#I feel like a child pouting because her favorite toy is getting stolen

[notthemonthbutmarch]

I'm delusional so I'm talking about Furina losing her godhood again and why I think it's a bad call.

The only other archon to "step down" in any case is Zhongli. You could also say that Venti stepped down, but he couldn't really step down because it didn't seem like he was in charge at all.

Zhongli seemed to be in charge, an ever present god managing the nation from many different angles. He was everything a God should get, capital G. He was a great ruler, a strong protector, and a noble God.

Zhongli stepped down because he was done with that, ready to retire. He served his time, learned and experienced more than mortals could dream of and even more than his fellow Gods.

Furina has so much to learn. Something is happening to her, her curse, and she's a younger god grappling with this pedestal she's found herself on and has this prophecy on her plate that she doesn't know what she's supposed to do with.

If we look at Nahida and Ei as well, both of them are getting second chances after their shortcomings. Nahida deserves it the most, since she was shunned by her people and ignored for her whole life. Ei, meanwhile, does not deserve it. Sorry to Ei apologists (I am with you) but the Vision Hunt Decree is still her fault in my head. Her inability to step up because of her grief led to the Vision Hunt Decree, and even Scaramouche and the tragedy of his life.

Both Nahida and Ei get second chances, and Zhongli stepped down because he's already learned everything he needed to know. Then there's Venti who isn't present as a god or ruler because of his principles and his trust in his people.

Furina has so much to learn and has not gotten a second chance yet. Her stepping down would feel like such a waste and double standard. A God can steal the ambition of her people and cause so much death and despair and be redeemed but a naive, inexperienced God doesn't even get the chance to change or prove herself?

#genshin impact #genshin archons #furina #focalors #zhongli #raiden shogun #raiden ei #ei #nahida #I know the 4.2 leaks are saying she will give it up and if she does the writers better write their asses off to make me like it #I love Neuvillette but I seriously do not want to see him become the archon #he's already the hydro dragon sovereign he doesn't need this too #just give Furina a chance #I feel like a child pouting because her favorite toy is getting stolen #weird analogy but we'll role with it

[henryholmesacademia]

Predilection Chapter One

A/N: ahhhhh....I’m so nervous and excited! This isn’t my first time writing and publishing something on tumblr, but it is the first time I write for this guy. Hope you like it, and hope you stick around but please don’t feel obligated too. I don’t like doing synopsis or previews because I feel like it gives the story away, so you’ll just have to feel this one out. Enjoy! Or not, I can’t tell you how to live your life <3

beta reader, co-writer, motivator, and all around love of my life: @lost-aesthetic-of-past​ 

This isn’t a special story.

Might not even be a story at all.

But rather a telling of events that happened in a certain order and have been strung together to create a tale that could cure the boredom of the mind and indulge the land of fantasy.

We won’t start from the beginning. I’ll spare you the boring details and let you come to your own conclusions.

We’ll start our telling of tales in a humble tearoom.

The famous detective Sherlock Holmes had just finished having a somewhat futile conversation with Edith in the search for his younger sister. Come to think of it, it was not much of a conversation as much as it was a reprimanding of sorts. It might even be considered educating him on a subject he knew nothing of and needed a good slap into reality.

“You said she was traveling with a boy?” Sherlock inquired as she was making her exit from the room.

She stops at the doorway. “A useless boy, she called him. I couldn’t help but be reminded of a woman who traveled through here yesterday. We were about to close when she came in. She was wet from rain, but she didn’t seem to mind it at all.” She turns to look at him. “She said you would be here today, and it seems her assumption was correct. She told me that she would be waiting for you at 6 o'clock, Mr. Holmes, and that you had better dress nicely.”

“She left no name?” He raises an eyebrow.

Edith shrugged. “She was very certain that you would know who she was and that you would know exactly where she wanted you.”

Sherlock Holmes has always been talented at keeping his cool. Demonstrating no emotion. His face, some compared it to the likeness of a statue with how unmoved he was in situations.

This would be no different. It had been years since he had last seen the woman who was beckoning him.

And yet, she was always able to pique his curiosity.

“I see you received my message, Mr. Holmes.” Her voice was only accompanied by the sound of her heels. It had seemed that all sound in the bustle of society had come to a stop. No clinking of glass. No servers rushing passed them. It was just her. “And you dressed for the occasion.” Her eyes zero in on his attire. “I do love a man in a tie, as I’m sure you are aware." Oh, how she loved to tease him.

The detective knew basic manners, he was taught right from wrong, how to be respectful toward women, not to mention he had observed enough of the body language and cues of people. Yet, he couldn’t bring himself to stand up and pull out a chair for her.

"I thought sending you a message would better prepare you for this, but I see it made no difference.” She sets her bag on the table and sits down on her own accord. She both loved and hated etiquette. There were so many rules and guidelines to follow. However, it did work to her advantage at times. “Tell me, Mr. Holmes, what adventure are you on right at this moment?”

“When did you return from overseas?” He manages to find his voice, though he never meant to lose it.

“I’ve been told that you are looking for someone. Could it be that marquee from the papers?” She stirs the spoon of the tea that a server had set down in front of her.

“You are avoiding my question. Mycroft is not aware that you are back, is he?” He lets out a deep breath. There was never a chance of getting a straight answer from her. She only knew how to respond in teasing and quick wit. Every smile devious, and every word was calculated.

“And you are very rudely avoiding mine.” Her smile, that teasing smile of hers. “Would you like help with the case of the marquee? If you ask nicely, I’ll go with you. Finding people who don’t want to be found is a specialty of mine.” She lifts the teacup from the saucer to her mouth innocently enough, but he knew better.

“But dealing with the damage you leave in your wake isn’t?” His words stop her drink and she places the cup back on the saucer.

“What a pity.” Her face forms a small pout. “I was rather liking our game.”

“You always think of things as some kind of game. There is going to be a day when you will find not everyone wants to join in. Not everyone is a toy who is vying for your attention in hope that you will play with them.”

“I will learn that the day you learn that people are more than answers to riddles.” She challenges. “Indulge me for a moment, why did you come here? You knew it was me who sent for you. You remembered my favorite restaurant, my favorite tea, and if they did not give you this table, I will forever assume that you were the one who asked for the table that was in the farthest corner of the room.”

“You do not want Mycroft to know you are here.” He tries to gauge her reaction and steer the conversation. Like always, she gives a grin. A true Cheshire cat smile.

“No. And you forget, Mr. Holmes, nobody knows anything until I want them to know.” She gathers her purse and stands up from the chair. “Here I was, hoping that we would have a nice dinner. It’s been…” she trails off as she looks for the right word. “Refreshing to see you, Mr. Holmes.”

“Why waste your time having dinner with me?” He can’t help but ask her. Just from observing her, he remembered how she would do nothing if it did not have a motive that she would find useful.

She pauses for a moment as she considers his question and gives him a genuine smile. A rare, but beautiful sight. “Is it so hard to believe that your company might be missed?” As she walks past him, she leans down close to his ear. “As for earlier, this isn’t a game to me, Mr. Holmes. But if it was…you were always my favorite player.” She whispers and leaves him to dwell with the aroma of sugar and spice in the air.

The great detective takes to his pipe that night as he stares into the fire. If you were to see him, you would think that he would be calculating his next move or contemplating his own life. That he would be entirely concerned for the welfare of his sister or mother that has vanished into thin air.

No.

He was thinking about his encounter with that woman. Not even the one from this evening, but all the previous ones he had with her. Each one is more memorable than the last. But none shall ever haunt his memory as much as when he first met her.

He never expected such a woman of high society to be standing in the same room with Lestrade right next to a crime scene. Her voice floated melodiously through the room as he walked through the front door. The smell of spice and sugar leads him to where a woman had her back turned to him while answering the Scotland Yard inspector’s questions.

“Ah, Mr. Holmes this is-” Lestrade begins.

The woman turns to see him, the ensemble on her hat was grand and elegant, but her striking eyes that hide the mischief behind them and her smile, which seemed to match the sentiment, was not hidden or dimmed. They were…quite beautifully complemented by it, as he recalled the words his mother said to him once as a child. She extends her gloved hand. “Miss Harrison.” She finishes for Lestrade with a pearly white smile. “And you are?” She inquires.

He was shocked for a moment as her hand was extended toward him. Society would not have allowed it to happen as a young woman should never extend her hand, and she did not seem to be married. Her glove did not have an outdent from a wedding ring.

“This is Sherlock Holmes, we ask him for consultation, and he comes when he’s bothered to read a telegram from us,” Lestrade adds when Sherlock remains stoic and silent.

The corners of her mouth seemed to turn up even higher at that. “My oh my, Mr. Holmes, the papers do not do you justice.” She looks straight at his eyes when she speaks again. “Tell me, has anybody ever told you how incredibly blue your eyes are? Why, I keep finding myself stopping to admire them.”

“No, miss, I can not say that I have.” He releases her hand and clears his throat while stepping forward to examine what Lestrade had originally summoned him for a routine theft. But from what he could tell, the jewelry stolen was not the woman’s jewelry. For she seemed to not wear any. Women who could afford such jewelry never left their households without displaying a few pieces and any fortune she might have clearly was being spent and invested in their extravagant garments and perfumes.

“I apologize. He’s not - well he does tend to act like that sometimes.” Lestrade finds himself in a very awkward position at the moment.

She turns to see him examining a table, observing his side profile. “There is no need for an apology, inspector Lestrade. He’s exactly as I imagined him to be. He’ll do nicely for this case. My employer would be pleased.”

“Who is your employer again? I never caught the name.”

“Oh, I didn’t say. They would prefer it if they were not associated with what happened at all.” She pauses for a moment. “Is that any problem, Mr. Holmes?” Her voice is a little louder to get his attention.

He ignores her question.

Just as the inspector is about to apologize again, she gives him a grin. “I quite like him, Lestrade. I might just keep him on.”

And keep him she did.

Sherlock takes out her handkerchief that she had slipped into his pocket when she was whispering in his ear, embroidered with her initials and the outline of her lipstick. A color that was almost as bold as she was. He held it up to his nose and, sure enough, it was the scent of sugar and spice.

#henry cavill!sherlock holmes x reader #sherlock holmes x reader #henry cavill x reader #henryholmesacademia

[kayr0ss]

Babytalkin’

[LWA, Diakko, parenting, daughter, cute family time, fluffl, seriously I just want cute things so I will write cute things, domestic fluff, chariot... sewing? STAY AT HOME]

Summary: Parents don’t always agree on everything. For example, Diana didn’t exactly think ‘wuvy-duvy bibi booboo!’ was an effective tone of communication for their daughter, and Akko just couldn’t help it. She was so damn cute!

----

“Diana,” Akko was torn between amusement and exasperation, “she’s a baby.”

“You know there has been research on this,” Diana retorted. “Apel & Masterson, 2001; Smith & Gibbard, 2011, to name a few.”

“She’ll have time for that when she gets a little bit older,” Akko dropped her gaze towards their daughter and in exaggeratedly sweet voice chimed, “won’t you, baby?”

Sara, their first and so far only daughter, was sitting comfortably atop Diana’s stomach. The blonde witch was lounging on their couch, one arm wrapped securely around her child and the other holding up a book. She was so very tiny, with light brown hair and fiery red eyes—eyes were which were fixated on her toy rubber crow while she played with it.

The subject of ‘baby talk’ was a recurring debate between the couple. Diana—as expected—was adamant that children learned to speak earlier when ‘baby talk’ was avoided entirely. This was also a preventive measure to make sure they didn’t get used to mispronunciations and wrong grammar habits.

Akko, on the other hand, just thought their daughter was the cutest darned thing, oh my little wuvy-duvy Sawa-chan bibi booboo!

While her parents engaged themselves in another friendly debate on language register, Sara decided she was going to chew on her favorite rubber toy.

“Sara,” Diana softly hummed, “what are you doing to Alcor? I doubt that’s comfortable to him.”

Sara blinked up at her mother, pausing from her assault on the rubber toy to look up at her with those wide and wonderous eyes. Oh, dear, Diana thought to herself with resignation. Akko was hard enough to resist when she gave her that look, did Sara really have to take after her so well?

But resist she must, in the name of good parenting. She dropped her book to gently take Sara’s hand and save Mr. Rubber Alcor from her mighty, suckling, maw. Sara made a face, babbling out gibberish before pouting.

“No,” Diana replied as though in serious conversation, “he isn’t food, haven’t I told you that?”

Sara reached forward with her cute little hand to pinch Diana’s nose. She giggled again, squeaking in gibberish peppered with chuckles and laughs.

“Apology accepted,” Diana replied with a smile, and suddenly she pulled Sara closer to her so that she could blow raspberries against her belly. Sara was laughing again, and even clapping her hands together while Diana moved her assault upwards to kiss her button nose.

Akko could melt on the spot, smiling like a fool. The sight and sound of the pair of them playing was music to her ears. Sara suddenly stopped her giggles and started waving her arms, followed by another string of unintelligible babble.

“What’s that, my dear?” Diana perked up attentively, nodding and listening carefully.

What a dork, Akko thought with affection. She knelt down at the edge of the couch to be at eye-level with Sara. “What does her majesty require?” the brunette said in a dramatic and exaggerated voice. She turned to her wife, “speak, interpreter!”

“I’m thinking carrot porridge,” Diana said matter-of-factly.

“No way,” Akko laughed, “she hates carrots! Don’t you my wittle wuv wuv?”

Sara squealed in delight, arms reaching out towards Akko who happily obliged to take her. Akko looked over at her wife and tried to bite back a laugh, “are you pouting?”

“You’ve stolen her from me,” Diana said flatly. “And no—I do not pout.”

“Oh please, honey.” Akko grinned, “Sara got that sulky face she makes when we don’t let her have sweets from you.” She moved in to kiss Diana on the cheek before taking Sara away towards the dining room.

The blonde witch followed suit to make herself a cup of tea, and because she didn’t feel like having those two out of sight just yet. Akko had settled Sara into her high-chair, putting on the bib that Professor Chariot had made for her—by hand, no less! When asked about when she learned tailoring, she laughed nervously, ‘ten years of seclusion gets boring when you don’t pick up hobbies!’

“Nomnom time!” Akko announced in a sing-song voice, causing Sara to perk up.

“Eating time is what your mother meant,” Diana corrected. “And is that cucumber pudding? I believe Sara told us she’d prefer carrot.”

“Did she now?” the brunette raised an eyebrow, deciding to put Diana’s baby-deciphering skills to the test. She took out the pre-made carrot pudding.

“Isn’t that right, darling?” Diana reached down so that Sara could her hand around her pointer finger. She absolutely loved it when she did that.

Sara looked between the two jars of pudding which Akko held up, one was strikingly green and the other bright orange. She looked up at Akko and made a few noises.

“I told you, carrot.” Diana looked absolutely sure.

Then Sara began reaching for the orange jar, and Akko blinked in wonder and incredulity.

