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sky-kiss · 7 months

Note

prompt: Raphael giving a genuine love confession to tav (that is unintelligible due to him being a devil…a too subtle love confesion?… maybe something that sounds like a threat or an attempt for deal for their soul? i just would like if you could show me this clown being a failure at emotions XD)

Raphael kept his word.

There’s no ambush waiting for her in the House of Hope. It’s only Raphael, resplendent in a black silk shirt. It’s a far cry from the elegant doublet he favors, simultaneously more expensive and relaxed. Relaxed is what she fixates on; a weight has been lifted from his shoulders. The devil’s smile could nearly pass for genuine.

He offers his arm, helping Tav into her seat. Raphael has left nothing to chance: the table is set, lavishly. The wine is rich and decadent, the finest vintages in his expansive cellar. The cost must amount to a small fortune, but the devil spares it no more than a passing thought; what Tav has provided is infinitely more valuable.

The Crown of Karsus. The key to his freedom and his heart's desire. One thousand years of longing brought to a suitably climactic conclusion. The cambion settles into his seat with a small sigh, massaging his forehead. The nightmare will pass. He will establish himself as Archdevil Supreme. He will…

“You’re more subdued than I would have expected,” Tav says, tracing the rim of her glass. A bruise stretches from the curve of her jaw to the bridge of her nose, splotchy and ugly, a blemish on an otherwise lovely face. It must hurt; when she smiles, she winces. “No theatrics? I’d have expected an impromptu poetry recital if nothing else.”

“Loathe as I am to disappoint you, pet, I have nothing to offer.”

“I understand.” Tav slumps in her chair. The newly christened hero of Baldur’s Gate looks small, hair wild, bags rimming her eyes from too many sleepless nights. “It’s wonderful to reach the end. But…” The smile and its accompanying wince. “I just find myself feeling tired.”

He dislikes seeing her like this: small, delicate, and yielding. It isn’t his mouse. His pet is fire and drive, her ambition mated to his own. The cambion hums, tapping his jaw. “And still you’d return to the Gate. You’ll play the hero.”

Tav chuckles and finally sips the wine. He considers slipping a restorative draught into her next cup if only to deal with the damned bruise. He hates looking at it, hates seeing his toys marked by a hand other than his. “Someone has to restore the city.”

“Shall it be redemption, mouse? Striving to set right sins you barely remember?” She doesn’t respond. He knows he’s struck a nerve. In a perfect world, she’d rage at him, all her delicious fury brought to bear. Raphael cocks his head to the side. He speaks the words carefully, slowly, as if tasting a fresh dish and still determining the flavor. “Let it die, hero. Wretched as your mortality may be, it is full of such delicious potential. If you must tie a millstone around that lovely neck…” he frowns. Tav watches him, eyes narrowed, and lips pursed, as if she’s waiting. As if she expects what he’s about to say. He loathes it; the damned little thing should never have been allowed so close. “Let it be mine. Serve me.”

“Serve you?” She laughs. “Raphael, I’ve only just reclaimed my life. Why would I put it in your hands?”

“Why not? Have I not been reasonable? Have I not treated you well?”

“For a devil.” Conditional approval. Fury roils in his belly.

“You would have power and wealth. Everything a mortal desired. Under my yoke, you will be kept young and beautiful. We will dine like this every night.”

Tav licks her lips. The House is too warm, and she is so mortal. Her eyes glitter with something. Not desire, not strictly, but something like pity. “And what? I kill your enemies? I run your errands? Warm your bed?”

The stab of want threatens to choke him. When he speaks, it’s only just above a growl, the words rumbling through them. “Yes. Eternally.”

“Raphael.” she sighs, scrubbing a hand through her hair. Messy, like all her kin. He wants so badly to impose order. If he could only have her if she would only submit. The hero stands, crossing to him. It’s a strange twist. The mouse touches his cheek. Her skin is warm. An inane voice in his head chants to him: take her, taste her. He wants to taste her. “I should go.”

He could make her stay, could break her. But it would taste like ash on his tongue. He holds his head high, smirking. “You will receive no better offer.”

She doesn’t backpedal, just presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “You’re probably right. Give them hell, devil.”

And as is so often the case, he’s left alone.

#bg3 raphael #raphael bg3 #raphael x tav #my fic #asks #baldurs gate 3 fanfiction #ok its not LOVE #but he's TRYING #he WANTS them?#hes not good at this

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honeytonedhottie · 4 days

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extra self care routine⋆.ೃ࿔*:･🍦

this 8 step self care routine is meant to be super DUPER over the top but its intended more so to make u feel like the goddess that u are and to simply pamper, and spoil urself as u should...plus you'll smell like a cupcake after 🎀

warning, LONG post ahead but thats because i tried to be thorough and clear on the steps of this 8-step routine.✨🧁

STEP ONE ; ICING UR FACE

the benefits of facial icing include more radiant skin, helps with spider lines, and blemish control. if u wanna know more about icing ur face i recommend u read this.

but typically you'll fill up a bowl with some water and ice and dunk ur face in the ice in 60 second intervals (thats how i like to do it) or you take an ice cube and run that on ur skin.

STEP TWO ; OILING UR HAIR

i personally dont recommend oiling ur hair overnight, once u apply ur hair oil into ur hair let it sit for 30 minutes - 4 hours depending on how much time u have on ur hands, but if ur gonna do the 8 step self care ritual i would assume u had some time.

use the scalp massaging tool for blood flow to ur head and MASSAGE. imagine all of ur stress seeping out of ur body. it might sound strange, but when im doing this step i imagine myself rearranging and organizing my thoughts 💀.

while ur doing this whole routine i recommend playing an affirmation tape in the background, or ur favorite playlist. 🧁

STEP THREE ; MASKS

next i'll use a spray bottle and wet my hair before going in with my hair mask, and once thats in ur hair use the claw clip to keep ur hair up and out of ur face.

now its time for the facial mask and i recommend keeping kind of an ARSENAL of masks, whether its a liquid or clay mask or sheet masks just have them on u because i usually do face masks of any sort 1-2 times a week for my LUSTROUS glow.

while u have the hair and face masks in, its a good time to do some dry brushing to remove dead skin cells and improve blood circulation. some other masks that u can do to be EXTRA are lip masks and under eye masks.

STEP FOUR ; IN THE SHOWER

wash ur hair as you would usually do, use the body scrub before using a body wash that has similar tones to the body scrub (this is called scent layering) and while in the shower i recommend to do a shower meditation.

if y'all r interested i'll make a shower meditation guide and u can record ur own voice doing the meditation so u can use it ✨

while ur in the shower make sure to be meticulous and take ur time while u wash ur body. do double cleansing so that u can ensure that you're squeaky clean.

now is also the time to shave if u like to do that and remember use a body scrub BEFORE u shave and once ur out of the shower to use a body oil to prevent ingrowns and to just have a smoother shave in general.

STEP FIVE ; OUT OF THE SHOWER

use ur body oil and ur body lotion, this kind of goes along with the before bed slugging notion which gives the SOFTEST most amazing skin in the morning so i highly recommend it.

HOT TIP FROM HONEY ; using a warmed up towel adds to the whole spa experience so i def recommend that, warming up towels/blankets/robes makes me feel so cozy and toasty 🧋✨

the formula for before bed slugging is (body oil + body lotion + a thick body butter/cream)

STEP SIX ; REPAIR AND REPLENISH

once your out of the shower and you’ve slugged ur body, use a leave in conditioner to repair and soothe damaged hair.

use a face milk

cuticle oil

now’s the time to use pimple patches

and things of that nature in general

this ensures that ur being absolutely meticulous and replenishing ur body the proper way. taking care of ur base so that u can make it absolutely GLOW ✨

STEP SEVEN ; FACIAL MASSAGE

use a gua sha and any other facial massage tools to help blood circulation and just be EXTRA. to sculpt ur face like the goddess you are.

facial massage stimulates blood circulation, promoting oxygen flow and nutrient delivery to the skin cells. facial massage helps to release the tension held in the facial muscles, alleviating stress lines and promoting a more youthful appearance.

AND if ur consistent with facial massage, you'll can enhance skin elasticity AND diminish fine lines.

STEP EIGHT ; YOGA AND STRETCHES

nothing feels better then massaging and stretching stiff limbs, especially if u have pains or aches in ur body. look up a follow along, super light, yoga routine or a stretching routine.

i think that a rly good stretch is the perfect way to end ur super duper over the top 8 step self care routine 💗🎀

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theambitiouswoman · 9 months

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Skincare Routine and Product 101 🧖‍♀️🫧🧴💕

Morning Routine:

Cleanser: Gently cleanse your face with a mild cleanser to remove sweat and oil.

Toner: Apply a alcohol-free toner to balance your skin's pH levels.

Serum (Optional): Apply a serum with antioxidants or specific skin concerns (e.g., Vitamin C for brightening).

Moisturizer: Use a lightweight, non-comedogenic moisturizer to hydrate your skin.

Sunscreen: Apply broad-spectrum SPF 30+ sunscreen to protect your skin from UV rays.

Evening Routine:

Makeup Removal: Use a gentle makeup remover or cleansing oil to remove makeup and sunscreen.

Cleanser: Cleanse your face again with a mild cleanser to remove impurities.

Exfoliating (1-2 times a week): Use a gentle exfoliant to remove dead skin cells and promote cell turnover.

Toner Apply toner to balance your skin after cleansing.

Serum: Apply a serum with ingredients like hyaluronic acid or retinol (if suitable for your skin type).

Eye Cream (Optional): Apply a lightweight eye cream to moisturize the delicate skin around your eyes.

Moisturizer: Use a slightly thicker night cream or moisturizer to deeply hydrate your skin.

Descriptions:

Cleanser:

Purpose: Removes dirt, oil, and impurities from the skin's surface.

Types: Gel cleansers, foaming cleansers, cream cleansers, oil cleansers.

Toner:

Purpose: Balances the skin's pH, preps for other products, and provides light hydration.

Types: Hydrating toners, exfoliating toners (with AHAs/BHAs).

Serum:

Purpose: Concentrated formulas targeting specific skin concerns (e.g., hydration, brightening, anti-aging).

Types: Hyaluronic acid serums, vitamin C serums, retinol serums.

Moisturizer:

Purpose: Hydrates and seals moisture into the skin, creating a protective barrier.

Types: Gel moisturizers, cream moisturizers, oil-based moisturizers.

Sunscreen:

Purpose: Protects the skin from UV rays, preventing sun damage and premature aging.

Types: Physical sunscreens (with zinc oxide or titanium dioxide).

Exfoliant:

Purpose: Removes dead skin cells, unclogs pores, and promotes cell turnover.

Types: Physical exfoliants (scrubs), chemical exfoliants (AHAs, BHAs).

Mask:

Purpose: Provides a concentrated treatment for specific concerns (e.g., hydration, acne).

Types: Clay masks (absorb excess oil), sheet masks (hydrate and soothe), sleeping masks (overnight treatment).

Eye Cream:

Purpose: Hydrates and addresses specific concerns around the delicate eye area (e.g., dark circles, puffiness).

Spot Treatment:

Purpose: Targets individual pimples or blemishes with concentrated ingredients.

Makeup Remover:

Purpose: Effectively removes makeup, sunscreen, and impurities from the skin.

Cleansing Oil:

Purpose: Gently dissolves makeup and sunscreen, leaving skin clean and hydrated.

Micellar Water:

Purpose: Cleanses and removes makeup using micelle molecules, requires no rinsing.

Essence:

Purpose: A lightweight, hydrating step that prepares skin for subsequent products.

Ampoule:

Purpose: A highly concentrated serum for intense treatment of specific concerns.

Facial Oil:

Purpose: Nourishes and adds extra hydration to the skin, especially for dry or mature skin types.

Your skincare routine should be tailored to your individual skin type, concerns, and preferences. Start with the basics and gradually introduce new products to observe how your skin responds.

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danikamariewrites · 6 months

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Could you do skin care headcanons with the bat boys? I don’t know why this popped into my head but it did and I’m not complaining lol

A/n: I feel like they’re each so different with this stuff lmao

Warnings: none

Cassin

Cass just uses regular soap and a face cloth for his daily routine and it’s so frustrating bc he has nice skin

It’s definitely not smooth and soft but blemish free for sure

Az and Rhys have been wondering for over 200 years what his secret is to his skin care routine bc every time they ask he just teases them by saying “you wish you knew.” And skip away

The truth is he started stealing products from Rhys

Cass used Rhys’s bathroom at the town house one time and knew he immediately had to keep using this stuff bc of how good his skin felt after

He didn’t buy his own though, he decided messing with Rhys would be better and started stealing products if Rhys had a duplicate of it or Rhys never used it

It drives Rhys insane and he still hasn’t figured it out but Az did and he still hasn’t told on Cassian

Rhys

Rhys has a 12 step skin care routine with 100 other products that help with something

He also uses sunscreen and lip balm with spf

He definitely has one of those jade rollers, a gua sha stone, and ice face roller that he uses religiously

I also think Rhys would use under eye patches to help the bags under his eyes. He’s always up late and everyone exhausts him so he needs the extra help

Rhys also has extra fluffy face towels bc why not have them match his regular towels

When he does find out Cassian is stealing his stuff they get into an argument that Feyre and Azriel just love watching bc it’s not a conversation either of them ever thought a High Lord and General would ever be having

Azriel

Azriel’s skin is perfect and with minimal effort

He has a 3 step routine of face wash, prep serum, and moisturizer

Az started off using some of Rhys’s stuff while figuring out what worked for him or what he wanted to use

I think Azriel is a very routine person and he hates having it messed up

If he’s on missions it’s fine if he doesn’t do his full routine but he just makes up for it when he gets home by taking an extra long bath and scrubbing his face

After missions Az does face masks to relax and it’s always a detoxifying one

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thesugarsoiree · 8 months

Text

Of Winter’s Flame | CHAPTER THREE

The room stunk of incense and sickness, a detailed miniature carving of what Y/n assumed to be Old Valyria standing between her and the King. Alicent had already glided past the structure, smooth steps taking her to the shadowy bedside of her husband. Y/n followed slowly, watching Alicent whisper to the figure which was sitting up in bed.

