from first glance they just seem like the duo that hate eachother.
(honestly I completely thought they hated eachother when I was like 9/10 which is when I first watched it ..) but looking into their relationship more you realise that they don’t HATE eachother, they just hate their contradictory opinions and ideas.
They’re polar opposites when it comes to character, Lance doesn’t give any care about anything really, and Clay cares too much about everything. considering the way they grew up makes quite the impact on this as well. With one barely having anyone take care of them and the other barely getting any sort of attention from their family.
The way they care about eachother is probably the way they stick out the most. It’s like they care for eachother in a way, but expressing it is harder for one compared to the other. What I mean is, they both have these flaws about them which makes them so.. interesting.
I absolutely love s3, and the way it shows their development from s2 -> s3 says a lot. (even from s1 -> s2 you can see a slight difference in their development too.) but s3 really sticks out because it’s just those parts where they’re just being absolute idiots together. (especially with the bizarre addition of clay and the wet floor sign.. idk what he was doing there.)
When it comes to s1 and specifically ep4 the way Lance goes about the whole thing with Clay being upset over losing the knights code. (idk if it was a whole team thing deciding to get it digitalised for him so I can’t really say anything about that..)
I like the random thought of Lance actually reading the knights code and quoting it in s4, I thought that was really sweet considering how much he takes the absolute piss out of it. (Also I before I forget to mention Lance usually referring to Clay with different nicknames such as super knight is really silly, idk why.)
The way they didn’t really agree on anything, and yet still made their friendship work is something I truly love about them. (**another thing before I forget, Lance suggesting they should split up and find clay in ep5 is something that is just.. uausgsb..)
Also in ep17 when Clay joined in with being a complete IDIOT, because Lance was pulling the faces at him is so real.. they care for eachother sm in every way but don’t know how to express it..
s3 and Lance worrying about Clay ALOT was so silly, he was constantly worrying about if he was actually going to be okay for their missions (especially in rotten luck) . also with ep27 and taking the piss out of eachother, (especially with their art knowledge..)
I love them sm.. and I don’t think I could NOT overanalyse their relationship as much as I do usually.
I need to stop with the lego gays.. they’re taking over always.. and there’s nothing I can do about it.
#in conclusion one sided noble hippogriff in s1 is so real..#nexo knights#clay moorington#lance richmond#say theoretically I overanalyse Lance as a character next??#why do i do this to myself#this took nearly 30 minutes (and i don’t even think I included everything)#nk anything shenanigans#convince me they weren’t acting like a married couple in s3?!?
10 notes
·
View notes
Text
The Blind Banker (I)
Part 10 of The Arbitrary Lives of the Occupants of 221b Baker Street
Previous | Next
SERIES MASTER LIST | MAIN MASTER LIST
Word Count: 7.k
Warnings: Crime scene description, description of a dead body, Sherlock is Sherlock, Y/N is a badass, Sebastian is a dick to Sherlock, fluff
Notes: I am writing Y/N as being multilingual. I myself am multilingual and love to use it/show off any chance I get.
__________________________
Y/N frantically dashed from the bus stop to the steps of the National Museum of Antiquities. The building's tall columns hover over her. Their structure soared up to the heavens as if the gods themselves resided there. Her coat swayed behind her as she climbed up the steps. An autumnal wind circulated her, grazing her cheeks leaving a redness to them. Her hair danced along. She swiftly entered the museum and peered around for the polished man she now called her boyfriend. Her eyes landed on Jim. His custom-made suit heightens his edgy charm. His deep mahogany eyes caught sight of her and he flashed his million-dollar smile. She blushed under his gaze as her feet made their way to him. The memory of him asking her to be official still fresh in her mind. With his dazzling smile and eager eyes, there was no way she could have ever turned him down.
She ran to him grasping him in a big hug. Then Y/N pulled away to offer Jim a quick kiss.
“So glad you could make it in time,” he grinned. He took his hand to hold hers. “The demonstration is about to start.”
Y/N squeezed Jim’s hand excitedly. “I can’t believe you found out about this.”
He chuckled at her enthusiasm. “Well, I thought my girlfriend,” he enunciated, “who happens to love Chinese culture and speak the language would be interested. Guess I was right.” His Irish voice chirped.
She leaned into his shoulder, wrapping her free hand around his arm as they walked. Jim led her to where a tour group was gathered. In the vast room there stood glass cases presenting antiques collected from the great land of china. Y/N’s eyes ogled at them as they passed. Her inner geek popped out to mention fun facts to Jim. He smiled and nodded as she told him. A lady entered the room, holding a Chinese clay tea set in her hand. Carefully the woman placed it down on a table in front of the group. Y/N stood on her tippy toes to peer over the heads of the guests in front of her. Jim noticing, took them to the side of the group, presenting Y/N with a perfect view of the presentation.
The woman who sat before them was Chinese. She had a soft round face and beautiful dark eyes that held a peacefulness to them. The woman, who introduced herself as Soo Lin began the demonstration of an ancient tea ceremony. Her long delicate finger picked up the fragile centuries-old clay pots. It was as if these pots meant the world to her.
Carefully, Soo Lin brought the tea to a boil and began pouring the liquid over the clay tea set. Some of the children in the group were awed as she did so.
“The great artisans say the more the teapot is used, the more beautiful it becomes,” Soo Lin says.