Diana started to laugh.

“No way!”

-

-fin-

-

A/N: What’s up guys have some cute shit I love cute shit. I saw a post by @dailydianakko (i think it was this one) and could NOT get the idea out of my head so now we have... this. (PS: L I F T my fellow ants)

#Diakko #Dianakko #Diana Cavendish #Akko Kagari #Atsuko Kagari #LWA #little witch academia #Luna Nova #Fluff #Cute #Domestic #Married #Baby #femmeslash #wlw #fanfic #fanfiction

[zwiezraczek]

Could I get No. 9 with Ben Hardy in BohRhap as Roger Taylor? I'm female and use the pronouns she/her. Thank you!! 😍 Ps: also really like the numbers with 1D references 😅

Don't Blame Me For Falling [Blurb]

Note: First of all I missed writing so much like aaah and thank you for this request! I hope that you like it and that I managed to do what you expected! 💕 Ps: Thank youuuu! 😘

~~~~

Roger has always been the one. You couldn't truly put your finger on it, but your heart and soul always knew that he would be there for you in every situation. And he indeed was, since the very beginning. Since the cradle and right after the kindergarten. It always made you smile when you thought about this little boy with his blonde bowl cut running all around, holding your hand and being the girls' lover, all the girls' one of course. But at the very beginning, you didn't even seem to care about the fact that he was this popular around girls, and even boys sometimes, because you were his best friend and at the end of the day you knew that you would share your lunch while sitting on the sidewalk. And these were the best memories you had of Roger and you, the sidewalk and first the cookies, then the cigarettes when you were twelve and alcohol when you were seventeen.

But mostly first and foremost he was a drummer, and probably the face of every band he was playing in, and you couldn't blame his colleagues for taking advantage of it. You didn't mind it either, or at least you thought that you didn't. Then, he had told you that his mother wanted him to become a doctor, so he started to study in order to become a dentist, still pursuing his drumming hobby, a hobby you liked very much especially when you looked at him squinting his eyes – because he absolutely refused to wear glasses, it wasn't “rock 'n roll” enough as he used to say – and focusing on every beat and every sound he was leading. And you liked watching him play, you liked how he bit his lips while hitting the drum with all his energy, radiating a sunny light behind his drum kit and being the one everybody wanted to see and not even Freddie – the new addition to Smile – could compete with his angelic look and his beautiful eyes shining bright under the spotlight.

He couldn't blame you for falling for him, him and his laugh, his smile and everything he radiated. But you could blame him for focusing more on the groupies than on the actual gigs he was doing. As much as he loved playing music and began to hate his studies, having girls around him seemed to become his favorite hobby when their group Smile that morphed into Queen became more and more famous, attracting people from the whole town in order to listen to them. You knew it was because of the music they were playing, this organic sound that seemed to come from nowhere but was to be expected from four so different people – an art major, an astrophysics one and an electrical engineer and a dentist to be – but Roger's charm was playing a huge part in their success, at least everyone in the band seemed to think so. And you couldn't let this little crush ruin everything you had with him, because you didn't want him to break your heart as he seemed to break those of the girls around him craving for attention and for a kiss on their lips. A kiss you wanted too, but a kiss you refused to ask for.

“Where's Roger,” Brian asked as you entered the backstage with a bottle of water for them all, somehow you ended up helping them during their gigs or at least to bring him some food or water from the bar they were playing in.

“Probably found another group of girls to hang around with,” you bitterly answered as you put the bottle on the table in front of the couch they all were sitting on before sitting on its armrest.

“What's wrong darling,” Freddie asked as he put his arm on your tight with a genuine smile, “you don't seem well right now.”

There was something in Freddie's eyes that made you like him from the very start, him and his open-mindedness and the fact that he didn't hesitate to befriend you, and treat you as family because he saw that you were almost family for Roger. And you looked down at him, sighing.

“You know... Roger,” you said rolling your eyes and Freddie just pat your tight a few times.

“Unbearable little blond one, I know. I still don't know how you manage to put up with him after all these years... You must be a saint darling!”

“I wish I was,” you replied with a lighter mind. “He was always around, so I worked with it.”

“You should teach us how to survive with him,” Brian jokingly said and John simply nodded and you began to laugh.

“Is this the laugh of my favorite princess,” you heard Roger's voice coming from the door and you turned around and saw his pretty still sweaty face facing you, his eyes locked on you.

“Depends if you're talking about the blonde that was around you tonight or me,” you wittily replied with a smirk.

“Oh y/n, don't be so jealous,” he teased you and put his hands on your shoulders, resting his chin on the top of your head.

“Y/n's a saint for being your friend, honestly, she is truly a saint,” Brian repeated and winked at you as you smiled.

“She understands me better than you Brian, even if you're here for a long time, she has the benefit of the time.”

“Of the cradle and the kindergarten, and I have some pictures of Roger having a bowl cut,” you added and you felt his hand becoming a bit more tense around your shoulders and his chin leaving your head.

“No way,” Freddie almost screamed, “we absolutely need to see this!”

“Don't you dare y/n” Roger said and you turned around again, looking up at him and sticking out your tongue. “You won, you absolutely deserve my pouty face, absolutely.”

“Roger has a pouty face,” John asked, breaking his silence and making Freddie laugh.

And he proceeded to not pout, but to be salty about it instead as Freddie made fun of him while drinking some water and other things that some of the staff had brought them during the night. You promised them to help them pack their things at the end, and usually you ended up helping Roger with his drum kit, and usually it took you longer than it should because of the fun you always had with his cymbals as he was telling you to stop. But this time, you stole one of his cymbals, and began to run away in every direction, like a child, like when you were both four and he tried to catch you after you had stolen his favorite toy as you were running for your life. And there you were, both in your twenties, running around a place you barely knew, you with a part of his kit, and him chasing you in order to gather his things. You were giggling, laughing, and the others knew that your games with Roger always ended well so they only smiled when they saw you passing by.

And this time, he cornered you. Technically, it wasn't the first time, knowing that he was always the one who knew better the places where they were playing than you did. Which was pretty much obvious. You faced a wall, with your cymbal, or his cymbal instead. You closed your eyes, and sighed; you couldn't hear footsteps behind you because you knew he had stopped running and was standing behind, looking at you, waiting for you to capitulate. So, you turned around, facing him instead of the wall, with a forced smile because you knew that it was the end of your journey there. You waved at him, faintly as he began to walk towards you.

“In my defense, your honor, I was just trying to learn how to play the cymbals,” you said as he approached you with a smile and your back began to touch the wall right behind you.

“With only one cymbal?”

“I call this genius.”

He sighed, with his face really close to yours, and you blamed the hotness of the place for the redness on your cheeks. You were drowning in his beautiful eyes, as you did often but now particularly you couldn't resist them. The silence between the two of you became quite peculiar, soothing but also tense with an unknown feeling. A feeling you tried to repress for a long time. His fingertips touched your cheek delicately and you looked at him, a bit taken aback.

“I’d like to kiss you,” he whispered and your eyes became wider than the sun. “Joking… Unless?”

“Unless I'm the blonde girl,” you managed to say, with your sparkling witty eyes.

“No, like for real, y/n,” he whispered with his raspy voice and you had to fight yourself to not let yourself go.

“Like for all the other girls that you kiss after gigs, am I right?”

“What can I say, I'm just an arrogant son of a bitch,” he told you jokingly and you rolled your eyes

“Your mom wouldn't be happy to hear that,” you told him and he shrugged, “and I'm not neither.”

“I want truly to kiss you, y/n,” he repeated, “I just want to know if... I can.”

“Depends if you mean it,” you replied as you were truly about to kiss him, feeling your teeth on your lower lip, “depends if it's not only a game, like the other girls.”

“You're not the other girls, you're my princess and I want to be your prince.”

He sold it all. You dropped the cymbal as you pulled him closer by the shirt, pressing your lips against his. You had always wondered what his lips tasted like, it seemed they were made of vanilla and cigarettes and they were gentler than you thought. His hands wandered on your hips, as yours made their way to the back of his head, playing with some strokes of his hair while you kissed him, passionately, lacking air from time to time, losing yourself and everything around.

He probably was an arrogant son of a bitch, but it seemed that he was your arrogant son of a bitch.

#roger taylor #ben hardy #ben!roger #blurb #bohemian rhapsody

[rosedavid]

Ooh ... Childhood toy for the Merthur prompt please

Thank you for the prompt!!! I got too carried away on this one so I posted it on AO3

Here’s the link

however, in case someone wants to read it on tumblr, I’ll post it here too :)

...

Merlin heaves up the final crateful of his stuff. He looks over the tiny, ramshackle room fondly, a smile gracing his lips. It’s strange seeing it completely bare again, just like the day he first arrived in Camelot. Things were so different back then. Merlin never would have expected to be where he is today in his wildest dreams, yet here he is moving into the King’s bedchambers not as a servant, but as a companion. Despite his happiness about officially moving in with Arthur, leaving his old room is bittersweet. So many memories were made in this little room, from trying to turn a stone dog into a real one to clumsily trying to hide his spell book when Arthur came rampaging in unannounced. With one last glance and a deep breath, Merlin closes the door for the last time.

Merlin runs into Gwen on his way to Arthur’s (or, he supposes, his and Arthur’s) chambers. She’s long been promoted as a key advisor to the King, a position well deserved. Her affections have been stolen by Lancelot once again, and the two have been courting for quite some time. It’s obvious to everyone how besotted they are for each other.

“Finished moving in yet?” Gwen asks.

“Last crate,” Merlin responds. “Shouldn’t you still be in the council meeting?”

“Shouldn’t you?”

Technically, Merlin is supposed to be at the meeting. As Court Sorcerer, attending all meetings and royal functions is in his job descriptions. However, he skives off enough so that when a meeting is particularly boring, Arthur doesn’t even nag him into going realizing it’s a futile effort. Not to mention, today’s meeting was supposed to be especially dull. Arthur constantly reprimands him about his complaints, saying that “All meetings are equally important to the King.” Of course, they both know that’s not true, especially when Arthur continuously sends looks at Merlin throughout the meeting.

“Well, you know me,” Merlin shrugs. “But I actually have permission from the Royal Prat today. I’ve been so busy recently with these new magic laws that I’ve hardly had time for a break, let alone to move all my things into Arthur’s chambers.”

“Are you nervous?”

A few months ago, Merlin may have said yes. Despite him and Arthur being as close as they were for so long, a romantic relationship brought with it a lot more awkwardness and learning than either of them expected. It took some trial and error before they got back into a rhythm again and felt completely comfortable around each other. Now, though, Merlin can safely say that he’s not nervous about moving in with Arthur officially. It just feels…right.

“No, I’m not,” Merlin replies. “Although, I’m not looking forward to Arthur’s inevitable complaints about my stuff sharing his space.”

Gwen stifles a laugh. “He’ll get used to it, but he’ll never stop complaining.”

“Exactly. But you still haven’t answered my question. Did you leave because the council meeting is over?”

“Just about. I made an excuse of having a headache, which was about to be true if I stayed in there for any longer.”

“I bet Lancelot tried to carry you down to Gaius himself,” Merlin teases.

“I had to swear to him that I would go straight there multiple times before he let me out of his sight.”

They laugh together. Merlin adjusts his grip on the crate as it begins to slip out of his arms.

“Oh! I’m sorry. I totally forgot that you were still carrying that.”

“I’m strong Gwen, remember?” Merlin jokes. “Don’t worry about it. I always like talking to you. We need to catch up soon.”

“I’ll hold you to that.”

They part ways. Merlin finishes his trek, a trek that he’s taken so many times before. Still, this time feels different. This time, he’s entering his room as well. He doesn’t have to worry about knocking or barging in unexpectedly (not that he ever worried about that before). Merlin kicks open the door with his foot, nodding at the guard that’s stationed outside.

He drops the crate with a thud next to the bed and looks around. Arthur’s chambers don’t look much different even with Merlin moved in. Merlin never had much stuff to begin with. In fact, most of his things came from Arthur eventually. A new wardrobe, nicer blankets and pillows, and even a magic book he came across while traveling. Still, his stuff is nothing compared to the grandeur of Arthur’s possessions. Of course, it doesn’t bother Merlin. He has everything he needs as long as they’re together.

Merlin finishes unpacking the crate, storing some books away and folding some cloaks. Then, suddenly, that’s it; he’s all moved in. He lives with Arthur. He gets to go to sleep and wake up every morning at Arthur’s side. They can eat breakfast together without Merlin having to walk across the castle and meet him every morning.

The door opens behind him. He turns and sees Arthur dressed regally, cape flowing behind him. He looks brave and fearless and powerful, as any King should. When he looks at Merlin, though, his expression melts into one of softness and adoration.

“Is that the last of it?” Arthur asks.

“Yup. I’m officially moved in! You’re stuck with me,” Merlin says, poking his side.

“Hmm,” Arthur contemplates. “Are you sure it’s too late?”

“Too late.”

“Well, then, I guess I’ll just have to make the most of it.”

With that, Arthur swoops in and kisses Merlin. A gloved hand cups Merlin’s face, while Arthur’s other hand sneaks down to the dip in his spine, tracing over it. Merlin’s hands fly up to Arthur’s hair, knotting his fingers in the tresses. Arthur’s mouth tastes like the watered down wine the castle staff serves during most meetings. Soon, Arthur starts backing Merlin toward the bed, and Merlin giggles when the back of his knees hit the frame. Arthur starts trailing kisses down his neck, just about to push Merlin down onto the bed when he suddenly stops, staring at something behind Merlin.

“Arthur? What’s wrong?”

“What is that thing?” Arthur asks incredulously, pointing toward their bed.  Merlin cranes his neck behind him to see what Arthur is pointing at.

It’s Merlin’s stuffed bear. Beary, to be precise. Merlin has had him since he was a baby. According to his mum, the stuffed bear was always Merlin’s favorite toy. He remembers toting it around with him everywhere, especially before he met Will. It was a comfort object, something to keep him company when he felt most lonely. It helped him through a lot of dark times. Many nights, he remembers crying himself to sleep after being constantly rejected by the rest of the village. He would hold the bear tight to his chest all night long, refusing to let go. Now, it’s more of a comfort just to have it near. He brought it to Camelot with hardly any hesitation, as it was something familiar in a completely new place. He’s never thought to get rid of it, despite it being completely worn down and falling apart He’s had to resew Beary numerous times, yet the stuffing inside of him always seems to come out, and the button eyes always seem to be missing.

“That’s Beary, my childhood toy,” Merlin says simply.

“And why pray tell is it on our bed?”

“He is on our bed because he that’s where he belongs.”