“Come closer, child, so that I may see you.” The King’s voice was frail, weaker than Y/n had imagined. He sounded like no king at all, barely a whisper of a man. As Y/n got closer the details of the King’s state became more noticeable. He was skinny, with none of the fat on his bones that Y/n had been told would be there. His hair was in thin strings, barely holding onto his blemished scalp, while his face was creased into a look of pain. Age and whatever illness he held did not do him well, the cracks on his lips apparent as he licked them with a tongue white as milk. Alicent beckoned her forward, her hands looking like a child’s compared to the King’s knobbly digits.

“May I present Lady Y/n Targaryen, daughter of Daemon Targaryen and Morgana Stark.” Alicent formally introduced Y/n to the King, still keeping hold of her hand while the other was gently stroking her husband's shoulder. Viserys smiled, reaching out a shaky hand to take Y/n’s. His skin was scaly and wrinkled, blackened nails tightening around Y/n’s fingers.

“You have your fathers eyes.” He smiled, the wetness sitting within his chest making his breaths labored and small.

“So I have been told, your grace.” Y/n curtsied as best she could, eyes moving between the King and Queen.

“You are just as I hoped you would be from our writings,” Viserys swallowed, letting go of her hand gently, “I have awaited your arrival eagerly, my dear.”

“I too have been anxious to meet, your gra—” Viserys shook his head, pursing his lips.

“We are family, Y/n. In private you may refer to me as ‘uncle’. Such formalities are only needed at court.” He waved, Y/n nodding along to his words.

“Of course, Uncle. You seem to be doing better than when we last spoke, I see that the wound on your cheek has healed.” Y/n commented, although his right eye was still clouded by a greying spot. What made Y/n happiest about looking at the King was seeing the youthfulness in his good eye, the awareness it presented despite his body betraying him.

“Yes, let us hope it stays that way.” Viserys laughed, Alicent letting out a polite chuckle.

“You have come a very long way Y/n, I’m sure you desire to bathe and such. I am glad to be the first of your family you have met here in the Red Keep. We shall talk again, perhaps over dinner tonight.” The King hummed, squeezing the hand Alicent placed on his shoulder.

“I will show you to your chambers.” The Queen said, kissing her husband's forehead before escorting Y/n out of the room. They walked in silence to Y/n’s chambers, bidding each other good-day as Y/n closed her door. Her maids were still organizing her things, all quietly working to make Y/n’s stay a comfortable one.

“May I have a bath drawn, if possible?” Y/n asked the woman nearest to her, the young servant bowing before enlisting others to help. Before long Y/n had undressed and was guided into her tub, a few maids staying to help wash her. Y/n breathed in the sweet scented oils and goats milk swirling within the hot water, leaning back as an older southern maid unbraided her hair. Half of the women in the room were her maids from Winterfell, and the other half were attendants the Queen had so generously offered her.

“What is your name?” Y/n turned her head slightly to address the maid combing her hands through her hair, the tan-skinned woman raising her brows before she responded.

“Lysana, my lady.” She bowed her head briefly, continuing to search for knots within Y/n’s dark hair.

“Lysana, how long have you worked within the Red Keep?” Y/n questioned, the maids beginning to scrub gently along her body.

“Since the late Prince Baelon was born, my lady.” Lysana answered curtly, taking oils from beside her and patting them into Y/n’s hair.

“Then you must know of the Queen’s children, yes?” Y/n stared forward at the tapestry that hung in front of her, two dragons encircling each other in what she interpreted as a mating dance.

“Yes, I was the wet nurse to Prince Aegon when he was a babe, then his younger sister Princess Helaena.” Lysana sounded proud when she revealed what she’d done, a confident smile gracing her freckled cheeks.

“Would you tell me about them? My cousins?” Lysana hummed for a moment at the request, beginning to re-braid Y/n’s hair, only it didn't feel like she was repeating the same pattern.

“Your cousins are much like their mother, the only thing that sets them apart is the colour of their hair.” Lysana rolled her eyes, platting faster.

“I have only heard rumors about the way they act, would you tell me in truth who they are? I will not punish you for being honest.” Y/n needed to hear what she was going into from someone who wasn't the Queen or King or her biased uncle.

“I…I suppose, if it’s what my lady wishes. Your youngest cousin, Prince Daeron, is off in Old Town with the Queen’s family. The other three reside here within the Red Keep. All of them are…unique in their own ways. I would suggest spending your time around the Princess Helaena. She is a sweet girl, and she has not yet been burdened with the gift of motherhood.” Lysana chuckled at the thought.

“The Queen told me that she often resides by the Weirwood tree in the gardens, is this true?” Y/n asked, Lysana shrugging her shoulders.

“From what I know, it is the truth. Perhaps my Lady would like to be escorted to the gardens after her bath?” Lysana tucked the last piece of Y/n’s hair in, passing a mirror to her.

“You know the northern styles?” Y/n laughed, her hair in a familiar updo which she had not done in quite some time.

“I learned for your arrival, my Lady. Many servants of the crown come from all over Westeros, we teach each other the ways of each land.” Lysana helped Y/n get out of the bath, the maids toweling her dry.

“Lysana, I believe that visiting the gardens is a wonderful idea. Would you escort me once I am dressed?” Y/n allowed the ladies around her to begin the process of dressing her, soft linen undergarments being pulled on first.

“Whatever my Lady wishes.” Lysana bowed, cleaning up around the bath.

Y/n checked herself over in the mirror one last time, playing with the soft sleeves of her dress. It was lighter than the one she arrived with, more suited to the warm southern weather than her heaps of furs. She had made many like it, all of northern style but with southern fabrics like the ones she had seen the Queen wearing. A maid opened the door for her, Y/n’s guards standing at attention and following close behind with Tohrren as Lysana led her towards the gardens.

When Y/n stepped outside into the gardens it was like she was stepping onto a whole new continent. The trees were livelier, with multi-coloured flowers and flourishing bushes lining every pathway. Although she would die for the north, Y/n had to admit, northern greenery could not hold a candle to what the south possessed.

“Would you like me to show you to the Weirwood tree, my Lady?” Lysana asked. Y/n shook her head, unleashing Tohrren and beckoning him to go forth.

“No need, Tohrren and I will enjoy exploring on our own. Thank you, Lysana.” The woman curtsied, departing back into the Red Keep. Y/n turned to face her guards, dismissing them as well although they attempted to protest at first. What Y/n needed was to be alone with her thoughts; alone aside from Tohrren, of course.

Y/n strolled lazily through the tall hedges and blossoming trees, Tohrren running wildly up and down the pathways they traversed, chasing butterflies as if he had never seen one in his life. The scents of the garden were strong, floral and pine surrounding her like smoke. Tohrren stopped running abruptly, ears and tail piqued as he looked down a pathway. He let out a small bark, inquisitively tilting his head.

“What is it, Tohrren?” Y/n questioned, coming to his side. She looked down the pathway as well and it took a moment for her eyes to focus on what, or rather who, was before her. It was a young girl, a bit older than Y/n, with familiar waves of silver hair and a book nestled neatly in her lap. Behind her stood the Weirwood tree, its carved face bleeding the soothing red sap Y/n had grown used to. She approached slowly, Tohrren following suit, the young girl lifting her head at the approaching footsteps. The girl had periwinkle eyes, almost misty with the way they regarded Y/n.

“Hello.” Y/n curtsied, arriving in front of the girl. She nodded her head with a restrained smile, marking the page she was on in her book and closing it.

“Hello.” The girl repeated, eyes wandering but never looking into Y/n’s.

“My name is Y/n Targaryen, or Y/n, if it pleases her highness.” Y/n pet Tohrren to calm her nerves, the girl looking intensely at the hound.

“Please, call me Helaena.” Helaena gripped onto her book, still looking at Tohrren.

“Would you like to pet him?” That made Helaena look up, the princess nodding without uttering a word. Y/n released him, coaxing him forward to Helaena’s side. Y/n sat down on the bench beside her, Helaena laughing when Tohrren licked her palm.

“He seems quite taken with you.” Y/n noted, Helaena nodding with a grin.

“I’ve never seen a northern hound before, only spiders.” The Princess hummed, turning her head as Tohrren did.

“You keep northern spiders?” Y/n asked, beginning to understand why Helaena held the reputation that she did.

“Yes, northern, southern, western, and one from Asshai.” Helaena turned to face Y/n, tapping her book. Y/n looked at it, the title reading ‘Arachnid History’ by one of the many maesters of the Citadel.

“How does one become the keeper of an Asshai spider?” Y/n tried to ignore the crawling feeling she got at the mention of the small insects, instead playing with the hems of her sleeves.

“My mother got it for me, for my birthday last year. Merchants in Pentos collect them to sell for their poison, but not many sell them alive, not like mine.” Helaena frowned, the lilt in her voice barely above a whisper.

“Oh, well then it is a good thing that your mother was able to find one. Similarly, my uncle gave me Tohrren for my birthday when I was very young.” Y/n scratched behind his ear, his tail wagging behind him.

“He is a good gift.” Helaena praised, her hands now neatly within her lap.

“You are Prince Daemon’s daughter, correct? The one who came from the north?” Y/n nodded at that, copying Helaena and placing her hands in her lap.

“I believe that the south has a gift for you as well, yes, a marvelous gift made of lightning.” Helaena stood up, Y/n following her actions once more.

“Lightning? I’m not sure I follow,” Y/n shook her head, confused at her cousin's words.

“No need to follow, you will know. I am glad to have another girl in the Red Keep, I’ve always wanted a sister.” Helaena giggled, patting Tohrren’s head. She gave Y/n a tight hug before curtsying.

“I must go now, but I hope that we may talk in the future, good sister.” Y/n wanted to say something at the insinuation that she was Helaenas sister by marriage, but the girl turned and skipped down another path back into the garden, leaving Y/n standing beneath the Weirwood tree. Y/n chuckled, now realizing why the realms second princess was regarded as such a unique character.

Y/n returned back to the Red Keep, hoping that she would meet her other two cousins over supper later that evening. Perhaps their reputations also held some truth, maybe the eldest prince was a whore-drunk swine and the middle son was a heartless warrior. Although, Y/n did wonder what rumours surrounded her; the unwanted first child of the Rogue Prince.

Y/n rolled her shoulders, relaxing back into her chaise as she waited for her invitation to dinner. Whatever reputation she held the King seemed to have no qualms, his only opinion being that Y/n had loose-handed penmanship. Y/n closed her eyes, Tohrren resting like a heavy blanket within her lap. Whatever she was meant to be doing here, she was sure it would all be fine. She was certain.

She had to be.

#x reader #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen x reader #hotd x reader #x fem!reader #ofwintersflame #aemond targaryen smut #aemond one eye #asoif/got #aemond targaryen #hotd aemond #house of the dragon #hotd #game of thrones

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mychemicalraymance · 1 year

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“guys have better skin than girls even though they scrub their faces with hand soap” 1 that’s not true, and 2, even if it was. don’t you think that has something to do with the uhhhh. layer of paint women are socially asked to wear all the time on their faces. this message is so insane to me like you think this is a fact? it’s really obvious to me that girls’ blemishes are equally occurring but more prominent because people notice when women don’t have fake looking skin. lol.

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aislinrayne · 2 months

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[𝔐𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱] [𝔖𝔢𝔯𝔦𝔢𝔰 𝔐𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱]

𝔖𝔲𝔪𝔪𝔞𝔯𝔶: In which Lockwood is late, and Reader ends up face-to-screaming-face with the consequences.

ℜ𝔞𝔱𝔦𝔫𝔤: Mature ℜ𝔞𝔱𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔦𝔰 𝔰𝔲𝔟𝔧𝔢𝔠𝔱 𝔱𝔬 𝔠𝔥𝔞𝔫𝔤𝔢!

𝔚𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰: Canon typical violence, Reader is shorter than Lockwood, Lockwood & Co. are in their twenties, kind of an AU?, blood, graphic descriptions of moderate head injury, no use of y/n, strong language.

𝔄𝔲𝔱𝔥𝔬𝔯'𝔰 𝔑𝔬𝔱𝔢: Aaaand we're back! If you're familiar with the work this used to be, I'm begging you to let me know how you feel about the changes! Without further ado - dig in!

𝔚𝔬𝔯𝔡 ℭ𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔱: 4.08k

She’s going to kill him.

