#and i think the tiresome part of this experience is that

[ignitesthestxrs]

there's something about the way people talk about john gaius (incl the way the author writes him) that is like. so absent of any connection to te ao māori that it's really discomforting. like even in posts that acknowledge him as not being white, they still talk about him like a white, american leftist guy in a way that makes it clear people just AREN'T perceiving him as a māori man from aotearoa.

and it's just really serves to hammer home how powerful and pervasive whiteness and american hegemony is. because TLT is probably the single most Kiwi series in years to explode on the global stage, and all the things i find fraught about it as a pākehā woman reading a series by a pākehā author are illegible to a greater fandom of americans discoursing about whether or not memes are a valid way of portraying queer love.

idk the part of my brain that lights up every time i see a capital Z printed somewhere because of the New Zealand Mentioned??? instinct will always be proud of these books and muir. but i find myself caught in this midpoint of excitement and validation over my culture finding a place on the global stage, frustration at how kiwi humour and means of conveying emotion is misinterpreted or declared facile by an international audience, frustrated also by how that international audience runs the characters in this book through a filter of american whiteness before it bothers to interpret them, and ESPECIALLY frustrated by how muir has done a pretty middling job of portraying te ao māori and the māoriness of her characters, but tht conversation doesn't circulate in the same way* because a big part of the audience doesn't even realise the conversation is there to be had.

which is not to say that muir has done a huge glaring racism that non-kiwis haven't noticed or anything, but rather that there are very definitely things that she has done well, things that she has done poorly, things that she didn't think about in the first book that she has tacked on or expanded upon in the later books, that are all worthy of discussion and critique that can't happen when the popular posts that float past my dash are about how this indigenous man is 'guy who won't shut up about having gone to oxford'

*to be clear here, i'm not saying these conversations have never happened, just that in terms of like, ambient posts that float round my very dykey dash, the discussions and meta that circulate on this the lesbian social media, are overwhelmingly stripped of any connection to aotearoa in general, let alone te ao māori in specific. and because of the nature of american internet hegemony this just,,,isn't noticed, because how does a fish know it's in the ocean u know? i have seen discussions along these lines come up, and it's there if i specifically go looking for it, but it's not present in the bulk of tlt content that has its own circulatory life and i jut find that grim and a part of why the fandom is difficult to engage with.

#tlt #the locked tomb #i don't really have an answer lmao this is more #an expression of frustration and discomfort #over the way posts about john gaius seem to have very little connection to the background muir actually gave him #like you cant describe him as an educated leftist bisexual man #without INCLUDING that he is māori #that has an impact! that has weight and importance! #that is a background to every decision he makes #from the meat wall to the nuke to his relationship with the earth #and it also has weight and importance in the decisions that muir makes in writing him #it is not a neutral decision that he's known as john gaius lmao #it's not a neutral decision that the empire is explicitly of roman/latin extraction #it's not even neutral that this is a book about necromancy #it's certainly not a neutral fucking decision that john was at one point a māori man living in the bush #when the nz govt decided to send cops in #like that is a thing that happens here! that is a reference to nz cultural and political events that informs john's character and actions #and with the nature of who john is in the story #informs the narrative as a whole #and i think the tiresome part of this experience is that #in general #americans are not well positioned to understand that something might be being written from outside their experience as a default #like obviously many many americans in online leftist & queer spaces are willing to learn and take on new information #but so much of the conversation starts from a place of having to explain that forests exist to fish

[unproduciblesmackdown]

also more odds & ends orville info & more not Not orville/phil info as well:

"In Steinkellner’s version of Summer Stock, Jane Falbury (Danielle Wade) and “Pop,” her father (Stephen Lee Anderson), are struggling to hang on to the family farm. Their farm is one of the few in the Connecticut River Valley that hasn’t been absorbed by the Wingates, whose holdings completely surround theirs.

The widow Margaret Wingate (Veanne Cox), whom son Orville (Will Roland) aptly describes as having eyes “as cold as death itself,” plans to absorb the Falbury farm by the simple expedient of having Orville marry Jane. After all the two kids had decided they were engaged in first grade!

Enter the prodigal younger sister Gloria (Arianna Rosario) who has been seduced by the lure of the Great White Way. She returns to the farm bringing along Joe Ross (Corbin Bleu in the Gene Kelly role), the director of the show that will make her a star, its composer Phil Filmore (Gilbert L. Bailey II), and the entire company. She has generously offered the company, which can’t afford rehearsal space in New York, the use of the family farm’s barn. Sister Jane reluctantly agrees to the intrusion with the proviso that the thespians will double as farm hands.