Y/N watched in pure fascination as Soo Lin described the history of the practice. Jim gazed at Y/N with a softness in his eye, ignoring the presentation completely.
“The pot is seasoned by repeatedly pouring tea over the surface,” Soo Lin explained in a heavy Chinese accent. “The deposit left on the clay creates this beautiful patina over time.”
Then Soo Lin holds up the wet teapot for the group to see. The clay pot was once dull but now shines like a diamond.
“For some pots,” Soo Lin continues, “the clay has been burnished by tea made over four hundred years ago.” She places the pot down and begins to finalize her presentation. As the other guest turn away and move on to other exhibits, Y/N walks toward Soo Lin.
“宜兴茶壶 (Yixing teapot)” she mentions.
Soo Lin peeks up at Y/N, her ears twitching up and hearing her mother tongue. “你会说汉语吗？”
Y/N smile’s grows brighter as she hears the familiar language. Soo Lin focused on the woman in front of her. Her eyes filled with surprise.
“对。我会说汉语,”Y/N replied. Soo Lin’s flashed a smile that matched hers. “我真的很喜欢你的演讲。你做得很好。“
”哪里哪里，“ Soo Lin chuckled.
Jim looked fondly between the two women. His eyes widen as the conversation continued. He leaned into Y/N. His whisper tickled her ear.
“What are you two talking about?” He wonders.
Y/N shudders and slightly laughs. She motions to Soo Lin. “I’m just complimenting her on the presentation. That’s all.”
Soo Lin smiles and nods her head. “You’re girlfriend can speak quite good Chinese.”
Y/N blushes and Jim responds by wrapping an arm around her waist. “She’s a woman of many talents.”
Y/N playful pats his chest and returns to Soo Lin. “I won’t keep you long, I’m sure you’ve got other things to do. Thanks again for the presentation.”
“I’m glad you liked it.” Soo Lin comments before returning to her work.
Jim and Y/N turn around making their way out of the room. They continue to tour the rest of the museum. Y/N stops at every exhibit and Jim fixates on her figure. He admired her as if she, herself, was an antique piece of art to be treasured by all who visit the museum. Eventually, they made their way through the museum and exited the museum right as it began to close.
“You sure liked those exhibits,” commented Jim. He smirked at her as she leaned into him.
“I did,” She confirmed. “I especially enjoyed the Yixing teapot demonstration.”
“Seems to me you enjoyed speaking to the lady more than any of the other exhibits we visited.” Jim poked at her and gleefully ran away from her as she tried to get him back.
She laughed as he dodged her attempts to catch him. Finally, she caught him and he brought his lips to hers. Her breath was taken away.
Shaking it off she continued, “Well, ya. It’s not every day you find someone who can speak mandarin.”
Jim placed her hand in his and they continued meandering around the plaza. The lights of London illuminated their promenade. A pleasant silence fell over them as they approached the bus station.
Jim turned to Y/N and said, “I’m going to be heading for Germany in a few days.”
Y/N cocked her toward him. “You’re leaving?”
“Unfortunately I’m leaving the day after tomorrow,” He clarified. “I’m going to be gone for a few weeks at most. Business calls.”
Y/N groaned. “Really? Is there any way I can see you before you go?”
Jim brought his hands to cup her face. “I’m free tomorrow night. If you would like to join me for a nice dinner.” His mocha eyes flicked between hers.
She nods.”Promise you’ll call?” She pouts.
Jim lovingly smiles. “Every day.”
Y/N leans in to press a lingering kiss to his lips as the bus pulls up beside them to take her back to Baker Street. Reluctantly she lets go of Jim’s hand and enters the bus. She sits by the window and waves him goodbye as the bus pulls away from the station. Y/N rests her head on the window and solemnly peers out. It’s going to be a long few weeks.
_____________________________________________________________________________________
It was a beautiful morning. The sun was high in the sky shining down its excellence for all to see. A rare occurrence in London late in the autumn season. On a day like this, Y/N dreamed of being outside and feeling the sun’s warm rays on her face but she was stuck in a bistro. Now, typically she wouldn’t complain about being in a bistro except it that it was outrageously far away from Baker Street. She had quite a struggle finding a bus to the location. Eventually, she had to settle on taking three different buses to reach the bistro. All because a certain bullheaded brother of her employer, Mycroft Holmes insisted on keeping up his appearance and staying under the radar, as he called it.
Y/N couldn’t complain since the income that Mycroft was giving her kept her afloat despite her job working as Sherlock’s assistant. Mycroft increased her pay due to her proximity to his brother.
Mycroft had cut all the niceties and skipped to the point. He demanded to know about Sherlock’s movements and whom he was involved with. Y/N, of course, told him everything to the best of her ability. Mycroft, jotting down everything she said. It did not take long for the interrogation to finish.
Mycroft closed the notebook and pondered. “Are you engaging in any relations with my brother?”
Y/N about choked on her tea. “What?!”
“You must be confused about my question,” Mycroft stated. “Let me explain, are you engaging in any romantic or sexual relat…”
“Let me stop you right there, Mycroft.” Enunciated Y/N. “I am your brother’s assistant and ONLY his assistant.” Mycroft’s eyes narrowed at her. “I’ll have you know it I’m in a relationship with another man, and am in no way inclined into being in a relationship with Sherlock.”
Mycroft sat back and nodded his head, satisfied with the answer. He reached for his umbrella and stood up out of his seat. “I’ll see you next month, Ms. L/N.” Without another word, he was gone.