Arthur stares at him. “You’re kidding, right? Why do you even have that thing, anyway?”

“He was my favorite toy when I was a child, Arthur,” Merlin explains, picking Beary up gently. “He always brought me comfort when I most needed it. I don’t know if you knew this, but I didn’t really have friends growing up besides Will. I was pretty much ostracized from the rest of the village. I guess you could say he was a friend of sorts.”

“And you brought him to Camelot.”

Merlin shrugs. “He still brings me comfort, when I look of him, and he reminds me of Ealdor and my mum. Plenty of people still have their childhood toys.”

“Girls, maybe.”

“Hey! Toys are for everyone. Didn’t you have a favorite toy when you were little?”

Merlin sits down on the bed and puts his bear back in the center against the pillows. Arthur sits down next to Merlin, so close that their shoulders and thighs touch.

“I did have a toy sword,” Arthur muses. “Father wanted me to start training to be a knight as early as possible.”

Merlin’s eyebrow furrows. “You didn’t have any stuffed animals? Or blocks? Or puppets?”

“I had books on Camelot and royal etiquette.”

Suddenly, Merlin feels a bit guilty. Although he knows Arthur’s life has been anything but easy, oftentimes he forgets some of the struggles he’s had to deal with. Merlin’s childhood was nothing to boast about, but he was relatively happy. He had his mother by his side, a loving and caring figure. He had his needs taken care of, as well as they could be for a peasant. He eventually came to have Will, his best friend. Back then, Merlin knew nothing about his destiny. Arthur, on the other hand, has known about his destiny to become King since the day he was born. And Uther was anything but a sweet, loving father. Arthur has told him stories before about leading raids as a teenager, killing while he himself was still a boy. Yet somehow, Merlin never considered that he didn’t ever have a childhood even though it makes sense.

“Well, since you’re sharing your chambers with me, I can share Beary,” Merlin offers with a grin.

“I’ll pass,” Arthur says dryly.

“Come on! He’ll be your beary best friend!”

“You’re ridiculous,” Arthur laughs.

“I’m sorry, Arthur, but Beary and I are a package deal. You can’t have one without the other.”

Arthur suddenly tackles Merlin against the bed, playfighting with him as they laugh. It doesn’t take long for them to eventually tire, though, leaving Arthur to collapse beside Merlin as they lean up against the pillows.

“I think the bear is more appealing at this point,” Arthur jokes.

Merlin mock frowns, reaching over Arthur to pick Beary back up. He nuzzles the bear’s face against Arthur’s neck, pouting at Arthur’s previous expression.

“Well I think you’re unbearable,” Merlin huffs, unable to keep a straight face for long. Arthur snorts, grinning with him.

Beary is then taken carefully from his hands and brought under Arthur’s scrutinizing gaze. “Why in the world would you name him Beary? That’s the worst possible name I could think of!”

“I can think of one worse name.”

“You’re just so funny, Merlin.”

Arthur then takes the bear in his hands and places it face down on his nightstand. He pulls Merlin’s body flush against his own. Thankfully, Arthur has forgone his armor for the afternoon, making it much more comfortable.

“Why did you do that?” Merlin asks, referring to his bear.

“Because I don’t want him to see this next part,” Arthur grins, causing Merlin to blush. He joins lips with Merlin again breathily, but Merlin pulls back before they can do much else.

“Does that mean Beary can stay?” Merlin asks smugly.

Arthur rolls his eyes, but it’s followed with a smile.

#merthur #merthur fanfic #merlin #bbc merlin #merthur fanfiction #fanfiction #merlin bbc #fluff

[currentfandomkick]

Why Marinette Hates Tim

Marinette blames Tim next summer for all that happened. Why? He cursed her with a vague theory. And Max and her Both know give her a clue and she has to follow it to solve the puzzle—a fatal flaw for her, Puzzler, Hero Stalker (Tim), Riddler and her father, Professor Strange (even if he is using an alias and supposedly dead as far as legal documents go).

Hero Staker Tim swore he’d become Robin if the current one left. It was a joke between them, she thought. Then he vanished the next summer, the first one where there wasnt any Robin mentioned anywhere. It was eery.

Then, then Timothy Drake, heir to some company-who looks a lot like her Hero Stalker—is a Wayne. And there’s a new Robin. This... deeply bothers Marinette. Why? New Robin seeks her out and talks a lot like Hero Stalker. And has a too similar movement pattern and tells.

And wasnt Hero Stalker Tim from a rich but high on neglient at best family? Didnt that happen to Timothy Drake before ending up as a Wayne?

Her that puzzle peice was central to figuring this out and goddamnit. Frost, who hates gossip, told her to just look up the rich families with kids Hero Stalker’s age and see who looked like him and to leave from to his lab and antidotes already.

Frost accidently gave her the vital method to see if Hero Stalker was that dumb to be become Robin after Robin the Second (Jason) was brutally murdered. The answer was yes.

And now Marinette had a crisis. She knew Batman’s identity was Bruce Wayne. How? Tim calls Bruce his dad. New Robin slipped and called him dad. And Tim is New Robin since Tim is Hero Stalker and no one else came close to looking like Hero Stalker from the data pool which involved more hacking than she ever thought she would do.

Marinette, a child, figured out who Batman was by age 9 becuase his new Robin/former Stalker was too obviously himself. She is embarrassed on his behalf, and honestly debates asking Riddler to separate him and Bats in a non-lethal puzzle trap just to lecture him. Becuase what the fuck Hero Stalker! If she can figure it out, then everyone else can too! Probably(?) likely. Either way its bad!

She doesnt though... Riddler puts together she’s concerned for the new Robin, traps Bats in a different puzzle maze from Robin, who is stuck with a grounded Marinette. Why was she grounded, easy. She got caught returning stolen jewlry on camera. It was punishment for failing basic stealth—always take out any witness.

And instead of pointing out she knows who Bats is, she tells him to work on a different persona since ‘i made you weeks ago. Its pretending to be someone you’re not completely is all. I have to do that around Maman and Papa all the time, and whenever i go out with anyone really. Up your secret identity game already!’

Riddler is busy with Bats and didnt do cameras. Why? “Im not redesiging a perfectly good grounding maze every time. They take time and i dint always have it. Its time economics Batman. I dont know what our lovely Princess said or did to your Robin. He’s fine though, see? No major injuries.”

Tim relized Marinette knew Hero Stalker was batman’s new Robin. This meant one thing—he could still help her and the RKC now! Why? He knew even if they made him out, they want to help people and never be like their parents, duh. And if they added to his budding information network with incredibly accurate information so long as he didnt rat them out to Batman, its fine.

Afterall, Pixie Pop wants to help poeple and is working the rouges into vigilantes to help more than hurt, and is doing a great job of it for the most part. So if Pixie Pop is Princess who’s the maybe kryptonian and her powers align with that theory, so what? Superman has an heir already and a bio!son too, apparently. Lois didnt tell him since they werent together then and yeah. So really, Superman didnt need another kid, and Pixie Pop didnt want another dad—“i have Papa and Father and now four of my friends’ dads in Paris called dibs on partial custody. I have more dads than i need for a quartet. That is far too many dads and i refuse to get another one!”

Then Marinette is talking to Alix and finds out about an old director at the Lourve her dad knew, Diana Prince. Marinette was working on a Wonder Woman inspired outfit, and knew her history of Wonder Woman thank you. Its just...

Wonder Woman appeared just after Miss Prince Left. And from the videos Alix sent of her new hero, she was terrifyingly similar to Wonder Woman. Not only did they look alike and have the same hair style preference, it was the same face if she did facial recognition with Markov, her robot son with Max. Then there was gait, generao stances and how she interacted with men and women so differently as both people and damnit. Same person.

She curses Hero Staker Tim for this. She now has to hide two hero identities. Why her?

The third was debatably Ivy and Harley’s fault, but defiantely still Tim’s. Why? He was the one that got her hooked on Barry Allen’s cases, and pointing out that he didnt see meta as bad or evil but as people who can be good or be civilians peacefully. That, she needed that with how much vitrol she had to swallow about her powers indirectly from everywhere but her school and some parts of Gotham.

In her defense, she is a nerd here. A nerd. So realizing the The Flash is also the forensics guy from Central City that she kinda follows on all her social medias, watches the cases of unfold, and knows has a reputation for being late a lot like her but is still well liked. So she may fangirl about his cases with Hero Stalker erm. Tim now, still.

And if one day she managed to pout at her father enough to get him to agree to let her go with Harley and Ivy to Central City for a few days to see the meta museum they just opened up (technically the Flash Museum, but Marinette didn’t care. It was focused on metas not being horrible and that meant a lot to her scared, meta closeted butt).

And then her favorite forensic investigator, The Barry Allen, shows up? Best day ever. He’s nice! And concerned about how much of his cases she knows. Its not her fault this time though! Hero Stalker—Tim—sent her a case of his that went cold and she liked his science and yeah. New hero added to her listpersonal heroes list.

Harley isn’t even mad, just amused as Marinette fangirls over someone that isnt her and Barry has no clue how to respond as a tiny child know him as Barry Allen and thinks he’s awesome? Why?? He is happy but so confused and Iris is dying until Marinette cites cases that she shouldnt know about and tiny child why, how, when and where did you get that information!

The only answer is a friend likes cold cases and has no qualms hacking to find interesting ones, if he’s stumped then Marinette (Jill Smith mr. allen sir!) gets to try. And she is good at it since she can ask an officer in France (officer Raincomprix) about logistical things, common error margins and then puzzle it all out herself from there.

Somewhere she mentions absently that her mom doesnt like her science-y side since her dad was a bad person and liked science but she still likes learning and helping, even if the family buisness is food and service and they want her to either take over or become a designer. She’s thinking maybe for people woth disabilites so she can do more mental work and toy with hiw things bend and move and such.

Iris and Barry are ConcernedTM and debating how to get custody, or get her away from her mom or both. Probably both—no science allowed for a clear science obssessed kid is a red flag for bith of them that somethinf is very wrong. Harley and Ivy wave it off as “trust us, her mom aint budging.”

then the Flash is needed because of some gorilla—Marinette was more focused on an outfit on display and muttering over aerodynamics and friction. Barry is Concerned (smart kid, likes helping, potentially a league ally?) before he bolts, determined to get more on her when he returns and possibly see if he can get cps involved.

Marinette only notices that her hero moving so fast and oh god she did it again damnit! That was superspeed. And only one speedster had similiar measurements, the Flash.

She cant even tell Hero Stalker now because he’s Robin and the Justice League would Flip if they knew she knew 3 of their hero’s identities. She just hit her head and said “i did it again!” Harley pats her head while Marinette burrows into her because why is she a danger to the Justice League and secret identities! She doesnt want to be or to know damnit!

Tim sneezes in the distance and wonders who’s talking about him behind his back this time. He messages batgirl about this bad feeling he has and she laughs it off as the boy developing Batman’s paranoia.

Her Fourth solve was Green Arrow. It was an accident! She swears. She just saw oliver queen with a bow and arrow in a video shooting. and noticed he had a very distinct and familiar style to someone but not who. Then compared it to various archers as her brain was nagging. Then saw a green arrow video and cursed herself again then Tim five more times.

She sent a message to Rose asking why she’s a danger to all secret identities. Rose tells her it is her curse for being too damn smart and not leaving things alone.

Marinette tries reallly hard not to figure out the next one. But really, it should have been an earlier solve and she’s mad at herself for missing it for so long, even if it was more aviodance than denial.

Admittedly this one should have been an earlier solve, but she was very little when she found out about the surgery and everything and it was uncomfortable damnit! So she did what any reasonable child would. Ignore it. Then she went over the file to see if maybe she could possibly target parts of the kyptonian DNA in her to weaken it. And saw who the intended donor was, Clark Kent, a reporter that has impossible luck with big hero scoops, is never injured or rescued, and never been sick. He also looks like... one quick photoshop of his glasses onto superman with a clothing change and she sees her usual disguise technique on goddamn superman. She is overwhelmed with this as ‘oh god superman will kidnap me if he finds out!’ And hides from him whenever he’s in the region—be it France or Gotham.

Her friends think its hilarious, Marinette feels sick from it. She doesnt like this and is genuinely scared for her life and family’s safety now. And we all know how nervous marinettes are.

If at one point batman tried to talk to her on patrol and somewhat suceeded. As in, she spoke beofre bolting.

“I didnt figure out who boyscout and amazon and boltbrain and arrowhead are! Or you and the batfam! Bye!!!!” Yes, clearly Marinette can lie very well.

Batman sees through it and feels sick. He forces a league meeting asap and fills them in.

“this kid put five of our identities together and cant even lie. We need to recruit them.”

“Batman, is this that kid KF mentioned to me?”

Batman nodded. Flash sighed. “Okay. We are on a manhunt for a kid kyptonian that is terrified of all of us, very smart, and may have an active gotham villain as a parent. And somehow knows me and—wait. bats, do you have any pics of your rogues in civilian clothing? I need to test a theory...”

A few minutes later and “oh my god that little kid i met as a civilian figured me out!”

A few days later Flash finds her by acccident as a civilian kid in broad daylight on her own in Central. He doesnt show he knows she knows, And finds out she’s waiting for her babysitter to finish a class.

Flash just asks about a case he put together as Barry Allen that she might know about and...

“Uh, mr. Flash? Why are you asking me? The lead florensics was Barry Allen.”

He tries insulting Barry Allen—he’s late and sloppy and—

only for Marinette to defend him to the death. “He’s late because he stays up late working on other cases. Appearances and organizational skills arent what matters with his expertise mr. flash! He even foghts for metas to have their circumstances and powers impact on them considered dueing sentencing!”

Flash is very touched and shocked. only then he manages to get out of her that where she lives (france) being meta is a life sentence to “a living zombie And jail-time for being born a lot, even if it is t in normal prisons. And you know what? Mr. Allen stated so many times that you need to contextualize powers and abilities and intent in his testimonies for meta cases. Back home youre put in prison for defending yourself...” she tugs at her sleeve here.

“Maman screamed at me when she found out a few kids were getting stalked and i helped out and someone got it on tape. Not becuase my powers showed or anything—father made a treatment so they dont, well, they stay off when i use them and follow all the behavior and environmental rules so they cant put me in one of the centers. But she, she’s stills cared someone will try to check me for abilities back in France, and that she’ll lose me. She doesnt always realize i have them until things like that happen...”

Flash is desperately trying not to adopt her. Wally would love a little sister, and Superman has enoguh kids, Bats does too. he is oreventing arrow form having another one as she’s powered and that isnt a good when working with Green Arrow unless the meta is his girlfriend. And the girl loves science—come on!

batman, Green Arrow, Wonder Woman and Superman heard the Feance bit over comms and suddenly it hit them that the kid could be in danger for existing and that an entire country villified being meta to an extreme. That the girl is in hiding and probably using an alias constantly. Batman mentally adopted her ages ago and is now in Worried Dad mode like Flash and apparently Superman was falling into it too. Wonder Woman is in righteous rage mode and ready to fight france herself if she has to—no imprisoning metas for being metas!

