#I hope this is able to satiate in the meantime

[geek-png]

A little late to the party but I felt compelled.

#marvel #nwh #fanart #I hope everyone had a good halloween #I really need to revamp my art tbh #been too busy to experiment really so I've been stuck in a major rut #I hope this is able to satiate in the meantime #spiderman #doc ock #otto octavius #alfred molina #geek png

[flxwxr-bxy]

Heya are your request open? If so i would like to request Ranpo with a s/o (gn or male) who's in the port mafia? You could do hc or a drabble, whatever u want. And if not is totally fine :) thank u!

— Blanket Flower ☆

☾ Ty so much for your request, I hope you like it! (and my apologies for the wait) ☆

☆ Genre: Fluff

☾ Character: Ranpo x M! Reader

☆ Warning: None!

☾ I am not a native English speaker, so I apologize if you find any spelling mistakes.☆

The only way I can see this working is if you were also a detective.

One day, Ranpo was called to the scene of a crime, where they didn't have a single clue as to what the killer looked like. So Ranpo was at the crime scene, but to his surprise, he found another guy already investigating the scene, it only took him a couple of seconds to find out the truth, but he was intrigued to say the least, by how focused you seemed, could it be possible that you found something too? He rushed over to you and introduced himself, strangely he felt as if he knew you from before, but decided to stop giving the matter too much thought since he probably knew you from before at a crime scene.

You were quite surprised that an ADA member would introduce himself to you, even more so the moment you realized he was ranpo but wait? If it was Ranpo, then he should know that you were a member of the pm, and he was deciding to just ignore you for now since you were both just detectives working on the same investigation at the moment, so without further thought you introduced yourself once again now in a very different situation.

Ranpo was surprised when you were confused when you saw him approaching you, surely you were clumsy with people. He had met a lot of people like that, after all, he decided to ask you if you had discovered something and what a surprise when you discovered almost perfectly the murderer. It was only because of a small detail that you didn't figure it out, but he really thought that if he gave you a couple more hours you would have figured it out. He could lie and say he didn't feel a little scared at how really smart you were, but he tried to ignore the unpleasant feeling. After all, what you would find out in hours, he could find out in just a few seconds. That made him feel more sure of himself.

Days went by and in the meantime, Ranpo was investigating a new member of the pm what was his surprise when he recognized your face, that's why he had the feeling he had met you before! And deciding that investigating a bit about you wouldn't hurt anyone, he started to discover quite interesting things about your person, but what made him even more interested in you was your ability, it wasn't related in any way to solving crimes and stuff like that so that meant it was pure talent and expertise…. He tried to distract his curiosity, but after a long struggle with himself, he decided that if you two were able to have a normal conversation outside the enemy organizations you both belonged to, he could just ask you out for coffee in the next case you were both called, it didn't sound so bad and if he was honest with himself he definitely found you quite handsome and under his better judgement decided that maybe getting a little closer to you didn't sound so bad after all.

You were really questioning how you ended up in a café having a quiet conversation with an ADA member in the café where the ADA is located, perhaps you were just sick, but ranpo really seemed like he just wanted to satiate his curiosity, so you let it be and without realizing it you both spent hours just talking in that café about your own skills, cases you were each solving, exchanging strange but surprisingly so good tips on how to solve murders faster, and maybe it was just that you both just wanted someone to talk to for hours about these things perhaps you were just feeling a little lonely and maybe you both just enjoyed each other's company but thankfully neither of you went home until it was time to close the café and even then it wasn't enough.

The seasons began to change and as the days went by, you two fell in love with each other, everything felt a little more peaceful, free when the two of you were together and as time did not stand still, Ranpo found that little by little your house began to feel more like his too spending a lot of his time hanging around just feeling that if the two of you were together it was safe and as it was only a matter of time you began to date.

☆ -☆ -☆ -☆ -☆ -☆ -☆ -☆ -☆ -☆ -☆ -☆ -☆ -☆ -☆ -☆ -☆ -☆ -☆ -☆ -☆ -

Honestly, with this kind of dynamic between the two of you because of work, I think it would be pretty fun to date ranpo.

The first thing you two agreed on was that as soon as you walk in the door of your house, work doesn't matter and if you ever talk about work, it's solely and specifically about a criminology case that has nothing to do with both organizations.

I doubt the pm even knows about the relationship, but even if they did, they wouldn't care either, seeing it more as something that could go in their favor in the future (some probably think you're strategically dating ranpo to find out more about the ADA).

And speaking of the ADA… it would be pure chaos with a lot of varied reactions, but I'm pretty sure everyone would be more concerned about ranpo being used to get information, but since it's ranpo they assume it might be a bit safer (just a bit).

I think you two's house would have one of the most peaceful aesthetics thanks to the job you two have, just wanting to have a place where you two can just relax and enjoy being with each other (even though it probably has random decorations if you look closely because you thought they were funny and cute).

Arriving late at night thanks to a mission that went longer than expected and ranpo just in the kitchen sleeping in a chair because he was waiting for you to get home, and you were taking too long, he got a little freaked out :(

When one of you is having a stressful week, and you spend the day just cuddling and enjoying each other's company to finally relax.

If you both found yourselves on the same mission, you would both try to stay as far away from each other as possible without compromising the mission. After all, it was the jobs neither of you were willing to give up.

In the end, even though you are both part of enemy organizations, you don't let those things get in the way of your relationship, making every day a new adventure knowing that you have each other for as long as the future allows.

☾ Author's note: Blanket Flower symbolize joy and modesty. I'm finally back! Sorry for the long wait, but I'm really excited to start writing again. Pls reblog and follow if you want, I hope you have a lovely day or night. :) ☆

All works belong to @ flxwxr-bxy don't copy, translate or repost in other sites without my permission. Thanks ♡

#bsd x male reader #bsd x reader #ranpo x reader #Ranpo x male reader #x male reader

[nanasparadise]

“Your musketeer in a blue tunic” Yan! Polnareff x female reader (musketeer AU)

Hiya everyone! As promised, here is a Yan! Polnareff writing, since he was in the top four of the poll for the special but hasn’t reached the top three. I thought it might be a fun idea to make him a musketeer and now I’ve realised this fic turned out to be low-key a Belle and Gaston situation from Beauty and the Beast lmao. Anyway, there might be historical inaccuracies in the story, I’m sorry for that.

Summary: You’re a farmer woman in 18th century France and a certain musketeer keeps crossing paths with you…

TW: toxic relationship, noncon kiss, low-key harassment, forced marriage, MATURE AUDIENCE ONLY/MINORS DNI

I do not condone any yandere behaviour in real life.

Word count: 3900

“Just about half an hour and I’ll be there”, you mumble to yourself. 

The pouring rain drenches your whole form, an icy cold having already nested deep in your bones. But you can’t stop now, even if it’s raining cats and dogs. You know you have to arrive to the main market place, which is located a good three hours from the farm you live in. If the wool – which you hope isn’t too wet, knowing the burlap bags aren’t protecting it well from the rain – won’t be sold today, you don’t know how you could afford some bread for your family. You think of your little siblings, how they always stare at you with big eyes, expecting at least some crumbs of stale bread in order to satiate their hunger a bit. Your heart aches painfully at that mental image. No, you’re going to sell the wool at all cost, no matter if it means you get sick due to the weather. You owe it to your loved ones, needing to protect and provide for them as the oldest sibling. 

A chilly wind blows intensely into your face, making you shiver even more. Lucky for you, no other person is currently on the road, meaning you’re in safety. You’re aware about how many sketchy men lurk in these streets by the countryside, just waiting for a young woman like yourself to pass by and to do God knows what with her. As a protection measure, you always carry a knife with you, hidden in your boot. Fortunately, you haven’t needed to use it, yet…

Suddenly, you hear the footsteps of a horse approaching you, the characteristic sounds of its hooves drawing closer to you. Your first instinct is to immediately pull out your knife, but you refrain yourself. 

“It’s probably just another merchant who wants to go to the market, too”, you think, comforting yourself. And even if that shouldn’t be the case, it would be wiser to take your possible aggressor by surprise with an attack if needed. 

The steps are now dangerously close to you, too close for your liking, until they come to a halt. Surprised, you stop your walking as well and look up to the person on the horse. Next to you on his steed is a man around your age, probably a few years older, with peculiar silver hair and bright blue eyes. Through his uniform, consisting of a characteristic blue tunic with a white cross on it, you immediately recognise the stranger as a King’s musketeer. You hastily curtsy and meekly avert your gaze, given that he’s of a higher social rank. Why would a musketeer want from you, a farmer? 

“Good day, Monsieur”, you greet the musketeer politely. 

“Good day, Mademoiselle”, the stranger answers jovially. “Please forgive my intervention, but what does a young lady like you travel alone on such a dangerous road?”, he asks you, sincere concern marking his voice. 

Why would he care? And why would he refer to you as a lady when you’re clearly just a commoner? You get the sudden urge to grab your knife again, but of course your rational brain side hinders you from doing so.

“I’m only going to the market place, good sir. I’d like to sell some wool”, you explain shortly, your eyes still not meeting the stranger’s. 

“All alone?”, the Frenchman wonders. 

“I’m afraid I don’t have much of a choice, Monsieur. My father has to work on the farm and my mother looks after my younger siblings”, you reply truthfully. Honestly, you’d prefer not giving too much information away to the stranger, but lying doesn’t seem like a safe option either. 

“I see, Mademoiselle,” the musketeer utters politely, “in that case, I’d be pleased to escort you to the market place. After all, my heart couldn’t handle if something happened to a damsel.” 

“Thank you for your generous offer, Monsieur”, you answer civilly, curtsying gracefully again. Though internally, you sigh and roll your eyes at the Frenchman’s words. 

“More like his ego couldn’t handle getting rejected by a common woman”, you ponder cynically. You’re about to continue your walking as the stranger stops your action abruptly. 

“Wait a moment, Mademoiselle,” he shouted hastily, “I’ll take your bags and settle them on my horse.” The silver-haired man dismounts from his white horse and takes the bags filled with wool from your hands, placing and tying them on the animal’s back. 

“You are far too kind, Monsieur”, you say with an overly sweet voice. Lucky for you, the stranger doesn’t seem to notice the hint of sarcasm hidden in your tone. Instead, he smiles brightly at you, revealing a row of impeccable white teeth. 

“As a musketeer, it’s my duty to help a lady in need”, he boasts proudly. Again, you fight the urge to roll your eyes. “Ah, how rude of me, Mademoiselle, I haven’t properly introduced myself. My name is Jean-Pierre Polnareff, I’m delighted to make your acquaintance, Miss…?” 

“Y/N L/N”, you reply meekly. 

“What a lovely name, Milady.”

~

The pair of you have been walking silently side by side for a while. You simply wish to arrive as fast as possible to the market place, wanting to get rid of Polnareff’s present. After some time, the stormy weather has changed into a brighter, more pleasant sky. Though some sun rays peek through the clouds, the cold from the previous rain remains. Upon seeing your slightly quivering form, Polnareff offers you a blanket he has in his supplies with him. Politely, you decline his offer. You certainly don’t want to be more in the debt of such a high ranking man. 

“I apologise if this may come across as rude, Mademoiselle Y/N, but I couldn’t help but notice that there isn’t a ring on your finger”, the musketeer suddenly mentions. The hairs on your arms stand up at his observation and you instinctively straighten your back. If Polnareff has seen your discomfort, he still chooses to continue speaking. “And you’ve said previously you’re living with your family on a farm. How come such a fair maiden like you isn’t married yet? I reckon you must have many suitors.” Something about his tone and the dangerous gleam in his blue eyes sets you on edge. 

“Oh, I do have had some suitors in the past,” you answer truthfully, but cautiously, “but I’ve chosen to not marry. My family needs me and I don’t wish to let them down.” Polnareff gives you a tender glance, the prying shimmer being replaced with sympathy now. 

“Maybe you’ll soon find a wealthy man who’s able to help your family out”, he mumbles softly, though you still could hear his words. 

“I’d rather not base my life on such an improbable dream. After all, I’m just a common farmer,” you say, slightly amused. “He doesn’t have a clue how life’s for a commoner, does he?” 

“So you’d like to marry? It’s your dream, didn’t you say that, Mademoiselle?”, Polnareff counters, hope swinging in his voice. Why is he hopeful? But you decide to not voice this thought. 

“Well, that’s quite a difficult question, Monsieur Polnareff,” you retort,  feeling unsure now “it would be the wisest choice for me to marry, but at the moment, I feel content to take care of my family.” For some reason, the musketeer’s face falls at your last sentence. Disappointment takes over it instead, his lips turning into a bitter, thin line. 

“Ah, I see”, he replies wearily. You immediately notice the change of atmosphere, though you don’t comment on it. Instead, you two continue strolling in silence.

Eventually, the pair of you arrive at the market place. During your travel, none of you spoke further, the mood being too tense and awkward. You settle your burlap bags on the floor on a free spot after the silver-haired man has removed them from his horse for you. 

“My sincerest thanks, Monsieur Polnareff.” You bow politely. Even though your eyes have been trained on the floor for only a matter of seconds, some stealthy thief has been able to snatch one of your bags. Immediately, your head leaps up. 

“Hey, this belongs to me! Give it back!”, you scream angrily. You wouldn’t let some trickster take your wool, not after working so hard for your family! You’re ready to run after the knave, but a hand on your forearm hinders you from doing so. 

“Let me handle this, Mademoiselle Y/N,” Polnareff says confidently, “you’ll have your merchandise back in no time. Just wait for me here.” Quickly, the musketeer dashes into an alleyway after the thief. Confused, you’re left alone at the market place, the man’s horse being your only companion. A sigh rolls off your lips. 

“Guess I’ll have to do what he says if I ever want that wool back”, you exclaim exasperatedly. This is the last thing you’ve needed today. First, you’ve been drenched by the rain, then a weird musketeer has started following you and asking you eerily invasive question and now your precious goods have been stolen. In the meantime, you try your best to sell the remaining wool.

After half an hour, you still haven’t sold any wool at all. Though you were definitely drawing attention on you by shouting out some offers, no one has seemed to be interested yet. No one even cared enough to look towards your direction. 

“I guess I’ll just have to stay all day, then”, you think gloomily. From the corner of your eyes, you notice an all too familiar form approaching you, though this time with a bag in his hand. 

“Mademoiselle Y/N!”, Polnareff shouts excitedly, “I’ve retrieved your bag from the thief!” A sincere expression of gratitude appears on your face. Yes, the man is more than annoying to you with his clingy behaviour, but at least he was chasing the trickster for you! 

“Thank you so much, Monsieur Polnareff!”, you exclaim happily, relieved to have your wool back. Now there’s only the matter of selling it left… 

“Of course, nothing to thank for, Mademoiselle! I’d never want to see such a charming lady like you in need.” 

Purposefully, you ignore his statement, an awkward feeling bubbling up in you. Instead you’re thanking him again. All the while, the Frenchman keeps staring at you with a look of fondness, a huge and proud smile adorning his face. In his mind, he’s just proven to you how capable he is of taking care of you and your family. How could you refuse him now? He’s literally your knight in shining armour! Or your musketeer in a blue tunic. It doesn’t matter, he’s practically your hero! 

Polnareff’s grin only widens at the thought of you swooning over him. The silver-haired man doesn’t know why he feels like this towards you. Maybe it’s because you just looked so pitiful when he saw you on that road, soaking wet from the rain. Maybe it’s his pride that doesn’t let him relent. Maybe it’s the way your eyes sparked with determination and love when you talked about your family. Maybe it’s your radiant atmosphere, which draws him in like a moth. Maybe you’re secretly a witch who put a love spell on his poor self, making him a fool for you after having only met you. Maybe, maybe, maybe…  

Polnareff quickly stops his pondering. “It’s not of importance,” he muses, “as long as she’ll realise I’m the best choice for her.”

“I see you haven’t sold any of your goods yet”, the musketeer says, trying to sound casually. Though in his thoughts, he already has a plan schemed. 

“No, unfortunately not,” you reply, an exasperated sigh following swiftly, “but there’s still some time left until I have to return home. Surely, I’ll be able to sell some.” 

“You know, Mademoiselle Y/N, I’d rather not see you standing here all day, maybe even for it to be in vain,” Polnareff utters, concerning coating his voice, “let me help you, I’ll buy the wool.” Your eyes grow big at his proposition. Even though it’s more than a generous offer, especially after all he’s been through for you today, you can’t help but feeling alerted. Why would he go all these lengths for you? He can’t be that kind, there must be something he wants in return. 

“You’re far too generous, Monsieur Polnareff. I can’t accept such an offer”, you tell the musketeer, hoping he’ll actually drop his suggestion. But the Frenchman remains stubborn as a mule. 

“Ah ah Mademoiselle,” he tuts you condescendingly, “I’m a man of my word. How much would you like? Are two livres enough?”

Your eyes widen so much at his offer, you wouldn’t be surprised if your eyeballs fell out. Two livres? Is that man insane? The wool is hardly five sous worth! 

“I think you must have meant two sous, Monsieur Polnareff,” you answer him, still shocked. 

“Pas du tout, Mademoiselle. Two livres is what I said and what I meant. Or would you maybe want more?” 

Vehemently, you shake your head. Two livres… That would feed your family for at least three months! “No Y/N, you can’t take this offer!” Your thoughts interrupt you suddenly. Not only does your conscience forbid you from doing so, your parents would also wonder where all that money comes from. They might assume you’ve stolen it as no one would believe a stranger to be so kind to just give a random farmer way too much money. 

“Monsieur Polnareff,” you try again to change his mind, “I really don’t think you should-“ 

“Ah, there’s my pouch!”, the silver-haired man exclaims happily, ignoring your previous words. Eagerly, he takes two shiny coins out of it, pressing them in your palm. Admitting your defeat, you curtsy and express your deep gratitude again. Though a small part inside you does enjoy the fact of getting provided for.

After your exchange, Polnareff insisted on bringing you home again. You dislike the idea of him knowing exactly where you live, but that man’s stubbornness and pride is bigger than the Palace of Versailles. Which is why the two of you are walking back to your farm, the wool resting on Polnareff’s horse’s back. 

“What are you doing with all the wool, if I may ask?”, you say with a questioning look on your face, “Surely, a musketeer doesn’t need to fabricate his own clothes.” The Frenchman rubs sheepishly behind his neck and offers you a smile. 

“Ah Mademoiselle, you see, I might just donate it. I’ve just wanted to help you out, I don’t need it myself.” Even though you still cannot bring yourself to trust him, your heart warms at his statement. 

“That’s indeed very noble of you, Monsieur Polnareff”, you reply candidly. The musketeer sends you another bright grin, a subtle blush forming on his pale cheeks.

The sun has begun to set as the two of you arrive on the farm. With a polite curtsy, you’re ready to finally return home, excited to tell your family the good news regarding the money. But Polnareff stops your goodbye. His hand finds its way to your wrist, halting your movement. 

“Before we must depart, Mademoiselle Y/N,” he counters hastily, “I’d like to be assured that we’ll meet again soon. I find myself enthralled by your presence.” 

Your heart beats faster at his proposition. Suddenly, you realise the dangerous situation you’re in, the big hand capturing your smaller wrist. Could you really deny him without facing consequences? Thoughts like these rush through your head as the man in front of you keeps waiting for your reaction. Still, you’re going to try. If something should happen, you still have your knife with you and your father would surely rush out once he hears your screams. 

“Monsieur Polnareff,” you start hesitantly, “I’m deeply flattered by your words. You are truly an admirable and honourable man whose kind actions shall always carry my most sincere gratitude. Though I must admit, I don’t think it would be a wise idea to meet again.” The Frenchman makes a crestfallen face at your words. You feel almost bad for him. “Ah, I think I should explain myself further. Well, Monsieur Polnareff, we are of two different social classes, continuing mingling with me would put a bad reputation on you. I cannot offer you something of interest. Plus, I like staying with my family so far, this is my home.” 