The sun has long set and the blue light of dusk does no favours for the ambiance of the house in which she is the sole living visitor. For the tenth time in half as many minutes the girl glares at the green numbers faintly glowing at her from the clock on the back of the stove. Twenty minutes past six, and still no sign of the single most infuriating man born this millenia. Her roommate/employer was supposed to be here almost an hour ago, having instead left her to complete a potentially deadly job all by her lonesome. Okay, so maybe she’s being a touch dramatic. All reports from their client indicate a Type One, but even with the weakest Visitor, one mistake can be fatal without backup. Sighing loudly, she drains the thermos of tea clutched in cold hands and slams it down on the counter, using the motion to vent the last of her frustration. Fighting a ghost on her own would be significantly easier if she wasn’t radiating enough negative emotion to keep it fat for a month.

She leaves her lamp on and resting on the counter, then hauls the heavy kit bag off of the kitchen’s marble counter and ventures into the living room with the intention of laying down a circle for when all hell inevitably breaks loose.

Once inside the room, a quick scan of the space tells a decisive story about the occupants. The furniture itself is uncannily clean, accents of sunshine yellow and navy blue scattered amongst a palette of white and cream that one would find between the pages of a 50’s home decor catalogue. With more care than any other member of her agency would bother to show, she places the duffel on the floor in front of a dreadfully yellow loveseat to avoid soiling the vibrant fabric. Iron filings had a way of working their way into the woven material of their kit bags; she'd spent enough time trying to scrub the rust stains out of her own clothes to know how dreadful it could be. The recently widowed Mrs. Roland had more than enough to worry about without adding blemishes to an otherwise spotless space, especially one sure to see plenty of grieving guests over the next weeks.

It becomes harder to maintain focus on her assessment of the space as the temperature in the room begins to drop, the hair on the back of her neck standing straight on end as the perverse feeling of being watched sets in. She lifts her hand to smooth the prickling sensation, though the chill of her skin does little to soothe it. Her attention is pulled to the closed door down the only hallway attached to the living space, something from within silently calling her to enter and discover what secrets lay beyond. Who is she to deny the call of curiosity when it comes knocking? Especially when it comes alongside another noticeable drop in temperature.

With a calming breath that hangs visible in the air like a miniature stormcloud, she considers her next move. The Fittes manual clearly states the first order of business in a situation such as this should be to prepare an iron circle so you have an avenue of escape should anything take a turn for the worst. As such, this would be the first step of any by-the-book agent.

Unfortunately one does not find themselves under the employ of Lockwood & Co. by behaving like a by-the-book agent, and in a streak of bad luck she’d broken both her primary and backup rapier’s on the job this week. She’d called ahead for a new one of course, but Lockwood was supposed to be in charge of bringing it with him. Obviously, this was proving to be a problem.

Muttering a few choice words about ignorant manchildren with poor time management skills under her breath, she bends to unzip the kit bag and retrieve the chains. The muttering becomes progressively more vulgar with every second the links refuse to come free, clearly caught on something else from the haphazard way they’d been tossed in after their previous job. Lockwood had drawn the short straw and been left to stow their gear whilst her and George had set to work righting the furniture the Poltergeist had been lobbing at them all night. Apparently he’d been displeased enough to simply pile everything in together instead of taking the time to place things properly.

Forcing another a calming breath, she makes a mental note to explain the phrase ‘weaponized incompetence’ before bracing her foot against the rough canvas of the bag and tugging harshly on the chains. They come unstuck abruptly, the remaining force behind the pull sending her backwards to land unceremoniously on her rear, whilst the momentum of her sliding foot shoots the bag underneath the yellow monstrosity. It comes to a rest dead centre beneath the settee, its other contents partially spilled and glittering tauntingly at her from the shadows.

Unable to deny herself a moment to wallow in frustration, she rolls onto her side to rub at her smarting tailbone as she contemplates what deity she must have pissed off in a past life to deserve this kind of treatment. Whoever said the gods have no sense of humour had clearly never known anyone with luck like hers. The shattering of glass from down the hall proves effective in disrupting her pity party, immediately on high alert as her instincts kick in with a vengeance. Blood roars in her ears as she pushes herself to her feet, suddenly blissfully ignorant of the literal pain in her ass.

“If there’s anyone up there I haven’t pissed off yet, please, not another bloody poltergeist…” She mutters under her breath, sparing a few seconds to shoot a pleading look at the ceiling and bracing herself for whatever comes next.

Once she’s certain nothing is going to start flying across the room at her, she loops the cold links of chain into a vice grip in her left hand, letting roughly half of them fall loosely from her right as a makeshift flail.

The floorboards creak eerily under her feet as she approaches the simple white door at the end of the hall, making her glad for the undeniably tacky runner in the middle that at least partially muffles the sound. As an involuntary shiver wracks her frame, she curses the metaphorical pain in her ass for her lack of a proper weapon one final time before focusing her attention wholly on the matter at hand. Although cold to the touch, the doorknob twists open easily. Even the hinges are blessedly silent. She wastes no time in pushing it open and crossing the threshold. By-the-book or not, no agent worth their weight in salt would ever hesitate in a doorway.

The room on the other side is unassuming, the same shades of white and cream attempt to convey peaceful feelings, but something about them is downright unnerving tonight. The moon outside bathes the room in white light, adding to the almost ethereal nature of the scene before her. Her gaze is instantly drawn to the only splash of colour in the room. A painting stands stark against the white wall on her left; shades of songbird-yellow illustrate a field of golden grass, a single leaf-bare tree standing tall and proud in the midst of it all. When she looks closely, she can see the delicate lines of lightly fraying rope binding a low-hanging wooden board to a thick branch overhead - a child’s swing. The initials ‘H.R.’ are barely visible in the bottom right corner. She can’t recall how she got close enough to see the details. A deep yearning to return to the peace and innocence of childhood almost knocks her off her feet, knuckles white around the heavy chain as she strains against the urge to reach out and Touch it. Losing herself in visions of the past now would be a death sentence without someone to watch over her.

Swallowing thickly, she tears her eyes away from the painting and forces them to scan the room properly. To the right there’s what seems to be a large window, though any view of the glass itself is obscured by the sheer white linen curtains swaying in the gentle breeze. There’s a light layer of dust present on the surface of the bedside tables, evidence of the rooms lack of use over the past weeks. Where had Mrs. Roland been sleeping, if not here? Even in the dark she can see how perfectly the bed is made, each layer tucked and folded neatly to rival any upper class hotel. Something is wrong. She can feel it. There’s something obvious right in front of her, a voice in her head screeches at her to figure it out before she gets herself killed. If she wasn’t still reeling from the strength of the psychic imprint on that painting she would have already realised there should be no breeze present to disturb the curtains, no matter how light the material.

She turns to inspect the left side of the room but in the process a flash of white in her peripheral vision has her blood running cold. Time seems to slow around her as a series of unfortunate events occur in particularly rapid succession. First, her eyes lock onto the shards of glass scattered across the white carpet in front of the window. Then, her heart leaps into her throat as she realises the light they’re reflecting is coming from behind her. Finally, she whips around to find a shapeless white shimmer in the air only inches from her face.

In a split second she rushes through a mental checklist; no overwhelming malaise, no ectoplasm stains around the house, no ghost-fog, below freezing temperatures, delayed apparition. The sudden flare up of bright other-light is the final piece of the puzzle. A Changer. Not the best possible option, but she’d take it over some of the alternatives any day. At least she could drop a few of her mental walls to focus on physically evading the thing.

…Strike one.

Feeling at least partially in control of the situation again, she leaps towards the bed, tucking into herself to roll across the softness before springing to her feet on the other side. The previously flawless bedding holds an imprint from her impact and subsequent dismount, but that’s not what she finds herself frozen staring at. Technically she isn’t actually staring at anything, more at the absence of it. When she tried to look back at the new shape of the Changer, she found the room completely empty. Shit.

If it had been a weak apparition, and that flare was it deciding it was better off without a corporeal form, then-- squeezing her eyes shut, she breathes deeply as she tries desperately to get a handle on her panic and replace the psychic defences she’d oh so foolishly abandoned. It’s too late. An ear piercing shriek erupts through the space, echoing off of every wall to create a cacophony of noise she only realises she’s adding to when her throat starts aching in protest of the violent treatment. A bloody Screaming Spirit. This is a problem - no pun intended. A cold ache permeates her body, she can feel herself becoming more sluggish with every passing second. If she could just lay down, cover her head with one of Mrs. Roland’s goose down pillows, surely that would block out enough noise to let her rest?

That might have been the end of her, succumbing to ghost-lock alone in a house straight out of Home & Garden, if the front door hadn’t slammed open loud enough to wake the dead. Not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, she gathers her wits and sprints from the room. It’s not until both feet are on the hardwood in the hallway that she notices she’s dropped the chains and is now completely unarmed. Not the end of the world, but still not ideal. Apparently having neglected to learn from her previous mistakes, she’s distracted enough to lose her footing and slip on the runner.

Strike two.

As she slides into the living room, arms pinwheeling in an undignified manner in an attempt to stay upright, a part of her can’t help but wonder if this is revenge for mentally calling it tacky. Regaining her balance just in time, she pivots on her heel, intending to make a beeline straight into the kitchen and out of the house to buy enough time to come up with a proper plan. She makes it three steps into the kitchen before being stopped dead in her tracks.

“Sorry it took me so long, darling. Traffic was atrocious.” An infuriatingly calm voice says behind her, making the slender arm wrapping around her waist a split second later only slightly less alarming. He pulls her back firmly against him, his warmth enveloping her. She curses her traitorous body for immediately relaxing into his chest. Any verbal response she might have had to The World’s Worst Boss™ invading her personal space is cut short as he releases his hold and manoeuvres her to safety behind him, the singing of metal on metal filling the air as he draws his rapier.

“Anthony John Lockwood, you fucking asshole! The sun set half an hour ago!” She seethes, smacking the back of his shoulder to emphasise every word in an attempt to vent some of her frustration before she implodes. He huffs an absent laugh at her theatrics, still scanning the sunny sitting room for any sign of something chasing her.

“Any idea what kind of Visitor we’re dealing with? Or what the Source could be?” She gapes at him unabashedly, honestly attempting to drill holes in the back of his head with her eyes. Was he really going to ignore her after subjecting her to this nightmare of an evening? Lockwood looks back over his shoulder, flinching at whatever he finds in her eyes.

“Y’know what? Figure it out yourself. You would have had to if you’d been a minute later anyway.” She barely recognises her own voice without the warmth it usually carries when she speaks to him.

“What do you mean? What happened?”

It’s his genuine concern that throws her off first, second is the way he promptly turns to face her. Her breath catches in her throat as she’s met with the undeniable fact of their proximity, face to face. Well, face to chest, really. He’s looking her up and down carefully for any sign of injury, a frown painted across his face as his hands hover between them, trembling gently but making no move to touch her.

Upon joining Lockwood & Co., she’d figured out rather quickly that he had some kind of touch aversion. When she’d accidentally touch his hand or brush past him in Portland Row’s narrow entryway, he would jerk away from her like he’d been stung, stumbling over his words and staring at the ground before making a quick escape. Lucy and George seemed to be safe for him by now, which made sense considering he’d known them so much longer, so she swore to herself she’d respect his space and give him whatever time he needed to open up to her. It had been better in recent months, as long as he knew to expect contact he could stay calm.

A shrill scream echoes across the house, jarring her from her thoughts. She winces in pain at the sudden noise, tucking her hands beneath her hair to cover her ears. Lockwood covers the minimal distance between them in an instant, wrapping his arms around her shoulders and pulling her against his chest to shield her the best he can from the sound. As quickly as it started, the screaming stopped. His arms loosen around her, allowing her enough room to pull her palms away from aching ears.

“You okay?” His voice sounds farther away than it should.

She doesn’t have much time to worry about that though, not when his face is suddenly so close to her own. Dark eyes find hers in the lamp light, worry overflowing within them. Her thoughts run wild with images of closing the distance between them, each and every one making it harder to breathe. Needing a second to compose herself, and entirely refusing to trust her tongue not to betray her, she raises her hands at him in an attempt at a placating gesture and tries to take a step back.

His eyes sharpen, grabbing her by the wrists as she moves to lower her hands. The movement startles her, instinct taking over as she tries in vain to pull away. Tightening his grip, he uses his hold on her to guide her closer to the lamp. As soon as they’re near enough the light that she can properly see every detail of his face, he releases her. She opens her mouth to ask him what the hell he thinks he’s doing manhandling her like that, but clamps it shut when he reaches for her face.

His skin is soft against her own as he grabs her gently by the chin, she thinks she might pass out. He slowly turns her head so the light is on her right, then uses his other hand to tuck her hair behind her ear, and she swears to god she’s going to combust. Breathing is a distant memory when she feels his thumb swipe gently across the skin connecting her throat to her jaw, just below her ear. But when he looks at her, his gaze is serious. He retreats suddenly and she’s certain he’s taken part of her heart with him. Then he shows her the blood on his hand, and her stomach drops. She looks down at her own hands, finding more blood smeared across her right palm. The side closest to the painting.

At least there really isn’t any doubt about what the Source is.

“Now will you tell me about it?” It might be fairly obvious the humour in his tone isn’t entirely sincere, but she laughs nonetheless. Grateful for something to tether her back to reality, and for his own form of reassurance, she decides then that she won’t give him hell for dragging her around. There’s still an edge to him, something sharp just behind the eyes that she’d never seen from him before - it dawns on her. He’s angry, and not just a little.