Y/N sighed and rested her head in her hands. Dealing with one Holmes brother was enough, but two. That’s where she drew the line.
Just then the phone in her back pocket rang, and she was greeted with the familiar sound of John panicking.
“I’m having a row with a chip-in-pin machine at the grocery store. Sherlock won’t pick up. And I’m about to break something.” Fumed John.
In the background, an automated voice chimed, “Item not scanned. Please try again….Card not authorized…”
“Alright, John” giggled Y/N, “I’m on my way. It’s going to be a while until I get there.” She grabbed her things and made her way out of the bistro.
“Better than Sherlock,” John grumbled. “He is not picking up his phone.”
“Really?” She asked. She could hear John grunt on the other end of the phone. “Send me your location, and I’ll be there as soon as I can.” John sent her his location and she typed it into her maps.
As she was walking, she tried calling Sherlock’s cell and was sent to voicemail. After a few times being sent to voicemail, she called her Aunt’s number.
“Hello, this is Martha Hudson speaking.” Mrs.Hudson still hadn’t gotten used to the cell phone.
Y/N chuckled, “Auntie M, it’s me.”
“Oh, I should have known that’s why your name was on the screen. I’ll never get used to these phones.”
“You’ll get the hang of it eventually” reassured Y/N. “By any chance is Sherlock home? He’s not answering his phone.”
_____
A man wrapped in clothes covering him head to toe lunged at Sherlock. A sword stabbed forward and Sherlock lept to the side. Then Sherlock jumps up grabbing the man by his wrists. After some struggle, the man pushes Sherlock onto the kitchen table, his sword aimed at Sherlock’s throat. The man yelled out to bring the sword down. Sherlock pushes his attacker’s wrist upwards to put distance between him and the blade. A sweat broke out on his forehead, dripping down his chiseled cheekbones. The attacker’s grip began to weaken as his wrist bent slightly upwards. Suddenly, Sherlock forces himself off the table. The attacker backs away into the living, swiping at Sherlock. He ducks and then brings a powerful uppercut into his attacker’s chin. The man falls to the ground with a grunt, unconscious. After catching his breath Sherlock stands tall, dusting off the mess of the fight. He ran his hand through his head of dark curls wondering how he was going to take care of the body.
______
A deep sigh escaped Mrs.Hudson’s mouth. “He is, Lizzy. But he’s…” There was a pause as she tried to find the right words. “I believe he’s occupied with… with a special someone. I can hear them from downstairs. It sounds like they’re having quite a good time, by all the grunting, crashing, thumping I hear..”
Y/N’s face turned bright red. “Oh! Thanks for telling me. I thought he... Just… never mind. See you later, Auntie M.”
“Alright dear, goodbye.” Y/N immediately pressed the red button and burst into laughter. She couldn’t wait to tell John about what Mrs.Hudson had told her.
There was an extremely long line when Y/N entered the store, at the front stood John. His finger angrily motioned towards the machine a vein popped out of his head. He refused to give up and kept trying to figure out the chip-in-pin machine. An automated voice responds, “The card you are using is not authorized. Please try again.” A collective groan escapes the mouths of those in the line.
“Oh shut up. Go wait in another queue if you so please.” Scoffed John. He was not happy, Y/N could tell that. But seeing her best friend get so frustrated over a chip-in-PIN machine was just too funny, so she laughed. Recognizing that laugh, John looked up and a sigh of relief washed over them. So much so that he announced it to everyone in the queue behind him. “Look everyone, help has arrived.” A few people in the queue behind him awkwardly clapped their hands, unsure of what to do.
Y/N chuckled and pulled out her wallet and inserted the card. Typing in her pin the machine chimed, accepting the card and payment. John stood there shocked, as Y/N started gathering the bags of groceries. “You didn’t need to do that Y/N.”
“Just helping out a friend in need.” She replied as John began taking a few of the bags from Y/N’s arms.
“No, no, you stopped me from practically murdering that machine. Let me pay you back.”
Y/N chuckled, “Alright then John. You can cover for me tonight. Jim’s asked me to have dinner at his place.”
John wiggled his eyebrows at his friend. “Oh? Last I heard you two made it official. Special night planned?”
Y/N smiled to herself and a pink tint flushed over her face. “I don’t know. He leaves for Germany on a business trip for a few weeks, so…”
“I’ve got you covered, Y/N,” John confirms. “Though it’s not really what I meant by paying you back, that works too.” Once the two of them had gathered the groceries.
On the way home, Y/N remembered to tell John what Mrs.Hudson had told her when she called asking for Sherlock. Immediately John’s ears turned bright pink as his mind fought to process this new information. “You’re telling me Sherlock might’ve had someone over? That doesn’t sound like him...I was pretty sure that he was…”
“Married to his workl?!” Proposed Y/N, John nodded his head in agreement. “Same here, but you never know. I mean he’s never told us specifically that he was… you know. But imagine, if what Auntie M said was true. Sherlock’s never gonna hear the end of it,” chuckled Y/N. John couldn’t help but chuckle as well. Sherlock, the man whom everyone thought was married to his work, might have been possibly overheard by his landlady satisfying certain needs.