Flash decided to be direct since he knew she trusted him as Mr. Allen and knows he’s Flash.“So, am i allowed to know which powers you have?”

Marinette shook her head, visbily distressed and floating skightly. “If, if they ever find out i cant. I cant risk Maman and Papa and Father. I dont know everything but Father only started being a good person after the, the incident where he had to go into witness protection. Maman is dead as far as a lot of people are concerned, or she never existed. Papa doesnt know about any of it. I cant. I cant risk what they worked for by being outted.”

Flash is very concerned. “Thats a lot of pressure to put in yourself, especially at your age.”

marinette didnt make eye contact then. “I have to. If i dont people can connect dots and dashes and blips. Father says its easy for him too and that possibilities are just what we’re both hardwired for but. But i shouldn’t catch as many as i do—my teachers keep saying i need to dial it back and stop catching on so fast and blurting it all out but, i just...” marientte is visibly drowning under the pressure to act not-meta and keep her family safe.

“Sounds like youre a real smart kid.”

“Smart kids dont get caught.” She meant herself with her jewlry returns, Flash thought she meant the JL, and tried to redirect the conversation.

If the JL was out then...

“If you cant tell me, can you at least tell me you have someone to talk to about these things?”

“Auntie Quinn and Rose. Rose doesnt like you guys though.”

Flash laughed a little at that. “Alright, fair enough. Who made her mad? Was it arrow?”

“Batman.” Marinette frowning as she said the enxt bit. “Something about her being given to someone that should never be allowed bear children? She rants a lot so i cant always keep up.”

Batman internally bangs his head against a table. Outwardly, he says “Ivy’s daughter, rose. That girl, she’s the Princess.”

The assemebled winced. They all pushed for Rose to be sent toback to her mother, Ivy, since they didnt trust her with any available mentor and Ivy was usually a low ranking Gotham eco-terrorist pacified by wayne gardens and green initiatives. Apprently Rose has a lot of sway over the Princess too.

Marinette changes the conversation while. Waiting for her babysitter, Ghoul, to leave class. She needs a distraction from her situation that the Flash was willing to give her.

“Can i look at the case again? Something doesnt add up... there! See? Its close to the Speedsters that leave marks at those angles but only if they really mess with the speed force and the spacetime continuum! But theres no evidence of that, its a lightning meta, Possibly using it to teleport since no one came in or out on camera. Its a slight angle and all but...”

Flash decides Marinette will join the Justice League one day or so help him! He also decides to target france’s anti-meta policies and possibly kidnap Marinette.

The League isnt letting him. But he has a fan of Barry Allen who is handling Gotham’s criminals and beign given slack by them... albeit also raised by in-part. But the girl has a strong moral compass that is a lot like most of League’s so.

He’s fighting Bats for custody on principle. His fangirl, he has dibs!

Dont know why it ended up with Flash becoming a ‘Marinette is my daughter now’ person but why not? Wally would like her as a sister, probably.

Marinette blames all of this and the future consequences on Tim. She hates her vanishing freind for this.

#maribat #bio!dad au #bio!dad strange #marinette strange dupain cheng #accidental secret identity solves #my au #my ideas #justice league is trying to get mari and there will be a custody battle #not just between heroes and rogues #but each other becuase yep. too many claims #wait until she gets tikki and diana throws her hat into the mentor ring

[irrelevantwriter]

Mommy’s pregnant, Daddy’s sick, and Who’s in the basement?

Pairing: Negan x OFC, Non-apocalyptic AU

Rating: Explicit, NSFW, Mostly fluff

Warnings: Language, tiny bit of Daddy kink, pregnancy, vaginal fingering, hungover Negan, domestic Negan, lots of fluff

Word Count: 4.6K

Summary: Camilla is expecting. Negan is in rare form. And someone decides to show up unannounced.

A/N: Hey guys! This idea would not let me be and I’m not entirely sure why because there is literally nothing to it. I have a writing challenge piece to finish and I could not even touch it without getting this all down. Its fluffy with a dash of smut and hopefully now that it’s out I can get back to more important matters. Read, comment, and re-blog! Hope you all enjoy!

Masterlist in bio. 

***

Camilla stirred from sleep as a heavy arm tightened around her stomach. The heat radiating off the prone form made her pull away in displeasure. A low groan sounded from behind her, but no movement followed. She smiled softly at the action and went to fall back asleep but a distinct urge to use the bathroom had her throwing the comforter off her body.

Bleary eyes settled on the clock sitting on her nightstand.

8:15 am

It was early for a Sunday morning, but she knew she wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep. She padded on bare feet to the bathroom, careful not to wake her slumbering husband. She quickly used the facilities as quietly as possible, briefly noting that her once favorite night shirt was now starting to become tighter around her six month pregnant belly. The shirt actually belonged to her husband, but she’d stolen it years ago and cut the collar out so that it dangled off one shoulder. There was a time it nearly swallowed her, but now, like much of her wardrobe, the article of clothing was being invaded by her unborn child.

She made her way to the kitchen, laughing noiselessly at the man who lay sprawled on his stomach in just his boxers on their bed. The clothes he’d worn last night sat in a messy pile on the floor. It looked as if he’d barely gotten his pants off before he was diving face first into the king sized mattress. His head was turned towards her and she could hear his heavy breaths with random bouts of snoring filling the room. She could swear she saw a small line of drool leave his puckered lips.

Negan had come to bed early in the morning. She’d been jostled awake by his drunken striptease. He almost looked like Woody from Toy Story; his long limbs a hinderance in his altered state. When she’d turned to face him, she could instantly tell he’d been intoxicated. A lazy smirk had adorned his mouth. His cheeks were red with warmth and alcohol, his hair mused from his hands running through it. When he realized he’d woken her up he immediately tried to coax her into a two AM romp…she shut it down, though it was hard for her to do. She was six months pregnant and her hormones were running rampant inside of her body, but she couldn’t stomach the smell of whiskey on his breath or the scent of cigar smoke that clung to his skin. Not to mention the bastard had passed out when he’d been edging a thick finger past her panties.

Camilla scoffed at the memory as she put on a pot of coffee for her most likely hungover spouse. She started on breakfast, knowing Negan would be hungry when he woke. He was the kind of hungover person that needed to eat as much greasy food as possible to cure the sickness. She was more of a water and broth kind of gal when she was nursing a killer hangover, but to each his own. Greasy food just also happened to be what her baby boy was craving that morning, so she happily obliged.

The night before, Negan had hosted his weekly poker night with a few of his friends. The guys gathered in their finished basement, or as Negan liked to call it: ‘Big Daddy Dick’s Dwelling’. It was a heinous name, but anyone who knew Negan knew that it fit his personality (and from personal experience she knew the words to be true). And despite the constant threatening, none of his friends addressed it by the official name. She’d made a comment about changing the name when the baby arrived, but Negan assured her he’d only refer to it as ‘The Dwelling’. The man was persistent.

The smell of cooking bacon and coffee started to penetrate the air and Camilla could feel her mouth start to salivate. Her hunger never seemed to be satiated lately, in the kitchen or bedroom. She whisked eggs together for herself, but set two aside for Negan since he liked his over-easy. Hash browns sizzled in a pan next to the bacon while two pieces of toast popped from the toaster. She hummed to the radio she’d turned on as she cooked, focused on her mission of feeding her family.

Nearly an hour later a muffled moan from down the hall made her smirk as she cracked Negan’s eggs into the pan. She could hear his heavy feet shuffling as he made his way to her. A pair of thick arms encircled her from behind, large hands coming to rest on her stomach. His chin settled onto her shoulder, his scruff pricking her skin in a familiar manner.

“The dead has risen.” She teased, avoiding the pops of grease from the hot pan below her. He hummed against her, the action making his chest vibrate against her back.

“Fucking barely.” He groaned, his voice still gravelly from sleep and the cigars smoked the night before. It made a shiver travel up her spine. The effect the man had on her seem to triple in size now that she was carrying his child.

She laughed, remembering his actions the night before. Negan didn’t make it a habit of getting drunk. It was a fairly rare occurrence and now Camilla was annoyed with herself that she hadn’t thought to at least record the spectacle on her phone. The video could’ve been a source of real entertainment for her, as well as blackmail.

“At least you had the forethought to shower before you came to find me. You reeked last night.”

He leaned into her as he moved her dark hair to one side, molding their bodies tighter together as he planted a kiss on her exposed shoulder. “I’m sorry, baby. I know how sensitive you get to smells now.” He rubbed her stomach affectionately and she could hear the real apology in his voice.

Since the day she’d found out she was pregnant, Negan had been amazingly supportive of all her pregnancy ailments. He rolled with the punches and accommodated to a lot of things in the early months. She’d had morning sickness for weeks and he’d instantly stocked the fridge with ginger ale. When the smell of cooking beef became too much, he’d stopped buying and cooking the meat until the aversion wore off. She knew how hard that was for him. Negan was a steak man. But he understood she was carrying his child and he was going to make her as comfortable as possible. His words, not hers.

“It’s not so bad anymore. Although we’ll need to wash the sheets. I think whiskey was spewing out of your pores this morning.” She laughed as he released another groan, his large frame cocooning against her as she continued to cook.

“Don’t say whiskey.” He muttered gruffly.

Camilla moved his now cooked eggs to a plate and turned off all the burners. She turned in his arms, her own coming to rest around his neck. The only way she could reach was because he was hunched so far down. His face was a little off in color, but for the most part he appeared relatively normal, save for the miserable look reflecting in his eyes.

“Coffee?”

He nodded and she moved to pour a cup, dressing it the way he liked. Two sugars. No milk or cream. She handed the mug to him and watched as he took a sip, his eyes closing in pleasure.

“Thank you, baby.”

The raspy quality of his voice was doing things to her and she was fighting hard against the urge to let him take her over the counter.

She moved to stand in front of him again, craning her neck upward to meet his gaze. “Did you at least win last night?” She asked, an eyebrow arched in question.

“Fuck no. Rick and Ezekiel cleaned everybody out.” Negan pouted, his hands setting the cup of coffee behind her and coming to rest dangerously low on her back.

She tutted disapprovingly up at him, shaking her head in mock condemnation. “Momma doesn’t like losers.” She provoked, arms encircling his neck once again.

His eyebrows shot up and that gleam she loved so much appeared in his hazel eyes. “Will Momma let me make it up to her?” He asked huskily, his mouth already descending to the bare flesh of her neck.

Camilla allowed him access, unable to fight against the strong attraction her vagina was currently experiencing towards him. He’d come into the kitchen wearing a clean white t-shirt and low-hanging grey sweatpants. He may feel miserable, but he was oozing sex and her hormones were picking up on it.

“Maybe.” She finally breathed out, her heartbeat pounding in her ears as Negan continued to lather her neck with sensual kisses. His hands slid to her ass, pushing her into him gently. She could feel the situation fast-approaching the point of no return and she begrudgingly pulled away.

“Hungry?” She asked, hoping to diffuse the tension. Her question only fueled it. 

“Fucking starving.” Negan replied with a lavish lick of his lips, his eyes feasting on her body from top to bottom. The man had a way of making her feel completely naked while fully clothed. It was a real talent.

His hands went to pull her to his lips but she put a hand to his chest to stop him. “I made you breakfast.” She gestured to the food behind her and watched as his eyes took in the feast.

“You’re too fucking good to me, baby…” He trailed off as he kissed her. The kiss represented a different type of desire than the one that’d been present moments before. The kiss was sweet and filled with pure love. It was a thank you; a token of appreciation.

Camilla was breathless once they pulled apart, her fists tangled in the fabric of his shirt. She looked up at him between her lashes and she knew she looked completely dumbstruck.

“God, you are fucking gorgeous.” He whispered with an air of awe. The sincerity and seriousness of his tone made her blush, something she didn’t think she was capable of anymore since being married to Negan.

“You know,” She started, hands caressing the salt and pepper scruffiness that adorned his cheek. “This is exactly how I got pregnant. You flattering me and me letting you ravage me all over this house.”

He chuckled at her words. “I’m a man of many talents.”

“Except at winning poker.” She quipped with a smirk, enjoying his reaction. His eyebrow rose in amusement and surprise, his tongue poking into the side of his cheek.

“You’re full of jokes today, aren’t you?” He didn’t give her a chance to reply before he was hovering dangerously close to her lips. “I guess I still got some making up to do with Momma so I’ll let it slide.”

She smiled up at him, feeling his hands start to pull at the shirt she wore. His calloused hands felt delicious against her skin as he caressed her thighs. Again the situation was veering off course, but she was tired of fighting it. If she wanted to fuck her husband multiple times a day and accomplish nothing else, then she was fucking going to. He’d just have to adjust and keep up, you know, for the baby.

“Seeing you carrying my kid has made me the horniest son of a bitch.” He mumbled against her neck. Camilla moaned, her body receiving his attention willingly; nearly begging for it. It was as if he hadn’t just fucked her into oblivion the day before, which he had.

“Carrying your kid has made me the horniest son of a bitch.” She retorted breathlessly. Her hands moved under the fabric of his shirt, eager to feel bare flesh. He was solid where she was soft. He was hard edges where she was delicate curves. They complimented each other and yet, in many ways they were the same.

“Filthy fucking mouth on you…” He teasingly chastised, catching her earlobe between his teeth.

“You love it.”

He thrust his hips into her, letting her feel how true her words were. She hitched her leg around his waist, eager to feel the friction. He aided her movements by holding her against him and rutting into her.

“Fuck…” She trailed off, her sensitive body already building to that familiar crescendo. Negan loved how easily responsive her body had gotten during pregnancy and he often liked to test that by making her cum multiple times. It was fun for everyone.

A thick finger eased under the waistband of her panties, reminding her of his unfinished task the night before. She gripped his wrist and placed his finger at her entrance, her hips rocking forward to take him in.

“Impatient?” He goaded. Even in his hungover state, Negan made sure he tortured her. He got off on seeing her in such a blissed out state. She felt much the same where it concerned him, but patience was not a virtue for her as of late.

Camilla sighed in frustration as he traced her flesh, unwilling to go deeper and give her what she so desperately craved.

“Negan-,” She whined, unashamed of her attitude. He knew what he was doing. 

“I love how fucking wet you get for me.” He growled as he relented and pushed past her lips to massage her soaked walls. A moan flew from her lips, loud and almost comically enthusiastic.

Her nails dug into the skin of his back as he worked her over the way she liked. Since being pregnant, she found that the need for foreplay was useless and she much preferred Negan to go hard and fast. She craved the finish without extra theatrics. And Negan being Negan, happily obliged his darling wife.