For reasons unknown to her, the words come tumbling from her lips as if they can’t get out fast enough.

“Through the living room, down the hallway - mind the runner, it’s slippery - the primary haunting is in the bedroom. Husband’s name was Harold Roland. There’s a painting on the left wall, initialed ‘H.R.’, psychic imprint like I’ve never seen. Twenty quid says that’s the Source,” She pauses, wracking her brain to ensure she hadn’t forgotten any vital information, “Oh! And it’s probably obvious by now, but it’s definitely a Screaming Spirit.”

When he doesn’t reply, she looks back up at him. She finds him already looking at her, an expression akin to a proud smirk gracing his features. He opens his mouth to speak, then hesitates.

“Your rapier is on the table.” It obviously isn’t what he first wanted to say, but right now all she can bring herself to care about is the promise of not being so damn helpless anymore.

The unassuming cloth bag makes her giddy with excitement, but it’s expectedly short lived. A bright other-light erupts in the other room, almost blinding them. Lockwood recovers quickly, his blade whistling through the air as it cuts through the centre mass of the plasm figure throwing itself at him. She quickly frees her own blade, barely sparing it a glance. It feels lighter than she’s used to, which shouldn’t be possible considering she’d ordered the precise model she’d had previously, but that’s a problem for later. The first order of business is trying to concoct a plan to get past the ghastly form of Mr. Roland without losing their hearing, or their lives.

Striding back across the tile to stand behind him, she flicks her gaze around the room, her head moving restlessly while she tries to piece the loose ideas rattling around in her head into an actual plan. If she had a salt bomb, maybe she could… One metaphorical lightbulb moment later and she’s grinning as the final piece falls into place, sliding her rapier into its sheath on her belt. She might have felt a little guilty about this if she hadn’t still been so bloody pissed at him, but as they stood now; any plan that involved getting the job done and short circuiting her boss at the same time was an excellent plan.

Leaning forward and pressing her chest against Lockwood’s back is the only way to get close enough to reach the first step of her plan, but she can’t help but feel a touch of vindictive pleasure at the way he goes rigid in response to her. Sliding her palms down his sides, over his hips, and slipping her hands under his coat, she retrieves the salt bomb he always keeps in a hidden pocket behind his back.

She’d learned this fun fact only a few months into her employment under him, having discovered it in a bonafide witch hunt for whichever irresponsible dunce kept leaving salt bombs in their laundry and ruining her favourite clothes. Apparently he’d found himself without his kit in enough life threatening instances to always carry a backup plan.

“Follow my lead.” She says, not waiting for him to reply before stepping back and hurling the bundle of mineral and cloth over his shoulder. The apparition wails and recoils as it explodes in its face, giving her an opportunity to slip past her colleague and make a break for the silver shimmer under the obnoxious loveseat before Mr. Roland could return to his murderous state. Dropping to the ground and rolling to shove her arm as far under the settee as possible, she hooks a finger through the silver net, launching herself upright and letting it trail behind her as she sprints down the hallway. She’s so focused on not wiping out on the carpet runner again, she almost misses Lockwood’s warning.

“DUCK!” There’s a sobering panic in his voice as he bellows from behind her. Every warning bell in her head goes off at once and she barely has time to register the ghostly arm reaching for her through the wall before she’s diving into a tight roll underneath it.

The muscles in her legs ache with protest at the speed with which she springs back to her feet and skids through the doorway onto the carpet. She tears the painting off of the wall and throws it to the floor before freezing, suddenly aware of her empty hands.

A quick glance confirms the net’s position on the floor in the hallway where it had been dropped in her evasion of the Visitor’s touch.

Well shit.

Three strikes, you’re out.

She doesn’t even have time to unsheath her rapier before Mr. Roland appears before her and shrieks at her. The kinetic force of the psychic blast throws her back, directly into the solid wooden bed frame. There’s a sickening thud as her head makes contact.

Nausea floods her body immediately, followed closely by the pain; her back aches from the impact, but she can’t move from the warped position her body had landed in. With the shrill whistle heralding the arrival of blood rushing in her ears, the vibrations and flickering lights she’s assuming are related to Lockwood, and the horrifying sensation of the room pitching and reeling like a ship in a storm, the whole experience feels like some kind of twisted carnival ride. Time begins behaving strangely, as does her memory. Has it been ten seconds, or ten minutes? Why is her body so angry with her? A blanket of numbness creeps over her aches, pains, and anxieties, allowing her to become too aware of the sickening dizziness.

At first she thinks it’s the whistling in her ears that’s beginning to fade, but no such luck. Instead, it’s her awareness as a whole, dropping bit by bit until there’s just…

Nothing.

𝔑𝔢𝔵𝔱 𝔠𝔥𝔞𝔭𝔱𝔢𝔯 ⇢

𝔉𝔬𝔯 𝔱𝔞𝔤𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱 𝔪𝔞𝔫𝔞𝔤𝔢𝔪𝔢𝔫𝔱, 𝔱𝔞𝔭 [𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔢]

#aislin writes #anthony lockwood x reader #lockwood and co #anthony lockwood #lockwood & co #lockwood and co netflix #lockwood x reader #lockwood and co x reader #lockwood & co x reader #no y/n #reader insert #x female reader #x reader

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raineandsky · 5 months

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The Villain's Housekeeper

(part 1) (part 2) (part 3) (part 4) (part 5) (part 6) (part 7) (part 8) (part 9) (part 10) (part 11)

tw: implied torture

“[Hero], I– I’m so sorry…”

The hero doesn’t even look at the villain. Their head is bent, staring distantly at a crack in the concrete floor. “It’s okay.”

The villain had called the superhero’s bluff. Tried to, at least. They never thought a superhero could be so cruel to one of their own. But the superhero had been more than happy to prove them wrong, to make the villain watch him inflict nothing but agony on the hero until they’d finally spat out exactly what the superhero wanted.

The supervillain probably doesn't stand a chance now. They don’t care.

Even from their own dingy cell the villain can see the blood seeping mockingly through the hero’s shirt. Their palms rub together mindlessly like that’ll erase the crimson nightmare from their hands. They seem like they’re barely conscious, blankly honed into the tiny blemish on the floor like it’s a portal they’re waiting to open.

None of this is okay. The hero’s just saying that. The villain kind of wishes they’d just gone and died in the street like the supervillain had intended. At least that would’ve saved them both from this.

The hero is sitting on the floor, not moving except to scrub at their hands, but the villain is restlessly pacing back and forth. They have so much pent up energy from the last hour—it has to go somewhere.

“We’re gonna get out,” they say into the silence.

“We’re not.”

The villain turns to the hero a little harsher than they meant to. The hero flinches even from several metres away, and the villain’s heart crushes just that little bit more. “We are, [Hero]. We’re gonna get out and [Superhero] is never gonna touch you again.”

The hero makes some noise that is clearly meant to be a scoff but comes out as more of a broken sob. “Big dreams.”

The villain doesn’t bother commenting on that. “No window, no lockpicking.” They glance around for ideas. “No bribery, I’d assume. No help.”

“How long were you here before… we spoke?”

The villain pauses. “In prison? I don’t know, a few days.”

The hero frowns. The villain doesn’t like it. “Have you not tried breaking out before?”

“I didn’t think I had anything to live for before.” The villain carries on glancing around to avoid looking at the way the hero’s face twists like they don’t believe them.

“There you are, you little shit,” is the greeting the superhero gives the villain. “Your codes were bullshit, weren’t they?”

He glares at them expectantly. There’s a lump in the villain’s throat that words seem to be stuck behind. “I– I gave you what you wanted.”

“Like hell you did.” The superhero throws an aimless hand over his desk. The villain’s papers are all over the place, various scrawls across their pages in a clear attempt to figure them out. “Your so-called codes didn’t work.”

The villain’s mind is blank. That can’t be right. They gave him the fucking codes. He should be descending on the supervillain this very moment, but instead he’s here, claiming they don’t work—

“Wouldn’t want your special sweetheart to feel the consequences of this, would we?”

The villain’s gaze snaps back to where the superhero’s smirking at them knowingly. They want to smack that look clean off his face. He knows too much, and now he’s using it all against them. The hero is back here, suffering the fate they fell into the villain’s grasp trying to escape, and they’re back here because of them. The villain feels sick at the thought.

“I gave you the fucking codes,” the villain spits. “It’s not my fault if you’re too thick to use them.”

The superhero’s face momentarily twitches in hatred, but it doesn’t last long. “Not to worry,” he says smoothly. He waves a hand for the security guard at the door to step forward. “I’m sure I can get an answer out of you pretty easily, hm?”

For a moment the villain can feel the burn of rope on their wrists, their throat sore, their eyes hot with tears of sickness and horror and guilt.

The security guard touches a hand to their arm, and before they can think about what they’re doing they turn around and punch him in the face.

The superhero’s on his feet immediately but the villain’s already moving. A quick boot to the middle keeps the security guard on the floor, and they meet the superhero at the desk without a thought. He tries to point a pistol at them but they butt it out of his hand, kicking it across the floor for good measure.

The superhero throws a fist at them and connects with their shoulder with the fury of the sun. The villain stumbles and the superhero’s confidence throws him in for a second blow. They dodge back, just, jabbing an elbow into the side of his face. The superhero staggers with an enraged cry and the villain leaps the desk to make for the gun.

It’s in their hand before either of the two can realise what’s happened. “Okay,” the villain says slowly. Their shoulder is throbbing but they have no time to think about it right now. “I’m gonna leave, and you’re not gonna say jackshit when I do.”

The superhero laughs, the sound wet with blood. “You won’t get far without death following you.”

“My paperwork’s still encoded. I’m not too worried.”

And with that they’re out into the corridor, more than happy to spend the superhero’s bullets on anyone stupid enough to come near them.

An alarm whirrs, drooping the halls in flashing red light. They’re lost, unaccustomed to wandering the corridors alone, but it doesn’t matter. They’ll get to where they need to be. They just have to survive first.

“Don’t worry, [Hero],” the villain whispers, like saying it outloud is a promise. “I’m coming.”

(next part)

Taglist:

@runarelle @thiefofthecrowns @morning-star-whump @epiclamer

#creative writing #writblr #writers on tumblr #writing #writing community #heroes and villains #hero x villain #the villains housekeeper #tw implied torture #today was my last day at work before crimmas!!!!#and tomorrows the crimmas partayyyyyy #and the break will be nice but god im mostly glad todays over lmao #why does everyone decide they want shit done 2 hours before the end of the last day before i disappear for a week #and why is it ME who has to sort it D: (it is my job to sort it)#the lie in tomorrow will be godly i know it

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sosuigeneris · 7 days

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Socialite Series: Cherry’s Master Post

Things that have helped me, that could help you. Here is a master list of my softmaxxing journey!

Weight:

J*hn Bent*n’s workouts: Yes he’s an asshole but his workouts really do work. He used to train models and his workouts are life changing.

2. B-12 Lipo salines: These you can consume in a shot (like an injection) or in a saline (go to a GOOD DOCTOR for this). I prefer the saline, and my doctor recommended the 6 week course for me (one saline every week). It burns subQ fat and that was the main reason why I began using those. There is zero side effect to these, acc to my doc.

3. Diet: More protein, more vegetables, more water and lesser intake of carbs. Carbs are important but i used to over-consume them. Cutting down has helped me a lot. I also did a gut bacteria test (you basically sent a piece of your shit to a lab and they analyse it) to understand what foods worked for me and what didnt.

4. Probiotics for metabolism management

5. Measuring: I stopped tracking weight and began tracking body fat % instead. I feel that this works better for me.

6. Wood therapy: I KNOW. You lot will think its bogus but it helped me and im sticking to it, so there. There’s no wood therapy spa near me, so i ordered the wood therapy tools from amazon, plastic wrap, a waist trainer, almond oil. I looked up videos on wood therapy and lymphatic drainage, and i do it for about 5 mins on my tummy and thighs before my work outs, wrap my torso with plastic wrap, throw the waist trainer on top.

✨

Skin:

Accutane: this helped me tremendously with my acne and my skin is 95% blemish free now. If you are taking this, remember to be disciplined and regular.

Zero alcohol: I stopped drinking completely and its done my skin and health wonders.

Products: Sunscreen + Vitamin C combo in the AM. Retinol + moisturiser at night. Recommended by my dermat.

Hair removal: I refuse to shave because its so uncomfortable so i prefer to wax once in 2 months. Personally, when I began exfoliating my body twice a week - I use a scrub by the Body Shop - I noticed that the hair was growing back slower than it used to. I use a loofah for everyday too. I don’t believe in laser because it’s never just 6 sessions; you do have to have “maintenance” sessions as well post the 6.

Face sculpting: Gua sha on alternative nights. I dont know if this works or is placebo, but I felt like it did.

Body lotion every day. Twice a day sometimes. I swear, it makes you smell good and feel so soft.

Expensive make up: specially, foundation. I’m sorry, i know this could be controversial. But idk what cow semen Charlotte Tilbury puts in her make up, it seriously makes me glow. I’m yet to find a good drug store alternative. A while back, I stopped wearing concealer, and I began using a lighter shade of CT’s foundation as concealer over my normal shade. I feel that because the products are chemically the same, they blend better and don’t react and “peel.” Highly recommend that too. For the rest of my face like powder, blush, eyeliner, I do use normal drug store make up.