It didn't take the two of them long to return home. The whole way home they’d come up with ways to tease Sherlock. Laughing and joking as the cold November wind blew around them. Lifting the fallen leaves on the road sidewalk causing them to dance around like a spinning ballerina. When they entered 221 Mrs.Hudson had told the two of them to settle down. It had only just gotten quiet upstairs. This sparked another wave of laughter between John and Y/N as they remembered all the teasing and jokes that awaited them. Mrs.Hudson brushed them off and sent them up the stairs mumbling something about how laughter was good for the soul.
Sitting at the dining table, Sherlock was typing away on John’s computer. Not even looking up at his two friends as they entered the kitchen with the groceries. Y/N and John shared looks as they looked around the apartment for clues to aid in their suspicion. Except the place was just as they left it and Sherlock on his throne not having moved an inch.
“You took your time,” Sherlock noted not looking up from the computer.
“I had a row with a chip-and-PIN machine. I tried calling you for help, but you didn’t answer.” Placing the groceries on the counter John looked at Sherlock in disbelief. “Is that my computer?”
“Of course,” stated Sherlock.
John clenched his jaw. “What?!”
Y/N smirked as she placed the groceries in the fridge.
“Mine was in my bedroom, John,” Sherlock enunciated. “You…you had a row with a chip-and-PIN machine?”
“Y/N had to come and save me.” John paused and opened his mouth thinking of how he could censor his words. “It’s password-protected, Sherlock!” John spat.
“In a manner of speaking. Took me less than a minute to guess yours. Fort Knox. You should change your password,” suggested Sherlock. John’s mouth hung open and he would have stayed that way if it wasn’t for Y/N chucking an apple at him. John caught it and then turned his focus on unpacking the groceries.
Leaning over the dining table, Y/N began implying, “So, Sherlock.” He glanced up from the computer to look at her. A few hairs fell into her face. Her smile was all too suggestive of something. “Sounds like you had quite a good time earlier. If you know what I mean.” John practically choked on the air he was breathing.
He cocked a brow up at her and glanced around the room. “If you say so,” He replied returning to John’s computer.
John looks back at Sherlock and sighs. He marches over to Sherlock snatching his computer from Sherlock’s hands. John then marches across the room placing the computer as far away from Sherlock as he could. Then sliding down he sits in his armchair. John’s eye catches a pile of bills. He frowns.
“Need to get a job,” he mutters.
“Oh, dull,” Sherlock replies.
Y/N clears her throat catching the attention of Sherlock and John. “Actually, I still haven’t been paid since Abbey Grange.”
Sherlock narrowed his eyes and John looked up to the ceiling with frustration.
“I need to go to the bank.” Stated Sherlock, completely ignoring the comment Y/N had just made.
“Okay…?” Y/N responded. Sherlock stood up and threw on his coat. He turned to Y/N and John. His blue eyes gave them a look. “Oh! We’re coming.”
Sherlock headed down the stairs. Y/N scurried out after him. John groans standing up from the comfort of his chair. He slowly made his way out of the flat and after Sherlock and Y/N.
_____________________________________________________________________________________
Tower 42, Old Broad Street. That’s what it said in a big bold steel letter. The glass skyscraper lived up to its namesake. It towered over the three of them. A giant in a city of tiny figurines. The numerous windows shimmered in the late morning sun. Each surface is expertly cleaned extracting the sense of wealth. Y/N shudders just thinking about the amount of wealth this bank owned. Before the three of them stood glass revolving doors. People spun in and out of them. Sherlock stepped forward leading John and Y/N inside the luxurious building.
They entered an impressive foyer. Chatter filled the background as people took calls and others withdrew money from their accounts. As Y/N glanced around, she saw the newest and best computer and technology. This bank far exceeded the expectations of her own. To the side there hung a large sign saying Shad Sanderson Bank. Y/N glanced toward her employer. His icy eyes astutely observed his surroundings. The images of the glass barriers, clocks, and the reception desk could be seen in them. Then Sherlock came to a stop. They had arrived at a reception desk.
One of the many receptionists behind the desk peered up at the three of them. Her eyes judgingly glanced over their appearance. It was obvious they did not belong in a bank of this caliber.
“Sherlock Holmes,” addressed Sherlock. The woman’s eye’s widened and she immediately led them through a heavy set of doors labeled employees only. She led down winding hallways, and the three of them passed numerous offices. Some of which were larger than the entire square footage of their apartments. Eventually, they came to an office. To the side of the door, there stood a brass name tag: Sebastian Wilkes. The receptionist opened the door and ushered them inside.
A man in a well-tailored suit stood up from the desk. He flashes a grin at the three of them. His brown eyes land on Y/N and linger on her figure. Sherlock’s jaw clenches and he clears his throat bringing the man’s attention to him.
“Sherlock Holmes,” Sebastian states.
“Sebastian,” Sherlock grimaced.
Sebastian sticks his hand out for Sherlock to shake, which he reluctantly takes.
“Howdy, buddy. How long has it been? Eight years since I clapped eyes on you?” Sebastian guessed with an overly excited smile plastered on his face.
An expression of disdain flashed on Sherlock’s face, one which he barely tried to hide. A similar look appeared on Y/N’s face.
Sherlock pointed towards John, “This is my friend, John Watson.”
Sebastian widened his eyes in surprise. “And who’s this lovely lady?” Sebastian asked. Sherlock’s eyes narrowed at him.
Y/N winced at the comment.
“This is my assistant and friend,” Sherlock glowered at Sebastian, “Y/N L/N.”