A sudden low groan and shuffling of footsteps penetrated through Camilla’s lust-fueled fog. She tried hard to concentrate on the sounds, thinking she’d made a mistake. Negan seemed none the wiser, his fingers still fucking her with ridiculous precision. Her eyes searched beyond his shoulders for the source and she caught a shadow walking towards the kitchen. She yelped and pushed at Negan’s shoulders, trying to alert him to their intruder.

“Holy shit…”

It was another groan, as if someone was in pain. Camilla realized she knew that voice and before she could pull Negan’s hand from her underwear, Simon was standing at the entryway. His clothes were rumpled and somewhat askew, as if he’d slept in them. His hair was sitting at odd angles and his skin held the same pallor Negan’s had moments before.

He didn’t seem to catch on to what he’d walked in on. One hand was rubbing at his eyes, the other holding his head as if he was in agony. Camilla was thankful of his cluelessness as she and Negan adjusted their clothes. He pulled her to stand in front of him and she rolled her eyes upon feeling his raging hard-on poke her lower back.

“Simon, what the fuck?” Negan bellowed. He was pissed and Camilla noted she was only slightly turned on by that fact. Give it time and she knew she’d be a puddle.

Simon startled at Negan’s booming voice, both eyes now wide open and alert. He looked around in confusion, his ruffled moustache making him look like a character from the Three Stooges.

“Not so loud.” Simon grumbled, cradling his head again.

“What are you doing here, asshole? How the fuck did you get in?” Negan fired back, his voice only getting louder as he spoke. Camilla put a calming hand on his arm as she stepped back, finally able to move now that her husband’s erection was gone.

“What’d you mean?” Simon asked with bewilderment, his voice ravaged by sleep and tobacco as well.

He looked hilarious in his disheveled state and Camilla struggled not to giggle. The situation almost seemed like a glimpse into the future with their family, minus the half-balding man child. Negan was in full parent mode and Camilla was trying hard to focus on why Simon was randomly in their house and not on how sexy Negan sounded reprimanding his friend.

“What do I mean?” Negan mimicked back angrily. “What the fuck are you doing here at nine in the fucking morning?”

Simon held out his arms in surrender, obviously still confused by his friend’s strong reaction to his presence. His eyes flicked to Camilla in hopes that she’d offer some assistance. She imagined she gave the same puzzled expression he wore because he went back to trying to calm her husband.

“You said I could stay. Last night.”

The words seemed to jog something for Negan because he instantly shut up. She could see he was struggling to piece the previous night together. His jaw unclenched and his tongue did that thing where it darted out and wet his lips. It’s his normal go-to move for seduction, but Camilla had noticed over the years that he also did it when he was concentrating hard on something. It was adorable.

“I got pretty hammered and you said I could crash on the sofa bed downstairs.” Simon explained, his words finally seeming to spark something in Negan.

“Shit…” He breathed out, hazel eyes meeting her onyx gaze. She could tell he thought he was in trouble, and normally he probably would’ve been. But for some ungodly reason, Camilla found the whole thing humorous.

“So let me get this straight,” She started, eyeing both men with amusement. “You both got so plastered that you-,” She pointed to Negan. “Forgot that you invited him-,” She pointed to Simon. “To stay the night in our basement.” She finished, eyes darting between the two men.

Negan had the audacity to look slightly sheepish. “Sounds about right.” He admitted, his hand rubbing at the back of his neck guiltily. “Fuck, sorry baby.”

“Yeah, sorry Camilla.” Simon chimed in. To his credit he did look apologetic, even though it wasn’t his fault.

“It’s fine.” She waved them off with a laugh, but eyed Negan with a look that said he still had some groveling to do.

“I should head out.” Simon interrupted, suddenly looking embarrassed by the situation. He went to leave, but Camilla stopped him.

“No, stay. I made breakfast and you should eat before you drive.” She demanded, unwilling to take no for an answer. He looked to Negan, as if for confirmation but Camilla interjected. “Get Simon a cup of coffee, will you?” She directed to Negan. He knew better than to say otherwise and moved to the cupboard for a mug. Seemed like she had the parent thing down too.

“Stay, Simon. Have a cup of coffee. A bite to eat. Say your goodbyes. Because my wife is going to kick my ass once you leave.” Negan joked, though she could see he was half serious.

Simon chuckled and moved to sit at their dining table, gratefully accepting the warm coffee Negan handed to him.

Camilla scoffed and shoved at Negan’s shoulder. “Overdramatic much?” She teased as she moved to make Simon a plate of food, turning the burners on once again so she could scrounge up more for herself. She went to start about cooking again when she belatedly noticed what she was wearing. Suddenly, the length of her shirt felt too short and the tightness across her belly and breasts felt too revealing.

“Ummm...I’m gonna go change first.” She announced, garnering the attention of the two men sitting at the table. Negan seemed to catch on to her sudden awkwardness and jumped into action.  

“Have some fucking respect, man. Close your eyes.” Negan admonished with a light shove to Simon’s shoulder. Camilla shook her head. Discreet her husband was not.

“Not necessary now, Negan.” She deadpanned, but Simon was already holding a hand to his face to shield his eyes.

“Sorry!” Simon called out, looking ridiculous with half his face blocked from view. The image made her laugh.

“No worries. I’m gonna go change. You guys help yourself.” She gestured to the food and moved towards their bedroom. She could hear Negan get up and say something before he was following her down the hall.

“Need help?”

Camilla pulled off her night shirt and started to put on a black bra. She turned to answer her husband who was leaning in the doorway looking sexy as fuck.

“Sure.”

She turned her back towards him and waited. His footsteps moved closer until he was standing with his chest practically pressed against her back. His warm hands pulled the two halves of her bra together, clipping the clasps in a few swift movements. She adjusted her ever-growing breasts in the cups and turned to face him. 

“Thanks.”

He was eyeing her with a glint in his orbs that made her thighs clench. He knew he had some recent missteps and he was apparently going to try to make it up to her now. 

“I’m sorry for being a drunk piece of shit last night.” He apologized as he reached for her. She let him pull her in his arms, soaking up his affection like a house cat.

“I’m not mad, Negan. I’m annoyed. And it’s not because you got drunk.” Camilla explained against his wide chest. He pulled her chin so that her face was angled towards his, her lips ripe for the taking.

His questioning gaze made her continue on.

“Do you know what it does to a pregnant woman when you don’t finish what you start?”

Again he said nothing, but his eyes lit up and his lips cracked a wide grin.

“You can’t do that to me! I’m ready to cum if I sneeze at this point.” She grumbled, not liking the way he was finding amusement in her pain. Though she supposed she deserved it for her teasing of him earlier. Karma was in fact a real bitch.

“Oh my poor nymphomaniac…” Negan cooed, his hands cradling her head against his chest like he was comforting her.

“Not funny, dick.” She pushed away from him and went to finish getting dressed when he tugged her to him. He caught her just before she slammed against him, but it was enough to throw her off balance. His hands were suddenly everywhere. One was palming her ass while the other made its way under the lace of her panties and into her depths.

“Daddy owes you one.” He taunted, two fingers deep in her pussy while another teased her clit. She dug her nails into his shoulders, making sure he felt the sting of pain. He did.

“Negan,” She began, unable to focus on stringing her words together. “Simon is in…fuck…” She felt her walls start to flutter around his fingers, felt his lips suction against her heaving breast, felt his hand dig into the flesh of her ass.

“Don’t worry about it, baby. Lemme take care of you.”

His words set her off. She froze and tightened around him, sparks of light dancing behind her eyelids. His smell engulfed her. His touch set her on fire. His voice encouraged her. She was finally reaching that crescendo that’d been just out of reach. Her muscles spasmed and Negan’s hot breath in her ear made her whimper, her walls soaking him to capacity.

“Goddamn…I’ll never get sick of seeing you like that.” He mumbled against her now flushed skin, his grip loosening. He gently eased out of her, careful of how sensitive she was.

Camilla gasped at the loss of him, but felt her insides hum with life again when he licked himself clean of her.

“Bastard.” She said in faux aggravation. His teasing was merciless and she planned on making him pay for his sins later.

“Aw…you say the sweetest things to me.” He laughed, mirth dancing in his eyes. “No thank you?”

Camilla pouted her lips, her signal to let him know she wanted a kiss. He delivered. His tongue danced with hers, her lips devouring his like he was the sweetest chocolate to hit her taste buds. Her fingers ran through his hair and she nibbled on his lip just the way he liked. He responded by rubbing against her, his dick hard and ready to feel her clasping at him.

They pulled apart and Camilla mentally patted herself on the back when she saw the goofy look Negan was wearing.

“Thank you.” She said, lips now swollen and chaffed from his stubble. She walked around him and picked out a pair of sweats and a t-shirt to change into.

“Smartass.” Negan retorted, eyes watching her dress like he hadn’t just finger fucked her minutes before.

She smiled triumphantly as she pulled her shirt over her head, ignoring the way he feasted on her half-dressed body. Being pregnant was certainly having an effect on her husband’s libido too. You’d think he had pregnancy hormones coursing his veins.

She finished dressing and turned to face him, waving him towards the door. “Come on. Your son is hungry.”

Negan immediately attached himself to her rounded stomach, caressing her flesh as if their son was already in his arms.

“You sit and I’ll make you a plate.” He gently demanded. Camilla wasn’t going to argue, especially when her heart still stuttered after he said and did such sweet things for her.

They walked hand-in-hand to the kitchen, but upon turning the corner they found the room empty.

“Where’d he go?” She asked, though she knew her husband had about as much of an idea as she did.

Negan walked to the table where Simon had been sitting and grabbed a piece of paper she hadn’t noticed. She watched as he read whatever words were printed on the sheet before laughing heartily.

“What’s it say? Is it from Simon?” She questioned, eager to know what he found so funny. He handed her the note and she read it silently.

Took a plate to go. You guys took too long and by the sounds Camilla was making, I’m guessing you didn’t need me to stick around anyways. Thanks for letting me crash and the food.

Camilla wanted to be mortified, but couldn’t conjure up the emotion. Instead, she laughed along with Negan, clutching the paper to her chest.

“Oh my god…” She said between giggles.

“Well, guess he got more than he fucking bargained for.” Negan chuckled, pulling Camilla with him onto his lap as he sat in a chair.

“Guess so.” She agreed, nestling herself into Negan’s chest and neck. Her eyes suddenly felt heavy and her limbs felt utterly relaxed. Negan’s hand in her hair didn’t help matters either. His heartbeat sounded beneath her, the warmth of him further soothing her.

“Need a nap?” His chest rumbled against her as he spoke. She was tired, but the promise of food still kept her conscious.

“Food first.” She mumbled, fingers playing with the hem of his t-shirt. They sat in comfortable silence until a movement within her belly made her smile. She wordlessly placed Negan’s hand on the spot where their child was making his presence known. She didn’t have to look up to see the smile that adorned his face. She could feel it. She had the image painted in her mind for eternity.

“I fucking love you. Both of you.”

Camilla squeezed his hand that sat beneath hers. Her heart felt like it doubled in size in that moment. As hot as the fire of desire burned for him, the extent of their love was immeasurable. It was what made their two souls partners in life. It was what had made a family. 

“I love you too.”

#negan x ofc #negan fanfiction #negan fic #twd negan #the walking dead negan

[ofsylvias-blog]

* / self — para.

She hadn’t even seen him that night. She wasn’t three days drunk, or mourning, or locking herself in her room with stolen goods from the stores in town. She remembered; she remembered where she was. What she was doing, each emotion she felt. 

But what kind of alibi was sorrow?

Sylvia had opened the door to her family home long past midnight, the tiny alarm they had attached to the front door greeting her with a gentle jingle. Welcome home, the robotic voice trilled softly — but fuck, this never really felt like home, did it? Not after tearful goodbyes from New York, and not now, when she’d been there for years but no family occupies it. It’s empty. 

First: she’d visited the fridge. Not because she was hungry, or thirsty, but because the kitchen had a wall almost entirely of glass doors. She peered out them for a while now, enveloped in darkness and in silence, watching the automatic sprinklers spray water all over the lawn. She should go to the garage, turn them off for good. It was a waste of water. But part of her needs to keep them on — a compulsion she can’t quite shake. What if they come home and the grass is brown? The voice is tiny, almost childlike, and reminiscent of how she’d killed her first plant that way. Glasses and glasses of water had been poured over the tiny flower, effectively drowning it so quickly that no amount of sunlight from city windowsill could fix it. 

She’d pouted after, at her mother, probably only around Beatrice’s age — and asked why it had died when she loved it. You gave it too much water, her mother had said, exhaustedly, high heels clicking as she went towards the front door. The nanny would be there in five minutes, and Mrs. Preston would leave the crying child for her. What Sylvia had heard, however, was not that she gave it too much water: she gave it too much love. 

So the sprinklers stay on, because even if she hates her parents, she thinks of tea parties Bea forced her to have, careful not to get any of the lukewarm liquid poured onto the bright green blades.  

The sprinklers stay on. 

If she turns her head just slightly to the right, there’s the fridge. On it, neatly placed into what seemed more like gallery wall than wholesome scrapbook, are two drawings Beatrice had done, and a family photo. Almost as if for comparison — the two childish sketches are of the family, standing in front of a crayon scrawled house that looked nothing like theirs. She touches the corner of the paper, already curled from movement, and doesn’t feel sad or lost or even hopeful — she just feels tired.

Next, she travels up the stairs, shoes hitting the pure white carpet of the stairs. A form of rebellion to no one in particular, maybe, because her parents weren’t there to witness the rule of shoes off at the door being broken. Still: it felt good. She ignores the door to her parents room, and the door to her own, all clinical neatness and perfect organization. Instead — a door with a pink sign hooked onto the door, like something from a hotel but painted on a thin wooden sheet. Princess Beatrice sleeping! Do not disturb! 

She opens the door anyway, because no one is inside. 

The floor is messy, scattered with toys, and stickers are placed at six-year-old eye level all around the perfectly painted walls. It’s a messiness, a creativity that she’d never been allotted, but her sister took wholeheartedly anyway. I want to make my room pretty, she’d said proudly, placing another Paw Patrol sticker against the headboard of her bed. Sylvia had only nodded, and wondered when pretty became less about stickers and more about perfection. 

But she ignores the dollhouse and the train set and the plush animals scattered about, because what she wants is to sweep back princess canopy — it looks like a mosquito net, she’d told the furniture installation guy, who had laughed heartily and shrugged — and sit down on twin bed. The mattress is soft, the blankets smells like detergent and the pillow like the younger daughter’s favorite no tangle shampoo. And it’s so familiar that Sylvia can’t help it as she lies down instead in the fetal position, holding back a sob. She notices something on the floor then, that she’d knocked off when kicking her legs into the bed. A bunny stuffed animal, soft and blue and missing one of its eyes.