✨

Oral hygiene:

I used to have braces. After taking them off, I noticed a difference in my jaw.

Brush, floss, Listrine, tongue cleaner

Mild whitening. I think Hollywood level teeth whitening looks crazy and I want to look as “naturally” beautiful as possible.

✨

Hair care:

For hair growth: as recommended by my doc: minoxidil hair foam 5% w/w Tugain Foam.

High frequency wand before wash days on my scalp.

Moroccan hair oil. I use a tiny amount everyday on my ends after I finish my make up for the day and I swear it makes my hair shine like crazy.

I also got hair Botox done because i used to have curly but absolutely unmanageable hair. I tried to make it work for years but i gave up and caved in to having permanent straight hair and I love it.

I only shampoo twice a day so on days when i workout but don’t shampoo, i use hair perfume. I spray some of it on my brush and run it through my hair. I swear it works.

✨

Overall:

The colour palette theory seriously works. I didn’t realise that wearing the right colours can impact you so much.

Confidence is absolutely key. I seriously recommend going to a group class of some sort if you have the time and just mingling with random people. Social situations are important to gauge your “standing.”

Random but if you have a big nose: grow out your eyebrows / fill them in slightly thicker. I noticed that when I had thin eyebrows, my nose would stand out more but when I made them thicker, it balanced my face out better.

Steam iron your clothes before you wear them. You will look 100% put together.

*IF* you’re aesthetically challenged when it comes to picking clothes, use my rule of thumb: never wear any more than 3 colours at once (remember: IF you can’t put outfits together).

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finalgirllx · 9 months

Text

Ominis Gaunt’s Occupations AU HCs

Written By @finalgirllx and @greedyforgarreth simultaneously. A promised continuation after our Garreth's Gareers.

Headcanons of Ominis Gaunt in different careers.

Warning, we get a little delusional by the end again.

English Teacher

Has a few teacher’s pets

The teacher that lots of students open up to - even if he doesn’t try

A huge banned book advocate! He starts the year off with Fahrenheit 451 every time.

Loves having the students read and argue about Holden’s character in Catcher in the Rye.

On days when there is no lesson, he has them watch Pride and Prejudice or Frankenstein in class.

When he’s with his partner he makes them sound like his dad and says “Good Job, Son.” to him to make him feel good about himself and his life choices.

Will literally eat an apple every day. No exceptions.

He will give students +1 point of extra credit if they bring him an apple.

His students love to hear his personal stories and always try to get him off track.

Therapist

“How does that make you feel?”

He will write their answer on his computer and sometimes his voice-to-text randomly goes off and exposes what he wrote to the client. “Client’s delusions are excessive today.” client gasps “Well…they are…”

Makes you say 5 affirmations as soon as you walk in the door.

He’s obsessed with having you make a pros and cons list for every decision you have to make.

“Oof, red flag” any time your romantic partner wrongs you.

An absurd amount of fidget toys, on his desk and near the client’s seat.

He likes to take on children from foster care/broken homes the most. (He does most of these sessions for free/at a discount.)

Has poured hours into a curated playlist to relax and comfort his clients during their sessions.

Sommelier - a wine professional

The wine MUST have notes of ‘nuts’ otherwise it doesn’t pass.

He will get incredibly upset if he can’t taste the nut notes in it.

The only person who could describe the “body” or “palate” of the wine and not sound like a complete jerk while doing so.

Does the dramatic hand wafting the wine aroma into his nose when he first tries it.

Has an assistant who runs an instagram for him - makes sure to take immaculate photos at all of the vineyards.

"Pair this wine with anything you'd want to take to Flavor Town. It's like a high-five to your taste buds."

Has his own wine line with his face on the label. (He insisted on it) “It will increase sales” it did

Would work with famous personal chef Garreth Weasley for food + wine pairings. Their blog would be extremely popular.

“Nuttin' But the Finest” is his slogan.

Has a famous video where he threw a wine bottle with no nut notes on the floor and it smashed and his PR team desperately tries to scrub it from it from the internet.

The more tipsy he is, the more upset he is when something doesn’t have notes of nuts.

He comments under other people's posts about wine “Does it give ‘nut’🥜?” They block him.

Spa Manager

Would constantly walk around the spa listening in to make sure the service is fabulous.

Snaps his fingers far too much.

Gets clients excited by wearing a robe as his work attire.

Gets his estheticians to give him free facials every day.

Clients can pay extra for a scalp massage from him.

Huge gossip. Knows the tea about everyone even if you’re not his client.

“Margaret, I’m feeling a blemish forming on my cheek. Come take care of it.”

Falls asleep in the massage room between clients.

Goes into the sauna during his breaks and then gets upset when he’s too hot.

Radio DJ/Operator

Loves taking calls from anyone and everyone on air.

Absolutely loves causing relationship conflict on air. The dating advice hour sessions are always done by him. “He said WHAT NOW to you? Oof, red flag.”

“Drama Domain by DJ Ominis"

Literally does not care about his song order. He will repeat the song he likes as long as he wants, no matter who complains.

“You’re all haters. Dynamite by Taio Cruz will always be a hit.” And he grows to hate it himself but he’s so stubborn he keeps playing it.

He loves to interview people on his radio show. Always gets them to divulge some deep dark secret.

Somehow has the most famous of celebrities on his show and they all enjoy talking with him.

Has a trivia show every day that’s just about what he likes. “10 questions about cats this morning.”

Fucking despises giveaways. “I’m not giving you people anything.”

He ruins the giveaways the station forces him to put on purposefully by “deliberating” if it's a scam or not.

Model

Always shirtless even when it’s not called for. They have to photoshop shirts onto him.

“What do you mean I can’t be a shirtless executive?” walks out in just a tie and pants.

Very, very particular over his hair. If one strand is out of line, he will be very upset.

But he also doesn’t tell people when he’s upset. He just sighs and tilts his head dramatically and slouches until someone notices.

Really enjoys cowboy photoshoots. For whatever reason.

He secretly loves the comments from fans “Wear the hat, ride the cowboy.” He has his assistant read them off to him while he goes to sleep. “Wait, say the one where they called me Daddy Cowboy again.”

Has a very strict diet of eating whatever the fuck he wants to.

Loves extremely high fashion accessories. His eye masks cost over $3,000.

Has his own skin care line. "Gaunt's Beauty Nectar"

Has a Daddy Kink.

Musician

In a band with Garreth. They had excessive arguments over the band name. Ominis has a brief solo career stint before returning to the Weasley Wigouts.

Will make-out with fans right on stage in the middle of a set.

He puts gold body glitter on himself so he glows during the concert.

So, so amazing with his fingers.

Loves how his fans scream when his hair that starts perfect at the beginning of the show gets messier and more wild.

Has a very strict 10 PM bedtime that he can NOT miss.

Has that one very sad song in the middle of the concert that everyone gets quiet for as he belts on stage.

Fights to make sure his merch is affordable. Punched his rep before for trying to up his shirt prices.

Biggest supporter of his band members. Will call them sexy and tell him he wants to suck them off during the concert. Supportive, of course.

There’s a video of him online throwing a wine bottle in anger and it shatters. His PR team is trying to scrub it from the internet.

Refuses to let his brother Marvolo join the band even though he lets him keep auditioning.

Lawyer

Loves getting extremely into his arguments like they do in dramas.

Often makes the entire courtroom gasp when he makes his final comment.

“Your honor, the other team is clearly incompetent. His choice of cologne is terrible.” The audience gasps.

He has his own gavel and hits it when the other lawyer is talking. The judge lets him keep it because it's entertaining.

He watches Legally Blonde constantly. “Yas queen!”

"It's quite a feat to make 'reasonable doubt' sound like a plot twist from a B-grade mystery novel." The audience gasps

When the verdict is made he’s already smiling like he's won. (He did)

"I want to thank the opposing team for providing such an entertaining performance. If legal arguments came with awards, they'd surely win for 'Best Theatrical Presentation.' The audience gasps

His briefcase is full of fan mail. He reads them during the opposing team's defense.

Will literally always wear the best suits. He makes sure he feels sexy every day.

Detective

“The clue is in your drawers.”

Really loves the interrogation portion of his job. He conducts all of them.

“WHERE WERE YOU AT 7:13 PM LAST TUESDAY?” He says both in the interrogation room and in bed.

Has forgotten he’s handcuffed a lover to his bed before.

“I can arrest you,” he warns his partner when they tease him too much.

Has a Sherlock Holmes Kink.

Eats cheese and crackers while visiting the scenes of crimes.

“Sir, you're getting crumbs all over the evidence…” Ominis scoffs “I can arrest you,”

Enjoys teaching criminology at the local universities.

Sleeps with the speech and pathology professor.

Asks her to refer to him as “Sherlock” when they make love.

Wants his partner to yell “You solved the case!” when he cums. He can only cum when they say this.

Columnist

Loves writing the horoscopes for his newspaper. Always makes sure the signs that have wronged him will have bad days. And his crush always has great days.

Loves interviewing people from his town and getting to know the townsfolk.

Hates Garfield as a concept. Doesn’t understand when people try to explain why it's funny.

Always does the “Ask Alice” column. Will be honest with people if he thinks their questions are bad but offer advice anyway.

If he’s feeling frisky the advice won’t be good at all and probably cause more harm than good.

Fell asleep on his newspaper and got the ink stained on his face. No one told him for hours.

There’s a video of him online throwing a wine bottle in anger and it shatters. His PR team is trying to scrub it from the internet.

Loves sitting down with black coffee and cheese and crackers, starts his work day by saying, “let’s start writing these bad boys.”

Has a secret column he writes called “That RAT!” where he exposes bad people, restaurants, or businesses in the town. “The manager is a coward!”

“If Duncan Hobhouse has been here, stay away. 0/10 this place must be shut down.”

Insists on putting a dad joke on the front page every day.

Politician

Super into animal welfare.

Has slept with every single candidate for every office he’s run for. (And their spouses) They always mysteriously concede so he can get the win.

There’s a video of him online throwing a wine bottle in anger and it shatters. His PR team is trying to scrub it from the internet.

He’s extremely hot. Like holy fuck he’s hot. Damn…(This isn’t a HC, it’s true.)

Dominis 24/7.

His suits are thousands of dollars and he always wears them everywhere. He sleeps in them sometimes.

He loves visiting schools and getting to meet the future generations.

Flirts with all of the news broadcasters and interviewers for his publicity events.

Makes the name “Duncan” illegal for all future births.

Has a bondage kink.

Has done a lot for the community including helping to clean up the messier side of town and starting charities to help the homeless find housing and jobs.

Wants to get carried to the stage when he presents.

He asks his partners in bed to call him “Mr. President”.

“Get down Mr. President!” is how his partner asks for head.

100% approval rating.

Florist

Became a florist because he found the care and handwork to be soothing.

He knows the language of every flower and often uses it to help people find the perfect bouquet.

Has a daddy kink.

"Ominis's Blooming Creations"

Since he can’t see the color, he relies strongly on the scent of flowers, and people have grown to love his bouquets.

“My little flower,” is his favorite pet name he uses.

Moisture checks constantly! “This isn’t moist enough!”

Wears the cutest apron with his shop name on it.

Loves having apprentices so he can cultivate their love for gardening the same way he does.

Doesn’t wipe his face so his partner can clean the specks of dirt off his nose when he comes home.

Sometimes comes home through a window in a Ghostface costume because his partner loves it. (Just for you, Elise)

#hogwarts legacy #ominis gaunt #ominis gaunt fanfic #ominis gaunt imagine #ominis gaunt x reader #ominis gaunt headcanon #ominis gaunt smut

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leviathansshadycorner · 5 months

Text

Rope Him In ( Cato x District 10! Reader x slight! Marvel) Pt. 3

Summary: (Y/n) is a horse girl.

A/n: I love Pradain

Pt.2 Pt.1

____________________________________

Chapter 3: The Capitol

Buckley’s laughter subsided as the train stopped. Pradain hurriedly gathered his belongings and made sure the two of you were ready and presentable.

“God, we’ve got to do something about that blood-stained shirt of yours.” Pradain said, looking around the room. “You, give her your shirt.” He ordered Ramsey, who was already unbuttoning his flannel.

The tall mentor draped his cologne-drenched flannel on top of you and you fixed it onto your body. “Thank you.”

The station was large, the structure looked so futuristic you wondered how they managed to build it up so high.

“Alright, so first you’re going to go check in.” Dolly explained to the two of you. “Then you’ll get taken in to get groomed.” She continued.

“After that you’ll meet your assigned stylist and you’ll get your clothes fitted onto you.” Ramsey butted in. “After that we head to the chariots. There’s time in between where the tributes just wait, so you’ll have time to scope out the tributes, don’t form any alliances yet.”

“Save that for the training days, and don’t make enemies.” Dolly said, looking both of you and Buckley in the face.

“So… When do we get to eat?” Buckley said, looking around for any signs of animals.

“Don’t worry ‘bout that bud. You have about a week or so to enjoy the food.” Ramsey said.

Your little group walked and you could see other trains arrive behind yours. Up ahead were other groups, walking into the station that would lead to one of the city's entrances.

“‘S kinda cold,” Buckley whispered to you.

“It is, isn't it? Not warm and cozy like home.” You said a little sarcastically commenting on the Texan heat.