“Y/N”, Polnareff whispers affectionately, his thumb rubbing softly on the inside of your wrist. You shoot him a surprised look, confused by him dropping the formal title. If anyone would have heard this, they’d turn it into a scandal. 

“I know my offer might appear strange to you, but I wish to marry out of love one day. I’m aware it’s fairly uncommon and even looked upon with scorn to marry below someone’s station, but the matters of the heart outshine the matters of the mind in my case. I have more than enough money, a comfortable estate and an honourable title. So you’re correct by saying you can’t offer me anything. Though you forgot one important thing, dear Y/N: you can offer me companionship, love, a meaningful bond between two souls.” Upon his last sentence, Polnareff tenderly grabs both of your hands in his, admiring how they seem to fit perfectly. Too astounded by his words, you let the man do as he pleases. Quickly, Polnareff catches on with his speech. “Please Y/N, let me see you again. Let me court you properly. I can give you and your family a beautiful life, a life you deserve.” The silver-haired male’s form moves now closer to yours, his blue eyes fixated on your lips. This action breaks you from the spell you’ve been caught in previously as you abruptly rip your hands off his grip and step back. 

“I’m sorry, Monsieur Polnareff,” you manage to say, your voice sounding breathless from the adrenaline rushing in your veins, “I don’t think I’m the right woman for you. I do not wish to disappoint you further, that’s why I’m being direct with you. I’m going home now, please do not seek out for me. Have a good evening, Monsieur Polnareff.” You give him one last glance, noting his furious facial expression, before you eventually walk rapidly the path up to your family’s farm. 

“I’ll be coming back, Mademoiselle Y/N!”, you hear the musketeer shouting behind you, “I’m not giving up that easily!” His sentences only make you pick up your pace as fear makes itself present in your body. Why couldn’t he just respect your choice? You’re sure there are enough suitable ladies in his rank pining for him, so why would he bother you? Finally, to your happiness, you arrive at the front door. Quickly, you enter your home, locking the door from the inside. Still, it feels as if a pair of blue eyes continues burning holes in your back…

The following month had been both positive and negative. Positive, because your family didn’t need to worry about food thanks to the two livres Polnareff gave you. Negative, because the latter had been true to his word and kept showing up at your place. Every time you told him you won’t change your mind, the musketeer only seemed to be more encouraged to prove you otherwise. 

Today isn’t any different. As you make your way to the market to buy some food, you hear the familiar hooves approaching you. Annoyed, you let out a sigh and roll your eyes. 

“Bonjour Y/N! What a pleasant day to see you again, mon amour!”, Polnareff exclaims happily while he dismounts from his horse to walk next to you. 

“Bonjour Polnareff”, you reply politely. In the meantime, you’ve dropped the titles when you two were alone, not seeing the point of them anymore. Plus, the Frenchman even decides to call you pet names, so why showing him respect? 

“Ah, ma puce, no need to be so cold today! After all, I bring some splendid news”, the Frenchman replies excitedly. You eye him suspiciously, brows knitted together. What on earth is he planning now?  

“And that would be?”, you answer matter-of-factly. “You’re finally leaving me alone?” 

“You see, before I came to meet you, I’ve finally talked with your parents.” At these words, you immediately stop your steps. A feeling of dread emerges in your stomach, making you feel sick. 

“Oh no,” you think desperately, “this can’t be good.” 

“Very lovely people, indeed. It hurts my feelings knowing you haven’t invited me to them, mon cœur”, Polnareff continues his talk, a hand put on his chest in mock concern. 

“And why should I have done such thing?”, you reply coolly, though internally you’re freaking out. You already know you won’t like the answer… 

“My dearest, how come you act so cruel? Don’t you think your future husband should see your parents? After all, we’re betrothed now!” 

“No”, you retort without thinking. Your palms grow sweaty, a deep fear manifesting in your body. The silver-haired man smirks at your reaction. 

“Non? I think your parents disagree with you, ma chérie. In fact, we’ve already picked out a date for the ceremony. Can you believe it? In two months, we’ll be finally one.” Panic overflows your mind, your breathing becoming laboured. How could your parents decide on such a matter behind your bag? After everything you’ve done for your family? Polnareff notices your stress as he softly wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you close to his chest. The musketeer tries to comfort you by shushing you and gently brushing over your back, though his actions only fuel your terror. You squirm in his grasp, trying to escape him, escape this situation, but his grip on you only strengthens. 

“Let me go!”, you scream all while tears stream down your cheeks, “I don’t want to be with you! Why can’t you just accept that?” 

“My little Y/N,” Polnareff mumbles calmly, “if you hadn’t  been so stubborn, we could have discussed the wedding plans together. I know you think our union is not favourable, but if even your family agrees to it, it surely can’t be that wrong, hm? You’re so blinded by your little provincial life that you can’t see what’s best for you. And trust me, my dove, I’m the best choice.” The Frenchman grabs your chin, staring lovingly in your by now puffy eyes. “It’s fine if you need some time to realise that. As long as you remain by my side.” With these words, the silver-haired man puts his mouth on yours, his hand now wandering to your cheek. You wriggle harder in his grasp, though your attempts to escape remain futile. Tenderly, Polnareff caresses your face as his lips finally leave yours. 

“Je t’aime de tout mon cœur, mon ange*”, he whispers adoringly, pressing your face against his chest again. Your tears smudge the blue fabric of his tunic, your voice hoarse from screaming. And even though you wish this is but a nightmare, you start comprehending you’re truly trapped in Polnareff’s oh so loving arms for the rest of your life.

*former French currency. 2 livres are about 30 euros, which was a lot of money back then

*former French currency. 5 sous are about 3,70 euros, which was still quite some money back in the day

*”I love you with all my heart, my angel”

#JJBA #JoJo's Bizarre Adventure #yandere jojo #yandere jjba #yandere x reader #yandere jjba x reader #yandere polnareff #yandere polnareff x reader #minors dni #tw: yandere #tw: arranged marriage #tw: noncon touching

[euphoricsunflowers]

sweet angel — lee hoseok/wonho

a/n: i hope you guys like this piece because i put a lot of effort into it and i really like the storyline 🥺🥺

word count: 2.3k

content: sub!wonho, dom!fem!reader, not explicitly afab but she/her pronouns for the reader, only like half of it is horny, handjobs, some shit doesn’t make sense just go with it, this fic has cute moments but warning you now it’s not what you think it is.

summary: the goddess of stars and moons, of gold and silk, falls in love with a human with soft features and an endearing pout.

because of a violent and blood history, every year the village sends one of their maidens or men to the goddess temple as a sort of offering to her. she has not attacked the village since and the souls that are sent to her are never returned.

when wonho heard the news, that he was chosen to be sent to the goddess, it’s as if the knowledge was deafening. he couldn’t imagine giving up everything just to be a sacrifice. he had friends and a family and a important role in his community.

but it had to happen, “you were chosen for the sacrifice?” wonho’s younger friend asked him, his voice slightly trembling at the implications.

“it’ll be okay, kyun. i’ll be okay and you all will be okay without me,” wonho smiles distantly, because he can’t seem to find it in him to meet the gaze of his friend. he knows he’s already crying, he doesn’t want to cry more, “it’ll all be okay...”

“no! no it’s not okay!” he cries out, but his cries fall in deaf ears. not even wonho can fight this anymore, “stop! why are you so complacent in this fate? she’s going to kill you!”

“i know...” he mutters sadly, “that’s why i’m so complacent. it’s either me, or it’s you, or it’s jooheon, or minhyuk, or— do you get my point? it has to be me!” his dark yet soft eyes meet changkyun’s first ones, “it has to be me because it can’t be you.”

“that’s easy for you to say! you may want to save us, but we want to save you just as much! it’s selfish to disregard our feelings like that just because you think it has to be you!”

the silence falls over them heavily, and wonho sighs at the tension, “there’s no use in fighting it, kyun. i’m sorry. i dont want to spend my last day here fighting with you,” it broke his heart to see the fire in changkyun’s eyes die out, but they both nod solemnly.

and the next day, wonho was dressed up in beauitful fabrics and was given many gifts to give to her, along with the main gift: his soul. and then he was gone.

he made his way to her temple just outside the village after saying goodbye to everyone. it was so heartbreaking to see the looks on all his friends faces, he couldn’t look any of them in the eye. and with a trembling step, he was now outside the village, and with a few more, he was at the steps of her temple. he takes a deep breath, before stepping inside.

the architecture of the temple was beautiful, golden fabrics and silky white pillars with a beauitful painting of stars in the dark night sky on the ceiling.

“hello?” he calls out, just to hear echos of his own voice. they swirl around his head, making him dizzy, but he catches himself before he falls, “i-i’m here as your soul, the sacrifice from the nearby village.”

still, no response, and when his head fills with a golden fog, he falls helplessly to his knees, his chest filling with the same fog, making him feel so lightheaded and dizzy, “w-wait, please d-don’t kill me!” he begs and that’s when he finally hears it.

“oh, poor angel,” your voice echos loudly, ringing in his ears, “shhhh, you will not die by my hand. you do not need to be as afraid as you are.”

he finally opens his eyes, trying and partially succeeding in seeing where the voice is coming from, “i— please... please,” all he makes out is a figure not of this world, unlike anything he’s ever seen or imagined.

“maybe it’s a bit superficial, but you’re quite... ethereal, dear, and i don’t wish i give you up just yet. give me your name, will you?”

a faint voice in the back of his head reminds him to never give his name, only to tell it, but he doesn’t hear it before his voice speaks before he can stop it, “wonho,” and you smile at him, and suddenly not a single worry passes through his head.

“well, dear wonho, stay still for me for just a second,” you lean in closer, and his eyes flutter shut as you kiss his forehead, it doesn’t feel like much of anything, but he feels his head pulsing (almost as if he was in pain... but without the pain) as you walk away, “there. now you have my mark.”

he can’t see it, but it’s a golden moon just above his right eyebrow, “what... what does it mean?” he notices the star necklace dangling from your neck, the stars upon your dress, the moons seemingly tattooed on your shoulders, but he’s sure they’re just marks of your goddess status.

“your soul is now connected to me. that’s all it means. now, those... gifts you brought. use those to satiate yourself for the time being,” you point to the expressive breads and fruits and wines he wouldn’t have even been allowed to touch back at the village.

“but those are for you...?” he mumbles confusedly, but you just shake your head with a smile. he sudden realizes how all his senses have started to come back to him, how he can see you better now, how he doesn’t hear the echoing of your voice anymore.

“i don’t need such things,” you mutter simply, “now, my angel: let me make arrangements for you, and you can eat in the meantime.”

“oh... okay...” he nods in a daze, watching you disappear into golden dust. the food he eats tastes sweeter and better than anything else he’s ever tasted in his life. the apple is crisp, the bread is so fluffy, he can’t help but be jealous of whoever’s daily life this is.

he spends a long time simply sitting there, almost sickly full from all the rich foods he ate.

“you have pretty eyes, you know,” your words are like a whisper in his ear, but when he turns, you’re quite far away, “i’ve never seen such beautiful and dark eyes, so rich like the night sky, in my entire existence.”

“you’re... really pretty too...” he mumbles, cursing the way you poetically described his eyes and he’s just speechless, but you seem to find it adorable.

“thank you, sweet angel. i’ve returned to you to say that i’ve prepared a bed for you. and i’d like to show you around, if you wouldn’t mind,” he shakes his head, because he genuinely doesn’t mind at all. all those hesistant thoughts disappear into thin air when he hears your voice.

the main hall is where he’s been the whole time, and it’s taller than it is wide or long. he gawks in complete awe at the spacey look of all the rooms you show him. it truly feels like he’s one of the stars in the sky, so floaty and enchanting.

he also doesn’t notices the cute sounds he makes when he’s excited or comfy and it’s adorable when he realizes your hear his little ‘wah’s and ‘oof’s. he gets so flustered, it’s quite endearing.

he excitedly tries to stumble into the next room, but your hand stops him, “that one’s off limits for now, my angel. the next one should be your bedroom, come along now.”

part of him is aching with curiousity, but the other part of him can’t help but give in. your voice is too soft, your demeanor is too gentle, you’re too merciful for you to be bad... at least to him.

the last room you show him is his bedroom. the bed is lined with silk sheets and a thick blanket that’s softer than anything he’s felt in his entire life. he lays down on it, and it genuinely feels like he’s sinking, like the bed his pulling him in, and he never wants to get up again.

“i take it you like the arrangements,” you giggle at his content smile, so warm and comfy in the comforts of your bed. he opens his eyes to gaze at the ceiling, full of stars and beautiful artistry, just like all the other rooms in this place.

“do you think i’ll be able to see them all again?” he asks with pleading eyes, begging for something he doesn’t verbalize. all of his friends, his mom, his world outside the pale walls of your temple.

“it’s possible, but i’m not sure i’d be able to.”

he makes an adorable face of confusion. you notice all the ways he’s so expressive, it’s like he can never hide his feelings because they’re written on his face, “what do you mean?”

“i believe... i’ve fallen for you. there’s a stronger urge to protect you than before with the others. and you’re just so adorable and endearing—” he gets flustered by your words, but that just spurs you on, “—like that!! you get so shy and it warms my heart.”

he looks lost as he tries to take it all in, but you hold your hand to his cheek, and his breathing seems to stop, so shocked and flustered, but you continue, “but i’ve never been able to love like this. and now i... i want to know what it’s like to love like a human, so freely and intensely and with all risks.”

“that’s why i’m still here, why you haven’t... made me...” he finishes your words, and you nod, leaning in closer to him, “when you said ‘to love like a human’, do you mean like—”

“yes,” you whisper, finishing the sentence for him. love, i want to love you. more than romantically, i want to love you until you can’t breathe. so faintly pressing your lips to his that you can still feel his shaky breathes and quiet pleas, “and i apologize for my actions and language, but i believe you’ve already fallen for me, sweet angel.”

his eyes glean with golden flakes in the irises as he stumbles just out of your touch slightly, in shock, “w-what do you mean?”

you chuckle, leaning in even closer, “here, i’ll show you. come, kiss me, for real this time,” he hesitates, but sits up to meet you in a kiss. it’s gentle at first, but when you tilt your head, you increase the passion in the kiss ten fold.

your free hand rubs his thigh and lightly touches his cock over the pants he wore and he moans into the kiss. suddenly your lips are on his neck, leaving golden marks on his honey skin, and he whimpers.

“i can still feel how nervous you are, baby angel. relax for me, i just want to make you feel good,” your voice is like a soft silky feeling in his ear, and all other sounds disappear.

“please don’t tease me,” he pouts, and you laugh sweetly, so endeared by his adorable expression, speeding up the pace of your hand jerking him off.

“i’m sorry, pretty angel. i won’t do it again,” your hand really starts to work him, and you press more kisses to his skin, covering him in small moons and stars, marks of your touch on him.

“i’m getting close...”he mumbles, not seemingly able to do much more than that as he gets closer and closer to letting go completely. poor thing’s barely been touched at all, but he’s gotten so worked up so easily. whether it’s because your touch is special, or because he’s just easy, it’s quite adorable, “gotta c-cum.”

“of course, sweet angel,” you smile sweetly as he closes his eyes, his whole body tensing up as he finally lets go, “let me fill you with euphoria, come on, cum for me,” he cums, getting the blanket and your hand all messy, but that’s nothing to worry about. the orgasm feels like nothing he’s ever felt before.

it leaves him floating in the clouds, so unaware of his surroundings or the way you clean him up, kiss his forehead once more, and just pull him close and hold him, “i can help you fall asleep, if need be, baby angel. just try to relax. you will be safe here for the rest of your days. i’m so, so sorry about everything that had to happen...

but you’re with me now, and what a beautiful star you are.”

...

this is wrong.

this isn’t what he’s supposed to be doing. he should be in his bed, with you, laying there until you decided to wake him. he should be basking the warmth your aura radiates, but instead he’s realizing just how cold it is in your temple when you’re not with him. he realizes how miserable feelings come back to him so quickly when he’s far enough from you, like you’re a drug he’s finally come down from.

and then he sees it: the forbidden room. he’s slightly afraid you might catch him, but you were sleeping sound next to him. there’s no way you could catch him. and even if you did, what’s the worst that could happen? you didn’t seem that scary, and he doesn’t know why, but the curiousity overwhelms him and he physically has no choice but to do it.

the second his hand collids with the door-handle, your voice is in his head. he can’t quite make out what you’re saying, but he lets go immediately, his knees giving out on him for a reason he can’t pin point.

“your soul will make a perfect star for me, wonho,” the words don’t even sound like you said them, but they echo through his head until he’s curled up in front of the door to the room, crying into his hands, begging for the echos to stop, begging for mercy, begging for what he doesn’t even know.

“and what a beautiful star you’ll be.”

—

taglist: @lovingonrepeat @neosincity @sub-hoshi-enthusiast @feelslikelove @maknaeronix @multidreams-and-desires @mellowriting @baa-nana @foenixs @sunflowerkeen @vanillaknj @yr-domxfantasies @treasure-hwa @fleurshopsub

#monsta x #sub monsta x #sub!monsta x #sub monsta x smut #sub!monsta x smut #monsta x smut #monsta x fluff #monsta x wonho #mx wonho #wonho #lee hoseok #shin hoseok #lee hoseok x reader #wonho x reader #wonho smut #sub wonho smut #sub!wonho smut #sub wonho #sub!wonho #monsta x x reader #sub monsta x x reader #sub!wonho x reader #subidolnet

[silentexplorer18]

Love Languages

Summary: He’d told you no, but that didn’t mean you had to listen.

Pairing: Feitan Portor x Female Reader

Warnings: Minor descriptions of violence/injury, minor mentions of blood, fighting, arguments, petty arguments, poor relationship communication.

Word Count: 900+

Note: A little bit on the darker side, but this still has a happy ending.  I hope you enjoy!

Read on AO3 ▪  Masterlist

A trickle of blood ran down your temple as you caught Feitan’s gaze.  He shook his head.  No.  You weren’t allowed to do what you were thinking.

But he wasn’t the one you took orders from.  And Boss said the number one priority was to keep the whole safe.  The members, the merchandise, the mission, the Spiders.  It was your responsibility.

He’d told you no, but that didn’t mean you had to listen.

“Machi!” you shouted, catching the group’s attention.  “Do what I told you.  Now.”

“No,” Feitan growled.

But it was too late.  The Nen thread zipped around the Troupe members, catching all of them—whether squarely or barely—except you.

His glare screamed that the decision you were making was wrong, but his safety came first.  He had to know that.

“Go,” you breathed, watching them vanish in a flash of ivory light.

~

The group toppled over one another as they landed in the hideout, losing their grace in the bizarre jolt of teleportation.  Your ability was incredible.

But they couldn’t marvel at that, not with the lethal aura filtering from their companion.  When angry, Feitan was a menace.

He glared at them, more upset with you than anyone else, but you weren’t there to receive his ire.  It was possible you never would be again.

The members that were in the room watched as he turned away, fists clenched by his sides.  With a few stiff strides, he left, the thick weight of his aura remaining in his wake.

“Is he okay?” Shizuku asked, watching his back recede down the hall.

There was no way he could get to you in time.  And he knew that.  They all did.

“No,” Phinks answered as a ground shaking bang exploded on the other end of the building, thinly satiating Feitan’s rage.  “He’s not okay.”

But the action would pacify him for a while.  At least until he could find someone to face the brunt of his frustrations.

~

You landed in a heap on the floor, stretched out on your side, body faintly trembling.