Then: sob is released, because it becomes so apparent to her that something horrible has happened. She remembers when she was sixteen, driving to her ACT prep classes with Beatrice in the back seat. She had toddler dance that day, right across the street. They had been a corner away when a wail sounded from behind her, and Sylvia swore she saw her life flash before her eyes, that Bea had somehow gotten hurt.

But no, she had just been wailing because she forgot Mr. Bun Bun. 

Sylvia knew wherever they’d gone, her baby sister wouldn’t have gone without him.

So she lies there and she cries and she cries and she cries until she can’t breathe, and she can feel the warm embrace of sleep tugging at her, willing her to stay in her house for longer. And she wishes she could say that she did, that she disregarded sleeping arrangements and got her night at home. 

But she doesn’t.

She places the rabbit back on the bed, goes down the stairs with her shoes in her hands, and leaves through the garage. 

She turns the sprinklers off.  

#idk WHAT this is #but #i GUESS #writings / self-para. #hallowaypoints

[henriettaprophet-blog]

|| elle fanning, cisfemale, she/her || ( henrietta ‘henri’ prophet ) is a ( twenty ) year old ( sophomore ) at rockport university studying ( english + communications ). people say they are ( ritzy ) but also ( intractable ), and remind others of ( diamond-encrusted lighters, puppy dog pouts, baby pink stiletto nails ). bet they sure didn’t expect anyone to know about ( her hit-and-run accident in a stolen getaway car ) but someone does, and ( henrietta ) better cooperate if they plan to keep their lives. || james, 20, EST ||

hello! i am james (she/they) and first up is my lil troublemaker, henri !!!! pls love her and me thank u bye

henri’s pinterest is HERE ! it explains her sm better than i can

tw: hit and run

general info:

full name: henrietta eloise prophet

nickname(s): henri, etta, hen

b.o.d.: april 19th

label(s): the baby doll, the hellion, the icarcian, the minx, the prevaricator, etc.

height: 5′7″

hometown: syracuse, new york

sexuality: chaotically bisexual

biography:

awfully middle class, born and raised in new york

her dad’s a salesman for car parts with a small empire and her mother’s an accountant

an only child, minus her childhood cat (r i p socks); raised in a classic american suburban home with a white picket fence and two whole stories

and henri’s never been satisfied with it

she’s pretty much been a manipulative troublemaker since birth

it didn’t help that her parents spoil her; what henri wants, henri gets. no questions asked.

has left claw marks on her fellow students whenever somebody else wanted to be the queen during play time, or when somebody tried to take her favorite toys, or well...whenever henri got upset, really

like...man, could henri throw tantrums like no other. i mean hours of her screaming and crying until somebody gives into her

her parents are either blind to her antics or just straight up scared of henri, because homegirl has aggression like no other

anYWAYs she grew up in a normal home in a normal neighborhood with a normal day-to-day life

god, did it bore her

even when she created drama for her own amusement; i.e. spread a rumor that the head cheerleader in her high school had gotten chlamydia and the poor lass was bullied so badly she transferred (leaving the captain position to good ol’ henri, of course) or accidentally tripped the lead actress in her school musical off the stage and left her in a neck brace so her understudy (cough, henry, cough) had to take over

it just was never enough, because all henri ever had to do was bat her eyelashes and flaunt her pink lil skirts around and they’d hop right off her dick

wanted to be famous, or at the very least rich; to live in the lap of luxury in her furs and diamonds

but without any of the actual effort, ofc.

started stealing shit in high school; from her ‘friends’ houses at first, just small shit that henri wanted for herself

once that thrill wore down she evolved into shoplifting, which was...much more dangerous, and made henri love it all the more so.

often got her friends involved, usually as bait or distractions from lil’ old henri as she swiped objects

like to keep a long story short, henri’s been stealing for...a good amount of years now, from various places

has probably stolen her parent’s credit cards (and her teacher’s....and her coworker’s....etc. etc.) a few times to buy real expensive shit online

she’s only gotten arrested like, a handful of times okay

one spring break, her senior year of high school, henri and her pals had flown to california to do some...shopping, and celebrity stalking, and other normal teenage girl shenanigans

to keep another long story short; they had broken into a celebrity’s home, stolen a buncha designer shit; and when they heard sirens? they stole one of the cars and took off

henri was driving, ofc. she wouldn’t let anybody else drive her getaway car, especially not that real nice sports car...

in the adrenaline of it all, henri ran into a biker full-on and almost skirted off the road.

luckily, for henri, she regained control of the car and...kept driving, without even looking back and despite her friends screaming in her ear

god only knows how they abandoned the car and made it back to their hotel, unscathed, only to hear about a nasty hit and run resulting in a death on the news.

they went back to new york the next day; none of them have spoken up about it. especially not henri. perhaps she’s why none of them spoke up?

anyways, she went to rockport to escape the small amount of guilt in her conscious

decided to lie about her childhood too, says her dad’s the ceo of a car parts company instead of just a salesman, her mother’s a dead broadway starlight, etc. etc. whatever made henri look richer than she was. 

also, partially, so people didn’t question where she got all her designer shit. 

went abroad because that’s what she mcfuckin’ deserves. probably stole her daddy’s credit card too.

also is fucking trash at school, is probably sleeping with people to do her assignments for her.

her goal in life is to acquire a sugar daddy, or multiple, and to marry an especially old one so that they die and leave her with all of his money. <3

personality:

her favorite color is pink and u will not forget it. she appreciates sparkles, furs, jewels, etc. etc. just everything cute and designer and expensive.

anyways she’s the kinda gal where you could be in an intense argument with her and next thing y’know, y’all are fucking. OR, alternately, she’s got a knife pressed against your neck. OR, alternately AGAIN; both. probably both

that being said; henri can come off as pretty..bubbly, ditzy, cute and innocent, with all the hair-twirling and fake laughter. her voice has a permanent innocent tone to it

but ultimately, she’s a bitch. incredibly stubborn, if you cross her once she’ll hate you for life and there’s nothing you could do about it

she may still act like she likes you, but, nah.

still expects to get what she wants and she will still throw a tantrum if she doesn’t get it. doesn’t really take no as an answer?

her mood shifts often, maybe too often, it doesn’t take much to tick her off.

pretty manipulative, often uses people for what she wants

she isn’t...book smart, but she’s pretty damn intelligent in other aspects

a selfish lil brat tbh

only looks out for herself, will betray u the moment she sees an opportunity that benefits herself, and is over all pretty remorseless

she feels intensely but she also refuses to believe that she’s ever in the wrong. represses any emotions related to sadness, or anything that’ll just dampen her mood.

doesn’t bother to hide that part of her, either. let it be known that she’ll use you

she always has a knife on her, and a lighter, and a credit card that likely isn’t hers. those are her three essentials.

suuuper destructive, will not hesitate to ruin your life or her own tbh

will do anything at least once, or twice, maybe even three times

morals? what r morals?

a day drinker; constantly high off of god know’s what, and really...any vice? she’s got it.

is a l w a y s partying, even if it’s just her

i wouldn’t call her hypersexual but like...homegirl’s got a very high sex drive and is probably out here fuckin’ multiple times a day

but yeah no she’s not a very empathetic person like...if you’re going thru some shit? henri doesn’t give a fuck

she’ll probably use it against you to guilt u into doing something for her, honestly

considers herself untouchable, and is pretty willing to do anything to keep herself free from death or arrest or anything, y’know ??

has a very big ego, too. like. god. she think she’s the shit. acts like it.

erratic, irrational, can get VERY POSSESSIVE and JEALOUS of pals, people she’s fucking. etc. etc. if she doesn’t like the person your talking to you will Know

a big ol’ fuckin’ liar

wanted connections:

literally.....anything.....just hmu

like alriGHT

gimme FUCK BUDDIES of VARIOUS SORTS.

really MANIPULATIVE relationships on either end, probably henrietta’s

maybe a few friends w/ similar interests of glam n glitz n beauty

e n e m i e s - let henri try and fucking strangle u, b/c i s2g she’ll try if she hates you

like just people to get into cat fights turned knife fights with

maybe a ride or die ?? a best friend of sorts ??

let her use people

but really i am down for anything.

EXES ? maybe ??

pleathe. let’s brain storm...together

#rockportintro #this is trash but it's fine im fine

[kusunogatari-a]

[ Northbound ] [ @yukaikokoro ] [ Hatake Kakashi, Suigin Ryū, Kottakawa Kumiko ] [ Verse: Divine Light ]

Hearing that they’re headed back to the frigid north brings about two feelings in Kakashi. One being elation: he hasn’t been able to see Kumiko in person for weeks. Obito’s proposed portal system is still in the works, and other ‘points of interest’ they want to connect are still debating whether or not to enact the passages. Frustrating, but...one can’t rush politics.

The other is dread.

While it’s true the most current chosen disciple of Glaciris is doing her best to make change...the ice and snow of the north are slow to thaw. The soil isn’t the only thing that remains frozen. He already got a taste of northern ‘hospitality’ during their journey to find the stolen lux mage that now makes her way up of her own volition. Kakashi has to admit, he’s not eager to experience it again.

But, the former point outweighs the latter...or, a least he hopes it will.

This time around, it’s just the pair of them traveling. And despite Ryū’s suggestion that Suigin take them, the berech refuses. One flight on Raziya was enough to tell him he’s really not fond of flying. So, the pair of them take tamer mounts: that being their horses. Kakashi’s bay gelding keeps stride with Ryū’s dappled grey mare, the pair of them keeping hoods over their heads. Thankfully the weather has held - it’s cold, and a little windy, but a far cry from the blizzard he and Kumiko endured.

The roads are largely empty - they take the main path this time, and trade caravans stick largely to another route. Given how few travelers the north gets, they encounter almost no one...and most that they do are leaving.

“It would seem little has changed these past weeks,” his charge notes quietly.

“Winter never does like to give way to Spring.”

By afternoon they finally reach the capital city gates. Pale stone forms the bulk of the architecture, rounded to best let the frigid winds slip between structures. Banners flutter stiffly in the wind, too frozen to properly ripple. People dressed in furs and thick textiles give them curious glances...and a few seem to glower.

Neither of them pay their hosts any mind - it’s not these people they’ve come to see, after all. Instead, the pair make their way through the city toward the northernmost point, where the robust Glacirian castle stands. Unlike Meridiem, what with its reaching spires and parapets, Boralis’ royal quarters are more grounded: two stories at its tallest, sprawling to cover more ground rather than go skyward.

They stop at yet another gate, guards demanding their documentation. It’s something Kakashi finds ridiculous: how many lux mages are there, and how many berech with mismatched eyes? But he doesn’t voice his disdain, instead going through quietly as they’re given leave.

They’re met at the door by another set of guards, their mounts led to the stables as they make their way inside. The snow-like stone only echoes the cold atmosphere of the place, decorations made mostly in deep blues and silvers. Kakashi can’t help but note there’s an unnerving amount of armed personnel. Likely something Kumiko’s father ordered - some kind of display of might, if he had to guess.

Ryū makes no note of it, passing them by without a glance. Thankfully it’s not a long walk to the main hall, and they come upon Kumiko speaking with what looks to be a captain. As Kakashi suspected, her hardened expression and terse tone seem to hint that she’s unhappy with the situation, but she turns to them at the sound of approaching footsteps. A forced smile brightens her features.

“It seems our guests have survived the frozen wilds!” she greets, and Kakashi can’t help a perk of his brow at her falsely-cheer lilt. “I’m sure you’re weary - we’ll retreat to my study for the time being.”

The other pair exchange a subtle glance before nodding. Silence reigns until Kumiko shuts a heavy door behind them. Immediately, all pretense of her expression fades to a scowl.

“Have I no control over my own staff?” she growls, striding tersely across the room to sit at her desk, a hand gesturing curtly for them to take their seats. “I tire of my father usurping my orders ‘in my best interest’. I apologize for your crude welcome - I meant to head the greeting at the gate, but was...waylaid.”

“It’s no trouble - we prepared for as much,” Ryū assures her, giving a wry smile.

“I, at least, had an inkling what we were in for.” Kakashi can’t help but match her dry humor. “We know what was going on...and who we’re actually here to see. Don’t worry yourself over it.”

“If this were the only circumstances, I wouldn’t,” Kumiko replies. “Ever since our disagreement upon my passage through to look for you,” she nods to Ryū, “my father has only grown all the more irritable and closed-off. He’s acting like a child who’s lost their favorite toy. I think it’s finally clear I’ve no intention to follow so closely in his footsteps.” Elbows brace atop the desk’s surface, palms catching her brow. “...the final straw was when I told him about my contact with Glaciris. He refuses to believe me. Claims I’m lying to try and buffer my image over his.”

While Ryū’s brow furrows sharply, Kakashi just rolls his eyes. “What?! He’d dare deny -!”

“He wasn’t there to witness it,” Kakashi cuts in with a glance. “...technically no one really was. I was unconscious, and though the caravan saw it from a distance, the Embrace faded as they got close. Only one person claimed to know what it was.”

The lux mage lifts a lip in a snarl. “What reason does Kumiko have to lie?”

“My father and I have butted heads on the direction to take our lands for some time now,” Kumiko replies, tone weary. “Our lands were one of the few least affected by the Rift. Survival this far north without ven is nigh on impossible, so those without it relied on us...or left. It only deepened the feelings of animosity for outsiders here. As our element is cold, so are we, to a point. Glaciris’ lands have remained in el’ven hands throughout the times of the wars with the el’tahl, and then after most el’ven took to hiding. We’ve remained unchanged, and it’s let us fester. My father wishes to continue on this way, and I do not. Times are changing. If we don’t, we’ll only get left further behind.”

A hand gestures. “He is the main reason we still have not formally agreed to the portal system. Why, beyond trade, we see so little travel between our land and the others. And even then, he argues allowing traders is still too open a border. Some of my people have come to disagree with him and side with my call for moving forward...but not all. Not even most. Our slow approach to things may have saved us in the past...but it’s going to be the end of us in the future.”

“...is that why you called us here?”

“Partly. I wish to try to negotiate with him, but I doubt much will come of it.” Kumiko’s arms fold, and she practically pouts. “...mostly I wanted show I wouldn’t obey his suggestion of distancing ourselves from the other lands, and the renewed Summit. So I brought its unofficial leaders here, instead.”

There’s a pause...and then they all break out into laughter as the tension breaks.

“I’m sorry,” Ryū offers in sympathy, wiping at an eye. “I know you’ve been so frustrated, and I can’t blame you. If only we could get Glaciris themselves involved, he’d change his tune.”

The glacial mage snorts. “Oh, a lot of things would change.”

“I do wonder if we’ll hear from them more after all that trouble with Madara and Tenebreos...true, the Rift brought great imbalance, but that was something else entirely.” Ryū’s head cocks. “...maybe we will hear from the Elementals more. If things get out of hand enough, at least.”

“I’d rather not have to go hunting for you all over the continent again,” Kakashi deadpans.