It felt like miles until you made it to the Capitol’s entrance. Your mouth was open like a little kid witnessing Christmas lights for the first time. The Capitol looked advanced yet so bland. There were people everywhere crowding around barriers to witness the tributes fresh from the trains. You felt like a zoo animal, everyone’s eyes trying to peek at you.

When you made it to the tribute building you had to line up with the female tributes as the workers pricked your fingers and gave you a quick physical. The people here looked so clean. Not a single blemish on their skin. Even their beauty marks were drawn on. You wondered if they were even human. To you it seemed like an alternate universe run by alien creatures.

You managed to look over at the male tribute line looking for Buckley. Unfortunately, your eyes caught green-blue eyes with a brown tint. He raised a blonde eyebrow at you and you quickly looked away from the tall boy.

Dolly led you to some doors and behind them were people who were dressed in white smocks holding magnifying glasses. The victor handed you over to a tall dark skinned lady and a shorter man with green eyebrows.

“(Y/n), these are Silica and Depil. Now don’t be scared, they’re not going to hurt you, they're only here to help you ok? You’ll be fine.” The curly haired woman told you as the pair grabbed you by your arms and led you into a room with copious white lights.

“We got a lot to work with.” Silica said as she handed you a hospital gown. “Put this on, take off everything.” She instructed you as she and her partner gathered their first materials.

They hosed you off first then threw some white powder all over your body- your guess was that they were trying to de-flea you, not like you needed it anyways. They rinsed you again, this time scrubbing your body. It felt so dehumanizing. You had to zone out in order to not cry through the whole thing. The two worked to wax you, groom your facial hair, and polish your nails until they were sparkling. They even cut a few inches off your hair, making it a little shorter than how you liked it.

When they were done they rolled their carts away, leaving you alone to look at yourself. The smell was fragrant, sweet almost like candy. It was good and you couldn’t help but sniff your arms where the perfume lingered. Mid sniff was when your stylist walked in. She wore a huge purple wig that ran down her back. Her caramel skin shimmered with glitter as she stepped into the lit room. Her icy blue eyes looked at you and she smiled, “Oh you’re the perfect canvas,” She said, and you couldn’t help but notice the gems on her teeth,

“Hello darling, I’m Sashay.” She greeted you, her skin-tight outfit hugging her body as she shimmied closer to you. “Now, you’re from 10 right?”

“Yes.” You told her, eyes fixed on her beauty.

“(Y/n)? Right? Or do you prefer something else?” She asked, picking up your arm which you retracted at first but then eased into her touch.

“(Y/n)’s fine.” Your body shifted on the cold metallic bed.

“Alright well, I want to congratulate you for being so brave.” She started taking your hand. “I’m going to style you during your time here. I’m here to make sure you look stunning in the eyes of the Capitol.” Sashay smiled, kissing your hand. “Do you have any questions?”

You could still feel the ghost stings of the wax strips as you stood up to walk to Sashay’s studio. “Not at the moment.”

“Alright then.”

The two of you walked into her studio where colorful clothing littered the racks they were hung on. She had a portfolio displayed on an easel, and a large sketch of a cowgirl outfit on another.

“Me and Buckley’s stylist worked together on these.” She said holding up a clothing hanger containing your outfit.

On the hanger was a cowboy button up, it was white and gold and had tassels alongside the arms. The bottoms were golden chaps, also tassel. Just as you were about to ask where the rest of the pants were, Sashay turned to you.

“You’ll be wearing shorts with those.” She told you. “There’s a matching hat and boots.” Sashay tells you as she gets out her sketchpad and pencil and begins to scribble on it while staring at you intensely.

“I’ll help you get dressed in a moment dear.” She speaks, her sultry voice powerful.

Red creeps up to your face. Were you actually going to wear this costume? Your legs would be out and about in front of millions of people. You were nervous to say the least. You wondered if Buckley would have to wear the same exact thing.

“So cowboys huh?” Cowboys were basically eradicated 50 years ago, since the President thought they were a group of rebels. Of course he wasn’t wrong, but cowboy and vaquero culture had been long gone from 10. “Isn’t that against the rules?” You asked, but you were glad that you weren’t going out dressed as a giant chicken or pig.

“Oh please sweetie, last year the tributes from 12 were practically naked. There are no rules when it comes to fashion. Except the ones that prevent people from wearing horrendous clothes.” Sashay tells you as she finishes her sketch. “Alright then love, let’s make you pretty.

Taking a huff of air you nodded and hesitantly took off the hospital gown. Sashay delicately placed the golden undergarments on your body, soon following them up with the actual costume. “Hair and makeup will be done by your grooming team.” She explained as she buttoned up the shirt. “So hold onto the hat and put it on when you’re on your chariot.” She buckled the belt on you, making sure the chaps weren’t falling off.

“Sadly I couldn’t get you a lasso, it would’ve added so much, but Snow said no props.” Her hands tied a little bolo tie around you. “You look so dashing.” She stepped away to take in her work.

You felt like a little girl’s doll. The costume fit you well, except Sashay had to pin a few things into place and sew in an extra button. You held onto the golden hat and looked at her with scared eyes. She pointed to a mirror covered by a curtain. As you walked to it and flung the curtain to the side you almost gasped. This was the first time you saw yourself since arriving. Your hair was shiny, your skin looked flawless- all previous scars were gone, the costume hugged you in all the right places. The only thing really bugging you was the lack of pants, though the chaps managed to cover a majority of your legs. The little golden shorts were too skimpy for your taste, but you had to admit that Sashay really worked her magic on you.

“Come on now, 15 minutes until curtain. Let’s see if Silica and Depil can work under pressure. Oh who am I kidding? Of course they can!” She laughed as she took you out of her studio and back out into the grooming room.

“No time- turns out we start at 10.” Depil says, his brows straight and serious. “We’re gonna have to walk and work.” He told Sashay as Silica came to your right side. Together the two pampered your face with creams and oils, brushing color into your skin as the four of you walked out the building into an overpass leading to an outdoor stadium. Once you were out there your vision was filled with chaos.

There were tributes still getting dressed, chariots the size of two cows, tributes boarding said chariots, and mentors walking around and socializing.

“Goodness Depil, you’ve got to get that clock fixed. We have 20 minutes until the chariots start.” Sashay scolded, realizing there was no need to rush.

“My bad.” The green haired man apologizes as he seats you down to work on your hair.

He works quickly, braiding your hair then lifting it up into a milkmaid hairstyle. He added golden tinsel extensions to your hair, creating the illusion of twinkling locks. Gold eyeshadow was patted all over your lids, a sweet cream of gloss added to your lips, and as the finishing touch- they unbuttoned the top two buttons on your shirt.

“Stunning.”

“Gorgeous.”

“Fabulous work.”

The team of three admired you.

“My goodness you made her so pretty!” A lady who Sashay called Effie smiled brightly, as she awed at you.

Warmth filled your face and a shy smile found its way to your lips. “Thank you for your hard work.” You said bowing your head in a slight curtsey.

“Thank you for cooperating (Y/n.)” Sashay grinned.

Dolly eventually ended her conversation with another mentor and came over to ogle at you as well. “I’m not just saying this because I’m your mentor, but I think you’re the prettiest one here.” She winked.

“You can say that again.” A voice came from behind you. It was Buckley. He too was wearing an outfit similar to yours, except he had actual pants. The front two buttons on his shirt were undone as well.

“You look like your dad.” Came your reply trying to avert the comment.

District 10 was one where everyone knew everyone. You included. You had previously met Buckley’s dad before his passing, he was quite kind to you and Amaranto, in fact he was one of the people who suggested you start working out at the slaughterhouse to make more ends meat.

“Damn, Do I look that old already?” He joked, looking at himself in the reflection of your eyes.

“Alright Kiddos, all you gotta do is go on the chariots and wave. It’s like a parade-” Ramsey said behind Buckley.

“It is a parade.” Dolly corrected. “You need to make the crowd love you so smile, blow kisses, throw out a few winks if you need to.”

“Oh! Tip your hats, they’ll love that.” Pradain said emerging with a wine glass. “You two look stunning.” He complimented.

“First time you’ve said something nice to us.” Buckley said with a joking smile.

As your little district 10 team chatted away, your gaze wandered around the room. You had to admit, your costumes were one of the best. The first place prize has to go to the tributes from 12. They looked sharp in their all black costumes, made them look powerful even. District 11 wore clothes similar to the fancy clothes in 10, and you wondered why their stylist didn’t put more effort into their costumes. As you scanned the room your eye was caught by another pair of gold wearing tributes. The careers from two, armored with gold plates. It was obvious their costumes had to be the most expensive ones. You were almost done looking at the other tributes when pink filled your eyes.

Like a routine you made eye contact with the male from 1. He looked silly in the shimmering pink outfit and you tilted your head in confusion. He took notice and grinned, his own eyes looking you up and down before the girl from 1 snapped him back into the conversation she was having with their mentors.

“Don’t stare too much.” Ramsey whispered to you. “They might think you want to kill them.”

Nodding you spent the rest of your wait time talking to Dolly, asking her about her time in the capitol when she was a tribute in the games. Immediately you could hear the roars and cheers of the citizens as more of them began to fill the stadium’s seats. As if on time your heart started beating and the realization that you would be out in a crowd of people made you break into a sweat. As your head began to spin and the room seemed more cramped a harsh poke distracted you from your thoughts.

“(Y/n), Look!” Buckley exclaimed, attracting stares. “Horses!”

Whatever nerves you had were gone out the window when your eyes landed on the dark elegant creatures that trotted gracefully into view.

“Horses..” A whisper came from your mouth and you were teleported to your childhood.

The golden sun sets on the dry grass as your laughs fill the scene. Your mother with (h/c) hair and (s/c) skin waves you towards her as she grips onto the hair of a horse. Her boots bounce slightly at the sides of the animal as it trots her further along the field. You follow closely behind her, gaining speed as your own surpasses her. “Look Ma! Bet ya can’t catch up to me!” You giggle as you continue to ride into the light.

Without warning your legs move you towards the black animal. The handler looks at you curiously but her face relaxes as you pet the animal’s side. Slowly more horses come in, each of them assigned to a chariot. You had forgotten all about the horses, since the cameras only ever focus on tributes and their faces.

“They’re beautiful.” You tell Buckley as the two of you stare at them longingly. “I wanna ride one.”

“What?” He looks at you as if you’re crazy. “You can’t be serious right?”

“Dolly said all we had to do was get their attention.” You reminded him.

“That is true… Do you even remember how?” He asked, “Is that even allowed?”

“I don’t know. I guess I’ll have to find out.” You said with a determination that Buckley hadn’t seen since middle school.

The stage directors flooded the area once there was three minutes left. They ordered everyone onto their respective chariots while stylists did their finishing touches. Your team waved at you as the chariots were ordered, the first one heading out already as the drums played them in. One by one the chariots were let out, your turn inching closely. You had a plan however, a plan so crazy you had zero chance of knowing if it would work. Buckley watched you intently, wondering if your crazy ass would actually go through with it.

You waited for your chance. Outside the people were cheering at the tributes, throwing flowers at the ones they liked, hooting and hollering at the ones they really liked. The announcers’ commentary boomed throughout the stadium, their backhanded compliments making the Capitol citizens giggle. As your chariot neared the path 's opening you hopped off the chariot, making Buckley laugh and your mentors curse profanely.

“What the hell are you doing, get back on!” They yelled as peacekeepers were starting to make their way to you.

The tributes both in front and behind you looked at your chariot wondering what all the commotion was. Hastily you ran up to the animal, struggling to get up on the horse. You repeatedly apologized to the horse as you grabbed onto its hair and finally fixed yourself on top of it. The horse neighed and bucked around a bit as you finally got out the arch and into the path of the parade.

“What the!” Caesar Flickerman exclaimed as the cameras focused in on you.

“What in the Capitol’s gem is happening ?” His fellow commentator yelled.

You struggled to calm the horse down, your body tightening its grip so as to not fall off the horse.

“Careful!” Buckley told you.

“I got it!” You exclaimed as you soothed the horse. “SHhh it's ok, it's alright.” You had no idea how lucky you had gotten.

The horse finally calmed down and you were finally able to look up at the crowd. Your face was being displayed on the holographic banners, the cheers and screams so loud your ears began to ring. Buckley waved eagerly, tipping his hat and taking it off to wave with it. You smiled, out of joy- not for being the star of the minute, but for being able to ride a horse for the first time after a long time. Your hand went up to wave at the crowd and people were smiling at you, throwing roses and other accessories at both you and Buckley.

“What a hoot!” Flickerman laughed, “(Y/n) Cuernos from district 10! Riding one of the chariot horses! You don’t see that everyday!” He smiled at the camera.

“Now those tributes are proud members of 10, look at them! They’re quite brave aren’t they?” The other announcer said, “And those hats! Who knew an old worker’s hat could look so dapper!”

Eventually the cheers died out, the crowd erupting once again and louder when the tributes from 12 came out, their bodies on fire, yet not burning. As the chariot reached the end you came face to face with other victors who were already displayed below the president. One haunting almost threatening stare stuck with you. It was the tribute from 2. The one with golden armor. He clapped his hands as you trotted by, his green eyes not leaving your person once. During the president’s speech you looked over and of course he was still boring eyes into your clothes.

As the tributes were dismissed you could hear Buckley from behind you on the chariot. “There’s the (Y/n) I remember.” He said, his accent thick on your name.