A few moved toward you cautiously, stopping when Feitan shot out ahead of the rest.  You were still alive, mostly unharmed.

That didn’t last long.

As you stood, a stinging slap landed across your cheek.

The group flinched at the action, watching you steady yourself with determination.  You hadn’t made any mistakes, but that didn’t matter.

Firm and furious, Feitan stood before you, slapping your other cheek with a swift blow.  He pushed you then, and you pushed back, though the gesture was so weak he hardly felt it.

“Hey!” Shizuku’s voice rang out, disturbing the otherwise quiet room.  “No real fighting between Troupe members!”

Neither of you seemed to hear her, not that it mattered.

Chrollo raised a hand to quiet her, allowing the pair of you to continue, though you hardly needed permission.  “They aren’t fighting.”

“What do you mean?”

He smiled at that, almost wistfully, watching Feitan’s rigid back from across the room.  “He’s telling her that he loves her.”

You swayed on your feet, exhausted.  “There was nothing I could do, and you know it.”

“I tell you no.”  He’d stopped pushing you, glaring angrily instead.

“I couldn’t have done the transfer three times.  You know my limits more than anyone here.”

He did.  But that didn’t mean he had to like it.  The ability sapped you strength on its own, never mind the actual fighting.  Doing the transfer three times would’ve put everyone at risk.  But you put yourself at risk instead.

When you tumbled, he stayed in place, the group watching in concern as your forehead landed on his shoulder, hand pressing shakily against his chest.  Normally, you only touched when he initiated contact, but you were too far gone to care.  “Please,” you whispered, asking not for forgiveness but understanding.

When his hands fell around your back, you knew things would be okay.

“You almost die.  That not allowed.  It break promise we make.”

You nodded, accentuating the action with a shaky breath.  The energy had drained from you the second you made the first transfer, leaving a barely there husk of fatigue in its wake.  “I didn’t though.  I wouldn’t.”

“I no want to lose you.”  His voice was barely audible in the large room, but the sound was almost deafening in your ears.

He cared.  So much.

“You won’t lose me.”

He tsked at that, adjusting your position so he could guide you out of the room.  Rest, you needed rest.

The group began talking as soon as he’d disappeared from eyesight.  Despite their incessant chattering, he made a point to tune them out.  It didn’t matter what opinions they had.

The room he took you to was one he’d been sleeping in on the rare occasions that he slept.  His sleep mat would be comfortable enough for you.  And, luckily, it was large enough to share.

He helped you settle on the mat, lying down beside you, and letting you—such a rare occasion indeed—cuddle into his side.  Feitan would never admit it, but in that moment he needed the gesture as much as you did.

You couldn’t leave him.  He couldn’t let that happen.  You were too important to die so carelessly, so selflessly.  It didn’t matter how strong you were, he still didn’t want to leave you behind.

“I love you,” you mumbled.  The words were rarely spoken between the pair of you, and he merely tsked in return, masking his affection behind annoyance.

However, when your breathing had mellowed substantially, he ran his hand along your back, tucking you closer to his side.

He loved you just as much, and he hoped you knew that.

Thankfully, you did.

Masterlist

A/N: Thanks for reading!  I hope everybody’s doing well and taking care of themselves.  I’ve got a little more time on my hands now, so hopefully I’ll be able to put some more stuff up soon.  In the meantime, best wishes!

#feitan portor #feitan #feitan portor x reader #feitan x reader #feitan x you #feitan portor fanfiction #feitan portor x you #feitan portor fanfic #phantom troupe #Hunter X Hunter #hunter x hunter feitan #hunter x hunter fei #silent writes

[chloefrazer]

with bloody knuckles (i’d follow you anywhere) [3/3]

title: with bloody knuckles (i’d follow you anywhere)  relationships: nines rodriguez/the fledgling  words: 4.7k warnings: smut chapter: three of three  chapter summary: It’d been two weeks since the fall of the Ivory Tower in Los Angeles and Mickey, finally, has Nines all to herself for the night.

            It had been about two weeks since the assassination of Prince Lacroix. The Camarilla was on the run, but a few stubborn pockets still lingered in Los Angeles. Even without their leader, they clung to the city like vermin, but those that attempted to stay paid for their stubbornness. Their assets and havens were targeted by the now dominating Anarch population and the Unbound were determined to send a message: the Camarilla were not welcome in their city.

         With the war between Camarilla and Anarch forces winding down to a close, Los Angeles was returning to a relative state of normalcy. The Kine had no idea of the battles that were waged outside their doors under the cover of darkness, but the prolonged tension that had lingered in the air was starting to dissipate. The explosion at Venture Tower was enough to keep the Kine occupied for a while, at least. The news had speculated on the circumstances of the explosion; whether it was a freak accident or a premeditated attack. The Kindred that had control of the media made sure to keep the details of the events vague; not that they had much to go on in the way of specifics, either. 

         The one person who had a firsthand account of the events that transpired was currently MIA. After assassinating Prince LaCroix and Ming Xiao, it was decided that it was best for Mickey to lay low for a while. With the newfound power and influence that Mickey now held, it was bound to draw some negative attention. In the events leading up to the Prince’s demise, Mickey had made quite the name for herself across the Kindred circles of Los Angeles; which was both good and bad. She had her fair share of enemies, but she hoped they had a good enough sense of self-preservation to stay the fuck away from her. 

         She’d been holed up in some cushy hotel in Hollywood on behalf of Isaac Abrams. The two had gotten off to a rocky start, but when Mickey made her Anarch loyalties clear — and when she sweetened the deal by helping him with his little gargoyle problem — he was more than willing to offer her a temporary haven in his domain. 

         Mickey had never stayed in a place so nice before. It was a little more bougie than she would have liked, but she wasn’t going to turn down a place that guaranteed her a little privacy. Only a handful of people knew she was here; Nines, Damsel, and Skelter namely. For the first time since Mickey had been Embraced, there wasn’t someone breathing down her neck, telling her what to do or where to go. The comforting isolation that Mickey desperately tried to cling to was back in her grasp. 

         Pure, blissful, isolation. 

         Once the heat died down, Mickey knew that she would have to return. Besides, she didn’t think she could just run away and hide anymore. It was strange; for once in her life, Mickey had a reason to stay put. It would have been easy to pack her bags and disappear into the night, never to be seen or heard from again. LaCroix wasn’t around to drag her back. Ever since that night she and Nines were attacked at Griffith Park, that little voice that urged her to pick flight over fight was quiet.

         Whether she liked it or not, Mickey’s actions had consequences. By officially allying with the Anarchs and taking down LaCroix, her name carried significant weight within the movement. When she returned with Nines to the Last Round the night LaCroix became a pile of cinders, the Unbound that were gathered there looked at her with something like admiration. They actually clapped for her. They didn’t know that the explosion wasn’t by Mickey’s hands — at least, not directly — but that didn’t seem to matter. Not when she came back alive and the Prince was dead. 

         Leadership was a foreign concept to Mickey. The way the younger members of the Anarchs looked at her, Hell, the way they looked at Nines sometimes, was unnerving. She wasn’t used to her voice carrying the weight of authority; all she’d known was following someone else’s orders, but maybe it was high time that changed. 

         She never liked being told what to do, anyway. 

        The future was full of possibilities; possibilities Mickey hadn’t considered before. Before, she had only one goal: survive each night. Now, though, it was about more than just survival. It was about keeping Los Angeles free from those who wanted to control it, whether that be from the Camarilla, the Kuei-jin, or the Sabbat. It was about taking a stand for a cause that she believed in. It was about finding a group of people, learning to trust them, and discovering a sense of belonging. 

        She wasn’t alone anymore and, in a strange turn of events, she actually liked it. 

        The Anarchs of downtown had noticed her absence; one specific Anarch in particular. Two weeks since they had their little passionate reunion amongst the rubble and debris of Venture Tower. Two weeks since they realized the extent of their feelings for each other. Not that they’d been able to talk about those feelings yet, but Nines had promised her a long overdue conversation. 

        Which was why she wasn’t exactly surprised when she found a text message from him that night as she woke up, wondering if he could swing by so they could talk. Mickey sent him a confirmation, something along the lines of not having anything but time lately, and he promised to be over soon. 

        She decided to take advantage of the rather luxurious shower in the meantime, the hot water allowing her body a fleeting, false sense of warmth. For once, as Mickey cleaned and scrubbed at her body, she wasn’t washing off any dried blood from her skin. All of her wounds had healed up nicely, her body taking these two weeks to properly recuperate and knit itself together. For once, her Hunger was satiated, and the Beast didn’t have anything smart to say. 

        After months of destruction, carnage, and death at every corner, Mickey finally felt clean; she felt safe. 

        She emerged from the bathroom in a cloud of steam, hair still damp, wearing nothing but a charcoal colored, oversized t-shirt. The clock on the nightstand read 8:38 PM. Her nights had been rather monotonous these past two weeks. She rarely left the hotel and when she did, it was to feed, and she stuck to the neighborhood as best she could. Mickey liked the privacy, but she wasn’t quite used to the stagnancy; she’d always been on the move, so sitting in one space for too long was starting to make her antsy. 

         When she heard a soft knock at her door, she had a gut feeling tonight was going to be anything but boring. 

         Combing her fingers through her damp hair, Mickey opened the door, a grin already in place to greet the person she knew was on the other side, “Hey.” 

         Their usual banter got lost somewhere in Nines’ throat as he took in the sight of her. Her legs, toned and bare, the curve of her shoulder that was left exposed, dark ink of a tattoo slightly visible along her chest. The grin that tugged at the corners of her mouth was anything but innocuous; it matched the flash of something mischievous in her eyes. 

        He cleared his throat, his face a mask of barely-held-in-place neutrality. A quirk of his brow, followed by a nod of his chin, “Can I come in?” 

        She bit back a chuckle at the formality, but stepped aside nonetheless. As she shut the door and Nines entered the room proper, he let out a low whistle. 

        “Abrams really doesn’t hold back, does he?” 

        Mickey barked out a laugh, “It’s… flashy,” her nose wrinkled slightly, but she shrugged, “but if he’s payin’, I’m not complain’. Besides, you can’t deny the view.” 

        The view from the large, glass windows overlooked Hollywood, the city lights illuminating the night. Even though it was night, the city was still very much awake. Nines hummed in agreement, but turned his attention from the city back to Mickey. There were thousand things on his mind, a majority of them revolving around the woman who sat opposite him, making herself comfortable on the edge of a rather large, expensive looking desk. 

        Another thought flashed through his mind revolving Mickey and that desk and he felt his composure struggle to slip. 

        “So,” Mickey said, drawing the vowel out. She was leaning back, her hands braced behind her, and she tilted her head to the side, attempting to play coy, “you wanted to talk?” 

        Nines nodded, the ghost of a smirk pulling at the corners of his mouth. Christ, she knew how to be distracting. He wondered if she was doing it on purpose and the answer to that was, yeah, most likely. He cleared his throat again, mustering up the words he needed to respond, “We got a lot to talk about.” 

        “Oh? About what?” 

         His eyes narrowed, an expression of playful exasperation, “Me. You. Us.” 

         Mickey was never good at words. Talking her way out of something was never her strategy. She was all hard edges; her words were sharp with a brutal honesty that kept people away. Articulation, too, was something that wasn’t in her wheelhouse. Taking her feelings, putting them into words that someone could understand — that wasn’t just a string of vulgar expletives — was hard. 

         Her feelings about Nines, though, weren’t hard to understand, but they were at first. He had kept sticking up for her, saving her life multiple times, and she didn’t understand why. Then he came to her office that night, kissed her breathless, left her wanting more. What she couldn’t say in words, she made up for in action. Maybe she was too cowardly to say it out loud, but she could show him; show him how much he meant to her, how much she loved him. 

         A notable shift in the air, like the calm before a storm; a spark before a wildfire. 

         Mickey shifted her posture, moving to sit up right, her hands resting against her knees. She glanced at Nines from beneath her lashes, her fingers trailing up the apex of her thighs. She parted her knees slightly, her fingers catching the hem of her t-shirt. The smirk on her lips was coy, but the look in her eyes was anything but. 

         “Do you wanna talk before,” she paused, taking the moment to whisk the t-shirt over her head. Tossed the garment at his feet, “or after?” 

         The sight of her, then, was nearly enough to undo him. Whatever composure he had was taunt like a wire, threatening to snap at any moment. His icy gaze took in the sight of her, fully, as though burning the image of her into his mind. Her movements were languid, lazy, almost feline as she sat back on her elbows, one hand resting against her abdomen, fingertips ghosting against the waistline of her panties. Her touch, ghosting lower, a little gasp as her hand connected with damp cotton. The barest hint of pleasure, a spark to ignite the growing fire in her belly. All the while, her cold steel gaze was locked on his. 

         A low growl rumbled in his chest, the sound like rolling thunder. His tongue darted out, wetting his lips. Any coherent thought Nines had was out the door, now. He had only one thing on his mind: her. He stalked toward her, slowly, like a predator circling prey, though he knew she was anything but that. His gaze lingered on her hands, the feather-light movements of her fingers. Mickey reveled in the delicious sight of his hungry gaze, another gasp escaping past her parted lips as she added just a hint of pressure to her touch. 

         “Take ‘em off.” 

         “You first.” 

         A raised eyebrow at her reply, the challenge in her retort loud and clear. They were playing a dangerous game, waiting to see whose composure would slip first. Nines had years to practice the art of patience, but Mickey was stubborn. She quirked an eyebrow right back, thumb hooking through the waistband, tugging at the fabric. Teasing, tantalizing, pulling at the strings of his resolve so that they threatened to snap. 

         He moved slowly, stealthily, a glimmer of something wild shining in his gaze that he kept hooked on her. She rose from her elbows to meet him as he stood between her legs, her knees brushing against his thighs. Another low growl in his chest, another command of off, now. His voice, like gravel over glass, the burning intensity of his gaze, the feeling of his hands as they gripped the flesh of her thighs, was enough to send a wave of heat down her spine. 

         Her hands — her bloodstained, ruinous hands — shook slightly as she moved to tug the blue button-up from his shoulders, his white undershirt close behind. Discarded on the floor along with her charcoal t-shirt, forgotten and unimportant. It was her turn to take in the sight of him, then, her teeth biting down on her lower lip. 

        Her hands cupped the sides of Nines’ face in a poor attempt to hide their trembling. The past crept up on her, like an unseen knife sliding between her ribs. He’d seen the worst of her, seen her carve a path of carnage and destruction, seen her when she lost control and the Beast had its hooks in her. Broken, bloody, bruised; a mess of righteous anger and bitterness. Her hands that have maimed, killed, and tortured, cradling his face with a gentleness that was reserved just for him. 

        Lost in her thoughts, her doubts, that wild look in her eyes dimmed, and her gaze was stuck somewhere over Nines’ shoulder.

        “Mickey,” he muttered, another soft reprimand, “look at me.” 

        Storm clouds, cold steel, gunmetal; he could get lost in the color of her eyes. A range of emotions raging through them. Words threatened to bubble over, so Mickey closed the distance between them, catching his mouth in a kiss, composure be damned. She sighed against his mouth, parting her lips for him. The doubts, the fears, all washed away like she washed the blood from her hands. The weight of his hands pressed against her hips, pulling her closer, and her legs hooked around his waist. 

        His lips moved from her mouth, teeth nipping at the corner of her jaw, traveling down her neck. Her nails trailed down his spine, a pin-pricking sensation down the curve of his back. A low whine echoing in the back of her throat as Nines kissed the pulse-point of her throat; a nip from his teeth, a flick of his tongue to soothe the bite. 

        “Nines,” a soft exhale of his name, a sound so sweet it could’ve been the last thing he heard and he would’ve died happy. Mickey wanted him, needed him, right here and now. Her hands slid inside the waistband of his jeans, skated around until she found the belt buckle. She made quick work of sliding the leather out of the metal loop, but before she could attempt to slide them off, Nines grabbed a hold of her wrists, catching her hands halfway through her task. 

        He circled her wrists in a single fist, pushing her bound fingers against her abdomen. A quiet growl of frustration was swallowed up by Nines’ smirk against her mouth. He reared her back on the desk, the wooden surface cool against her skin, and her body reacted responsively. Her knees fell wide as he nestled in between her legs, icy eyes on hers as he pressed her hands above her head. She arched her back, taunt as a bow string as Nines trailed his free fingers down the length of her torso, brushing past her hip bone, before settling against the edge of her panties. 

        “Thought I told you to take these off,” a smirk pressed into her neck, just below the shell of her ear. 

        “You did.”

        It was difficult for Mickey to sound defiant when she was on her back, her legs spread beneath the weight of him. Her hips bucked, begging for a little more friction. It was impossible for her to muster up her usual snarky retort, her bluster lost somewhere as he looked down at her, all dark intent, the edges of his gaze tinted with amusement. A sharp nip to the hollow of her throat, a scrape of his fangs against her skin that sent a white-hot current blooming across her chest. The power of the Blood surged in her veins; every touch, every kiss making her feel more alive. 

        “Left ‘em on, huh?” His head tilted to the side, a quiet tsk, as he dipped his fingers below the cotton hem. He cupped the heat of her in his palm, and fuck, her traitorous hips rolled again, “wanna leave them on now?” 

        The words rushed out of Mickey before she could attempt to bite them back, “no,” her voice a whimper, a desperation for him clinging to every word, every syllable, every fucking letter, “take ‘em off.” 

        Now it was Nines’ turn to tease. His gaze, hungry, pinned her in place. He could kill a man to see her the way she was now — swear he would. Desperate, muscles tensed, hands curled into tight fists under his grip. Her chest heaved with breath she didn’t need, her lower lip caught between her teeth. 

        “How?” He asked, a smile in his voice. He pressed his palm tighter, “with my hands? My teeth?” 

        A moan fell from Mickey’s lips that sounded more animal than human, “bite ‘em off if you want,” a shaky whine as he began to slowly scissor his fingers. He didn’t peg her to be so vocal, but he wasn’t about to complain, not when he relished in the sounds he could pull out of her with his touch alone. “I don’t care, just take them off.”

         A huff of laughter against her neck, but he wasn’t quite ready yet. His mouth left a trail down her throat, her chest, to the valley between her breasts. Lower still, as his thumb and fingers worked a sweet, wet tune. His mouth lowered to her breast and sucked, his tongue flicking against her nipple. A mewl echoed from the depths of Mickey’s throat, her hands itching, begging to touch him.  He turned his attention to her other breast, still working her with his fingers, but never touching her where she wanted it most. 

         “Fuck, Nines —” she cut herself off, dangerously close to saying the three words she’d been to cowardly to say before; swallowed them up with another breathless gasp of his name. They wouldn’t stay down, though. She felt them bubbling up again, persistent, desperate to be said. 

         “— I,” interrupted by another moan as his thumb ghosted over her clit, a deliberate motion that nearly threatened to set her alight. She couldn’t stop the words now, not when any attempt at maintaining self-control was gone, “I love you.” 

         When his fingers stilled their movements, she stifled another whine, suddenly worried that the moment between the two of them was now ruined.

         But any lingering doubts were sucked up in a kiss that left Mickey light-headed and reeling. He sagged between the contours of her body, the three-word declaration audibly confirming she wanted him just as much as he wanted her. He broke the kiss, his forehead pressed against hers. Reluctantly, he pulled his hand from between her legs, moving to grip her hips. 

         “I love you,” Nines said, voice barely above a whisper, and Mickey swore her unbeating heart soared. She kissed him again, his mouth, his cheeks, his jaw. He met her in kind and he felt the smile in each press of her lips against his skin, “and I’m not goin’ anywhere, you hear me?” 