“Right.” Sebastian scoffed. He gave Sherlock a quick look as if to say Didn’t think you had any friends! Grinning unpleasantly the man sat back in his chair, motioning for the others to take a seat. Both John and Y/N’s lips purse with instant dislike. “Well, grab a seat. D’you need anything? Coffee, water?”
The three reply with a no.
“So, you’re doing well. You’ve been abroad a lot?” Sherlock commented.
“Well, some.” Sebastian smiled at Y/N.
“Flying all the way around the world twice in a month?” smirked Sherlock.
“Right. You’re doing that thing.” Sebastian noticed. Looking towards Y/N, he continued, “ We were at uni together. This guy here had a trick he used to do.”
“It’s not a trick,” Sherlock muttered barely enough for Y/N to hear.
“He could look at you and tell you your whole life story!” Sebastian exclaimed.
“Yes, I’ve seen him do it,” Y/N noted.
“Put the wind-up everybody. We hated him.” Y/N noticed how Sherlock turned his head away and looked down at his feet. She of all people could recognize his face momentarily filling with pain. The presenting pleasant expression dropped from Y/N's face. Her jaw was tightly clenched as her gaze turned back to Sebastian. “You’d come down to breakfast in the Formal Hall and this freak would know you’d been shagging the previous night.
“I simply observed,” Sherlock stated remnants of pain still present in his eyes.
“Go on, enlighten me,” scoffs Sebastian,” Two trips a month, flying around the world – you’re quite right. How could you tell?”
Sherlock opens his mouth to reply but Sebastian continues speaking over him to Y/N. “You’re gonna tell me there was, um, a stain on my tie from some special kind of ketchup you can only buy in Manhattan? ” He smugly says.
John squirms in his chair, ticked off by the man.
“No, I …” Sherlock tries to clarify.
“Maybe it was the mud on my shoes!” Interrupted Sherlock.
“I was just chatting with your secretary outside. She told me.” Sherlock stated.
Both John and Sebastian frown at him. John was confused by the simply ordinary explanation of his deductions. Then Sebastian breaks into a humorless laugh and Sherlock smiles back at him. His face showed no hint of humor. Suddenly Sebastian claps his hands together, turning back to Y/N
“How’d you end up working for him?” He asked as if it was impossible.
Y/N smiled a knowing smile. One that hid the shared hatred she, John, and Sherlock felt for Sebastian. “I work for Sherlock because I admire his talent and the fact that he’s a good person.”
Both Sherlock and John’s eyes widened at her explanation. The pain from Sherlock’s eyes dissolved and was replaced with something else–something more tender. John smirked proudly at his friend.
Sebastian scoffed in disbelief. “Wouldn’t a pretty girl like you want to work for someone…”
She cut him off. “What? Normal? Are you normal?”
He nods as he fell into the trap of her faked innocence.
“Oh,” she gasped, her expression immediately losing all its pleasantness. “So it normal for you to stare at women as if they are objects to be ogled at?” Sebastain’s face drops as she shifts in his seat. Uncomfortable under the woman’s powerful gaze. “Because I’ve noticed you haven’t taken your eyes off of me since I walked into this room despite having invited Sherlock here for help. So why don’t we discuss that? After all, it's what we are here for. If not, we will kindly take our leave.”
Sherlock glanced toward Y/N, her tall and confident figure etched in his memory. He made no effort to hide the large smile on his face. John, on the other hand, had to use his hand to stifle a laugh. A few snickers escaped his mouth. Y/N sat still, glowing from the victory of her battle. Their reactions only added to the embarrassment that Sebastian felt.
Sebastian cleared his throat and flashed an awkward smile. Catching his breath, Sebastian straightened his tie and then leaned forward. His tone became more serious. He turned to Sherlock and got to the point, “I’m glad you could make it over. We’ve had a break-in.”
“What did they steal?” Interrogated John.
Turning towards John, Sebastian explained, “Nothing. Just left a little message.”
Now, this intrigued the consulting detective and his crime-solving friends. They rose from their seats and followed Sebastian as he showed them to the office. Sherlock stood close to Y/N as if he was repelling Sebastian away from her; Not that he needed to after her outbreak in his office.
In order to get into the room, Sebastian had to use a security card, something that Sherlock took note of. Inside, the walls were plain white. On one of the walls behind the large wooden desk was a huge framed painted portrait of the once bank’s chairman. The painting wasn’t what captivated the attention of the three friends. It was the bright yellow, spray-painted, graffiti tag on the wall left of the painting. The tag appeared to resemble the number 8, but the top of the number was left open. Above it was a horizontal straight line across the painting. Sherlock stepped forward to get a better look at the wall, Y/N standing closely behind him. John stood on the other side of the room next to Sebastian.
“The room’s been left here like a sort of memorial,” Sebastian explained. “Someone broke in late last night.”
Y/N peered up at the graffiti symbols. A sense of familiarity washed over her. “It looks like numbers,” she muttered quietly to herself. She noted that the line covering the painting’s eyes reminded her the of Chinese word for one. Pulling out her phone, she snapped a picture of the graffiti.
After they were done observing the wall, Sebastian had taken them back to his office to view the security footage. The three of them, John, Sherlock, and Y/N, crowded around Sebastian’s computer. Y/N had retrieved a leather-bound journal and was writing down notes with her blue gel pen. The only pen, Sherlock noticed, she was willing to write with. Sebastian began to explain the videos. “They’re 60 seconds apart. Someone came up here in the middle of the night, splashed around some paint, and then left. All within a minute.”