As rehearsals progress, Phil discovers that Orville, a bit of a doormat who has been raised with the understanding that he will never have to work, is a musical wunderkind. He is enlisted to work his magic on the show’s score and begins to blossom.

Widow Wingate takes umbrage with all this and vows to shut the enterprise down. Fortunately, the cold embers in her soul are stirred to renewed life by her encounter with Montgomery Leach (J. Anthony Crane), the has-been ham enlisted to give Ross’s show some cachet, so all might not be lost.

[...]

They make this Summer Stock a veritable feast of nostalgia. I was especially taken by the amusing way Steinkellner used Jackie Gleason’s theme song “Always” to further widow Wingate’s plot to get Jane and Orville hitched.

[...]

Orville, who has found personal liberation in show biz, is accorded a moment that reminded me of a similar scene in the musical version of The Producers. In a triumphant declaration of his emergence from under his mother’s thumb he exults, “I’m in the theatre! And I love it!” The audience loved it, too.

[...]

As director, Feore has elicited some wonderful performances, especially from subsidiary characters. Veanne Cox is splendid as Margaret Wingate as is J. Anthony Crane as Montgomery Leach, the faded matinee idol. Will Roland (Orville) and Gilbert L. Bailey II (Phil) both have wonderful moments and their intense professional friendship is one of the show’s highlights."

INTENSE PROFESSIONAL FRIENDSHIP you say....and also ofc everything about orville and wanting to be a musician and being in the theatre and he loves it sounds so good. i love it

#summer stock #orville wingate #will roland #also i guess they Are ambiently together / ''engaged'' already then lol #very cute really ''decided they were engaged in first grade''...and illustrative of both just kinda having been stuck in life the whole tim #mention of how the gene kelly epic solo tap sequence that i can muse on context for but Does just kinda happen #now does have more context and like. a part in an arc lol. which also gene/joe just doesn't have much of at all in the film; so (an arc) #needless bit at the end as the reviewer is skeptical this show could be on broadway basically b/c it's not ''edgy'' enough #which is then bafflingly & exhaustingly explained w/juxtaposing ''disclaimers'' abt the content in Other shows on broadway #which is bad; irrelevant; bigoted; and also unfair not just to those shows but summer stock lol. and like everything. and everyone. #get tf outta here....talking about like well gee i guess an ontario reviewer like me might enjoy it but in New York.... #like it's an nyt critics pick okay cool it. have Only read glowing reviews save the one critic who Didn't like the warm feelgood deal. #which is sure a thing that's possible to experience (though i don't think it makes for a Well Executed; Useful Review to hinge it on that) #but (a) warm feelgood material isn't like. riskier than what you deem Not ''unfashionably'' ''old-fashioned'' there #& (b) like many reviews point out that the feelgoodness Could've fallen flat or short or been too much but it was balanced / well executed #like don't come in here insulting the show with your supposed compliments lmao....Bizarre brushstroke of [ugh you know bway] shows.... #which it then gestures broadly at as shows with a ''message''....just tiresome & useless little tangent at the end smhhh #anyways really do love this for orville. was already wondering if he plays that piano we see them dancing with...their adorable meetcute? #i would like to see it....makes it seem even more likely. or who knows if it's orville just reading some music left At that piano #and singing but also composing? arranging? in doing so....harmonizing....etc #i bet it's a delight. he Does get to work on the show....he's truly getting I Don't Dance'd brought into the show/theatre ft. bisexuality #taking votes for whether he's chad or ryan in that situation. the one not already in theatre but also the one attached to the antagonist

[satocidal]

𓂂 ˚ ☆ ꙳ * ࣭ 𓂂 ˚ ☆ ꙳ * ࣭ “Of Breads And Buns” - JJK Men

Synopsis: just Jujutsu kaisen men dealing with an oblivious (or are you?) reader—who’s all too focused on baking rather than the chemistry he’s trying to build.