         Mickey nodded, but he wanted to hear her say it. A squeeze of her hips, a nip against her lower lip as she caught him in another kiss. The storm clouds cleared from her eyes, burnt away by the fire that smoldered in Nines’ gaze. 

         “Yes, yes, I hear you,” she mumbled against his mouth. Her hips rolled again, her body pressing against his, that desperation back in full force, “please — want you, want you inside me.” 

         But Nines was feeling worshipful tonight; how could he not, when she sighed his name and it sounded like a prayer? He took his time, sucking, nipping, marking her skin until she was white-hot, electric, arching off the top of the desk. It was hypnotic the way he shadowed down her body until he was on his knees in front of her. Nines pulled her hips to the edge, his thumb hooking beneath the waistband of her panties, finally pulling the garment down her legs. In a swift movement, he hooked Mickey’s legs over his shoulders, his breath against her cunt.

        The first swipe of his tongue set Mickey’s nerves on fire. 

        Soft at first, barely-there caresses. Open mouth kisses that sent waves of pleasure down her spine to her toes. Just as the muscles in her thighs began to release their tension, he sucked her clit into his mouth, a startled cry of pleasure bubbling past her parted lips. Mickey’s neck ached to be thrown back so that her melody of ecstasy could be sung to the heavens, but she remained transfixed; mesmerized by the way Nines worked her with his tongue, rolling, flat and wide, twisting it around her clit, his mouth parting to suckle it gently. 

        “Christ...fuck, Nines.”

        Her fingers scraped against his scalp, the pad of her thumb digging into his temple. Nines hooked his palms around Mickey’s hips as she began to squirm, her thighs trembling around his head. Her cries increased in number and volume, like music to his fucking ears. Her toes curled against his back; her spine curved toward him as she chased the waves of heat that burned through her core. She tried to wait, tried to hold off until he was inside her, pushing deep, filling her up, but he was more stubborn.

        Another swipe of his tongue before he took her in his mouth again, one long, endless suck, and she was coming, coming — 

        But Nines remained kneeling, feasting on her, his hand pinning her hips to the desk. Mickey wasn’t sure where one climax ended and the other began, but she went over the edge again. She was trembling, squirming from the overstimulation. A half-sob, half-moan echoing from her throat, a string of filthy curses following. Nines rose from the floor, leaving sloppy kisses along her thighs, up her chest, before returning his mouth to her. Mickey could taste herself on his tongue as she frantically reached for his belt. Her hands skinned the jeans off his hips, nails scratching against his skin.

        Now, she wanted him now.

        She reached for him then, filled her palm with his cock, and bucked against him impatiently. 

        “Easy, easy there, sweetheart,” the pet-name was punctured by a kiss to her jaw, joining her hands in their efforts to rid him of his last bits of clothing. 

        “Want you,” she muttered, full of a wild, animalistic need. Her knees hooked around his waist, words muttered against his mouth, “against the fuckin’ wall.” 

        Who was he to deny her anything? 

        With a wicked grin, he hefted her in his arms, her legs locking around his middle. When her bare back hit the wall, his position shifted, his hands moving to grip her ass. Mickey snaked her arms around his shoulders, holding herself in place so she wouldn’t lose her balance. Her nails dug into his shoulders, scratching his skin; she wanted to claw at him until their souls were merged together. Nines’ mouth found hers again, the kiss open and deep, a clash of tongues and teeth. 

        He shifted slightly, nudging her entrance, and Mickey dug her nails into his skin harder and growled. 

        “Fucking tease.”

        His laugh reverberated against her throat, the sound skittering down her spine, and he slid in between her slick, hot folds, still tender from his tongue. 

        Mickey could hardly breathe, hardly think, hardly string enough letters together to form words beyond where their bodies were joined. He waited, letting her adjust, and she reveled in the fucking feel of him. A fluttering of lashes as her eyes opened and she found him staring at her, the usual ice of his eyes replaced with blue fire. 

        “Say it again,” he murmured against her mouth. Mickey knew what he meant. 

        “I love you,” she sighed. 

        Nines pulled out slightly, then thrust back in slow; agonizingly slow. 

        “I love you,” she said again, breathless. 

        He pulled out again, a slow thrust in. 

        “I love you.” 

        Faster, this time — harder. His hips like pistons and Mickey’s rolled in response. The sound of her back hitting the wall echoed each fast, hard thrust; her breathy cries accompanying the rhythmic tune. She grabbed the back of his neck, fingers dragging against his nape, returning her mouth to his.

         Forged together, their bodies connected; a bond shaped from fire and iron. A connection so deep, so rich — their fates intertwined from the beginning. Mickey’s life had been taken away from her; she’d been left with nothing but a fierce bitterness rotting her from the inside out. Nines had seen it; seen the brutality she was capable of, the cold detachment that threatened to keep her from everything and everyone. 

         He replaced that coldness with a warmth, a well-placed spark that threatened to set her ablaze. The walls she carefully constructed for herself were torn down; there was no mask to hide behind, no façade to cling to. 

         Just him, her, and this unbreakable bond that burned as hot as the sun. 

         Mickey felt her insides turn to white-hot mush, another climax building, threatening to consume her from the inside out. Fuck, yes, baby, harder —

         Nines kept up the hard, fast pace as he shifted his position slightly, one arm wrapping around the small of her back, mouth against her neck. His free hand moved between her legs again, his thumb circling her clit. A scrape of his fangs against her throat, an undisputed gesture of trust. A silent plea, asking for permission, and Mickey compiled.

         She moaned a yes as she tilted her head to the side, giving him more access. When Nines’ fangs pierced the skin of her throat, the pleasure of the Kiss was enough to send her over the edge again. She nearly crumbled as release tore through her body and he pounded into her, hard and fast, drawing out her pleasure as he tasted her Vitae on his tongue. She tasted like smoke and nectar, like passion and midnight — she tasted like hope. 

         Nines groaned into her neck as he found his own release, slamming in to the hilt, his hips stuttering. He steadied himself, careful not to lose his balance, his weight sagging against her. With a languid lick of his tongue against her throat, the puncture wounds of his fangs closed almost instantly. With a heartbreaking gentleness, he pulled himself from her, then carried her over to the bed. 

         He nestled against the pillows, the too-soft mattress against his back, and rested Mickey on top of him. She straddled his waist as she looked at him from under her lashes, a lazy, feline smile tugging at the corners of her lips. The night was still young, she noted, and she had him all to herself. 

         The ghost of his fingers trailed up her and down her spine as she leaned down, kissing him again slowly, gently, caressing her tongue against his lower lip. 

         “I love you,” he said against her mouth, his hand moving from her spine to brush her dark hair behind her ear. 

        “Me, too.”

        He tasted the truth on her tongue as she kissed him again. The words Nines said earlier echoing in her mind, strong and bright like the bond between them: Me. You. Us.

        And as she made love to him again, slow and sweet into the early hours of the morning, she knew she wasn’t going anywhere, either.

#nines rodriguez #vtmb #vtmb fic #ship: rebel yell #writing: mine #😳😳😳😳😳 #ch: mickey

[lia-jones]

Growing Stronger - Chapter Thirty-Four - Leave Me As Usual

Author’s Note: Hello beautiful people! Thanks to @muart0113​, our super talented artist, you are in for a treat! This chapter has some exquisite art, made by our sweet Mu! Thank you, gorgeous Mu, for your immense support and love for the Growing Universe. People like you fuel my inspiration, and are the ones that keep me going when things get a little bit harder!

Victor let out a deep breath, watching it turn into condensation in the frosty morning air. Not even the cold weather would make him give up on his morning run. It was his alone time, when he dealt with all the feelings he had to put aside in his daily life. And that morning, he definitely needed to clear his head.

He took the first step with conviction, and soon he was increasing the pace, making his heart race as much as his head. She had said she wanted to be done with the wedding, that she felt like she didn’t fit in his life. Even if Andrea didn’t know it yet, he did; she was giving up. She was slowly retreating from his life. And he had no idea what to do.

What could he do? The uncertainty of the future was driving him insane. He set his personal feelings aside for a moment, building a scenario analysis in his mind. Base case scenario, he would get married, there would still be issues, but those could be dealt with in the long run. He would support her every step of the way and shower her with love, and eventually, she would understand he could and would make her happy. Best case scenario, they would solve said issues before the wedding. Some miraculous event would make her less busy, she would engage happily and effortlessly in all wedding-related activities, and she would be happy, knowing he would make her happy.

Worst case scenario... Victor sighed, he never liked this part. But one must be prepared for all situations, no matter how painful said situation is. Worst case scenario, she would leave him. She would conclude she didn’t want the life he had to offer, that Levi or any other guy was a better match, and she would leave him. He would be alone.

The next part of the scenario analysis entailed the steps for recuperation, should the worst case scenario occur.

Step number one, he would have to communicate the end of the engagement to all of his guests. Approximately three hundred and seventy out of four hundred. He would make a bland speech about incompatibility and different life goals, trying to protect Andrea’s image at all costs. He wouldn’t let people think poorly of her. If anything, they should think poorly of him. He was the one that failed miserably

Step number two, he would have to cancel all the services for the wedding. Florist, band, wedding planner. He would have to cancel the construction of the large structure he was building in his aunt’s land. He would have Goldman do all that.

Step number three, he would have to control the media. He would assign that task to Mia, with the crystal clear instruction to leave Andrea out of the confusion as much as possible. After that poor excuse of a boyfriend, and seeing her name slandered on the media because of her abuse, he wouldn’t allow her to be unwillingly involved. Andrea should be able to continue her life as if nothing happened. Everything should fall on him.

Step number four, he had to prepare for his father’s lecture. Victor wasn’t expecting any support from him, already guessing the main topics of his speech: he was a fool in love, how could he so easily let these filthy people into his life, his mother would be ashamed of him. Victor would listen to it all and wonder if, this time, his father was right. He could already feel the shame.

Step number five, and this was one Victor was certain of: he would close his heart forever. He would never love ever again. He had found the love of his life, only to see her walk away and break his heart. And he would not allow it to happen ever again.

Victor stopped dead on his tracks, realizing he had gone much further than his usual route. Sighing heavily, he returned home. He now had a backup plan, but he wished he didn’t have to use it. He was prepared for the circumstances, but no plan could prepare him for the heartache.

He entered the apartment, a delicious smell coming from the kitchen grabbing his attention. Andrea was cooking breakfast.

“Victor!” Out of the blue, she jumped into his arms and kissed him, almost toppling them to the ground. The weight he felt in his heart was immediately lifted with her affection.

“I’m covered in sweat.” He warned softly, as she broke the kiss, stroking his cheek. ”What happened?”

“It’s done!” She beamed at him. “I finally finished it! I’m publishing the first half of the study tomorrow morning.”

“It’s done?” Victor could barely believe it. The miraculous event had taken place after all. With the study out of her mind, she could finally focus on them, and the wedding.

“Finally!” Her eyes sparkled with joy, it had been months since Victor had seen that light in her eyes. “I feel like I could cry! I can finally breathe, I can finally relax. No more calls, no more late-night hours working, I can finally have a life!”

Victor squeezed her soft body against his chest. He felt like he could cry as well. However, he had something else in mind.

“That’s definitely worth celebrating.” His voice was low and sensual, as his lips touched her neck. “Let’s go get ourselves clean.” He carried her towards the bathroom, her legs still tightly wrapped around his waist.

“While getting ourselves dirty?” She asked in a sultry voice, hot and moist against his ear.

“Something along those lines.” He smirked, looking forward to the intimacy.

It had been a long time since they last had sex. He loved her intensely, made her lose her mind countless times, allowing himself to get lost in her, as the fog and warm water enveloped them, intensifying their senses. He tasted, kissed, caressed every inch of her skin, until his lustful hunger was completely satiated and she was pliant in his arms, her body soft with pleasure and exhaustion. He didn’t care if they would be late. She was his top priority.

“Now that the study is done, I assume you’re less busy today?” He asked while he ate the delicious frittata she had prepared for breakfast.

“Yes, I’m waiting for a printed version of the study to review. After that, I’m free.” She happily sipped her coffee. Andrea always looked beautiful after sex, her cheeks a beautiful pink, her complexion glowing. “What do you have in mind?”

“We could visit my aunt’s ranch this afternoon and see how the construction is going. Maybe stay for dinner. Mina would love to see you again.”

“Sounds wonderful.” The doorbell rang. Andrea got up to get it.

She returned with a wide smile on her face, holding a folder.

“And here it is, the fruit of my labor.” She opened the folder as she finished her coffee. “Oh no, that can’t be right.” She frowned, as she read some documents. “Hand me that pen, will you?”

And just like that, she was gone, totally engrossed in the folder in front of her, frowning and shaking her head as she read.

“Did I lose you already?” Victor asked softly.

“Sure. Just text me in case I forget.” She answered, absentmindedly, eyes fixed on paper.

Victor held her face gently, kissing her temple.

“I’ll call you later. You’re not listening anyway.”

She seemed to realize she had been distracted, glancing at him with worried eyes.

“I’m sorry, got lost a bit here.” She grimaced, and he chuckled. “Can I call you after I sort this out? It’s really urgent.”

“I’ll be waiting.” He gave her a warm smile. “Enjoy your day.”

He walked in LFG in a much better mood. What was he thinking, considering a breakup? In retrospect, it almost sounded silly.

An hour later, he got a text from her.

I’m sorry, I can’t make it today. Something came up, I need to solve it as soon as possible. Can we reschedule for tomorrow? Love you.

Probably something to do with the mistakes she saw that morning. If the study was to be published the following day, it was only natural that she would need to fix it promptly. He replied with a smile.

It can be rescheduled. In the meantime, I will prepare a list of things you should do as compensation. Be prepared. I love you.

Probably for the best, he thought. He had no shortage of things that were demanding his immediate attention, and maybe the next day they could take the day off, maybe have another picnic. He should call Mina to make arrangements.

It was later afternoon when he called Goldman, looking for his assistant’s wife. One of her clients had an accident that resulted in millions worth of damage, and Victor needed to know how much the insurance would cover, and how much that would cost LFG.

“Diane took the afternoon off, she’s out with Andrea somewhere. But she told me she emailed you the last report.”

Diane’s report was the furthest thing from Victor’s mind.

“You said Diane is with Andrea? Right this moment?” He felt an icy sensation in the pit of his stomach.

“Shouldn’t she be? She… She left after lunch.” Goldman looked confused. “Is everything ok? You look pale.”

“Everything is fine.” Victor cleared his throat, closing the laptop and getting up from his chair. “I’m done for today. My phone will be off, call me at home in case of emergency only.”

“Are you sure you are ok to drive, you don’t seem-” Goldman fussed.

“Mind your own business, you have work to do. Like I said, I am fine.” And with that, Victor stormed off. He couldn’t bear talking to anyone at that moment, let alone someone that could read him so well.

Andrea had lied. Andrea never lied, something was seriously wrong. The ice in Victor’s stomach soon grew into a frigid wall. He was nursing a glass of brandy, hoping the frost in his heart would cool the fire in his blood, when Andrea came home.

“How was work?” He couldn’t avoid the irritation creeping into his voice.

“It was fine.” She didn’t look him in the eyes, taking her jacket off and leaving to hang it in the closet. “How was your day?”

Victor was done with idle conversation. He followed Andrea to the hall, ready for confrontation.

“Now you lie to me?”

Andrea’s shoulders tensed, her back turned to him.

“Victor…” She turned to him with a worried expression.

“Do you even want to get married?” Victor threw at her.

He turned to the living room, not wanting to explode right there in the hallway. Part of him wanted to confront her, wanted to demand justice for being wronged and deceived, to make her see how much she hurt him, how a simple lie left his heart torn and aching. Another part of him knew that this would lead to nothing pleasant, and it would just be the beginning of the end. The final confrontation. Although he understood that some things can’t be helped or avoided, that one should just face it and move past them, Victor also wanted to hold on to those last minutes with her, and pretend for a while things could still be saved.

“Victor, listen…” She followed him to the living room.

“I have been more than patient, Andrea.” Victor tried to hide the hurt and fury in his voice, but found he couldn’t. “I know the University has been putting a great amount of pressure on you, and I have given you time, and space. I have respected that. But you have been using it as an excuse to avoid me. You lied to me, Andrea.” Victor looked her straight in the eyes. No matter how painful it would be, she would tell him the truth. “Just admit it, this is over for you, isn’t it? You don’t want to get married.”

“Wait, that’s not fair!” Andrea raised her voice, although the hurt was more visible than the rage. “You know how hard I worked for this, you know I can’t just let it go down the drain! This is my career, I fought very hard for it!”

“What about ME? Why won’t you fight for me? Am I that forgettable?!” His voice came like a roar, echoing in the apartment, surprising him with its force.

The pain inside him was suddenly so unbearable he felt weak in the knees, having to sit on the leather sofa to steady himself, a tear escaping his eyes. Her silence, on the other hand, was deafening, making his ears ring. She said nothing, tears rolling down her face, as she turned her back on him and left, returning a moment after, her eyes full of rage.

“I am doing the very best I can. I’m sorry that’s not good enough for you.” She threw a piece of paper at him, walking away again.

Victor picked up the paper from the floor. It was stamped with that day’s date, from one of the designers he picked for Andrea. It was a receipt for a dress fitting.

The dagger in his heart dug so deep he let out a silent sob. That’s why Diane was with her, that’s why she didn’t say anything about it. She went to the designer to try on her wedding dress. Their relationship was already so fragile, and he managed to completely destroy it with a single blow.

He wanted to get up and follow her into the bedroom, apologize, admit what a big idiot he was, but he couldn’t. The ice around his heart had spread to his veins and froze his muscles in place, restraining his movements. Besides, he knew what she was doing in their bedroom. She was packing. She was getting ready to leave. At that moment, Victor was nothing more than a helpless spectator, watching his dream crumble to the ground, unable to act, unable to stop it. The only thing he could do was pick up the pieces.

He sighed, resigned, as he heard her come into the room again.

“I’m sorry-” She started. He already knew what was coming. He couldn’t bear to hear it.

“I’ll inform the guests that the wedding is canceled. You talk to your family. You don’t need to mind any expenses that were already made, all of those are on me.” His voice was monotonous and detached, hiding the fact that his heart was beating wildly inside his chest.

“Victor…”

“No!” He closed his eyes, another tear escaping them, betraying him. Before she could say anything else, he continued. “Take your time getting your things out of the house, I will stay in a hotel and go on some business trips I have been postponing. I will also withdraw my funding from your study, so you won’t have to see me again.” His voice started shaking, he wanted to cry so much, but he refused. “You have plenty of people that believe in your work. You don’t need me.”

Victor remembered his childhood, and how quickly he was dismissed by his own parents. They loved the idea of having a son, an heir, but they didn’t love him , not truly. All his life, he had been alone, so alone it was hard to picture himself any other way. He was a powerful man in his professional life, but at the same time, in his private one, he was invisible, insignificant. Everybody always wondered why he didn’t have any friends, or close relatives, or a wife, thinking that it was his fault, for keeping people at bay. But the truth was, no matter how hard he tried, no one cared enough to stay. And eventually, he stopped trying.

“In the end, it’s always the same.” He spoke, more to himself than to her. “I was a fool to believe this would be any different. Everybody leaves, every single time. And I’m left alone.”

Andrea suddenly kneeled before him, taking his hands. He was so numb he could barely feel her touch. He kept his head down, afraid to face her.

“You are not alone.” She held his hands tighter. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere, Victor. I will never leave you.”

“Forget it. “He shook his head. “Maybe you’re right.” His voice was so strained he could barely speak. “Maybe when things are too hard, it just means they are supposed to end.”