Sherlock squinted his eyes at the screen. “How many ways into that office?”
“Well, that’s where this gets really interesting.” Sebastian then showed the three of them the security camera in the reception center. “Every door that opens in the bank is logged right here. Every door.”
Sherlock took his turn at the computer and noticed that “The door didn’t open last night.”
Sebastian stood up, pulling something out of his chest pocket. “There’s a hole in our security. Find it and we’ll pay you–five figures,” Sebastian reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a slip of paper. He held a check out. Sherlock glared at the check. “This is an advance. Tell us how he got in and there’s a bigger one on its way.” John’s eyes widened and graciously took the check from Sebastian’s hand.
Sherlock had asked to see the office once more, alone. That meant John and Y/N stood outside, waiting for what seemed like hours for their dark-haired friend to emerge from the room. Shortly, afterward, Sherlock is dancing around the trading floor. John and Y/N uncomfortably stand as their friend ducks down behind a desk. Slowly, Sherlock’s head of dark curls rises above the desk. His eyes stared in concentration at the glass door to Sir William’s office. Then he scurries across the floor, to the bemusement of John and Y/N. They chuckle at their friend’s ridiculous methods, knowing that it works. Sherlock continues to scamper around the office. Scurrying from behind the desk and peering at the office entrance. He reaches a doorway and enters an office. He makes his way behind the desk and, again, looks up at the office entryway. His eyes narrow as he gets a clear view of the spray paint covering the eyes of the portrait. Afterward, he makes his way around the office one more time before ending back up at the office. He looks around the room, as John and Y/N observe him. Then Sherlock heads to a door and calls Y/N’s name. Beckoning her to him. He slides the sign out of the holder and hands it to her. She glances down at the name on the slip: Eddie Van Coon. Once she places it securely in her pocket, the two of them head off. John followed them.
Sherlock led them toward the escalators. The two ran after him. John was about to ask Sherlock a question, but Sherlock immediately answered. “Got everything I need to know. That graffiti was a message for someone at the bank working on the trading floors. We find the recipient and ....”
John finished his sentence, “then they'll lead us to the person who sent it.”
They stepped on the escalators. The buzz of the escalators hummed loudly in their ears.
“Two trips around the world this month. You didn’t ask his secretary; you said that just to irritate him,” noted John.
Sherlock smirks but doesn’t reply to John.
“How did you know?” John pondered.
“Did you see his watch?” Sherlock asked.
“His watch?” repeated Y/N.
“The time was right but the date was wrong,” Sherlock explained. “Said two days ago. Crossed the dateline twice but he didn’t alter it.”
“Within a month? How’d you get that part?” John mused.
“New Breitling,” Sherlock proudly emitted. Y/N cocked her brow up in confusion. “Only came out this February. Obvious really.”
John smiled proudly at his friend.
“Sherlock?” Y/N wondered. “There’s probably about three hundred people up there. Who was the message meant for?”
“Pillars,” stated Sherlock.
“What?” John and Y/N chimed in unison.
Sherlock smiled, “Pillars and the screens. Very few places you can see that graffiti from. That narrows the field considerably. And of course, the message was left at eleven thirty-four last night. That tells us a lot.”
“Does it?” John asked.
Sherlock stepped off the escalator and continued talking as the three of them went through the revolving doors and onto the street. “Traders come to work at all hours. Some trade with Hong Kong in the middle of the night. That message was intended for someone who came in at midnight. Y/N” He interjects, “what was the name on the card I gave you?”
She quickly pulls the slip out. “Umm…Edde Van Coon.”
“Not many Van Coons in the phonebook.” Sherlock cleverly says.
His blue eyes scan the road landing on a taxi. Immediately he calls out, “Taxi!”
A buzz comes from Y/N’s pocket and she pulls out her phone. Jim. She glances over the message as John and Sherlock enter the cab.
___
Can’t wait for tonight. I’ll pick you up around 5.30.”
-Jim
____
Y/N’s drifted up and caught sight of the time. Two hours until her and Jim’s date. She cleared her throat catching Sherlock’s attention.
“You two go on without me. I’ve got to go.”
Sherlock tilts his head. “Pardon?”
“Ya, I’ve got um…” Y/N looks towards John for help. “A date.”
John nods his head, “Let’s go, Sherlock. We’ll see you later, Y/N.” He grasps Sherlock's sleeve to pull him into the car. Sherlock yanks his arm away from John and steps out onto the curb facing Y/N.
“You can’t.” He states. “I need my assistant.”
Y/N sighs. “Sherlock, you’ll be just fine. Plus, you have John.”
Sherlock doesn’t budge. “Y/N as your employer, I expect certain things of you. One of which is altering me before the time that you will be absent from work. That way John and I can plan accordingly.”
“But I told John this morning,” she pleads.
“Exactly, you told him and not me, your employer. Tell your date that you can not make it.”
John scoffs in disbelief. “Sherlock!” John glared at Sherlock. The determination latched in his blue eyes, defeated John.
“Sherlock, my boyfriend is leaving the country for work and will be gone for the next few weeks. This will be the last chance I get to see him. It’s not fair.”