— Word count: 1k

— A/n: Based on this ask here! Thank you so much to whoever requested it :) hope you enjoy it<3 (ps: I know geto is a bit different from request but I liked this better Lmao)

— Warnings: suggestive; mostly fluff + an oblivious reader; not proofread—may have typos

Gojo Satoru:

Stubborn. Just one word is to describe his indiscriminate efforts after you—he’s enamoured after all. It was simple really, Satoru had a sweet tooth, you preferred baking goods sweeter than most—from experience, he realised you were sweet too. And however could he control himself then? When you paraded around in the kitchen, an apron wrapped around you—save for the ganache stains you managed to land on your hand still—eyes focused into the dough at hand after than his careful eyes staring at you with adoration.

“Y/n,” Satoru found himself calling out cheerily—as per usual, a certain pull in his heart when he saw you smile back at him—god how he loved that smile of yours.

Hands outstretched you handed him a small box, his brows raised and a grin, “is it what I think it is?”

“Always,” you grinned back, waiting for him to open it, and as always, give you the best of reactions as he did—“How are these better than the ones I’ve- what?” He exaggerated it, always, you knew that but there was just a way in which it would warm your heart so you giggled.

“You’ve just got a master baker at hand Toru’” and he nodded, “Really the best,” his eyes landed on yours from behind his blindfold—how he wished you knew just how fond of you he was.

“But you know what’s sweeter?” A smirk lay bare on his face—a confused look on yours, “Yeah, plenty of things Toru’” you shook your head with an innocent smile, finding his question all too dumb to be asked.

He bit back a retort, keen to never say anything snarky to you, never to someone like you—“No but like, you know, right here. Between the two of us,”

A tilt of your head and an internal groan of his—“Why I don’t see-”

“-You,” his quick breath interrupted your own—minding it all too well to not let you ruin his line, “You’re sweet, the sweetest,” he paused, debating for a second too long on to whether he should let next part drop—he did, “Delicious if i must,”

A smirk he passed, seemingly confident but almost hilarious it was onto how he prayed that you would at least understand his words before chucking a punch at him in disgust.

A frown lay on your lips, a scrunch of your nose and then a roll of your eyes—“C’mon Toru’,” you got up, “You’re back onto saying mindless stuff? How could I even ever be delicious- you don’t know that until you eat me and that’s like, impossible,”

And just how he wanted to shout in your face that, that, was exactly what he wanted to do and a lot more.

Your words seemed defiant, now a frown lay on his lips—“Impossible, right.” And in that moment, that’s how it was—until you would perhaps grow another brain to add two and two together and understand his intentions.

You did however, notice hid frown and chuckled, “But it’s fine Toru’ I like your little stupid jokes,” and he smiled again—knowing all too well that crushing on you was the most tiresome job he’d picked up—“Yes Ma’am,” he grinned as he wrapped another one of your spare aprons around him, all too short on him, enticing a laugh from you—and he’d make sure to do the job right.

Geto Suguru:

Shameless. Geto Suguru could get away with a lot of things—something about that charming smile perhaps, or something to do with the polite apologies he would mutter. So it as lay, when the realisation hit him that you just didn’t ‘understand’ his flirts or his innuendos, all he wanted to see was how long he could continue before you would personally call him out on it. Smirks and glances, it would be long before you did so — and till then, he’d just enjoy the sight of you baking while he lounged around, uninvited.

“Freshly baked bread?” He prompted, as the bell in your bakery chimed the moment he entered—your gaze fell upon his, loosened hair falling in front of your eyes as you did so.

Ever the gentleman, he leaned forward with a smirk on his face, a raised brow of your own—his fingers moving to tuck your hair behind your ear—“You should do something about the loose strands,” your assistant muttered under her breath—a little too annoyed by Suguru Geto’s shenanigans.

A warmth spread across your face as you nodded, pulling away slowly with a lick of your lips—and a wink of his.

“Buns,” you replied slowly, looking at him as you kneaded dough for the next batch—“quite in demand these days,” he grinned as you turned around just then, bending a little to pick the baking tray—a huff you let out—a grin his, as he stared shamelessly at your form.

He hummed along, “Love myself some buns too,” he only ever chuckled as you turned around to face him again, “specially yours.”

Sometimes he pitied your assistant as he did now, for everything you and him put her through—a little cough she let out everytime he spoke such obscenities.

You smirked at his words—feigning your innocence, “You should get some, you know? Could give ya a discount too,” a mischievous smile you held as you roughly worked the dough—“Get into it doll,” he whispered, as if it were something so delicate—“Really wanna get into mounds you know? Work out that tension,” a groan he passed as you kneaded the dough he advised, “jus’ like that,”

Another cough—flustered, from the assistant.