“Fuck that.” There was a strong determination in her voice and her touch, as she lifted his head to make him face her. “Look, I know right now you are building a wall between us, I can feel it. But if you ever loved me, if the love you said you felt for me was ever true, you’ll bring it down for a minute and listen.”

He watched her closely and skeptically as she spoke.

“I was wrong when I said that. Things that matter sometimes are hard, but we don’t give up on them, because they are precious to us. They are worth every fight, they are worth every struggle, and sometimes we will stumble and do the wrong thing, but we keep going, you know why? Because they are so rare, so unique that we refuse to give up.”

Victor shook his head in disbelief. Yes, that could be true for most people, but not for them.

“Just give up, Andrea, just leave. It wasn’t hard for you before, I’m certain you can do it again. You have proven to be capable of leading a happy life without me, go and find your happiness.  There is no point in wasting time with foolish delusions. You were right to leave me the first time.”

Andrea looked at him with a scary determination in her eyes.

“No, I won’t. Not until you look me in the eye and tell me you want me out of your life.”

He felt his bad blood rising again. He did not like being defied like that.

“Fine.” He scoffed. “I’ll go.”

He should’ve known. He should’ve guessed that Andrea would never relent when she set her mind on something. Before he could reach the door she was already there, leaning against it, blocking it.

“No.” She spoke like it was obvious she wouldn’t let him leave. “Not until we figure this out.”

Victor’s mind was reeling, he couldn’t understand why she was doing this. Wasn’t she the one that said she did not fit in his life? Wasn’t she the one that kept avoiding him, neglecting him? Wasn’t she the one that was supposed to be upset? He had been an idiot, accusing her of lying to him when actually all she wanted was to surprise him? Why was she pushing him around, wanting to make things better again, when she was the one that showed intentions of leaving in the first place?

Why? Why was she fighting if the obvious choice would be to leave, like everybody did?

“Why are you doing this?” Despite his best efforts, tears filled his eyes, revealing how hurt he was.

“Because this happened before, and I left. And there is not a day that I don’t regret it. You think I was happy? I was trying to survive.” She moved to be in front of him, leaving the door clear, a sad look in her eyes. “Do as you must, I don’t want to force you into doing anything. But know this: I won’t be happy. I will never find bliss. And I won’t find anyone else, because nobody else is you.”

The wisest action would be to leave. It had been established that this wouldn’t work, not because he didn’t love her, but because he obviously couldn’t make her happy. An honorable man would probably leave, do the painful thing, sacrifice his happiness for hers. But Victor was weak, selfish. He wanted to stay, he wanted to hold her, kiss her, love her, end the fight. Try again, even if just for the sake of another moment with her. Victor couldn’t move.

She pulled him down and leaned her forehead against his, making his heart beat harder. “You are the love of my life, you always will be. Yes, I could leave, but where would I go? You are my life. Why is it so hard for you to believe that?”

The moment her lips touched his, Victor lost it. He kissed her back with passion, but more than that, with hunger, as he was craving the love she was giving him to soothe his aching heart. He took her in his arms and lifted her up, sitting her on the end table of the hallway, his body pinning her against the wall, his arms trapping her. And she was holding him back, caressing him, nurturing him, giving him the affection he had always dreamed of. When they broke the kiss, he held her tight. The fear of losing her was stronger than ever.

“I don’t want to let you go.” He confessed, nuzzling her neck.

“Then don’t.” She tightened the embrace, and he noticed she was shaking slightly. Guilt weighed in his heart for scaring her like that.

Slowly, he slackened the embrace to look her in the eyes, his nose touching hers, his ragged breath mixing with hers.

“I’m sorry.” They said in unison. Andrea pecked his nose, smiling at him lovingly.

“No, I’m sorry, Victor, this is mostly my fault. I know I have been a mess, and yes, you have been very patient with me. I have been feeling such pressure from so many people I unwillingly disregarded the only one that was actually trying to give me some relief. I’m sorry if I made you feel like I didn’t care. I want this to work. Can we work this out?”

“Yes.” His voice was shaky, but his heart felt warmer.

“I love you, Victor.” She smiled at him. “Will you marry me, and build a life with me?”

He wanted nothing more in this world. To have the woman he loved in his arms, to create a life for himself that would be completely different from the one he had before, one where he wouldn’t be alone and invisible. Her words made the warmth spread in him, like light flooding a dark room.

“Yes.” He smiled, his lips touching hers, asking for a kiss.

#mlqc fanfic #mlqc li zeyan #mister love queens choice #love and producer #victor x oc #Growing Pains - Series #growingstronger #victor angst

[hell-on-training-wheels]

Cocoa for the one word prompt, please? Either MK or Overwatch - you get to pick. ;)

Hi anon! :D I decided to go with Overwatch cause I haven’t written anything for that fandom in a while. I’ve actually never written for these two so I hope I got them in character. 😅 Hope you all like light McMercy.

On a side note, I have nothing against Swiss Miss as a product. But I like to make my cocoa from scratch too.

Swiss Miss

Summary: Mercy prescribes McCree some much needed medicine.  Fandom: Overwatch Characters: Jesse McCree, Angela Zieglar, Mei, Snowball Words:  2,081

It wasn’t hard to catch the repugnance on Angela’s face, but what the sharpshooting cowboy did miss, was the reason why the medic was casting such a stare his direction. As far as McCree was aware, he wasn’t doing anything that warranted such objection from Zieglar.

Jesse ignored it for the moment, turning his attention back towards the kitchen counter as soon as the microwave counted down to its last second. As soon as it beeped, he opened it and retrieved the red coffee mug inside; the ceramic cup already warming his hand through the glove.

The outlaw was acutely attentive of her eyes watching his every movement as she sat at the small round table in the middle of the stark white room, the same one that had a direct view of the kitchen counter that held the microwave, the coffee maker, and a few little boxes that held packages of tea, sugar and hot cocoa mix on top.

It was the cocoa that caught his eye today, and while the cowboy didn’t usually reach for it unless the holidays were in swing, had a sweet tooth that needed satiating every now and then.

Besides, he needed something that would give him energy, and he wasn’t about to touch the coffee. In the Overwatch base, it was Genji’s turn to brew a pot, and bless his little cyborg heart, he made the coffee at Route 66 more favorable —not easy to do.

McCree took a sip and sucked his teeth, bits of the powdered gunk getting stuck against the roof of his mouth and behind his teeth. He sighed; the artificially flavored chocolate mix wasn’t renowned for being the best the world had to offer, but it didn’t mean he had to waste it —there was a way to make it better.

He reached down into his tan pocket and withdrew a flask, one that held an emergency stash of whiskey. Funny enough, Jesse found himself reaching into his pocket more and more nowadays; each time still mulling over the fact of why he returned to Overwatch. He never should have let Echo and Winston talk him into it…

The doctor let out a light, disgusted scoff. The holographic pad on the table she was reading now going completely ignored as she dropped her fork back into the bowl of salad — watching him pour whiskey into the mug in horror.

“You alright, Doc?” he questioned, almost sardonically, while biting back a smile. McCree knew that Angela wasn’t usually so objective to him drinking minutes before noon, she knew it was his business, but he was starting to second-guess that maybe the medic had been holding in her resentment all this time, and perhaps it had finally reached its peak.

As usual, he was wrong.

“What on earth do you think you are doing to that cocoa?” Mercy balked, gesturing towards his mug. “And I hesitate to refer to it as such.”

McCree finished pouring a more than decent amount of liquor into the mug before he screwed the cap back on and put it in his pocket. The cowboy simply shrugged and took a sip.

“Makin’ it better,” he explained casually. He took another sip, and the medic’s lip curled adamantly in disgust.

“I doubt there is anything you can do —all the whiskey in the world could not make it taste better.”

“Well as usual, Angie, you’re not wrong,” he took another sip. “But it’ll do fine.”

Mercy raised an eyebrow at him. “Are you even worried at all that nothing you are consuming is even chocolate? Have you bothered to look at the ingredients, Jesse?”

The gunman couldn’t help but chuckle lightly at her. Even on her lunch break she still played mother hen.

“Nah,” McCree confessed indifferently. “What I don’t know won’t kill me. Besides, they wouldn’t sell it if it weren’t fit for human consumption, right?”

“They also sell cigarettes for consumption, and we both know how bad for your health it is, don’t we Jesse?” the doctor returned, raising a deliberate eyebrow in his direction.

Well, she got him there… but it didn’t mean he wasn’t still going to stop —with the cocoa or the tobacco.

“Well… I have faith you can get me patched up, Doc,” was his usual answer — one he always threw out when he was out of ammo —and Zieglar rolled his eyes at him.

McCree was about to take another sip before he shrugged again and added. “Besides, what wouldya’ recommend as a prescription? Seeing as our little posse is non-profit, there ain’t a whole lot of dollars we can throw out for anythin’ but powdered hot chocolate.”

Mercy wasn’t deterred by his excuse. “Have you perhaps tried to make it from scratch yourself? You will find it more rewarding doing so - in both taste and for your health.”

Jesse let out a laugh, his robotic hand indicating to his person. “Do I look like a gourmet chef? I can barely boil an egg.”

The cowboy took another sip from his mug. Smacking his lips as a bit of un-melted powder sat on his tongue. “I wouldn’t know the difference, anyhow. I’ve always had the same thing growin’ up. Ma’ was too poor and a worse cook than me.”

Angela gave him a shocked look, as if he had told her that he had never seen the sky. “You have never had true hot chocolate, Jesse?”

McCree shrugged casually. “Never got around to it. Don’t it all taste the same anyway? Hot cocoa is hot cocoa, right? No matter where it's from?”

The medic frowned hard in his direction before she scoffed and narrowed her eyes sternly, as if the aloof cowboy had just questioned her lineage in a unfavorable way.

“It absolutely is not the same.”

The cowboy sighed, taking another swig from his spiked mug, before he clicked his tongue and turned on his heels, retreating towards the door. “Well, ain’t gonna find out any time soon, anyway. I’ll stick to the powdered and the hard stuff in the meantime.”

-----

The next day, when he entered the kitchen, finally able to get coffee after a day with it being Morrison’s rotation on the pot, the first thing that hit him was the smell. It stopped Jesse right in the doorway, and he took a second to close his eyes and inhale; truly captured by it. It smelled like chocolate, made him think of Christmas, and it made the air so sweet he could taste it on his tongue without sampling it. When he did finally open his eyes, he found the source almost immediately.

Mercy and Mei stood by the kitchen counter, looking over several mugs filled with hot chocolate and being topped off with whipped cream —real and freshly made from the blue ceramic bowl off to the side— and the kitchen in slight disarray due to the limited counter-space.

He eyed the black teapot that sat on the heating application plugged into the wall and his nose pinpointed the origin of the aroma. They had just finished plopping whipped cream on top —Snowball, Mei’s little robotic friend, also watching closely by in fascination —before Mercy finished it off by sprinkling chocolate shavings, dusting the white clouds all with small curls .

McCree caught a glimpse of the brick of chocolate inside a red wrapper nearby… real Swiss chocolate that was also most likely brewing the teapot as well. He’d never had swiss chocolate before, but heard from Genji it was the best...

“Oh McCree! Come! Angela made hot chocolate!” the former Antarctic scientist called to him, her always present giddy and positive enthusiasm making the room bright. “It is sooo good. With real chocolate from Switzerland!”

“My grandmother’s recipe,” Mercy chimed in, her eyes glinting proudly, as she picked up the red mug that McCree always grabbed —ready to go for him. “And it only calls for the best and real chocolate.”

Angela walked over to him and handed it, which he did while biting back a smile that threatened to creep along his face.

The doctor placed her hands on her hip as soon as soon as he took it, and his resolve to keep the smile at bay dissipated. “Ah, shucks Angie. You didn’t have to go through all that trouble.”

The blonde crossed her arms across her chest, her demeanor professional. “I am a doctor first, Jesse. And it was clear you needed a remedy to your obvious ailment.”

McCree nipped his lips at the peak of the white cream, the smell of the drink wafting into his nose and almost making him close his eyes again. “What ailment?” Jesse let out a small, barely audible hmm as the whipped cream touched his tongue...

Oh… it was good. And it was just whipped cream. Another thing he had never had from scratch.

Mercy smiled back, seeing his reaction, though her visage still stayed business-like. “For your misconception that all hot chocolate tastes the same as that artificial powdered atrocity that dares to have the words ‘swiss’ and ‘chocolate' on its label. I have found a proper home for it —in the garbage. You now have a chance to sample a proper prescription.”

The gunslinger couldn’t help but smirk at her, his eyes flickering between her and the mug. It was a nice gesture, one that he hadn’t expected from the doctor that was usually so obstinate in regards to only her work. Even now she was still thinking of healing, just using a different kind of medicine to do so. The woman was always so adamant about making sure that everyone was taken care of; rushing about and fretting about every little scratch. With all that was on her busy plate, it warmed him to be thought of, even if the woman was still using the excuse that her doing a nice thing for him was for medical purposes.

What a doll.

“Can I put whiskey in it?” he asked, jesting lightly, as he lifted the red cup slightly at her.

“Don’t you even think about it,” Mercy scolded, only ten percent joking. “Or I will personally be sending you the Med Bay.”

Mei let out a small giggle from behind, one that complimented Snowball also jostling in humor as it floated nearby; its LED lighted eyes squinting and conveying it thought it was funny too.

McCree let out a light laugh in response before he lifted the mug to the air in a friendly mock-toast to the medic.

“Well, since it's already in my favorite mug anyhow,” he said before he placed the mug to his lips…

...and refused to pull away as soon as the warm, amazing hot chocolate hit his tongue.

Holy hot damn…

It. was. good.

Instead of being watery and flavorless (the only thing ever evident from the packages being the sweetener) Mercy’s cocoa was decadent and rich, blanketing his tongue and leaving him feeling homey inside. It transported him outside the bleak kitchen, and seated him on a plush couch with a warm wool blanket wrapped around him; imaging himself watching a snow storm in a rustic cabin in the mountains.

Jesse didn’t even mind that whipped cream was plastered and sticking to his beard the more he tipped it back— downing the entire thing in one greedy shot.

He brought the cup away, a nod in his face as he licked his lips clean unabashedly.

That was the best non-alcoholic drink he’d ever had.

Mercy raised a pleased eyebrow at him while Mei gestured to his face.

“Uh… McCree, you got, uh, whipped cream all over your face.”

It took a second for Jesse to even hear Mei before he grumbled a ‘huh? Oh right’ before he brought his glove up to wipe his face.

Meanwhile Angela waited patiently, although the doctor already knew her remedy was a success. But still she asked: “So, have I persuaded you to stay clear of those atrocious packages of hot chocolate?”

Jesse let out a whistle, a grin plastered on his face, before he nodded and replied: “Yes ma’am. Ain’t nothin’ packaged toppin’ that. That was damn fine.”

He paused, his empty cup raised towards her politely requesting another, before he raised an eyebrow at her. “Still ain’t quitin smoking though.”

Mercy laughed lightly at his joke. “One out of two is a victory when it comes to you, Jesse McCree. Even I know I’m not that gifted of a miracle worker.”

#overwatch #overwatch fanfic #mcmercy #jesse mccree #angela ziegler #mercy #overwatch fanfiction #my fics #mei overwatch #hot cocoa #one word prompt #anon

[bethhxrmon]

do flowers exist at night? -chapter five

Chapter Five: Steve Harrington and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Night

Pairing: Steve Harrington x OC

Chapter Summary: Once everyone is at the Byers’ household, many issues start to make sense. With everyone working together, the Upside Down may finally be defeated.

Word Count: 3.9k

Warnings: Swearing, inaccurate dialogue, Billy is the actual worst if you like him then you’re probably not gonna vibe with this chapter, violence

A/N: The only real joke in this chapter is the title. Enough said. Anywho, I hope you’re enjoying the fic and if you are, it would be awesome of you to let me know by leaving feedback for me! You can find the other chapters here.

~*~*~*~

Perhaps the only thing worse than the monsters was realizing that Steve didn't have a chance with Nancy. Obviously, Annie wasn't going to say that out loud. Not when she could tell from Steve's pacing that he already knew. It took a lot to not say anything to Nancy, but there were more important things than this and if she was going to say anything, Annie was sure it could wait.

What they were going to do about all of this was beyond her. She had a million questions, but she didn't ask a single one. Every time she almost did, she was reminded of how her dad was when he got stressed, which was almost all the time. At the time, it seemed like anything she did would annoy him. There was always something on her mind and there was a time when she would have said every single thing that popped in her head. Except, one day the man got so annoyed that he snapped and told her to shut up.

As that circled her mind, she sat off to the side in the kitchen of the Byers' house, trying to process everything on her own. She had been so close to dying. All of them had. What would have happened if she had? Would anyone aside from her mom care? There were so many things she wanted to do, but she hadn't. It could have been too late and there was nothing she could have done.

A hand on her shoulder made her jump, but she relaxed upon realizing it was just Steve, "Sorry... um, how're you holding up?"

"I'm fine," she said, tugging her flannel around herself, "Are you okay?"

He arched an eyebrow, "Also fine."

"Steve-"

"Don't... you don't have to tell me."

"I wasn't gonna say anything about that," she said, though she stopped when she heard Mike starting to talk about Bob Newby.

While she never got a chance to meet the guy, the idea of anyone being eaten alive by those monsters was horrific. It was something straight out of the horror novels she read to pass the time. Something only highlighted when Dustin started to compare all of this to Dungeons and Dragons. The demodogs, as he called them, were all supposed to be part of some sort of hive mind. A Mind Flayer was supposedly the one in control. Annie knew nothing about the game, but she supposed there could be points made.

Those points finally drew the conclusion that they needed to trap Will somewhere he didn't recognize. That way he wouldn't be able to spy and figure out where they were. The shed ended up being the perfect place.

Annie was focused on helping Max tape up pieces of cardboard together. That was easy and menial enough. Besides, she felt like she had to make herself scarce so Steve could talk to Nancy. Well, it was more like she didn't want Nancy thinking any of those dumb rumors were true. It was obviously over between them. Why Nancy didn't say anything about that to Steve was beyond her. There wasn't time to think about that. They needed to get the shed ready before Will woke up.

Soon enough, it was back to just a waiting game. One that made Annie want to crawl out of her skin. It reminded her of when she was waiting to find out which of her parents got full custody not even a month ago. A decision that she didn’t think would ever make her happy regardless of who ended up with her.

She sat on the couch, staring off into space as Steve swung his bat around.

"Your swing is fine, you know. It's checking your blind spots that you'd wanna look out for," she said.

He looked over, "What?"

"Like earlier... you weren't checking your surroundings."

"Why do I need to do that when I've got you saving my ass?"

She smiled a bit despite herself, "Because maybe I'll slip up."

"Hey," he sat next to her, "Don't think like that. We're gonna be fine."

Annie gave him a look, "I'm not one of the kids, Steve, I know this might not end well."

"Well with that thinking it won't," he commented.

She shook her head, "Sorry, um I just didn't expect to almost die like this. I mean, I always expected some weird shit to happen in Seattle or New York. Inter-dimensional monsters in a small town wasn't what I expected to be the wake-up call."

"For what?"

"That death's inevitable and I've spent the last few months just being miserable and alone," she let out a small laugh, "It just- it seriously sucks like you wouldn't believe."

The lights started to flicker like crazy. Annie was quick to grab her pitchfork from the corner of the room. This wasn't happening. This couldn't be happening. For a moment she was so sure that the room was going to turn into the Upside Down. She all but shrank into herself until the lights went normal again. Everyone was fine. Will didn't know where they were.

A few minutes later and they figured out Will was still communicating through Morse Code. Annie watched as the message was written out in front of them.

"Close gate," they all said together, trying to figure out what it could mean.