“They’re gonna kill me aren’t they?” You asked the boy.

“Oh yeah. Dolly’s gonna freak.” He chuckled.

And of course he was right. When the two of you got backstage, a furious Dolly was fuming. Ramsey helped you off the horse and patted your back. “You are one crazy son of a bitch.” He laughed.

“(Y/n)! What the hell were you thinking!” She said, her hand on your shoulder.

“You told me to-”

“I told you to get their attention! Not ride the damn horse!” She huffed.

“I think she got their attention alright.” Pradain said, sipping his glass of wine.

“You’re gonna get us in trouble!” Dolly feared.

“Please, she’ll be fine. If anything they’ll take it out on her in the arena.�� Ramsey soothed the curly haired mentor.

Buckley only smiled at the interaction.

“Well if it isn't a little Miss Badass.” A deep voice interrupted your exchange with the mentors. Turning around you spotted the blonde haired roman soldier from 2. “You’re smart, you know that? What you did out there.” He continued. His presence was threatening, you felt as if he was going to kill you then and there. “That was a good move on your part 10, stealing all my sponsors.” He shook his head disapprovingly. He wore a menacing smile. It was far from friendly. “Can’t wait to see what else you have up your sleeve. If you even have anything up there.” He finished before walking back to his team.

“The hell is his problem?” Buckley asked, standing in front of you as to shield you from the career’s stare.

“Don’t know and don’t want to find out.” You replied. “How is it that I already made an enemy?” You asked.

“That’s Cato from 2.” A district 7 girl told you as she walked by, taking her headpiece off and placing it on a nearby table. “I heard he’s a real jerk. Threatened one of the Avoxes for bumping into him before the parade started.” She finished.

Slowly your pupil went to the corner of your eyes, seeing if you could get another glance at the unit of a tribute. Unfortunately for you, his gaze was permanently fixed on you. A smile- that of a psychopath stuck on his lips.

There was no way you were going to survive the games with him around.

------

Tags: @randomgurl2326

#fanfic #xreader #reader insert #x cato #cato hadley #the hunger games fanfiction #74th hunger games #the hunger games #katniss everdeen #marvel #romance #tribute #district 10 #xtribute reader #peeta mellark #coriolanus snow #jack quaid #x reader

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the-hinky-panda · 1 year

Text

The Dog: Part IV

Author’s Note: So if you guys follow @bullet-prooflove, you know that The Dog and The North Star take place in the same fic universe. The vet in this story does have a name (Meredith) but I will continue to write her as a reader by using you/your and have Mike refer to her by using nicknames only. All this to say I’m not sure how to label this now since she has a name but it won’t be used in this fic.

Another note, I do use physical descriptions in this chapter (freckles and red hair) but I do it for a bigger purpose. Yes, no descriptions are more inclusive, however I wanted to make a point that she is self-conscious of her looks because don't we all have something that we don't like about ourselves? Don't we all have something that we want to change? And how wonderful is it when we surround ourselves with the right people that love us and all our imperfections? So please forgive the physical descriptions in this chapter as they were only done to deliver an important message: love your freckles!

You stand in front of the mirror and inspect your face. Your fingers trail over the splashes of freckles across your round cheeks, your face framed by your red hair. You’re not beautiful. At least, not by social media standards. No one is going to stop you on the street and want to take your picture, make a model out of you. You’re not destined for Instagram fame. It makes you wonder what Mike sees in you, what prompted him to ask you out to dinner at a local brewery. Mike, with his roguish good looks and witty sense of humor; warm brown eyes and easy smile. And dear lord, those adorable dimples.

You dig out a tube of concealer, specific for freckles and other skin blemishes. Your ex, Kevin, had found it for you. He hadn’t been a fan of your freckles and often urged you to cover them up as best you could. You always kept a tube of the makeup on hand in case he wanted you to join him at a pharmaceutical rep party or just go out for drinks with some of his friends. Holding that small tube in your hand, you wonder if you’re really ready to try out another relationship with someone new. All the masks that need to be worn and maintained, you just didn’t know if you had it in you.

So, why try?

If Mike is going to like you, it’s going to be for you. You drop the make up back into the drawer and continue with your normal, basic routine. Simple make-up, a loose twist to keep your hair back from your face, and small gold hoop earrings. Shasta watches you curiously, her head cocked to the side, not exactly sure what this new routine is. It’s pretty sad when the dog is wondering why you’re dressing up. You pat her head as you leave the bathroom.

“You’re coming with me, don’t worry.”

Shasta follows you into the bedroom where the second struggle of evening occurs: what to wear? Your wardrobe consists mostly of scrubs. It’s been about six years now since your divorce and you’ve never really gotten back onto the dating scene and your clothes show that. You’re able to find a green blouse to go with your jeans and flats. You grab a navy blue cardigan since you’ll be sitting outside at the brewhouse. You give yourself one last look in the mirror, releasing a long sigh to try to dispel some of the butterflies that have taken up residence in your stomach.

You had forgotten this part of life. This nervous thrill that makes you feel nauseous but you can’t wait to see what the evening is going to bring. It’s a knife’s edge balancing act of being yourself but just the likable pieces. Honest, authentic but keeping the odd and messy parts of yourself still hidden from view. You pick up Shasta’s harness, try to get the dog to stand still and it takes three attempts to wrestle the harness on her body. It doesn’t help that her short tail is wagging so excitedly, you struggle snapping the enclosures. You stand up, grab your keys, and look at the dancing dog in front of you.

“If Mike doesn’t like me, it’s your fault,” you joke. “Maybe Bono can teach you some manners, you wild red dog.”

You get Shasta secured in the backseat of the Subaru and make the ten minute drive over to Mike’s place. Any nervousness that you may have felt while getting ready completely dissipates when you see him, sitting on his front porch, Bono sitting next to him. He’s dressed up his regular henley with a plaid button shirt and has his suede jacket thrown over his arm. You’re struck once again with what a handsome man he is with his confident gait, wavy dark hair, and warm brown eyes. Maybe you should have worn the concealer this evening and you silently chide yourself as he gets Bono situated in the backseat next to Shasta before sliding into the passenger seat of your car.

“You look nice.”

You turn your head to hide the nervous, pleased smile that erupts on your face. “Thanks. You look nice too. Have you ever been to the Bronx Alehouse before?”

He shrugs halfheartedly. “Once or twice.” He glances behind him at Bono. “Guess I better get better acquainted with it.”

“You know that Bono can go into any restaurant you want. You don’t have to go to dog friendly ones only.”

“I certainly don’t want to leave Shasta out of the good times though.”

“That’s very kind of you. Shasta appreciates it.” You glance to the side and catch his smile that’s just large enough to cause that dimple to appear in his cheek. If it were even possible, you fall more in love with the man. You park a couple blocks away from the restaurant to give the dogs a chance to walk off some of their energy. Well, for Shasta to walk off her energy. Bono trots right at Mike’s side, the perfect gentleman.

They seat you outside on the sidewalk patio where they provide water bowls next to the table for the dogs and your waitress slips both dogs a small treat when she takes your drink orders. You chat about what has transpired in the last week of your lives, what has happened since that beautiful day spent at Orchard Beach. Your update is short and sweet: working overtime at the clinic. Although the finding of a litter of fox pups did make for an interesting day a couple days ago. His update is more interesting.

“My sister from Maryland came up for a few days.”

You know from the texts and calls that have been going back and forth between you two that he has three sisters along the East Coast. “She’s the teacher, right?”

“Right,” he picks up his beer and takes a sip. “So she cleaned the house, stocked my pantry, and fussed over me for three days before heading back to Baltimore. Then I paid a visit to the training center where Bono came from, learned a bit more about what goes into training a service dog and what they’re capable of doing. There were some dogs there that were being trained to sniff out cancer in people.”

“I’ve heard of that but haven’t seen any dogs in action yet. Dogs are incredible animals, extremely adaptable to a variety of situations and environments. They’re loyal, loving, dedicated. It makes me wonder what we humans did to deserve them.”

He laughs but there’s very little humor behind it. “Certainly nothing that we’re currently doing. The world’s a mess.”

You get it. You understand his bleak world view at the moment. Colin had it too after his accident. But Mike’s nihilistic vision comes from years of seeing the worst of humanity while on the police force. The last five years he’s spent chasing down Oscar Papa certainly hasn’t shown him the best of humanity either. “Maybe that’s why we have them. As reminders that we can be good enough people to deserve the love of our dogs.”

“How do you do that?” The bitter edge of his perception dissipates and there’s genuine curiosity behind his words. “How do you stay so positive after all the horrible shit you see too? The animal abuse? Abandonment?”

You shrug. “I guess I take peace in the thought that I’m not one of those people. I care for the animals, treat them, heal them, rehome them. I can’t stop people from being jerks and assholes, but I certainly can help fix what they’ve broken. You can’t make the world a better place without someone out there trashing it.”

The warmth comes back to his smile and his eyes. “That’s a commendable attitude then.”

“Thank you,” you raise your beer glass in his direction before taking a sip. He starts to say something else when your name is shouted across the patio and your blood runs cold. You can’t believe he would be here, in the Bronx, at this restaurant, at this exact time. But you hear your name again and when you turn, your eyes are immediately drawn to the extremely well-dressed blonde man who is waving at you.

“Who’s that?” Mike asks, a sense of wariness creeping into his tone.

“My ex-husband, Kevin.” You hope against all hope that he and his bubbly little girlfriend go back inside the restaurant but that is not your luck. The two of them, arms draped over each other in their high-end clubbing gear, make their unsteady way over to your table.

“Hey, babe.”

You twist the corner of the napkin in your lap. “Not your babe, Kevin.”

His blue eyes land on Mike. “Yeah, I can see that. Kevin Bradford.” , the ex. This is Wendy.”

“Mindi,” she corrects with a high-pitched giggle.

Mike reluctantly shakes his hand. “Captain Duarte.”

Mindi emits a small squeal of surprise. “You’re that police guy who got hacked up by-“

“Yes, I am,” Mike cuts her off.

Kevin grabs two chairs from another table and pulls them up to your table. “That’s fucking rad, man.”

“Kevin!” You feel the tips of your ears heat up with a flash of anger.

“What?” He shrugs. “How many dudes can say they went a few rounds with machetes and lived to tell about it? Like, that is fucking badass, legendary.” Kevin lightly smacks Mike’s arm. “Bet it gets you a lot of action from the ladies, am I right?”

Mike gives Kevin a sharp smile. “Not quite.”

“Oh,” Kevin shrugs. “Guess you haven’t gotten your strength back yet. In that case,” he points to you, “she’s a good one to break you back into the game. Doesn’t ask for much but puts out-“

Abject humiliation overtakes you to the point that you’re practically strangling the napkin that is still in your lap. Mike’s eyes flash and he starts to say something when Mindi interrupts him.

“Awww,” she coos and reaches towards Bono. “What a cute doggie!”

“Please don’t touch my dog.” Despite the directness of the command, Mike does soften his tone with the young woman and she immediately withdraws her hand.

“Sorry. Is he a service dog or something?”

“He is,” Mike answers. “I forgot his vest tonight. It’s okay.”

You’re once again impressed with how easily Mike can read a situation, measure people up, and respond to them. He’s like a social swiss army knife. You do take pity on the poor girl and scoot your chair out slightly. “You can pet my dog if you want. Her name is Shasta.”

The woman’s face lights up as she gives Shasta a vigorous rub on her back. “What a good girl, Shasty. I’m Mindi.”

“Hey, hey,” Kevin leans over and bumps her shoulder with his. “Save some of that hand energy for later, babe.”

You roll your eyes and look over apologetically at Mike. He responds with a “what the hell were you thinking” look but where there should have been judgment in his eyes, there was a soft mirth. Some of your humiliation fades. The sun has set enough that the lights on the patio turn on and brighten the outside area significantly. Kevin looks over at you and motions to your face.

“You run out that concealer? I can get you more if you want.” He motions towards Mike and lowers his voice. “You know, since you’re trying to impress someone new. Trust me babe, no one likes looking at…that.”

“Oh, is that the stuff you got me?” Mindi pipes up and turns back to you. “It’s fabulous and will totally cover all those freckles and spots. It’s a miracle in a bottle.”

Freckles and spots. You want to disappear again. You and your freckles and your red hair and your odd sense of humor and…

“She’s not trying to impress me,” Mike’s sharp tone draws all three sets of eyes to him. “I’m already impressed.” He picks up his beer. “Besides, I love her freckles.”

Kevin bursts out laughing. “What is this, your first date? Shit, man. You don’t have to try that hard with her. You already got a cool dog. If she hasn’t slept with you yet, trust me, she will soon.”

“Kev, be nice,” Mindi says but it’s quiet and half-hearted.

He drapes an arm around her shoulders. “Honey, you do realize this is my ex-wife. The one who dumped all my things in the front yard, in the rain, for no reason.”

“No reason?!” You’re halfway out of the chair when you realize your anger has moved you to your feet. People’s heads have turned in your direction and you slowly sit back down at the table. You remember that horrible night in vivid detail. You and Sam dragging Kevin’s Armani suits, fifty pairs of shoes, and exercise equipment out of the house. You still don’t know how the two of you managed to move a full size treadmill but rage at his behavior that night certainly was a solid motivator. “You showed up drunk to Colin’s funeral.”