“The dough of course,” Suguru added with a smirk as he got up, “I’ll let ya work your buns, bet it’ll be as soft and nice as you,” and with that, he was gone—as always.

“Y/n,” a whine you heard as you turned around, a blushing mess of your assistant, “You do know he’s flirting with you right?”

A laugh erupted from you as you shook your head, “Is he now then? Seemed like genuine help to me,”

A shove from her and you laughed more, “I’ll let him go on for a while I think.”

All of this original and my own—please refrain from copying or reposting.

Likes and Reblogs highly appreciated!

Taglist:- @rizzmin @illogicallyx @gojoismybitch @lavendervogh @mistyheart @yooiimiya @myrand0mfand0mbl0g @kazoomas @4sat0ruu @hiomi-hiomi @misaki-the-lotusflower

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojo x reader #jjk #geto x reader #geto suguru #gojo satoru #gojo saturo #gojo x y/n #satoru gojo #gojou satoru x reader #jjk gojo #gojo satoru x reader #gojo fluff #gojo x you #jujutsu gojo #gojo imagine #satoru x reader #jujutsu kaisen satoru #gojou satoru x you #geto suguru x reader #getou suguru x reader #getou suguru #suguru geto x reader #getou x reader #jjk geto #geto x you #geto x y/n #suguru geto

[olderthannetfic]

There are definitely people thar fetishise Japanese culture but I disagree with the idea you see a lot that if someone likes anime and Sanrio they're just fetishising Japanese culture. Like at the end of the day it's just animation and mascots from a different country. Sanrio is intended to be commercialised and cute. It's important to not just view Japanese culture through a cartoon and commercial lens but "these cartoon pastel mascots that are intentionally designed to be cute are cute and I want backpacks and shirts with them" is not the same as "omggg I wanna live in Japan so bad and have a Japanese name and go to a Japanese school, Japan is JUST LIKE ANIME IRL!"

--

The funniest part to me is that the kinds of people who rail against Western anime nerds the most never seem to be aware of how many other tiresome species of Japanophiles there are. In fact, they are usually of this other breed themselves.

I did a Japanese language intensive one summer during college. It was mostly anime-loving weebs, a few Japanese-Americans, and this one insufferable guy obsessed with traditional barrel making.

I've run into a million guys like him. I call them Classy Weebs. Pottery, poetry, paper-making: if it's old and teenagers find it boring, they're there.

Sure, they hate anime, but their insistence on seeing Japan as all 90-year-old raku masters spouting fortune cookie wisdom and living in the middle of nowhere with their disciples makes them no better than the people who think some school anime from 20 years ago will be their exact experience if they visit Japan now as a grown-ass adult.

At one point, the head teacher told us not to use sarcasm. This dude nodded his head wisely and was like "Oh, Japanese people don't do sarcasm?" in this ah, I see pretentious manner he always had.

Quoth the teacher: "Did you see Tampopo last night?"

[aonungyoufuck]

Runaway {Part 11}

Runaway masterlist

DNI/BYF

Synopsis: you have finally mated before eywa.

Warnings: Mention of Mating +18? but like no smut at all just making out and feeling each other +  Pregnancy 

“I cannot wait anymore my love” 

Ao’nung was kissing you. Kissing was not uncommon sure. But feeling him so close was. It was nice to feel him so close. His hands roaming you feeling you from the bottom to the top. And it was ever so addicting. 

The burning that came from his hands. The erratic feeling it was desperate. 

It was all you could ask for. 

“Ao’nung. Please wait.” You spoke between your teeth, feeling his lips linger far too long. 

“We waited enough haven’t we?” 

“Understand that once we do this ill be with you forever” 

“That is what I want” he whispered, nipping at your neck. 

“I am serious Ao’nung. I want to know that this is really what you want from me. I been wanting you for so long and this is what i crave i want to be with you as one. But if we ever go home-”

“No” Ao’nung kissed you. Biting your lips to hush your sentence “i Dont ever want go home for i have you here with me. I have everything i ever wanted with you. And ive been far to happy and liberated by your ever waking moment. And i want to be with you now. Feel what you feel” 

You took in a sharp breath feeling him rest his head on your chest. Looking at you with an intent you hadn’t seen since the day he spoke those sweet nothings. 