Suddenly, the phone started ringing and it wouldn't stop until Nancy pulled it out and threw it to the ground. A sense of dread overcame the room.

"Do you think he heard that?" Max asked.

Steve shook his head, "Phone ringing... that could be anywhere."

However, the screeching in the distance was enough to show that Will somehow knew exactly where they were. The demodogs were going to come back and there was no choice but to fight them. Sure, this time there were more people who could fight than Steve and herself, but there was an army of those monsters and they all knew it.

This was futile, but Annie wasn't about to say that and neither was anyone else. Instead they all stood, and she clutched her pitchfork tighter than ever before. The screaming came from all over and Annie kept an eye on the windows she could see.

A demodog burst in through the window, causing all of them to scream. Only, it was dead. Something had to have killed it, which only caused more questions to circle through Annie's head. She was ready to fight whatever came through that front door as it unlocked and opened. Only, she found herself putting down her weapon when she realized it was just a girl. Someone who couldn't have been any older than the kids she was helping to take care of.

Some things started to piece together in Annie's head as Mike rushed up to the girl, he called her Eleven. It seemed that the girl Steve talked about the night before wasn't dead after all. Though, from how Mike was going up to Hopper, she was pretty there was more to what was going on.

For the pair having moved to another room, she could hear Mike yelling pretty well. She stared at the floor, trying to not think about all the times she could hear her parents fight in that small, New York apartment. Instead, she just watched as the other kids reunited with Eleven.

"So, how'd you find out about all this?" Nancy asked, ripping her from her thoughts, "I mean, Steve obviously told you, yeah?"

Annie nodded slowly, "Yep..."

"That's funny, because when I wanted to tell Barb's parents about all this, he wasn't on board," she said, looking her over.

She shrugged, "Well, was their house flip-flopping dimensions as well, or were you just trying to satiate your own guilt?"

"Wait, what're you talking about?"

"I found out about this shit because I ended up telling Steve about how I was seeing things in my house. He got me out, and we were looking for you, actually. He wanted to apologize to you," she sighed, giving a tight-lipped smile, "And it turns out, he wasn't the one who needed to apologize. I'm new, but I'm not blind."

Nancy's eyes widened a bit before she walked outside. Perhaps it was a little bit much for Annie to say, but she wasn't about to play into whatever Nancy was trying to do. How was she supposed to feel sympathy for someone who so clearly hurt her only friend in this town?

Not that any of it mattered because everyone was talking about splitting up. Joyce and Jonathan were going to take Will to get rid of the part of him that was the Mind Flayer. Meanwhile, Hopper and Eleven were going to go back to the lab and close the gate. That left what was supposed to be her, Steve, and Nancy taking care of the kids. Something that was sure to go very well. Still, Annie wasn't about to go with either of the other two groups. She had no interest in putting herself back in danger and having yet another near-death experience. The ones she had already were more than enough.

Annie stayed in the house, knowing that all she and the kids could do was try to clean up the house. There was a broken window, and it did leave the house feeling cold. Before they did that, though, she went out with the kids to watch as they said goodbye to Eleven.

Steve cleared his throat, "So, uh, it's just gonna be us babysitting."

"Oh? What happened?"

"I let her go. She's helping Jonathan and Mrs. Byers," he sighed, "It was never gonna work. You knew that, though. Sorry I dragged you into all this over her."

Annie turned and looked up at him, "Hey, if it wasn't for you, I could be stuck in that Upside Down crap right now and things would be a lot worse. And, for what it's worth, you've been a good friend too."

"Thanks."

Just like that, it was the two of them with the kids. What they were going to do in the meantime was beyond her. Probably just more sitting around and being prepared for the worst. The kids had their walkies, so if anything happened, she was sure they would find out.

Dustin was wrapping the dead demodog in a quilt, "Hey, can I get a little help here?"

"Um, what're you doing?" Annie asked.

He huffed, "We gotta preserve this. One of you needs to hold this so I can get it into the fridge so we can keep the body from decomposing.

Annie looked at Steve, "You know, if you take this, you get to be the best babysitter. I'll just be mediocre at my job."

"Seriously?" Steve sighed, though it didn't take long for him to relent and just pick up the dead demodog.

While they worried about taking care of that, Annie decided to help Max and Lucas clean up the broken glass. A simple task to keep her from thinking about what was going on. Mike kept pacing until Lucas said something. Sure, she could understand where the kid was coming from, but it was so much safer for all of them this way. None of them had powers, Eleven clearly did. 

Steve walked up to them, "Look, the coach makes a play and bottom line, you've gotta do it."

"This isn't a stupid sports game!" Mike snapped, "Anyways, we're not in the game, we're on the bench."

He nodded, "Yeah... right. Right, and the point is, yep, we're on the bench and there's nothing we can do."

"I could offer a cool theater analogy," Annie said, getting ignored.

"Wait, but the demodogs are a hive mind, they were called away earlier," Dustin pointed out.

That was when the kids started to get an idea that quickly spiraled. Annie looked at Steve like they were crazy. Because they were. If they all died, then what?

She shook her head, "Wait, um, you guys?"

"We could go in here and burn it-"

"Yeah, that's a no," Steve said, holding the dish towel "We promised to keep you shitheads safe so we're gonna stay here on the bench and wait for the starting team to do their job, understand?"

Mike scoffed, "This isn't a stupid sports game!"

"I said, does everybody understand that?!" he gestured with the towel, “I need a yes.”

A car engine was heard in the distance and Max ran to see what was going on. All Annie needed to hear was that it was her brother before realizing that perhaps this wasn't the safest option after all. There was a certain look of concern on her face, and Steve looked at her.

"Hey, I'm gonna take care of this, okay? You just need to stay here and make sure the kids don't do anything stupid. And I mean it this time, I don't trust him seeing you involved with all this," Steve insisted.

Annie opened her mouth to argue, but could only bring herself to nod. If she couldn't even defend herself to that guy a day ago, what good would she be now? And maybe Steve really would fix all this. There was a lot he had done already. They were going to be fine. Nothing was going to happen to the kids, especially Max.

So she watched the best she could through the front door window. That meant she wasn't paying attention to the kids like she should have been. It looked like it was getting intense between the two guys. She reached into her pocket for her switchblade. While she was sure Steve could handle this, she wanted to be ready just in case. Then, Billy pointed at the window and she deflated.

She glared at the kids, "What part about keeping your heads down did you dumbasses not get?!"

There wasn't more time for her to yell because she watched Steve get shoved to the ground and kicked. Her eyes widened and she held tightly to the closed knife in her hand. The door swung open and she moved to get in front of him. She couldn't let the kids get hurt.

"Ah, Harrington's bitch," he shoved her into an end table, "And Lucas Sinclair."

It took a lot to not cry out in pain, but she didn't want the kids to worry about her. She could still move, but hitting the corner of the table made her back ache. And for a moment, all she could do was watch as Billy went right for Lucas. Right as she moved to get up, Steve rushed in and was quick to help her up.

A part of Annie wanted to just go up to Billy and punch him until he was a pulp, but she knew she couldn't do that. Steve would have a chance, though. She let him confront Billy and she stood in front of the kids, fumbling to get her knife open. Though, with Steve getting in a few good hits, Annie felt like he could do it. Until she saw Billy pick up the plate.

"Steve, the plate!" she screamed but it was too late and Billy bashed the plate over his head, causing him to stumble back.

It only got worse from there and all Annie could do was watch in horror as Steve fell to the ground, obviously passed out. Billy started to throw more punches. She had no choice, she had to do something. Steve was dead otherwise. If she could take on those demodogs, surely she could take on some asshole who was beating up her best friend.

In a quick move, she ran up behind Billy and pressed the switchblade to Billy's neck, "Get the fuck off of him!"

He got off of Steve but only to thrash against her to fight for the knife. It was happening in such a blur and she wasn't strong enough to get the upper hand again. She first felt something cut into her cheek and then her back was against the floor. All she could do was scream and try to sink into the floor further.

"You know, I've been waiting for something like this for a few days now," Billy murmured, tossing the knife aside.

Annie kept her eyes shut, unable to say anything as she felt his mouth on her neck. If she could just make herself smaller or do something. There was something hard against her thigh and she tried to slide out, but there wasn't any give. She couldn't do anything. For all she knew, Steve was dead and she wasn't any better off. A stench of cigarette smoke and musk was all she could smell and it made her feel like gagging.

Then, Billy made a confused noise and there was suddenly less pressure on top of her. She opened one eye, realizing no one was on top of her. Max was screaming something, but it wasn't registering. All she could hear was a ringing of sorts. What did register was that Steve was only a few feet away and she crawled over to him.

His face was covered in blood and was already swelling. Still caught up in everything, she tried shaking him.

"Steve? Steve, come on, I need you to wake up for me," she whispered, looking for any signs that he was going to wake up, "Please, I can't do this shit alone, I really need you right now."

Dustin slowly approached her, sitting on the other side of Steve, "Annie, he's just passed out. He's still breathing, see?"

Sure enough, she could see his chest rising and falling, "Right... yeah... you're right, sorry."

"It's okay, we just need you to drive us where we tell you to," he said.

Annie's eyes widened, "We're not going anywhere!"

"Do you really wanna stay here where Billy is? Come on, if you stay calm about this, we can bring Steve along," Dustin replied.

That was all the convincing Annie needed in that moment. Getting the kids and Steve as far away from Billy as possible was the goal. Dustin put a few band-aids onto Steve to try and make her feel better. He offered her one for the cut on her cheek, but she didn't take it. Instead, she took the car keys to Billy's Camaro.

No, she had never driven before in her life, but how hard could it be? She watched Steve do enough of it. Surely she could figure this out on the fly. When she turned the key, the engine roared to life. She just needed to go from park to drive. Except the car was moving without her pushing anything.

"What the fuck, why's this thing moving?!" she exclaimed.

Max looked at her, "Have you ever driven before?"

"No."

"Get the brake, put it back in park. I'll do it," Max insisted.

It didn't take more than that for Annie to be in the backseat so she could be right there with Steve. He had been hit so hard and a part of her worried he wasn't going to wake up. How was she supposed to do all this without him? They were supposed to be co-babysitters. She didn't have a clue about taking care of these kids. Hell, she was letting one of them drive. That wasn’t a hallmark of good babysitting.

She held an ice pack to Steve's head and she felt him stir.

"Nancy?" he murmured, looking at Mike.

Annie breathed a sigh of relief, letting Dustin explain everything. All that mattered was that Steve was awake, probably not completely okay, but he was awake nonetheless. 

Then he looked up at her, "Wait. If you're not driving then..."

Steve was soon screaming for Max to stop driving. It didn't help the situation and soon enough they were all screaming and yelling at each other. Though, they somehow made it to the spot in question just fine.

She took the time to help Steve get out of the car, "So uh, I know we said we wouldn't let them go here, but maybe it's better here? Like it's away from... it might not be a bad idea, yeah?"

"You're bleeding," he said before noticing what the kids were doing, "No! We're absolutely not doing this!"

Dustin walked up to them, "Steve, I know you're upset but a party member requires assistance. Now, you told Nance you'd keep us safe, so just do that."

The kid handed Steve his bat and Annie her pitchfork. They were really going to do this. A knot of nausea was in her stomach.

A pair of goggles, some gloves, and a bandanna later; Annie was at the back of the group, making sure none of the kids fell behind while Steve took the front. It was simple. Set the place on fire and get out fast. She could do this. If Steve could handle this, so could she.

They were walking through the tunnels, and Annie was already familiar with the vines and whatever it was floating in the air. Dustin stood back and as she tried to get him to move forward, something sprayed at him. As horrific as it was to watch, the kid was back up and with the group.

Another few minutes and they found the hub that they all needed to drench in gasoline.  That was also the easy part. She still kept an eye out, though. Those demodogs could be anywhere for all she knew.

She was crouched alongside all of them as Steve threw his lighter to the ground. For a moment, she just stared as it was all enveloped in bright flames. It took Dustin tugging her to realize they needed to go and she trailed behind. Meaning she was right there when Mike fell down.

"It's okay, you're fine, kid," she said, using the pitchfork to cut the vines.

That didn't stop a demodog from running up and growling as the group came back for them. She stood in front of all them, but Dustin moved in front. They all cried out in protest until Steve got them to quiet down. Her gloved hand reached for Steve's for just a moment before she focused on holding her pitchfork.

Thankfully, somehow a candy bar was all they needed  to get through. That didn't stop the other demodogs from knowing where to find them. It was a race to get the kids up one by one. The last one up was Dustin who only made it up because she and Steve forced him up. At least the kids made it out.

Deep down, Annie knew that getting out of this was impossible. She was sure Steve knew that too, but they had gone through too much to not fight this last time. Her grip was tight on her pitchfork and her eyes glanced up to him.

"Thanks, for everything," she said as the monsters ran.

What she hadn't prepared for was the stampede to ignore her and Steve. He had to hold onto her so she didn't get thrown into them. The monsters passed and she blinked as hard as she could so she wouldn't cry.

Steve made her go up first and he came out soon after. The car lights started to flash brighter than she thought possible and then they went dark again. Right after that, the hole in the ground closed. All she could do was stand, watching as it all came to an end.

Tag List (let me know if you want to be added!): @dungeons-and-demodogs​ @jxnehxpper​ @ilovebucketbarnes​

#steve harrington #steve harrington x original character #steve harrington x oc #stranger things #stranger things fic #stranger things 3 #stranger things 2 #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things x original character #stranger things x oc #steve harrington angst #stranger things angst #dfean?

[lifeofresulullah]

The Life of The Prophet Muhammad: Before His Birth, His Birth and His Childhood

The Prophet is Given to a Foster Mother (Part 2)

The First Abundance

Our lovely Master (PBUH), who had captivated Halima’s heart, was now in her arms.

Yet, what was this? The breasts that had lacked milk for days were immediately filled with milk as soon as our Holy Prophet (PBUH) began to suck from them.

Halima was surprised and her husband, Harith, was in a state of amazement.

Her right nipple was in our Holy Prophet’s (PBUH) mouth and her left nipple was in the mouth of his new foster brother, Abdullah, who was Halima’s son. From then on, the Holy Prophet (PBUH) would always drink from the right breast.

The Camel’s Breasts were filled with Milk

Halima was not willing to put the radiant orphan (PBUH) down from her lap for one second. They immediately bid their farewells to Abdulmuttalib and Hazrat Amina and departed from Mecca.

Teardrops were combined with Amina’s sadness. She had virtually become a cloud as she followed her radiant child.

That night, the Harith family had a peaceful sleep outside Mecca. When the morning came, Harith ran to milk their camels. Every nipple he touched had become a fountain of milk. He called out to Halima in amazement: “Oh Halima, know that you have taken a very holy and auspicious child!”

Halima affirmed her husband’s statement: “By God, I hope he is”.

Mecca was left behind.

Halima was riding on a female donkey and had the Master of the Universe (PBUH) in her arms. What happened to the weak, frail donkey that had fallen behind her friends? Where did this speed and steadiness come from? It was as if she was not the same donkey that Halima rode on her way to Mecca.

When she passed and left all the animals in the procession behind, Halima���s traveling companions were surprised and asked with astonishment, “Oh, Abu Zuaib’s daughter, shame on you. Why do you not wait for us? Or is the donkey that you are riding not the same as the one that you rode when you first came?”

The donkey was the same donkey. The only difference was that there was someone else on her, and he was the Master of the Universe (PBUH). The honor of carrying him (PBUH) had exhilarated that weak and frail animal.

“No, by God she is the same donkey; in fact, I’m not directing her. She is going steadily on her own. There is something strange about this”.

It was a shame that nobody from the procession was able to discern the reason for this difference and from where it came.

Yes, all of these occurrences were open proofs that this radiant-faced infant (PBUH) would embrace the future with his grandeur!

Our Holy Prophet (PBUH) in the Homeland of the Sons of Sa’d

Halima and her husband returned to their homeland after these peculiar occurrences.

Our Holy Prophet (PBUH) would now remain in the land of the Sons of Sa’d.

At that time, intense drought and famine were prevalent in the area. The soil’s abundance had been cut-off, the wells and fountains did not have water, faces were pale, and the animals did not have the strength to stand on their feet.

However, the view suddenly changed when the Holy Prophet (PBUH) arrived. Before his arrival, the animals were not able to find any grasses to eat but now they were filled to repletion. Their breasts were overflowing with milk and like a fountain of mercy, they were pouring it continuously. There were no longer any pale faces in Halima’s home.

The other inhabitants of the area were still experiencing a famine and were continuing to suffer in a circle of hardship. Their animals were still frail, weak, and did not provide adequate milk.

It was as if those who did not accept our Holy Prophet (PBUH) for being an “orphan” were being punished by having to remain in deprivation.

The upland folk was about to burst from curiosity when they saw this situation before their eyes. They could not understand what they saw. They were blaming their shepherds and were scolding them: “How do Halima’s sheep get full? As they walk, milk continuously drops from their nipples. Who knows where she is grazing her sheep? Why do you not go to the place where she goes and grazes your sheep there!?”

The shepherds knew for certain that their employers were being unfair in blaming them. The place where Halima was grazing her sheep was no different from where they were grazing theirs. For this reason, the shepherds were disputing this, however, their objections made no difference. This time, their employers added:

“Very well, how is it that while the sheep in your herd are having difficulty carrying themselves due to starvation, hers are being satiated and are returning with milk-filled breasts?”

Neither the shepherds nor their employers were able to find the answer to this question. All they could do was look at one another with wonder and bewilderment.

However, there was a reason for this and at that time, nobody other than Hazrat Halima and her husband knew what it was. When the shepherds came and asked what the reason was, Halima gave them this answer:

“By God, this is not about pasture or grass. This work is one of the many secrets of the Lord. Everything began on our return from Mecca!”

Of course, the shepherds were not able to understand much from these words; thus, they were unable to get rid of their curiosity.

This was the secret that the prairie folk were unable to conceive:

Since Halima had displayed generosity in accepting our Holy Prophet (PBUH), who is the most beloved to the Possessor of the Universe, Allah, her household was generously being endowed with gifts from His mercy.

Halima and her husband were very well aware of this and for that reason, they looked at this radiant infant in a different light. So to speak, they would protect him from a flying bird and the rising sun as they fluttered around him with great love and care.

The Upland was freed from the drought

The drought and famine that were prevalent in the land of the sons of Sa’d had still not ended. Every week, the upland folk continued to recite a prayer for rain in accordance with their own beliefs and customs. However, they returned sad and empty-handed each time.

It was a Friday.

The entire tribal community went on top of a hill and took their milkless sheep and hungry camels along with them for the purpose of praying once more for rain. After they sacrificed their animals, they began to pray. They were begging and invoking the Lord of the universe to send rain. Even though they had been praying for hours, a single raindrop did not fall.

Our Holy Prophet’s (PBUH) wet nurse, Halima and her husband, Harith, were also in the crowd. Halima would always protect the Master of the Universe (PBUH), and for that reason, she did not bring him among the crowd and had left him at home with his foster brother, Unais.

The end of the prayer was reached. Everyone was hopeless, exhausted, and was preparing to leave. In the meantime, a woman, who was one of Halima’s neighbors, approached the priest upon the completion of his prayer and said: “Oh Priest, we prayed so much; however, we received no result. If there was someone favorable and auspicious among us, then maybe the Lord of the universe would accept our prayer”.

It was as if the priest was bothered by the old woman’s words and said, “All we can do is pray to Him; however, we are not able to know His plan. Only He knows what is right and what is favorable”.

This time, the old woman shared her real intention: “I know, what you have said is true; however, I meant to say something else. In our neighbor Halima’s home, there is a child from Mecca. Ever since he came, Halima’s home has been overflowing with abundance. It appears like he is a very favorable and auspicious child”. Maybe his presence will bring us luck and the Lord of the universe may accept our prayer by granting us rain for his sake”.