Sherlock leaned into Y/N. “It’s not fair to us. We are in the middle of solving a case, and an important one at that. I need you here by my side.” Y/N crossed her arms. “Of course you can leave,” Sherlock stated. “I have no control over your actions, but that would put your attachment to your job in question.”
Pinching her nose, she took a moment to think. She did need the job and she was starting to like John and Sherlock. They were growing on her. A pregnant pause filled the air. Y/N sighed sadly, her eyes lowering. “You’re right. Just let me call Jim and tell him I can’t make it tonight.”
Sherlock’s shoulder release as he nods. Then he climbed back into the cab. Y/N tried calling Jim, but it went to voicemail, so she texted him instead. Explaining that something came up at work and that she couldn’t make it. A pang of guilt swished in her stomach. Soon after, she got in the back of the cab, and they were off.
John looked over Sherlock at Y/N and offered her a comforting smile. His eyes telling her that he was sorry about not being able to help her. Y/N understood and then turned away to peer down at her hands. She began to fiddle with the rings on her fingers. Her back slightly hunched over.
_____________________________________________________________________________________
The taxi lets them outside a block of flats. Sherlock pays the driver and then heads out marching directly toward a door buzzer. He glanced at the names and found one that was labelled ‘Van Coon’. He pressed the buzzer for a few seconds and then released it. There was no response. Y/N stuffed her hands in her pockets and began looking around. Sherlock pressed the button again. No response.
“So, what do we do now? Sit here and wait for him to come back?” John pondered.
Again, Sherlock’s eyes glance over the name label and then flashes a triumphant smile.
“Just moved in.” Sherlock smirked.
“What?” asks Y/N.
“The floor above. New label.” He clarifies.
Then Sherlock pressed the door buzzer above Van Coon’s.
“Could have replaced it,” John added.
Sherlock turned to look at John, “No-one ever does that.”
Suddenly a scratching noise comes from the speaker in front of them. A woman’s voice breaks through. “Hello?”
Sherlock turns to the camera and smiles. The smile reminded Y/N of the southern hospitality she experiences in the United States; The cheery neighbors popping by with a plate full of cookies and asking if you had Jesus or God in your life.
“Hi!” chirped Sherlock. His voice most definitely three octaves higher. “Um, I live in the flat below you. I-I don’t think we’ve met.” He grins into the camera. Y/N does her best to stifle a snicker.
“No, well, uh. I’ve just moved in,” the woman’s voice explained.
Sherlock briefly turns around to present his I-told-you-so face towards John and Y/N. “Actually,” Sherlocks states, “I’ve just locked my keys in my flat.” He fakes embarrassment as he says it.
“...Do you want me to buzz you in?” The woman hesitantly asks.
“Yeah…and can I use your balcony?” He requested.
“What?” The woman responds. John and Y/N flash each other confused looks.
Not long after Y/N, Sherlock, and John are buzzed into the apartment building. As they step into the elevator to the correct floor, Sherlock address his friends. “John, Y/N. You two wait outside Van Coon’s flat. I’ll let you in.”
John nods, but Y/N declines. Sherlock cocks his brow up. “You wanted me to stay with you right. If I remember correctly right by your side. I’m coming with you.” She dictated.
Sherlock’s eyes narrow and his jaw clenches. “Fine.” She smiles triumphantly. “John, wait for us and we’ll let you in.” He leans in close to Y/N’s, whispering into her ear. “I hope you’re good with heights.”
_____________________________________________________________________________________
“You want me to what?!” Y/N exclaimed.
Sherlock looks back at her as they stand on Ms Wintle’s balcony. “I want you to climb down.”
He peers over the edge of the balcony. His eyes fall on the ground several floors below them. Quite a fall, he notes. Y/N visibly gulps, and Sherlock smirks. “You can always join John.”
“No !...no,” she states more calmly. “I’m staying right by your side.” Sherlock’s cheeks lightly flushed at the promise.
Without another word, Sherlock swings his leg over the balcony and with the expertise of a gymnast fall down onto the balcony below. Y/N yelps and runs to the edge. Sherlock flashes a cocky smile.
“Worried?”
She scoffs. “No…never.” Y/N takes in a deep breath ignoring the shakiness of her hands. Her knuckles turned white from gripping the edge of Ms. Wintle’s balcony. Carefully she swings a leg over and feels her arms give out from under her. She cries out as her grip on the balcony tightens. Her legs flail as they search for ground.
“Need help?” Sherlock asks.
She turned her head to look down at the balcony below her. All she had to do was let go and she would come in contact with Van Coon’s balcony. “...Never.” She grunted. She let go and preemptively closed her eyes. Her feet it the concrete surface and Y/N opened her eyes, becoming aware of the sensation of Sherlock’s arms wrapped around her lower back and waist. They were close–to close. Their noses were barely touching. Y/N’s eyes widened as she realized an aching feeling her hand. She was gripping onto Sherlock coat tightly. She released her hands and stepped back. She looked down and dusted herself off.
“Better let John in.” She muttered. Sherlock’s eyes followed her as she slides the door from the balcony open and entered the apartment.
The apartment was very elegantly decorated. It was spotless. Almost as if it were a showing apartment, decorated by real estate and interior designers to sell the space. This is clearly the apartment of a wealthy man. Y/N noted the white leather furniture free of any wrinkled and shiny black tables with minimal clutter. Sherlock parades through the room looking at everything as he goes. He stops to glance at a pile of books on a table and the coffee mug with the handle facing left. Then Sherlock walks through the kitchen with Y/N following behind trying to calm down her fluttering heart. He opened the fridge to reveal that it’s full of bottles of champagne. “Must be a romantic,” Y/N mumbled. Sherlock rolls his eyes at the comment. Suddenly, the front door to the flat buzzes.