“Who wants to go to funerals?” Kevin counters. “So I knocked a couple back at the bar down the street. Me and half the people there that night had been drinking before showing up.”

“Yeah but you were the only one that leaned his fucking elbow on my brother’s casket.” The disbelief and fury you had felt when you had seen that, his lean frame casually leaning on the highly polished wood of Colin’s casket roars to the surface again. You want to punch him in his smug face but instead you ball up the napkin that you’ve been twisting in your lap and throw it at his head.

Mike stands up from the table and tosses a twenty dollar bill on the table. “Okay, we’re done. Enjoy the table, Kevin. Mindi, my advice would be get the hell out now.”

“Dude,” Kevin throws his arms out. “What happened to bro code? Bros before hoes.”

Mike grimaces. “Exhibit A, Mindi.”

You’re humiliated and angry. You had been looking forward to this evening, excited for this new start with a charming, kind, and good man. And you’ve ruined it because Kevin decided to darken the door of this restaurant and bring out the worst of you. Mike has his phone in his hand, most likely getting ready to call an Uber and retreat from this clusterfuck. You don’t blame him at all. You’re so lost in your thoughts, berating yourself for your outburst, that it must take Mike a couple times of saying your name until you hear him.

“What?”

He smiles at you, warmly, and extends his hand that isn’t holding Bono’s leash. “Come on. I know a better place.”

You breathe a sigh of relief and take his hand before he changes his mind. His hand is warm, broad and it helps ground you in the storm of your fury. It takes a couple tugs for Shasta to follow you, as she doesn’t want to leave her new, loud and giggly, friend but eventually you, Mike, and dogs soon find yourselves back on the sidewalk.

“I’m so sorry, Mike. I had no idea-“

“Don’t worry about it. I have an ex-wife, I get it. They call it baggage for a reason.”

You sigh and drop your shoulders, the tension finally releasing as you start moving down that sidewalk back towards your car. “Thank you, for understanding.”

You walk a block and stop to wait for the light to change when he squeezes your hand. You realize you never let him go from the restaurant. You give him a small smile and he leans over and presses a quick kiss to your cheek. “I like your freckles. Don’t ever cover them.”

Oh yeah, you were completely and utterly head over heels for this man.

#mike duarte x you #mike duarte x reader #mike durate #captain mike durate #law and order svu #mike duarte x ofc #maurice compte

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amiharana · 1 year

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15, 28, 🧑‍🎨 !!!

(ask games from here and here)

i am Desperately going to try to keep all these sections shorter than i would normally write because i have to answer three things and i'm not trying to make this a graduate dissertation on revalink so HERE WE GO BESTIES

🛌 15. Going through their bedtime routine.

link's bedtime routine is pretty simple and it looks like this:

take a shower. he uses shampoo, conditioner, and body wash personalized to his hair & skin conditions that revali forcefully helped him choose. it's because he used to use that fucking. 7-in-1 body wash shit and revali was appalled when he found out

brush his teeth & hair. link feels like the type of guy who doesn't like mint chocolate ice cream because it tastes like toothpaste. revali argues with him about it all the time because what the fuck kind of toothpaste tastes like ice cream and they have to switch him to kiddie non-mint toothpaste

moisturize. link also used to not do this until revali made him. it's not like he had super dry skin before, but after he started using lotion, revali would absentmindedly rest a hand on his thigh or something and caress it because it's soft. so link kept using moisturizer LMFAO

get dressed. he only sleeps in boxers. he would actually like to sleep naked, but revali said no :[

wait in bed for revali to be done with his bedtime routine 😞 he whines the whole time about how revali is taking too long and that he's cold

wrap himself around revali like a koala when revali finally gets into bed. revali complains because he's probably got a sheet face mask on and he doesn't want it to fall off, but he's weak for link so he just lets himself get wrapped anyway. simp

sleepy time <3 link falls asleep easily if he's with revali 🥺🤍 revali is basically his safety blankie

but revali's bedtime routine... whew. revali does a slightly different thing everyday depending on what day of the week it is like he's got a hair-focus day, a face-focus day, body-focus day, etc you know what i mean? he's got a routine for every fuckin part of his body fr but here's like a general daily list

shower. actually, revali is the type of guy who does a bath and lights candles n shit, but if he's short on time, he'll do a shower. and by short on time, i mean link is whining at him from the bed to hurry up because he wants to cuddle so. revali has three different conditioners, shampoos, and body washes, and a body scrub, and all of them are from sustainable brands. he also has a couple of those pumice stones to get rid of calluses on his feet and keep them soft. he only washes his hair once a week because his hair is thick and regularly uses hair masks and protein supplements for his hair.

skincare. compared to link, revali usually does one of those 10-step korean skincare routines KJHDFKDJ he has a morning routine and a night routine, he double cleanses every other day, he exfoliates every three days, he has five different essences, dermatologist-prescribed treatments because he used to have terrible acne in his teens, and he even has a mini-fridge where he stores all of his skincare products, sheet face masks, pimple patches, etc. revali definitely got some fucked combination skin and had a lot of cystic acne in his teens, so he's very well-prepared for any skin mishaps. and it all pays off because you will not find a SINGLE blemish on this man's face. lowkey thinking about making an actual fully fleshed out morning and night time skincare routines for him.

get dressed. revali the type of guy to have matching shirt-and-pants pajama sets. the type of guy who has one of those sleeping caps AND a sleeping mask over his eyes. freak

most days, revali is probably doing a hair and/or face mask before bed for 20 mins to an hour, so he'll have a whole hair wrap in and a face mask on getting in bed with link who latches onto him immediately. link is a sleepy little guy as we all know, so of course he wants to go to sleep the moment revali gets into bed with him, but he hates it when revali moves to get up and wash out the hair mask or throw away the face sheet mask, etc. link was already warm and comfortable, why did you move!!! so they both just talk about their days or whatever to try to keep link awake until revali is done with his hair/skin treatment masks.

btw revali also taps the product into his skin and uses face rollers. the first time link sat by while revali was doing his skincare routine, revali was tapping the toner into his skin and link was like ???? Why are you hitting yourself????? and revali was like. it's for stimulation and blood circulation. and link was still like ??????? but now he really likes it when revali uses face rollers on him because it's vv relaxing

revali goes to sleep with a silk hair wrap to keep his hair moisturized. they also have silk pillowcases that revali insisted they buy because cotton dries out your hair.

and FINALLY, revali will get back into bed to let link wrap around him once more and go to sleep with the glossiest, most moisturized and perfect skin and hair ever fr

🍺 28. Link gets into a bar fight and Revali steps in to help.

(disclaimer: i've never been in a bar fight or a fight ever, so this is what i imagine it would be like LOL)

link is dodging a punch by the time revali finds him on the other side of the bar. he's got a nasty black eye, a bleeding split lip, and his gorgeous blond hair that revali had lovingly braided prior to coming here is a rat's nest on his head. his face is pulled into a snarl, brows furrowed in anger and concentration. revali sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose; no matter where they go, link is a beacon to all trouble.

by the time link's assailant is gearing up to throw his next punch, revali has already made his way to link and he pulls his boyfriend back by his elbow. link yelps in surprise, falling backwards into revali's chest, while his assailant loses his balance at the lack of a target and faceplants onto the floor. link is hot to the touch, and revali can practically feel the blood and adrenaline thrumming underneath his skin.

"'vali?" the blond says, looking back at him with wide eyes. "how did you—?"

"you aren't every difficult to find," revali replies, deadpan. "you leave a path of destruction wherever you go, and if i lose sight of you, the chances you've already gotten into trouble are incredibly high."

link winces. whether it's from an injury or guilt, revali doesn't know but he doesn't like seeing link in pain either way. "sorry."

"it can't be helped now," revali sighs resignedly, and lets link stand up on his own. he immediately misses the warmth. "let's just go home already. you look terrible." contrary to his words, revali's gaze softens and he reaches up to cradle link's cheek with a hand, brushing his thumb against the corner of his lip with a featherlight touch. link's shoulders drop, his eyes fluttering, and revali almost smiles; he loves the way link relaxes at his touch.

"no way!" shouts the assailant, who has since drunkenly struggled his way up to his own two feet again. "we're not done here! blondie's got a lot to 'pologize for!"

revali narrows his eyes at the extremely drunk man and drops his hand, stepping in front of link. "and what exactly does he have to apologize for?" he says curtly. "in fact, it should be you who should apologize for wasting my time and assaulting my boyfriend."

the man's face flushes a bright red and he grits his teeth, swaying in one spot. "how about you and your boyfriend get down on your knees and say sorry for being pathetic instead?"

revali's jaw tightens and link tries to step forward. "shut the fuck up, man—" he starts, but revali holds an arm out over link's chest, keeping his eyes on the man.

"we will do nothing of the sort," he says, his voice as sharp as the point of an arrow. then, revali takes a deep breath and suddenly throws a punch, his fist colliding hard with the man's jaw. he drops to the ground, knocked out, and a collective hush falls over the people surrounding their portion of the bar. revali gives a nod of acknowledgement to all of them.

"a good evening to the rest of you," he says, polite but terse. "we'll be taking our leave now." then, he grabs link's arm and stalks towards the entrance of the bar, the blond following after him easily.

he doesn't stop to breathe until link is safely seated and buckled in the car, and he's in the driver's seat and the doors are locked. so much for a casual night out with link.

revali turns to look at link, who is looking down at his hands in his lap. "are you alright?" he says gently. "did you sustain any other major injuries?"

"i took a couple hits to the ribs," link mumbles. "hurts a lot."

revali chews on his lip. he might have fractured a rib. "okay. does it hurt enough that we should go to the ER?"

link feels around his ribs for a moment before shaking his head. "think i'm okay, might just be bruised bad. just wanna go home now..." his voice falters and he still won't look at revali, and that hurts more than his worries about link's injuries.

"hey," revali says, trying to make his voice as soft as he can. "look at me, please?" link doesn't move. "songbird, please?" link glances at him but returns to his initial position. "little jewel?" the blond pauses before moving his head just enough that revali can see his eyes. "there we are, snowdrop. tell me what's wrong please, darling."

"nothing," link mumbles and fidgets in his seat. "just... sorry for all of that, and being an inconvenience. he was being a fucking creep to this girl and wouldn't leave her alone, and no one else was doing anything about it. so i wasn't going to just stand there and let it happen. but it escalated before i realized and we started fighting and..." link fidgets even more. "tonight wasn't supposed to go like this. i'm sorry."

revali just stares at him for a couple moments. of course link's selflessness wasn't going to allow itself to be ignored in such a moment. "it's alright, songbird," he says. "you did the right thing. i'd rather not find you beaten half to death the next time you do something like that, but i'm not mad. so can you please actually look at me?"

and this time, link complies. his eyes are bright and wide and shining blue, and revali is reminded why blue is his favorite color. he reaches over to take link by the back of his neck and presses a kiss to his forehead. "i love you," he murmurs against link's skin. "let's go home and clean you up, okay?

"okay," link whispers back. "you're not mad?"

"i'm not," revali assures him. "irritated that you were in a fight and that the guy was an arrogant shithead, but i'm not mad at you. never."

link hums. and after a second— "but if you're not mad, then why no kiss?" and taps on his mouth.

revali rolls his eyes. "i just gave you a kiss on the forehead. i'm not kissing you on the mouth right now, it's covered in blood, idiot."

link pouts. "whatever. let's go already." he sits back in his seat with his arms crossed.

revali snorts. "you can have mouth kisses when we get home and you wash up and treat your other injuries. does that sound acceptable?"

"i guess," link replies, but revali can hear a smile to his voice.

"okay," revali says, turning back to the wheel, smiling himself. "let's go home then, songbird."

🧑‍🎨 A musical artist where you drop everything to hear their latest work

it's bts. i'm purple blooded through and through y'all 🤞💜

i swear it's like a whole event for me every time there's a bts comeback or if one of the members is having solo promotions or something. keeping up with bts is so difficult bc these mfs don't know what the word "rest" means, they're always dropping new content all the time year-round 😭 i mean in comparison to other groups, armys are WELL FED, we are never starving in terms of content. but by god is it overwhelming ☝️😞

like crow is gonna beat my ass but i've watched like. five episodes of 'in the soop' season one, 10 episodes of run bts, and like. one episode of 'bon voyage' i forget which season but it's the one where they went to hawaii. LIKE I STRUGGLE SM TO KEEP UP WITH THEIR VARIETY CONTENT but if it's the music, i'm fucking there baby. except for D-DAY as of recently because i've been depressed. i will listen to it soon (tonight methinks i'll liveblog it if anyone's interested)

#revalink #loz #botw #loz botw #legend of zelda #amihan's revalinkverse #amihan's headcanons #ask #ask game #noraiir-arts #I SAID I WAS GOING TO TRY KEEPING THINGS SHORTER MISSION FAILED WE'LL GET EM NEXT TIME ☝️😭#idk if i like how 28 turned out but i hope you like it 😭#i'm starting to doubt my writing ability a little bit but it might just be bc of burnout and imposter syndrome in my academic life #need to go do some in-depth revalink analysis (read: go stalk the revalink tag on ao3 and reread pinesong a million times again)#revali and all his petnames for link made a comeback in this one i don't think i've written them in a while #need to write more established revalink for self indulgence #you guys don't get it i need revali to be completely utterly absolutely obsessed with link at all times #and link just sitting pretty and oblivious like 😃❓like a puppy

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