At first, the priest was hesitant but consented to the idea of our Holy Prophet (PBUH) being brought after the woman insisted.

The old woman looked for Halima and once she found her, she explained the offer that she had made to the priest.

Halima found this idea as being feasible since she was the one who saw what an auspicious and favorable child he was the most. She quickly ran home and once she arrived there, she hugged our Holy Prophet (PBUH). Afterward, she bundled him and covered his face with a cloth to protect him from the impact of the burning sun. Then, the two went outside.

The sun was severely thrusting its flaming arrows towards the face of the Earth. It was as if a blazing fire was rising from the ground. After leaving the house and having walked for a bit, Halima’s eyes noticed something strange. A cloud had been following them. At first, she did not pay much attention and said “could be” to herself while she continued walking; however, this cloud did not leave. In fact, it had undertaken the duty of protecting them from the sun’s boiling heat by acting as an umbrella. Inevitably, she was overcome with wonder and was surprised, and on the one hand, she was happy. It was no longer necessary to cover the radiant infant’s face with a cloth. When she lifted the cover, his cute eyes looked at her very sweetly and it was as if his smile was saying, “That cloud is shading me”.

They continued their way underneath the cloud that acted as an umbrella and mixed in with the crowd once they arrived at their destination. Although the priest had been initially uncomfortable when the request was made, he was now greeting the two with a smile because he had seen a cloud from afar shading Halima and her companion as soon as they had left their home.

The priest took our Holy Prophet (PBUH) from his wet nurse’s arms and shouted to the crowd: “Oh, people! This is the child from Mecca that brings blessings to whichever household he is found in. Altogether, let us pray for the Lord of the Universe to deliver rain with the love and kindness that He has towards this favorable child”.

Everyone opened their hands once more and their lips began to excitedly recite a new prayer.

Our Holy Prophet (PBUH) stood like a ball of light in the priest’s arms and while everyone was begging Allah the-Almighty, he was looking at the sky with hopefulness as his eyes emitted an intense light. The priest was captured by this radiant infant’s large and eminent black eyes that were incomparable in beauty and he forgot everything at once.

The final moments of the waiting period that persisted for months with sadness and longing were finally nearing. The tiny cloud above of Our Holy Prophet (PBUH) was seen to have begun expanding and spreading across the horizon. In a short period, that tiny cloud abandoned its location in favor of becoming a huge cloud that covered the entire sky. Instantly, screams of happiness were combined with sounds of prayer. The coming of clouds meant that the arrival of rain was near, and a short while later, the area resonated with shrieks of happiness. “Rain….!!! Rain….!!! Rain….!!!”

Yes, two weeks of deprivation was enough for the Sons of Sa’d to understand the nature of the warning.  For the sake of this radiant infant, clear and sweet raindrops began to harmoniously fall from the trove of God Almighty upon their homeland. Supposedly, mercy had embodied the form of rain and was pouring on the face of the Earth as it bestowed hope upon the hopeless people. Because of the drought, the face of the Earth had cracked, but it displayed its happiness too by releasing a sweet fragrance.

This community still did not know the secret as to why their continuous prayers for months on end were not accepted until that day. It was a secret that would remain a secret. The cause of such mercy was just yet a baby in the eyes of the people. In reality, Hazrat Muhammad (PBUH) was the Prophet of all Prophets, was recognized as the Beloved of Allah by the angels and Allah Himself, and was the Sun of both realms.

The mercy that brought smiles to the homeland of Sad’s sons continued for a week with intervals in between.

The soil was saturated all the way to its pith by the rain. The grass sprung up again, the trees sprouted young and fresh buds, crops grew tall, and the breasts of sheep began to be filled with milk.

Among the people, only a few understood the reason for the arrival of rain.

They said, “This child is very auspicious and beneficial” among themselves.

The weather was clear and nice in the pure and wide desert. It was a suitable condition for the children to have prompt and healthy growth.

Our Holy Prophet’s (PBUH) growth was different from that of the other children. He began to speak when he was eight months old, spoke smoothly and without error when he was nine months old and was strong and robust enough to throw arrows like the other children when he was ten months old.

Our Holy Prophet (PBUH) stopped being breastfed when he reached two years of age. Until that time, Halima and the upland folk had been fully endowed with a rain of abundance, mercy, and bounty.

Even at this age, our Holy Prophet (PBUH) possessed a far greater beauty, charm, and superior manner of conduct than his peers. He was earnest and dignified like a grown adult.

The Holy Prophet (PBUH) is brought to His Mother

The season of returning the foster children had arrived. So, Halima, who had taken our Holy Prophet (PBUH) under her wing and who loved him much more than her own children, had a cloud of sadness pervade her heart since she was about to be separated from him. She was going to be far from his fragrance of roses that reminded her of heaven.

However, she had no choice other than to deliver him and that is what they did. They took the radiant Muhammad (PBUH), went to Mecca, and delivered him to his mother in the midst of heartfelt tears.

The foster mother’s world was filled with sorrow whereas the real mother’s world was filled with happiness. One of them was in bliss for being reunited with her child and the other was burning in the fiery pain of being separated from him.

At that moment, it was as if inspiration came to Halima’s heart and she pleadingly made the following offer with the fullest sincerity in her heart:

“Would you please allow my son to stay with me for a longer period of time? I am also afraid that he will come into contact with the Meccan plague”.

This offer and wish were sincere. It was as if these sentences were spilled from the heart rather than her lips.

Dear Mother Amina was unable to oppose this genuine and heartfelt appeal and consented to her beloved child staying in the homeland of the Sa’d’s for some more time.

Our Holy Prophet (PBUH) is in Sa’d’s Homeland once again

Halima had attained her desire. In the endless pleasure of having her wish accepted, she returned to her homeland together with our Holy Prophet (PBUH).

The Master of the Universe (PBUH) sometimes went with his foster brother, Abdullah, to graze the sheep. The sheep would respond to his sweet smiles by bleating.

Our Holy Prophet’s (PBUH) eyes always faced towards the skies. He would look up attentively and meaningfully as though he was going to discover something. It was as if he was waiting for a hand to reach down and take him to the high heavens.

In the meantime, a strange incident took place that did not go unnoticed: There was usually a cloud over our Holy Prophet (PBUH) that traveled over him and protected him from the sun.

All eyes were now on him. His beauty was on everyone’s tongue while his sweet love was in everyone’s heart. His honesty, good manners, and earnestness were always talked about.

His peers would compete for his amiable friendship.

Our Holy Prophet’s (PBUH) days would pass peacefully and happily in the upland of the Sons of Sa’d.

The slitting of our Holy Prophet’s (PBUH) Chest

It was a beautiful spring day and the mid-morning sun was emitting life everywhere.

Our Holy Prophet (PBUH) whose face was filled with noor (light), and his foster brother, Abdullah, were grazing their sheep in a meadow that was near their home. They sat on a carpet of grass as they were having a nice conversation underneath a tree. After a while, Abdullah fell asleep on the tree’s cool shadow while the Master of the Universe (PBUH) thought about the Creator who encompassed the universe with incomparable beauty.

In the meantime, the sheep had dispersed far away. In order to have them turn back, the Holy Prophet (PBUH) walked away from Abdullah.

After a while, he saw two men clothed in white garments. Both of them had smiling faces and were pleasant. One of them had a golden bowl that was filled with snow in his hand. They quietly approached the Holy Prophet (PBUH).  They held him; they laid him on top of the standing grass that was like a Divine carpet. The Holy Prophet (PBUH) made no sound and no fuss. He knew that these pleasant people with clean and smiling faces would not hurt him.

In the meanwhile, Abdullah, who had fallen asleep on the tree’s cool shadow, was now awake.  When he saw the scene, he immediately began to run home in a hurry. He explained what he saw to his parents. Out of their excitement and worry, Halima and her husband did not notice how they rushed out of the house, as they hastily ran towards the Holy Prophet (PBUH). They reached the Holy Prophet (PBUH)’s side; however, the situation was not as Abdullah had described since nobody could be seen. In an instant, the men fulfilled their appointed duty and left. The Holy Prophet’s (PBUH) face had gone pale, and he lightly smiled as he stood on his feet.

Halima and her husband who were in too great of a flap, asked: “Sweetie, what happened to you?”

The Master of the Universe (PBUH) narrated the following:

“Two people with white garments approached me. One of them had a golden bowl filled with snow in his hand. They held me, slit my chest, took out my heart, and slit my heart as well. From my heart, they took out a black blood clot and threw it aside. They left after they cleaned my heart and chest with that snow”. 

He would be given the duty of Prophethood after many years passed.

One day, some of the Companions (Sahaba) had asked: “Oh Messenger of Allah, could you describe yourself to us?”

The Holy Prophet (PBUH) answered: I am the supplication of my father, Ibrahim. I am the glad tidings of my brother, Isa (Jesus). I am my mother’s dream. When she was pregnant with me, she saw a noor that rose from itself and lightened the castles of Damascus”.  After his answer, he explained the aforementioned situation in this way:

“I was nourished and brought up next to the sons of Sa’d bin Bakr. One day, I was grazing the sheep with my foster brother behind our home. In the meantime, two men in white garments approached me. One of them had a golden bowl filled with snow in his hand. They held me, slit my chest, took out my heart, and slit my heart as well. They took out a black blood clot from my heart and threw it aside. They cleaned my chest and heart with that snow”. (9)

In this phenomenon, our Beloved Messenger’s (PBUH) holy heart was widened with a soul and tranquility by the Divine Light and God Almighty. At the same time and from that day on, the nafs (soul) of the Holy Prophet (PBUH) was filled with holy emotions. And with the testifying of Divine lights (noor), his nafs was cleaned from every type of apprehension and doubt. It should be remembered here that the heart should not be thought of as some piece of meat. It is a dominical subtle faculty, Latifa -Rabbaniyya. To become better enlightened on this topic, it is beneficial to look at Hazrat Badiuzzaman’s explanation of the heart:

What is meant by the heart is not just a piece of meat like a pine cone. Instead, it is a dominical subtle faculty (Latifa Rabbaniyya), and the conscience, the purpose of feelings, intentions, and ideas, are its intellect. Therefore, an amenity has resulted from interpreting this piece of meat that contains the dominical subtle faculty: the dominical subtle faculty, the service that one does for his own spirituality, is like the service that is performed by the physical body.  Yes, just as the One who has endowed this physical body with life is like a life-producing machine and this material life is extant because of His handiwork, the physical body reaches degradation when its material life is halted. He animates and illuminates the dominical subtle faculty with deeds and circumstances; and when the light of faith diminishes, its true essence will be left remaining like a lifeless and inanimate statue. 

It is understood that the faith, knowledge, wisdom, and compassion of the material heart are closely connected to spirituality. In the same way, the relation between material and spiritual cleanliness is extant. In this regard, the filling of our Holy Prophet’s (PBUH) heart with knowledge, wisdom, Divine light, and enlightenment after the cleansing of his material heart, should not be seen as unreasonable. 

#allah #god #islam #muslim #revert #reverthelp #reverthelp team #convert #new revert #new convert #new muslim #muslim revert #muslim convert #welcome to islam #revert to islam #convert to islam #how to convert to islam #prophet #muhammad #quran #sunnah #hadith #Help #Religion #muslimah #hijab

[decantae]

A snippet from For Queen and Country that’s about a year old. The premise of this scene is Louise (radio personality and fledgling vampire) handling the aftermath of an on-air hijacking used to incite violence against the Other.

If you would like to be tagged in FQAC writing posts, please let me know - I lost my tag lists!

Word Count: 1,478

"That was the single scariest thing I have ever had to deal with on air," Louise said as soon as she tagged in her replacement. Even getting to her feet was a struggle with legs like jelly. Joe pressed a mug of hot coffee into her hands, and guided her through to the break room. "And that includes that one caller who phoned-in when he thought he'd committed a hit-and-run. Though it's a close thing."

Joe let her ramble until they were in the kitchenette. Several passing workers (including a few rubberneckers from next door's underground anarchist magazine) made reassuring comments on their way by, and Louise maintained a shaky public smile through it all, but once they were alone, she leaned heavily against the sink, mindless of spilled water soaking into the back of her faux fur coat. "I hope it's not a slow news day on the BBC. Or ITV. Or Sky News. That message does not deserve any more air-time than it's already gotten. Fuel to the fire. Did you get it recorded?"

Joe shot her a funny look, then head tilted to the side quizzically. It drove her to wonder if there was something on her face, and she bent down to check in the nearest reflective surface, the microwave door. It may have just been the dim lighting but she seemed to have adopted a pallor that even her make-up couldn't hide. Beneath red lips and blush she was chalky-white, reading to her eyes as an embalmed corpse ready for the open casket funeral. 

"Yeah, we got it. I'd advise you to slow down and breathe just a sec,” he continued, “but all the horror flicks I've ever seen suggest vampires don't need oxygen. Can't say I've ever seen one of your sort go into shock."

"It would be just my luck to be the first to do so," Louise said faintly. As much as she had grown used to life as a creature of the night, it felt no less taboo to be discussing such matters with a human –– even one in the pocket of the Collective, as Joe was. He had previously made it clear that he would never bring it up at work unless it was critical.

Silence reigned. She gulped down her coffee, which satiated a thirst, but not the thirst; the one that made the back of her throat itch, as if there were slivers of microscopic glass tuck in all the little fleshy crevices down her oesophagus. Her mind couldn't stop refocusing on the sensation, like worrying at a hangnail, or picking at a scab.

Her gaze slid to the fridge. "Joe," she began lightly, breaching a sensitive topic. "Do you mind if I—–?" "Oh, God no. Go ahead. You look like you need it, and, um, I'm anemic, so... Whatever you need to do." Her manager waved a hand and took up a position in front of the closed door, a guard against any curious colleagues. In the meantime, Louise descended upon the paper bag in the fridge like a bat out of hell, pausing only to rummage around in one of the cabinets for a reusable metal straw.

Drinking from the packaged blood inside was sweet, sweet relief after a long day, even if it was cold. (Still, after the DIY AB+ ice-lollies she'd attempted to make from last summer, anything was an improvement.) 

While Joe was purposefully fiddling with his phone as she sucked the bag dry, careful not to smear her lipstick, she allowed herself to muse what it would be like to drink hot, living blood. Apparently, according to some of her brothers and sisters in the Collective, it was easy to acquire a taste for the 'real thing'. When the man coughed uncomfortably, she averted her gaze.

Already, her throat was soothed and her frayed nerves were bolstered. If there were to be interviews for the telly, she thought she might be able to stand and do one of them now – or at least sit for it. "Right," Joe said, when her straw could suck up no more. As Louise moved on to slicing open the bag with one fang to get at the trapped liquid, he unsuccessfully masked a wince. It was just a bag. "This is a big old mess, and we're going to have to work overtime on working out a plan of action with the Collective. Take the night off, Lou." 

"What?" She looked up, and the blood in the plastic ran over and dripped down the corner of her lips. "No way. I haven't missed a day in four years and six months and I'm certainly not going to start now. That would be absurd." Something in Joe's eyes told her that it was a position he wouldn't budge from. "What is it?" "You know what? Make it a long weekend." 

"Did I do something wrong?" Louise asked, stunned. "I know I was a bit shaken by the whole thing, but I'm sure I'll be as right as rain tomorrow. Besides, I'd like to see Chris Moyles or, god forbid, Chris Evans do any better in that situation." Perhaps if she kept lying, one of them would scan as the truth. "Really, I'm good."

"Yeah, um, not to make this workplace discrimination or anything, but you're literally dripping blood on the tiles." Louise looked at the plastic bag scrunched in her hand, the trails of blood running down her arm, and then the circular splashes on the ground before tossing it into the rubbish bin. Joe continued with palpable uncertainty, gesturing to her chin and cheek, "And you've got a little bit of it on your face––here. And there."

She ran her thumb along the worst of it and licked it off. "Wow, I'm so sorry, Joe. I'll clean this up right away. This has never happened before..." As she reached for the paper towels, he stopped her. Finally, she recognised the twin emotions in his face that she had confused before: concern and apprehension. They did not seem so unwarranted now. 

"Don't worry about this, pet. It's only blood –– I'll handle it. Won't even write it up as a biohazard." Joe patted her on the shoulder as he moved to clean up, passing her a sheet of kitchen roll for her face. Though a slip-up of such a magnitude was unheard of for her, she knew to dab off blood like excess foundation rather than smear it, at the very least. It was times like these that Louise was reminded that Joe had been in the employ of the vampires for longer than she had been one. He must be used to spillages. "Do me a favour and head home."

Her protest was fainter this time; she could barely hear her own voice. "You said we're going to have to sort things out with the Collective..."

"And, tell you what, if you feel like calling up Queen or Kaminski or one of the others later on, you can do that. As long as you take a nap first." He shot her an easy grin. "Or have a stiff drink. When was the last time you had a Friday and a Saturday off?"

Louise hesitated, though she knew the answer. "Four years and six months..." "Exactly. Now go on, get. And if I see you in here tomorrow, I'm adding another day."

Louise nodded, and with one last check in the microwave door to ensure the blood looked enough like a student project rather than a murder victim, she left the kitchen area and On the Edge studio with great haste, only diverging from her path to pick up her Prada bag from the cloakroom. What could only be disassociation marked her exit: one moment her heels were clicking on the linoleum of the empty corridors and the next she was tripping over her own two feet on the tarmac of the parking lot.

It was only once she was in her car, a yellow Mini, that she closed her eyes against the sunlight. Joe asked a workaholic to stop working, and this was the effect. What else could she possibly do with her time? Message the bosses, that's it. Sliding her phone out from her bra, she scrolled through her contacts to ascertain who would be the best one to ask for guidance–– ––until, for once, she didn't feel like sorting it out immediately.

The best place to find a vampire was to show up at one of the clubs. Drinks were good, but it wasn't even midday yet. She could survive until they opened with a bath (plus bubbles) and some soothing music, but she hadn't been out on the town alone since her 21st, and given how bloody that night ended, she was not excited to relive the trauma.

Unless. 