“Oh gods, no. But maybe -”

A knock sounds at the door, and the three of them glance over. “...yes?” Kumiko asks.

The entry opens, and a young woman sticks her head through, looking a little flustered. “There’s...there’s a man here for the Luxerian mage, milady.”

They all blink. “...a man?”

“A right frightful one, ma’am.”

Another pause, and then something seems to click. Ryū’s expression falls flat. “...I’d best to attend to this…” She stands and mutters something unheard under her breath, the door closing behind her.

Kumiko gives Kakashi a confused look. “...what was that?”

“That, I’m willing to bet, was Obito looking for his ward. He is her bodyguard while on probation, after all.”

“Did you not tell him you were leaving?”

“Oh, we did. He said he’d be fine. Apparently he underestimated his patience.”

After a beat, she largely fails to withhold a snort. “...I see.”

Kakashi can’t help a wry grin. “To be fair, he was stuck with her for quite some time...and she is also one of the few things he knows from both his time under Madara, and afterward. I think it’s made him a bit clingy.”

Kumiko chuckles with a slow shake of her head. “Just a bit.” Giving him a coy look, she adds, “They weren’t the only ones stuck together all that time, you know.”

“...true.” He softens, ever so slightly. “But we’re now about a half a continent away, sadly.”

“Yet another reason to get the portal system up and running…” There’s a sigh. “...I suppose for now, I can suffice with a visit. With your charge busy, maybe we can take a little walk...just the two of us?”

“The two of us, and all the guards spaced ten feet apart.”

She groans. “Don’t remind me.”

“Not to worry - I’m very good at ignoring guards,” Kakashi assures he as he stands, offering an arm she takes with a perked brow.

“...what is that supposed to mean…?”

“Well, sometimes...in order to slay a monster, you have to jump over a few private manor walls…”

“...okay, you have to tell me more about that one.”

“Who says it was just one?”

     ...I dunno what this is xD Kakashi pays Kumiko a visit in Boralis, and...stuff’s still a lil unsteady politically because why wouldn’t it be, lol      I’m still lacking a lot in regards to the various elemental cultures...and even then it’s gonna vary cuz of pocket populations and the like, so most of what this is is literally winged as I went. Hopefully it makes sense xD Though I DID come up with the Luxerian capital, Meridiem. It means glow and is one of the least ridiculous-sounding Latin words relating to light, haha! So now we have two capitals named out of...twelve. Welp.      Anyway, it’s a lil short cuz honestly a month straight of drabbles still has me rather burnt out, but...hopefully it was still a good read ;w; Kakashi has a lot of...interesting stories to tell from his years rogue as a hunter. Trespassing on nobles is probably one of his least trouble-inducing tales, honestly. He could write a book if he had the patience, but I think DL-Kakashi would find that rather boring, so he’ll just retell them verbally (and maybe do some slight embellishing).

#yukaikokoro #hatake kakashi #suigin ryū #kottakawa kumiko #divine light [ au ]

[himbowelsh]

Have you seen that post here on tumblr about Irish faeries? I wanted to request something around it for good Irish boy Babe visiting Ireland with his boyfriend (either Jules/Gene or his boyfriends Joe and Chuck) and they want to go somewhere after dark and he stops them and gets really freakishly serious looks them in the eye and tells them to sit down or "I swear to God I'm going to tie you to a chair!" and manages to freak them up. This also could work for Winnix and Dick's home.

#Anonymous #im irish american so i love irish myths #but Do Not Mess with the fae #baberoe #babe heffron #eugene roe #my writing

[askbloomtale]

Chapter 11 is up!!! This might be the end of the Ruins’ arc. Or maybe not...

For those who can’t access AO3 or just don’t want to do it, the chapter is pasted under this sexy cut!!!

Bloomtale

Chapter 11 – A sour goodbye

   Athela sat on the garden’s ground, feeling defeated, tired and powerless after the last forced load. Her fingers rummaged through the red leaves next to the save point, and she squished them slightly, to which they made a crackling sound.

 She didn’t even have to look; she knew for certain that another flower was now growing in her skull, fully visible next to its two other companions. And that was not even counting the ones inside her head, of course.

 One of the reasons why she knew was… because of her vision. It felt strange, like having her eye covered with a sticker. A sticker she could not remove. That should’ve made her feel really anxious, because… what would happen to her eye at that rate? But no, poor Athela wasn’t even thinking about that.

She was just angry at that annoying flower. That terrifying monster who kept forcing her to dance to his tune. And if she didn’t, he would kill her. How simple, and yet how scary that was. It made her feel so powerless, she could not stand it. And she could only truly blame herself.

  Why was she so weak?

 Why couldn’t she be a human, like her mother?

  If only she had more strength…

  She lied down atop the leaves, sighing deeply. As she had some time before Toriel came to ask the inevitable, she would spend that time just… feeling miserable. Sounded like a nice plan. Lying down and feeling like garbage because of how weak she was. She was being easily toyed with by Flowey, so easily it was even insulting.

  She should get stronger.

  But of course, that would never happen. Even if it was out of spite, the skeleton would not give her dear killer that satisfaction. It was him, who suggested her to kill. To gain LOVE. Well, not today, flower. You can’t control me THAT much. That’s what she thought as her hand softly pet the leaves.

  Athela closed her eyes and tried to calm down.

  Breathe in and out, Athela. There’s no point in getting mad over something you can’t fight. It would be better if she just proceeded her journey quickly. Once out, Flowey would not follow her anymore, would he? And even if he did, Athela’s mother would definitely protect her. She was so strong. The young monster smiled as she remembered her mother’s gentle smile.

 It filled her with determination.

   A sudden flash of pain made her open her eyes and stand, startled. What on earth just happened? Was Flowey there again??

 …

 Oh, wait, she was standing near the save point. Maybe she saved unconsciously, and thus the pain. Hehehe. What a dummy she was.

  …

  No, wait a second.

 Flowey was indeed there!!

  “Howdy!” he said, with a tranquil smile. Athela shrieked and took several steps back, frightened, and Flowey seemed to like that reaction, as he smiled smugly. “Golly! That expression on your face never seems to bore me!”

 “W-what do you want now?? I’m waiting for Toriel, just like you told me!” She almost yelled as she gave him an annoyed glare. Her left eye was glowing intensely due to her fear and anger, but that didn’t seem to bother the little flower at all.

 “Jeez, girl! Chill~” he answered, sticking his tongue playfully as he always did when he pretended to play nice. “I was just bored of you doing nothing. I’m not going to hurt you.”

 “…Don’t you have anything better to do?” She reproached, pouting. Of course she didn’t trust him. It would be way better to be meek and quiet, maybe that way he would not get angry. But of course she could not control her tongue when she was upset. Dang.

  However, Flowey didn’t look bothered. Did he ever get mad? Not that Athela had ever seen him angry. Maybe it was better this way… he was already really strong with that bouncy attitude of his. She didn’t want to think how he would be like if his buttons got pushed.

 No. Instead of anger, the flower just raised an eyebrow and silently looked at her, as if she had just stolen his catchphrase. But he didn’t look really annoyed. He even decided to answer the question. Because no, he didn’t have anything better to do.

  “Not really. Everything else got boring already," he replied, smiling softly. Athela groaned, not really understanding.

 “Can’t you leave me alone and… just go solve a puzzle?” She asked.

“I’ve already solved every puzzle." He seemed willing to answer. Athela raised an eyebrow too, and asked something else.

 “Then… go mess them up?” It was not a nice proposal, but at least it was a nice second option that didn’t involve her getting killed.

 “I already did that, too." Flowey laughed, with a slight sour tone. Or maybe it was his usual sarcastic tone? Athela couldn’t really tell. She just supposed Flowey wasn’t being honest with her.

 “That’s impossible. The puzzles were fine when I found them." Athela suppressed a shiver at the memory of the deadly puzzles. But the feeling of grateful bliss took over once she realized she would not have to go through those anymore. What a wonderful feeling. Well, she could do them again if she totally had to, because she already knew their pattern, but that was nothing that would happen! She already saved her progress, so no going back! That made her feel really happy about herself. She smiled a bit. She gazed at the flower again, though. Carefully, since she didn’t want to lower her guard… not even for a second.

  She was expecting an answer to her comment. But Flowey just stood there, quiet.

 Smiling.

  How eerie. Athela didn’t like him, not at all. Why would he just stay quiet like that?

 Well, she didn’t want to talk to him either. The thought of them both sharing a peaceful conversation… how bizarre. That would never happen. No, the only thing they could ever have were uncomfortable silences and unnerving smiles and death threats.

 They would never be friends.

  It was not that strange, Athela thought. She considered herself a friendly person; she never had any friends, but she had always wanted some. Or, at least, one. One friend that would visit her, a nice friend who would tag along for a walk in the forest… She would show them her favorite spots, and they would laugh together. She had always wanted something like that, and that’s why she was willing to be as friendly as possible. If you were nice, people would like you better. That’s what her mother said. A nice smile and kind words were all that it would take to cause a nice first impression. And it would snowball from there to a nice friendship. That’s what Athela wanted.

 Of course, Flowey smiled, but… Athela was certain, that was not the kind of smile her mother was referring to.

  No, she didn’t like him. And she would never be friends with her killer.

  A question rose to her mind. If someone kills you several times, does that make them a serial killer?

 But she was digressing. That was not really something she should be thinking about, not when Flowey was right there. She should be careful, just in case he felt like throwing a pellet at her out of boredom.

  “You seem so tense." Flowey laughed at her, enjoying every second of their time together. At least someone was having fun, Athela thought as she gripped her skirt nervously. The small flower kept eyeing her, seemingly interested in the flowers growing out of her eyes.

  Creepy.

  “…” Athela didn’t even feel like talking. She didn’t want to be there. She would prefer… to go inside. But she did not dare to move. Too bad.

 “You’re pretty boring." Flowey was, indeed, starting to get bored due to her lack of dialogue or movement. “When you’re not fighting for your life, I mean. Golly! Maybe you should try and socialize a bit, instead of running away all the time~” He added that last sentence after seeing Athela’s blue orbs contract as she heard how funny she was when she was dying. Really, didn’t he realize how creepy he was?!

  Luckily, the skeleton’s struggle would not last for long.

  “Oh. There she comes." Flowey jerked his head up, noticing someone in the distance. Athela looked, too, and openly smiled when she saw a familiar goat silhouette approaching, with what looked like a bag of groceries.

  To add in her delight, she noticed Flowey was now gone. She let out a deep, relieved sigh, and then a giggle escaped her teeth. The young skeleton almost run to her encounter, grinning widely.

  “Toriel!” Athela called for her, and the goat lady looked right at her and gave her a warm smile, too.

 “Greetings, my child," she hailed, also fastening her pace to quickly get to Athela.

 “Greetings!” The skeleton mimicked her speech, and that made Toriel’s smile go even wider. The old lady used her free arm to gently hug the young girl, and Athela happily hugged back.

 “You seem so happy to see me… and I was only gone for a short hour." Toriel pointed out, amused. Then, she pat Athela’s hair softly. She would usually not like that, but Toriel was a friend and she could touch her hair all she wanted. It felt nice.

“I missed you," she answered honestly. Of course, for Toriel it had been an hour, but for Athela, it had been a lot more. It had felt like an eternity, too, so…

 “Aw, how cute!” Toriel was pleased to hear that. She let out a soft laugh. “To be honest, I also wanted to see you soon, young one. It’s not every day I have guests, you see.”

  There was a sad glint in Toriel’s eyes for a fraction of a second. Athela felt bad for Toriel; she already understood that the old monster had been alone for only God knows how much time. She felt… pity. And a sense of understanding, too. She knew what loneliness felt like, of course. It was not pleasant.

 At least she had her mother. She really hoped Toriel had someone who could cheer her up from time to time. She deserved to be happy for all the good things she did.

  Toriel stared into Athela’s eyes for a moment… then, her smile turned into a confused grin.

  “Athela? What is that? Did you take them from my room?” The old lady caressed Athela’s cheek, softly touching one of the flowers. They were really similar to those that rested in Toriel’s room, indeed. Toriel’s touch was… warm. And fluffy. She had been careful enough, so the flowers didn’t complain. But…

  Oops.

 She totally forgot about the flowers as soon as she saw Toriel.

  Well, at least the old lady didn’t seem really alarmed, but rather confused…maybe… maybe that was her chance!!

  “Uh… do you like them?” She asked, with a slightly trembling voice. She feigned to rearrange the flowers a bit, as if they were there just for show. That cost her a bit of pain, though; she had to suppress the urge to frown. Toriel raised an eyebrow, still smiling. She had not seemed to notice the girl’s apprehension.

 “Well, they look rather cute. But usually, one would put flowers in their hair…Are you okay? Is this a skeleton thing?” Toriel seemed curious. Maybe it was just one way of improving their looks the youngsters had these days?

 “Uh… yes! Yes it is!” She nodded, kinda desperate to cover the sad, traumatic story behind those seemingly harmless flowers. She was just blindly going with what she previously thought it would never work at all; her brain could not think of anything else to say. But…

 “Interesting," she commented, still eyeing the buds. Surely she believed that lie because she wasn’t a skeleton herself. While a real skeleton would not like to have anything in their eye sockets, to other people it could look like they would not really mind. They were just two empty holes, after all. What was the big deal, you would think?

  Well, for Athela it was a big deal. She still felt really uncomfortable, because her vision was getting blurrier with each reset, and also the pressure was not a nice thing to feel, either.

 And just the general nerve-wracking uneasiness. She wish she could just trim them, jeeze.

  The skeleton sighed with relief when she saw that Toriel just lost interest on that matter shortly after she heard her mumbling something that sounded like “I’ll ask him about it later”.

 Him who? She wondered. Maybe Toriel also had a nice phone buddy. That would actually be great. Someone whom she could have a nice conversation with, every once in a while. She would’ve asked who that person was, but Toriel started speaking again, cutting the skeleton’s thoughts.

  “Well, as long as you’re happy." Toriel nodded, not suspecting a thing about the lie Athela just told her, and then let go of the hug to focus her attention on the groceries once again. “Shall I start cooking? It’s almost lunch time," she announced, as she wiggled the bag and smiled again. Athela smiled too, as she remembered what Toriel made for lunch on the last timeline.

 “Oh yes, snail pie!” Athela liked snail pie. It had an acquired taste, but she could easily ignore the weirdness of the flavor and just enjoy it. After all, pie was pie.

 “Oh, my… how did you know?” Toriel seemed impressed at Athela’s perceptiveness. She was smiling again.

 “Uh… I just… supposed you would suggest one of those?” The young skeleton hid her nervousness under a smile that, fortunately, didn’t turn out as sore as she expected. Of course, this was the same lunch time. She knew what was going to happen now, but Toriel never told her. If she didn’t want to look suspicious, she needed to tone down her enthusiasm a little bit.