The muffled sound of John is heard from the other side of the door. “Sherlock?” He pauses. “Y/N?”
They move into the hallway.
“Are you two, okay?” John yells.
“We’re perfectly fine, John!” Y/N calls back.
Sherlock swings the door to a small bathroom open and glances inside. Shutting the door moves onto the next door. He turns the knob, yet it resists.
“Yeah, any time you feel like letting me in,” John commented.
Y/N immediately turned around towards the sound of John’s voice. “Coming!”
She leaves Sherlock to go let John in. Coming to the door she notices that all the locks have been used. Her hands hover over the locks, and then reach into her pockets to pull out her phone. Why would someone who lives this high up bolt every lock on their door? She snaps a quick photo and opens to the door for John.
Suddenly a loud crack is heard from behind her. Her and John’s eyes widen as the race towards the sound. They burst into the room. Y/N’s stomach lurches and she has to look away.
There lay a man in a suit and overcoat lying on the bed. His eyes open. A pistol on the floor and a bullet hole in his right temple.
______________________________
Previous | Next
Tag list: @biggerthancalli13 @themartiansdaughter @starlightaurorab @silversword7000 @bartokthealbinobat
Comment below if you would like to be added to the tag list!
______________________________
#bbc sherlock#sherlock holmes#sherlock x you#sherlock x reader#reader insert#american reader#chinese#mandarin#bbc sherlock x you#bbc sherlock x reader#sherlock bbc#bbc sherlock imagine#benedict cumberbatch#benedict!sherlock#john watson#mrs hudson#the arbitrary lives of the occupants of 221b Baker Street#sherlock fandom#sherlock fanfic#fanfic#fanfic writer#sherlock fluff#fluff#moriarty#moriarty x reader#the blind banker#i am sherlocked#sherlock holmes x reader#mycroft holmes#mycroft
80 notes
·
View notes
Text
decision: comfort them
right. so what happens is this:
mango opens the bathroom door and there is blood everywhere. or- not blood, exactly. it's something red and fluid but it doesn't smell like blood. it has the viscosity of mud with patches of paint thinner, it is thick and congealing, it smells like petrichor- it is everywhere.
what mango will observe with a terrible dread is that this is too much blood for the injury sustained. his gaze slides along the bathroom tile, skipping over the blood-smeared pin in the corner of the room. mango finds his child there on the floor in a ball, and oh goldenrod-
gold has a series of thin puncture wounds along the length of their arm, discoloration and warping- warping, because they keep on frantically trying to wrap their arm with bandages (bathroom cabinet door ajar) and they are pulling at the flesh, fingers scrabbling, nails scratching and the skin warps with the motion, leaving fingerprints and crescent-shaped indents in their arm, around the wounds, clawing open the wounds and releasing more blood- too much blood, where is it coming from- mango thinks this numbly (he knows how much blood would be shed he knows he knows) and with shaking hands crosses the room to shush gold oh honey he's here now it's okay running his numb fingers over the injury smoothing over the deformed skin like wet clay baby where does it hurt it will be okay
"no no no it- it doesnt-" choked out through sheer panic and terror "dad i- i'm- somethings wrong i- it doesn't- doesn't hurt help"
the fear in gold's voice hits him worse than that jagged knife, makes his pulse jump and his hands shake pain flares up along his most recent injuries. no no no
(tunnel vision not them not them please don't hurt them don't scare them like this no no no)
gold looks at you and they are so scared what can you do what can you do (they are crying- mud? water? salt?)
you can only say it's okay it's okay we can fix this we can make this okay
you wipe away your child's tears- clean up the wound (smooth out the indents apply disinfectant and gently wrap the bandage around his arm. shhh shhh it's okay we can fix this i love you i love you i love you) clean it up- you have experience, after all
(they are mumbling under their breath "doesn't hurt wrong no please" in a stream of consciousness terror. it is so quiet so so quiet oh baby you are so sorry you are so sorry)
it tears you in two
this should never have happened to them, as you wet paper towels in the bloodstained sink and clean their hands and face free of tears (are they?) and blood (is it?) and whisper empty reassurance as if you are not shaking with fear and worry as if you are not being torn apart along every seam every time your child sobs they are so scared (you are too)
gold is quieting down now, hugging you and fluid (tears?) staining your shoulder. you hold them as if they will fall apart if you let go (the fear sinks it's teeth into your heart)
shhh, shhh
as you comfort gold and hold them tight, the thought crosses your mind that there is a way to fix this.
---
i have got to start linking the masterpost at the ends of these updates heres the wishing well au masterpost if you have no idea what this is about
#animation vs minecraft#animator vs animation#alan becker#avm au#ava au#avm king orange#avm mango tango#avm gold#original posting#wishing well au#WELCOME BACK TO TERRIBLE DECISIONS WE ARE ABOUT TO MAKE A TERRIBLE DECISION
50 notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
mrwilliamcook
William S. Cook Tumblr
loveableplant
Semmiért egészen
lisarwen
All what I like...
loveableplant
Semmiért egészen
notlateyet
not late yet