#louise #my writing #original writing #writeblr #wips #vampire stories #amwriting #creative writing #fqac #vampire

[eiruvsq]

Artist:

Beau B. Frank

"Currently reflecting on the remaining 5 weeks of 2017 and recognizing how insane it's been. I still can't believe I had the opportunity to spend a month in Melbourne, Australia, got to go to Cadiz, Spain twice, and revisit Oaxaca, Mexico(which inspired this piece). Being able to travel and come back to my job has been a blessing, but don't be fooled. Just because I have time off for extended periods doesn't mean I don't work a lot. I seem to always make up for it when I get back from a trip. - I'm currently on my 8th dinner shift in a row working at the restaurant and I sometimes wonder if I'm overdoing it. I can't help but catch myself fantasizing of a lazy day or sleeping in until 12. As much as the money feeds my bank account and the work is enjoyable most of the time, a part of me craves to satiate a hunger that can only be curbed by spending it traveling or painting. My mind begins to wander to distant places, foreign and wild lands accompanied by a little space to make my bed and paint into the night. - In the meantime I'm here in Pacific Grove, working my restaurant shifts, exercising and going for runs along the coast, and painting whenever possible. Making time for my art is a daily struggle but it is no longer an option, it is a necessity. That's why I make it a daily habit, no matter how busy I get, no matter how tired I am, no matter what my life becomes of itself. - - Only a few fine tunings to go for this piece before it gets sent over to @spoke_art for the 7th Annual Supersonic Invitational curated by @supersonicart - so excited to be a part of the show! 🙏🏻"

"- I recently got insulted on social media and criticized for the work that I do. The latest comments go as such, "I don't get it." -- "I understand what you are trying to do, doesn't look good." -- "I can't believe you ruined that painting, it looked so good." These comments were made in the last few days. Compared to what some people receive as attacks or rude comments, I'd say I'm pretty fortunate since these are relatively tame and polite. - I'd be lying if I said these negative comments didn't hurt my feelings or offend me and usually my way of protecting myself is throwing some passive aggressive shade and showering them with heart emojis and "thanks sweetheart" kinds of responses. It's my way of getting back at them. Basically I'm trying to get them even more mad and frustrated with me so that they make another rude comment and make a fool of themselves, and then I can walk away feeling like I'm the innocent hero. - I'm trying not to do that anymore. I would much rather have a dialogue and hear opposing views and opinions and to talk about it. I want to understand the psychology behind what makes someone treat another human being with disrespect. I want to ask them questions: - Why do you dislike my work? Which aspects offend or discomfort you? What sparked the need to write those words in response to my work. Are you a painter as well, and if so do you understand the practice? What would you have done differently? Why do you choose to criticize without giving any constructive comments? Did you enjoy sharing that remark? What did you hope to accomplish? - I'm all for opposing opinions and I know that not everyone is going to like my work. I'm just wondering why I feel like we are talking much less and instead pointing the finger and judging from our high horses without getting down to the same level to open a discussion and share insight to the words we choose to speak and write online. Having said all this, I'm trying not to focus on the negative since I am blessed with a beautiful following who encourage, inspire, and support my craft. I am lucky to have you and thanks for hanging out with me, listening, and also for keeping me accountable 🙏🏻❤️-"

https://www.instagram.com/beaubfrank/

#Beau B.Frank #Artist #Art #Painting #Painter

[uwugenides]

Sorry for not posting any art as of recent guys. School has been crazy. I’m the lead in our play, I have two projects overdue but the teacher is in Hawaii, I’m applying to colleges, I just quit my job, and so much more. I’m hoping this weekend will be my last days at work so more art should be able to go up after that! Hope the memes I’ve been posting in the meantime have satiated all of you ;P

#archer talks #my spanish teacher called me archito today and i really like it tbh #i should go by that

[aion-rsa]

Brandon Sanderson’s Stormlight Archive is Built on the Shoulders of Giants

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When Brandon Sanderson wrote The Way of Kings, the first book in The Stormlight Archive series, he was ready to give up on publishing. Throwing away any ideas of what the market wanted, he decided to write something instead for himself. Now, 18 years later, Rhythm of War, the fourth book of The Stormlight Archive, marks Sanderson’s 25th novel (in addition to assorted novellas, short stories, and graphic novels), and something over seven million words of published fiction. He is, of course, not the only person who has enjoyed the epic fantasy saga.

That success was never a guarantee. Sanderson wrote 13 novels before he sold one: Elantris, in 2003. (It was published in 2005.) “The Way of Kings was number 13, the last of those unpublished books,” he recalls to Den of Geek. When trying to write for the market, he produced what he feels were some really awful novels, and beginning The Way of Kings was a way to return to the types of stories that he loved: big, chunky fantasy. “I love big epics,” he says. “I grew up on Anne McCaffrey and Robert Jordan and these really great, meaty epic fantasy series, which are my first love… I always wanted to do one of those myself.”

Rhythm of War continues the story of a war between humans and the parshmen (the singers) who are the native species of the world of Roshar. As powers of old have returned, the humans and the spren (magical spirits attuned to certain emotions or elements) have begun to reform the Radiant Knights. The singers have joined with powers to become the Fused, hosts to ancient souls in modern bodies.

The human cast includes Kaladin, a surgeon who became a soldier, benched at the beginning of the book due to his PTSD; Shallan, a woman with dissociative identity disorder who is also a master illusionist working in tandem for the heroes and a secretive spy enclave that claims to have answers to the universe; Dalinar, a Bondsmith who can heighten the abilities of others (among other gifts), and who struggles against pressures to become a high king; Navani, his wife, a queen who is more an engineer; and many others. This volume also reveals the pasts of singer sisters Eshonai and Venli as, in the present, Venli develops a secret plan for the singers’ independence, free from both human and the Fused. 

The spren are one of the most fascinating fantasy inventions featured in the series, and their role is even more important in Rhythm of War as Shallan and her partner, Adolin, try to form a treaty with the honorspren to aid in the war. The spren, especially those who have bonded with humans, are reminiscent of the daemons from Philip Pullman’s His Dark Materials series, but they are also quite unique. Sanderson was partly inspired by Japanese kami, and the idea that everything has a spirit. In the world of The Stormlight Archive, the minds of people shape the energy of the world, the spirits that embody objects and emotions. By depicting the spren, Sanderson wants readers to immediately know they are in a fantastic world.

“When people have powerful emotions, they attract spren,” Sanderson explains. “They also fulfill a writerly need: a lot of times, as writers, we’re looking for [ways to] show, don’t tell.” The spren give Sanderson, he explains, a way to reveal the emotions of his characters without using cliched expressions and depictions, while at the same time heightening the sense of the world as fantastical. “It’s also just a lot of fun to write,” Sanderson adds.

Sanderson is well known for writing strong women. (In a favorite line from Rhythm of War, one character, trying to convince Kaladin to partner up, reminds him that he likes smart girls: “Is there really anyone who doesn’t like smart girls?” Kaladin immediately replies.) Sanderson’s inclusion of prominent female characters with agency as central protagonists in his work comes from the fantasy he grew up on: Anne McCaffrey, Barbara Hambly, and Melanie Rawn. The book that made him into a reader was Hambly’s Dragonsbane, which features a woman who gave up her career in magic to raise a family—a book that gave Sanderson insight into his mother’s own choices in life. When he finished, he recalls thinking: “Wait a minute, I think I just finished a fun story about slaying a dragon, and I think I understand my mom better.… That lesson stayed with me my whole life, and my whole career.”

Sanderson strives to create authentic depictions of characters outside his own experiences. “When I write characters, I try very hard to represent that character, and anything about them, as well as if that character could write, they would represent it,” Sanderson says. He hopes that when readers find a character they identify with, they read that character and think, of Sanderson: “Wow, he must be like me!” To do this, Sanderson relies on beta readers—especially in cases like Shallan’s dissociative identity disorder (DID). “DID is represented so poorly in storytelling,” Sanderson explains. “It’s really sensationalized a lot of times. I wanted to do it right.” It took many drafts and very patient beta readers to build Shallan into the fully fleshed-out character she has become.

While Rhythm of War has many moving pieces, it’s surprisingly accessible for readers who haven’t picked up previous volumes of The Stormlight Archive, while returning fans of course will feel right at home in Sanderson’s rich fantasy world. Sanderson intends all of his books to have a quality of completeness—he works to make sure that each novel has its own identity, and that the novels don’t blend in with each other. He did not design Rhythm of War with the intent that readers would pick it up first, but he’s pleased it also works that way. “I remember doing that as a kid,” he says, “not knowing the series even was a series, or not being able to find the first one, and being like, ‘Well, I’m just going to read this one.’ There’s actually a fun to that, a piecing things together.”

Readers who have been following The Stormlight Archive since The Way of Kings was released back in 2010 have been waiting eagerly (and patiently) for each volume; it’s been just over three years since the previous installment in the series, Oathbringer, was released. But, for some Sanderson fans, the wait for the series has been even longer. “Way back when I first sold Elantris,” Sanderson remembers, “my editor … said, ‘What else do you have?’” So Sanderson submitted The Way of Kings, though it was not quite ready for publishing—something the editor and Sanderson both agreed on. “Writing a 300,000-word novel is a special skill,” he explains, “and I had not practiced that specific skill yet.”

Somehow, Amazon got word that The Way of Kings existed and put up a listing for the title. As Sanderson became better known, he told fans that asked that he did plan to return to The Way of Kings, but in the meantime, fans started to post fake reviews for it, Sanderson says, complete with doctored customer photos. One fan created a book cover with an image of Elvis and a fake blurb from Terry Goodkind. Readers continued to express their eagerness with this sort of fannish love until the real version of The Way of Kings was published in 2010. (The fake listing has since been removed, after Sanderson made sure to take “copious screenshots.”)

Between the false listing and the publication, Sanderson worked on those skills to create a true epic. Part of the experience needed for such a creative feat came from taking on the final books of The Wheel of Time series after Robert Jordan’s death.

“I usually use the metaphor that I was like Sam carrying the Ring for a little bit to finish it off,” Sanderson jokes. “The Wheel of Time experience basically forced me to go to the writing books gym and lift weights much heavier than I was accustomed to.” (Sanderson’s work on completing the series led the current-in-development Wheel of Time Amazon television series team to enlist him as a consulting producer. He has read several of the scripts and given the team advice as needed. Though he is not able to reveal much about the project, Sanderson reports: “I really have enjoyed the process of enjoying with Rafe [Judkins], the showrunner, on the television show.”)

Working on The Wheel of Time book series helped Sanderson figure out what he wanted to accomplish with The Way of Kings and the subsequent books, avoiding some of the problems he’d identified in epic fantasy. With The Stormlight Archive, Sanderson explains, “I’ve tried to make it not feel slow. I’ve tried to make it feel like each book has its own soul.” 

As for the real series’ reception: “The fans just latched onto it immediately,” Sanderson says. The series itself has so many moving parts, it’s hard to make a good elevator pitch, so Sanderson claims the series’ fans had to already trust him in order to begin. He recalls the pre-internet days when readers never knew when a new book in their favorite series was coming out; now, with the immediacy and accessibility of the internet, Sanderson tries to be upfront with his readers that each Stormlight Archive book will appear about once every three years.

To “hopefully keep fans satiated between volumes,” Sanderson and his team have also included pages of original art, and beautiful front-paper and end-paper portraits in full color in the series. “Why is there not more art in books for adults?” Sanderson wonders. “Why do kids get all the art?” Including original paintings, diagrams, and illustrations reinforces Sanderson’s deep world-building. Reprints of the earlier books in the series have sometimes even had art added as readers have asked for more detail about particular aspects of the world.

Credit: Art by Ben McSweeney © Dragonsteel Entertainment, LLC

The series is planned to be ten books. “I do plan it to be two five-book arcs,” Sanderson explains. “Book five should bring us to a pretty major climactic moment in the series.” In the meantime, fans of Sanderson’s world can play in it themselves via the board game, Call to Adventure: The Stormlight Archive, which features over 150 cards with art based on the world. With so much world-building already done for The Stormlight Archive, fans may wonder if a tabletop role playing game, similar to the Mistborn Adventure Game from Crafty Games, based on another of Sanderson’s series, is in the works. “No immediate plans,” Sanderson says, “but I’m sure we’ll do one eventually.”

cnx.cmd.push(function() { cnx({ playerId: "106e33c0-3911-473c-b599-b1426db57530", }).render("0270c398a82f44f49c23c16122516796"); });

Sanderson easily acknowledges the influences and inspirations of writers who have come before. “I have an advantage over a lot of the epic fantasy writers of my youth in that I got to read all of their books and see what was working and what wasn’t working,” he points out. But, in addition to building from other writers, Sanderson is dedicated to exploring the real world through his imaginary ones.

“Fantasy is wonderful escapism. This is why I love to read it,” he says. “But it is also a path to understanding other people. That’s what I love about fiction, and that’s what I love about fantasy in particular. It’s perhaps too lofty for me to aspire to change the world through my goofy fantasy novels, but I at least want to try to represent the world accurately so that, when you’re done with the book, if you’ve read about people different from yourself, you have come to understand them a little bit better.”

Rhythm of War is now available to buy wherever books are sold. You can find out more here.

The post Brandon Sanderson’s Stormlight Archive is Built on the Shoulders of Giants appeared first on Den of Geek.

from Den of Geek https://ift.tt/2H8nzWW

#aion-rsa #Den of Geek

[tableandteaspoon]

Monday Merriment

Infusing grandeur into otherwise drab days with five ideas for the week.

I.  Confession: I’ve had a bit of an unruly sweet tooth as of late. I’m blaming it - like absolutely everything else right now - on the pandemic. Pre-house arrest, I’d successfully resisted all sweets and carbs (other than the occasional cocktail clearly) for three months. Truth be told, it wasn’t difficult. So to lapse swiftly back into the arms of my saccharine lover has been a bit alarming. Finding ice cream too heavy and candy too basic, I’ve found my sweet spot in sorbets. Growing tired of my go-to Talenti Roman Raspberry, I remembered a recipe I developed near the beginning of this blog circa 2010. Fresh mint, Gewurztraminer, and citrus combine to hit all the right notes, without overwhelming your palate. Give the Pink Mint Sorbet a try - I promise it’ll be the easiest thing you’ve concocted during COVID.

II.  The very first thing I did once the shock of WFH for the foreseeable future wore off was order a pair of delicious house slippers. As a pre-pandemic stiletto aficionado, I figured my feet deserved a break while sheltering in place - but I couldn’t bear the thought of forgoing the feeling of sliding them into something luxurious in the meantime. While all of that sounds marginally dramatic, I can’t tell you how lovely it’s been to have the comforting new routine. Here are my favorites for both men and women in hi/lo price points. Male: hi and lo. Female: hi and lo.

III.  As the days sluggishly inch by, it’s become abundantly clear that many will be forced to forgo their dream weddings in 2020. Sad though it may seem, there are a handful of benefits to the newly minted “Micro Weddings” that will replace the big blowouts the rest of the year. Beyond the obvious intimacy you’ll be able to share with your loved ones in a smaller setting, you’ll also be able to redirect budget and resources to offer a more unique feel to your special day. If you and your partner are foodies, think of how much more elaborate you can make your menu with fewer attendees. Is music more your vibe? It’ll be easier to get your favorite band or DJ locked down now that touring is effectively over. Or, if you’re like me, and delight in decor, the possibilities have multiplied exponentially. For example, renting 250 vintage chairs for your ceremony is both expensive and logistically complicated. But renting 10-50 is more than doable - and oh so striking for an outdoor ceremony. In Northern California, One True Love Vintage is my favorite. There are plenty of vintage vendors nationwide, so turn to trusty Google to learn more about availability in your area. 

IV.  My junior year in high school, I made the last-minute decision to try out for the spring musical. I was last to audition out of nearly a hundred wannabe actors, and to say that I was ill-prepared next to my seasoned theater-buff peers would be a gross understatement. We could only sing roughly sixty-seconds of a song, so I opted for “Let Me Entertain You” from the same musical I was trying out for, Gypsy. Shockingly, I won the major role of Dainty June, and spent the rest of the semester singing and dancing on stage with an oversized cow in ringlet curls and a gingham hoop skirt. In hindsight, the part I love about this story is that the song I chose foreshadowed my ultimate profession. Letting me entertain you (and helping others do the same) has become my life’s mission. Which is why I was delighted to learn that one of my hostessing idols, Stephanie Booth Shafran, just released her book on all things entertaining at home, You’re Invited: Classic Elegant Entertaining. Even better, my hero fashion house and master of all things stylish, Oscar de la Renta, designed the toile cover. I can’t imagine a chicer hostess gift for your ultimate host.

V.  This is one of those rare occasions where I’ve truly saved the best for last. I remember meeting Maximilian Sinsteden like it was yesterday. My friend Melissa asked me to join her at Balboa Cafe so that she could introduce me to her childhood friend Jordan, but instead I spent the entire evening mesmerized by his effervescent and talented partner, Max. (For the romantics among you, see their wedding announcement/hopeful love story here in the New York Times). Since our meeting, I’ve followed Max on both his personal Instagram (along with the likes of Town & Country and Vogue’s legendary Lauren Santo Domingo) and his interior design firm Olasky & Sinsteden (@oandsltd). While I knew the second I met him that he was one of those people who effortlessly leaves everything he touches more beautiful, I’ve been utterly dumbfounded by his creations during COVID. I kid you not, every single meal he and Jordan have prepared since March has been served on a different, yet equally glamorous, tablescape. Max’s genius tablecloths range from clearance bin IKEA to the whimsical French curtain panel pictured here that he found while traveling in England. If you’re not yet sold, the food that the couple serves on said tablescapes should satiate you. This particular weekday meal was carbonara with piped pasta, leek salad with walnuts, Parmesan, and homemade vinaigrette, plus twenty layer Mille Crêpes cake inspired by New York’s Lady M for dessert. To be blunt, if you don’t follow Max immediately, I’ll forever regard you as a person without an ounce of good taste.

Have a wonderful week! xx tt

[astro-onechampionship]

Christian Lee Hungry For New Challenges In 2020

ONE Lightweight World Champion Christian “The Warrior” Lee enjoyed a successful career in 2019, and now the Singaporean hero is eager to welcome bigger challenges in 2020.

Since he knocked out Japanese grappling legend Shinya “Tobikan Judan” Aoki in May to become the ONE Lightweight World Champion, Lee’s stock has continued to rise.

In October, Lee accepted a short-notice bout against Saygid “Dagi” Guseyn Arslanaliev and dominated him in the ONE Lightweight World Grand Prix Championship Final to claim the tournament belt.

Encouraged by his extraordinary performances, Lee can hardly satiate his appetite for success. The Singaporean is looking forward to the year ahead, where he can finally unleash his competitive fire and maintain his reign at the top of the lightweight division.

“Many times, people win the belt and become champion, but then they will sit back for a bit. They will stop training, they will stop pushing themselves to their limit, and they will just think that they have done enough,” he said.

“For me, I’m still that same hungry contender I was before I won the belt.”

Holding the belt at the top of a stacked division of premier lightweights, “The Warrior” has kept a watchful eye on potential rivals who are gunning for his World Title.

Eddie “The Underground King” Alvarez is one name that comes to mind, and Lee relishes for an opportunity to face the American icon.

Defeating a legend like Alvarez will go a long way toward cementing his status in the sport, and Lee believes it will make for a marquee match-up that will appeal to fans in the United States.

“When Eddie signed to ONE Championship, I was still in the featherweight division. I said I would love for that fight to happen, and I would still love for that fight to happen,” he explained.

“I think it would be a huge draw in the United States. I’m hoping Eddie does well in 2020 and that he is able to work his way up to the top because the lightweight division is so stacked.”

Lee has also kept tabs on Russian powerhouse Timofey Nastyukhin, whose own rise to the top was hampered after an unfortunate injury earlier this year.

“I love his fighting style. I’ve been watching Timofey ever since he started in ONE Championship,” he said.

Nastyukhin most famously stopped Alvarez in the first round during their meeting in the ONE Lightweight World Grand Prix quarterfinals.

Unfortunately, he was forced to withdraw from the tournament following an injury, depriving fans of what could have been a thrilling showdown with the ONE Lightweight World Champion, Lee.

“I think that would be a very exciting fight for the fans. I feel like he is a guy who gets written off because he has faced so many injuries in his career, but he is definitely a very dangerous opponent,” the Singaporean said.

“I think after a few more fights, we could see him getting a title shot as well.”

Despite all the success he has achieved in 2019, “The Warrior” remains committed to improving himself.

“The way that I made it to the top was by staying humble – both me and my sister, Angela [Lee],” he said.

“We never let fame get to our heads. We get in the gym every single day and we work our butts off. That’s our secret to success, and nothing is going to change in 2020.”

In the meantime, The Home Of Martial Arts returns to action on 10 January for ONE: A NEW TOMORROW at the Impact Arena in Bangkok, Thailand.

Read More From ONE Championship:

How Christian Lee Proved 2019 Was The Year Of ‘The Warrior’

Top 5 Breakout Stars Of 2019

Sage Northcutt Excited For A Fresh Start In A New Division

#mixedmartialarts #ChristianLee #Warrior #Singapore #ONEChampionship