 “My, how perceptive you are, my child." The goat lady slowly started to walk towards the house as she spoke. She was probably hungry, and it was the same for Athela, so she followed her closely. The poor skeleton was really hungry lately. Certainly it was because of the great amount of stress certain flower insisted on giving to her. Stress usually made her hungry. And then she wanted chocolate, or another sweet treat. But snail pie was enough for now.

  The two ladies entered the house; Toriel seemed to be in a good mood, as she had started to hum an unfamiliar tune. It was an interesting song, but Athela had never heard it before, so she just listened to it.

 Sadly, she couldn’t really pay much attention to it. Her mind was busy thinking of what to do. She was really, really curious about the cold door, and she definitely wanted to go to the other side… it was, after all, the path she should take in order to get out of the underground. She needed to talk to Toriel about this. About… leaving.

  Even if that hurt her.

  Of course she didn’t want to leave Toriel alone again, but… what about her own mother? She couldn’t stop thinking about her. A few days had passed, so what if she thought her daughter was dead? What would she do? Surely, she was crying… oh no, Athela didn’t want her mom to cry. She just wanted to be with her again.

 …

 It had to be done.

   Toriel had gone to the kitchen straight away, and was now starting to prepare the pie. Athela was just walking in circles around the living room table, thinking of what to say. She would never forgive herself if she made the gentle old lady cry again.

 Again…

  Stop it, Athela. There’s no use on thinking of absurd past timelines. That never happened, not anymore. Breathing in and out, trying to calm herself, she decided to enter the kitchen to talk directly with Toriel.

  “Greetings, Athela." Toriel welcomed her with a warm smile. Athela smiled back, but her smile didn’t turn out entirely honest, and that worried Toriel; she placed the mix bowl on the stove and cleaned a spot on her apron before asking. “Is there something wrong?”

 “Greetings…” Athela’s face was like an open book. She was nervous and felt guilty, and Toriel could see that. The old lady waited for the young one to say something, wielding a worried expression, as she always did when something went wrong. After a moment, she managed to gather the courage to talk. “I… I went to the basement…”

  Toriel frowned a bit in disapproval. It was a sad frown.

  “Oh… did you?” She sighed, seemingly defeated. “You shouldn’t go there. It’s drafty, you could catch a cold.”

 “I’m sorry. I was just curious." And that curiosity ended up straight killing her. Well, Flowey was the one who killed her, but… she messed it up. She was partially to blame. Anyway, she wasn’t going to tell Toriel any of that.

 “You… did you get to the other side?” Toriel asked. She looked sad, but also, somewhat… grateful. Maybe the fact that Athela didn’t leave made her feel better.

 “No..." So Athela was right. That was the exit. Of course, Flowey killed her because he didn’t want her to get out, so figures. Nonetheless, it was nice to hear it from Toriel’s mouth. “I didn’t go outside the Ruins yet, I… I wanted to talk to you first.”

 “Thank you, my child." Toriel said, sighing once more. Truly, it would’ve been too sad if she left without saying goodbye. “I… I know I must not stop you from getting out. You are right by trying to get home…" Now there was a sad expression across her face. She obviously didn’t want her to leave. “I… would’ve liked to spend some more time with you, but… I suppose it can’t be done. Still. It’s dangerous outside. You’re not… exactly strong, Athela.”

 “… I know." The skeleton looked down to the tiled floor and frowned. She hated it, but there was nothing she could do about it. “Still. I need to try. I will do my best, I promise!”

 “I believe you will." Toriel smiled and patted Athela’s hair softly to reassure her. “You’re really perseverant, aren’t you? And you’re not a defenseless child, after all. I believe you will make it out of here… that’s what I wish to happen.”

  Toriel trusted her.

 Well, that was very sweet of her. Because Athela didn’t trust herself, but… maybe all she needed was a little bit of encouragement. Just like the guy on the phone did a few days ago.

 All her life, her mother had sheltered the poor girl, because she was weak, fragile. It was all so Athela could stay alive and safe, and she understood, but… She never really left her alone to do anything potentially dangerous. So… Perhaps that was all she lacked: a little bit of confidence.

  “Thank you, Toriel," Athela grabbed the goat lady’s sleeve, feeling kind of emotional. She was really grateful that she could trust her. Toriel looked happy.

 “It’s nothing, Athela," she replied. “But at least… can you share one last meal with me? I would go with you, but… I have to stay here.”

  Athela nodded vigorously, smiling, though she stiffened up a bit when she felt the flowers moving along with the shaking. Thankfully, Toriel didn’t notice that. She was happily focused on cooking now. She would make the best snail pie she’d ever made. And, of course, Athela would help.

  Eventually, the food was made, and they both went to the living room to eat it. Both ladies were really quiet, but Athela still had many questions to ask. Therefore she left her fork for a second.

  “So… That door. Where does it lead to?” The young lady couldn’t stop thinking about the door. The cold door that Flowey never let her open. “It was really cold.”

 “You mean, the last door? That one leads to Snowdin, my child,” Toriel replied after swallowing.

  Great, new things. Athela was not sure if she liked the new place yet, but the name sounded nice. Sounded like it had snow. Maybe that’s why it was cold. It would make sense.

  “What’s in there?” The skeleton wanted to ask so many things, but one question at a time would be fine for now.

 “Well… Snow," Toriel chuckled. “And trees. And a lot of dogs…” Toriel seemed deep in thought. The old lady smiled widely shortly afterwards. “And, as far as I know, skeletons.”

 “What? S-skeletons?” Athela’s eyes went wide open with surprise. She never expected that… of course, the underground had lots of monsters as far as she knew, therefore she would naturally encounter her own kind at some point. But… so soon? “R-really? Skeletons like me? Oh… how are they? Do you know? Will they… do you think they will like me?”

  Her sheer enthusiasm and nerviness made the old lady smile. What a cute child.

  “My, such eagerness," she chuckled. “I don’t think you have to worry about them. Sadly, I cannot tell you many details, as I haven’t really seen them myself. But I’m sure they will like you. You’re a really nice girl, after all.”

 “T-thank you..." Athela blushed a bit with the compliment. She couldn’t handle flattery really well, oops. She ate more pie in order to calm down. It worked.

  Maybe she was eating too fast… Regardless, Toriel looked at her with a sweet expression on her face. Melancholy could also be perceived there, but Athela was too busy eating to realize. Toriel sighed and also ate; she was still thinking about Athela’s departure. She didn’t want her to leave… something told her it would not end up well.

 But who was her to stop a lonely girl who just wanted to go home? She would do the same, if she just could…

  Memories were flowing, filling her with nostalgia. She sighed, and stared at her plate. There was some pie left, but she didn’t feel like finishing it, somehow. However, Athela kept gobbling up as if she hadn’t eaten in days. That was rather cute. Soon, all of her food was gone, only crumbles were left.

  “Would you like to keep a slice? For the road." Toriel noticed how much Athela liked her cooking, surely she would like to store a bit of it for her journey.

 “Oh! Of course!” Indeed, Athela loved the idea. Some extra pie, what a wonderful thing.

  Toriel smiled and stood up from her chair, then nodded and walked towards the kitchen, silently. Athela remained seated and looked at the pie leftovers Toriel didn’t finish. Toriel always finished her plate…

 The skeleton frowned, feeling a little bit sad. She knew it wasn’t easy, Toriel was probably unhappy about her decision to leave. But… she had to. Even if she loved Toriel very much.

 She had to.

  She sighed, and then stood up as well. The end was near. She would leave soon. That filled her with uncertainty; what would possibly await on the other side?

 A forest? It sounded like a forest… and she loved forests. She had never seen snow before, but surely it was good. Cold climates… a new thing she was willing to see.

  “I’m back. Here you go." Toriel was there again with an appetizing slice of snail pie. The more Athela ate it, the more she liked it. The skeleton smiled and saved it.

 “Thanks," she said, smiling widely.

  An uncomfortable silence filled the room after that.

 It… was hard to say goodbye.

  “I suppose… you’ll be leaving now." Toriel looked sad, but she smiled anyway. She wanted Athela to be happy, and if that meant she had to leave, so be it. Her expectations… Her loneliness… Her fear… For her, she would put them aside.

  Athela looked aside and nodded.

  “I… I want to go to the garden one last time," Athela needed to save. She didn’t know what was out there, it could be dangerous. Saving was a pain, but important regardless. Toriel nodded to that, and accompanied her to the patio. There, Athela looked at the big tree for a while, and then at the red leaves beneath the save point.

  She was going to miss that house. And Toriel. She looked at the old lady, who gazed back into her eyes with a warm smile across her face.

 Athela took a deep breath.

 She was one step closer to her freedom.

  That… filled her with a good feeling.

  Then, the usual sharp pain came back. She didn’t even need to do anything. Maybe she was just getting so used to it, she didn’t even need to touch the glowing light. That was good… more or less. She closed her eyes strongly when she felt the soreness spread across her skull. She was also getting used to that.

 She felt a pat on the head. Toriel was worrying about her again.

  “I’m fine," she blurted out, to make Toriel feel better. “It’s just a headache.”

 “You’ve been having some of those, lately. Are you sure you’re okay?” The worried old woman patted Athela’s hair, concerned about her well-being. Athela just nodded, smiling again. The pain was gone.

  …

 Progress was saved. She could finally leave now.

 …

  She couldn’t bring herself to say goodbye.

  “I’ll lead you to the door." Toriel’s face was stern. Nobody seemed to be happy with this. Athela sighed and followed. The corridor felt even colder and smaller now. She still remembered her bad experiences with Flowey, so she stood close to Toriel the whole time. Holding her hand.

  Whilst they walked together, Athela was thinking. Should she say anything? Should she… do anything? It felt so sour, leaving like that. She felt bad.

 But… the door was already there. What a frustrating situation. Last time, it felt like ages to her. And now they got to the door in less than a few minutes.

  Was it already over? It was just the first door, but Toriel had stopped, as if she would not go further than that point. Oh, no. She wanted to stay with her until the end…

  “This is it…” Toriel whispered. “I wish you the best of luck, Athela." Her solemn expression made Athela feel sadder.

 “T-Toriel, I… I’ll miss you," she said, noticing how her voice trembled a bit. Toriel looked even sadder once she heard that. She was making her best effort not to get too emotional, and yet… The old lady took a deep breath.

 “If you truly wish to leave the Ruins…I will not stop you. However, when you leave… please do not come back..." Those words were really harsh. Athela’s eyes were filled with tears now. Curious thing, her right eye, the one where the flowers were, was shedding less tears than her left eye. Were the flowers obstructing the water, or were they absorbing them? She didn’t know. Regardless, Toriel kept talking as she gently placed a hand in her shoulder. “I hope you understand.”

  Yes. She did understand.

 She was going to leave the underground. And they would probably never meet again, wouldn’t they? That was her goal. Going back would only give her false expectations. She didn’t want that.

  “I… I understand. Thanks for taking care of me." Athela tried to wipe the tears, carefully.

  Toriel could not stand the skeleton’s tears. She kneeled down and pulled the girl into a big, loving hug. Athela didn’t take long to hug back. The tears were not stopping anymore; Toriel’s dress got drenched, but she didn’t seem to mind. They hugged as if it were the last time they would see each other again and then, Toriel let go. She wiped Athela’s tears away, and then kissed her forehead.

  “Goodbye," she whispered, before getting up again. Athela gritted her teeth and watched her walk away.

  They shared one last gaze before Toriel turned back again and disappeared into the corridor.

  It was done. She wasn’t there anymore.

  Athela was… alone.

   She turned to the door and pushed it forcefully. The same corridor welcomed her as she walked towards the exit. Again, it felt like an infinite passageway. The echo of her footsteps resonated and brought back the oh-so-familiar dread, the fear.

  She was alone.

 Alone in an unknown world.

  What could she do now? The urge to go back to Toriel rose up inside her with the force of a typhoon. She was so afraid of being alone. But… she should be strong. Because Toriel trusted her. She would show her faith to be genuine and worthy. She would make it out even if it was the last thing she’d do.

  The last room.

  And of course, there he was. Atop the grass, surrounded by the light that came from up above, a small little flower stood. Smiling. Flowey the flower.

  “Clever. Verrrryyy clever." He started talking, his face showing a twisted, mischievous grin. Athela didn’t know what he meant…she was too scared to ask, anyway. She feared he would kill her yet again. She never know what to expect. “You think you’re really smart, don’t you?”

  Athela shook her head. She didn’t think she was smart at all. In fact, she felt really bad at the moment, so she would appreciate it if Flowey could shut up just for once. But she said nothing. So he kept talking.

  “Hee hee hee… I bet you feel really great." The flower nodded, still smiling. “You managed to get through! With tricks and lies, but hey, everything’s valid!”

 “N-no, I didn’t…!” Athela jumped up at what Flowey just said. However, she abruptly stopped talking when she saw Flowey shape his face… and turn it into one that really looked like her own.

 “Uh… do you like the flowers?” Even the voice he made was really like hers. It was… a new level of creepy. Athela looked horrified as the flower kept imitating her. “It’s totally a skeleton thing! It’s not like I died or anything! I don’t know anything about loads and resets! Nope, not a thing! So don’t worry and just let me go now, old hag!”

 “Wait, I never said anything like that!!” She clenched her fists as she felt anger boiling up.

  But Flowey just smiled.

  “No?” He then regained his normal face and voice, and of course the smug grin was still there. “How curious. It totally sounded like you wanted to avoid the topic so you didn’t have to explain anything. Aren’t you being too lazy, Athela?”

  Don’t say my name. I don’t like it when you say my name.

  “I just… I didn’t want to worry her! She would get really sad if she knew!” She yelled, frowning. Flowey just didn’t understand. How could he understand?

“Yes, of course." Flowey flailed his head with a dramatic expression, and started imitating Athela again. “Oh, she worries too much. If I fell her the truth, she will never let me out of here. Let’s lie to her so I can get out of here faster." His expression turned more impish at the end. Athela was speechless.

 “I…. I…” That felt like a punch to the chest. How did he know that she had considered Toriel would do that if she told her…? No, but she didn’t… she wouldn’t do something like that, she…

 “Golly! Looks like I hit the jackpot!” Flowey was proud of himself. “I totally guessed what was going on in that little flowered head of yours, didn’t I?”

 “N-no, you didn’t," she lied.

 “Ah, another lie… what a misbehaving lady. What would Toriel say?” Flowey laughed. Athela took a step back. Her anger had totally disappeared, and now only guilt remained.

  She… did it because she was worried. She…

  “Well," Flowey continued, “now it’s lying. Maybe later, you will get even meaner. Who knows? You’re half human, after all… aren’t you?”

  Athela stared at him, confused. Still unable to formulate any kind of question or… any sentence, really. She was just feeling awful, and confused, and scared, and…

  “…” No, no words were coming out. Even if she tried… could she even excuse herself?

 “This is going to be so very interesting..." The flower’s face then grew, showing a horrid, cruel smile. His voice sounded distorted as he laughed like a maniac, scaring Athela even more than she already was.

  Then, he regained his original size and winked cutely before burrowing into the ground and disappearing from the skeleton’s sight.

  And she was alone again.

       Athela - LV 1 Ruins – Home Nº Resets: 27

#Bloomtale #Bloomtale AU #Chapter 11 #Main story #Ruins #Home #Athela #OC #Toriel #Flowey #A cold door #thanks for reading <3