“I want to be wild with you. Be your every waking thought as you are mine. Feel your sorrows, your pain and your love. I want to have a family with you. Grow old with you.”

Kissing your chest he grabbed his Queue. Its nerves dancing with an excited joy that you knew too well too. 

“ I want to have you here and in our many lifetimes to come. Eywa may bless me to be born alongside you again. I want to have our kids find those they love and experience it as we have now. I want to have you all. If you so much as graced me to be known as yours”

Your breathe was taken. The glow of the tree illuminating you too. You kissed his forehead. Then his left cheek and the right. Before settling on his lips, consuming his breath. 

You grabbed your own queue. Looking at him before finally bringing them together. The sensation was warm. Too warn. The feeling of his arms now burning hot. He was gulping down his breath as he felt what he was doing to you. 

You were crazy adults in love. So desperate to finally have a name to it. Mate’s forever and always. 

“Sa’nok!” Neytiri went ahead to see her mother. As if she was just an illusion. From the looks of it. She had a tiresome flight. 

He didn't wait grabbing your waist and placing you on his lap. It would be a few hours before morning and you two would have to go back to your makeshift home. So for now he’ll enjoy what he can. 

“Mo’at!” Jake exclaimed looking at her. After the formalities. And letting Mo’at drink something after flying for so long. She began to talk

“ I see Your eldest isnt here” 

“So she isnt with you?” 

“No. We have moved once you two left. Be rest assured that our People are safe and well. Ninat has actually Given birth this past cycle” 

The Family was puzzled. Sure they hadn’t been able to find their old clan but they had tricked themselves into thinking that by any possibility that you two were with them. Safe and sound

“I came here to see Y/n and Kiri”

“Wait for what?” 

Mo’at grew quiet. There was clearly some distress in her face. 

“In the morning early. I had taken the New Tsahik for a communication with Eywa. However it seems that something was amiss. I do not know what it was. But it seems like one of my Granddaughters, Has come to that place for a mate. I came here to see if that was true” 

Jake's ears lowered. As is the mood of the pod as well. Mate? 

“Kiri?”

Kiri could only roll her eyes. “No its not I” It was no secret how close she got to a certain Mekayina boy. Though she often brushed it off as nothing more than friendly banter. 

“Ma Jake” Netriti spoke. Sharing knowing looks. There was only one person and they weren’t here. 

“Mo’at… Y/n.. She’s been gone for 3 years now marking yesterday”

Mo’at rose a brow. Crossing her arms as she looked at everyone in the pod. “For What reason”

Ronal had never felt fear. She was fearless, Like to show how powerful she was. How much she did not fear people at all. But right now she was so terrified of the older woman in front of her. “ I forbade her from establishing a relationship with my son”

Mo’at wasn’t angry. Not that she would show it. And that's what made her terribly frightening to  Neytiri who lowered her head in shame. 

“And where is your son?” 

Ronal’s ears flattened. Her arms were shaking. Trembling with a fear any mother would know. “I do not know” She wept. She didn’t know. How she wished she knew where on pandora her son was. Far too long she’s wondered. Far to long has she constantly woken from nightmares where he was just out of reach. “I do not know” 

Mo’at took her hand and rested it on her shoulder. Grounding her back to reality. 

“Tell me Jakesully. Do you know if Her son went with her?”

“I don-”

“He did! I know Grandmother” 

Everyone turned to look at Neteyam. No longer the little warrior boy that was always sitting by quietly. He needed to confirm it 

“He is fated for death. For Eywa told me so” 

“What?”

Mo’at rose her hand. Her face unchanging from her stern look. “All of them. The spirits and the past. All grew quiet with dread. And its only intuition to interpret her words. But it seems her mate. Your Son. Is fading from the strong man he is”

“You don't know what you speak of! My son is strong” 

“Your son isn't here” 

“Mo’at are you sure?” 

Mo’at could only sigh. She had experienced the hurt and the pain that was to lose your beloved. She had mourned so briefly. But the pain is one that she would never wish on anyone. Let alone her own grandchild.  

“I am not certain, however i am certain something is wrong.”

“How long will you be staying here?” Jake asked

Mo’at looked at him. Then pondered for a bit “A week. It is all i can stay before going back” 

“Okay okay. Neteyam. Lo’ak. You two and i will  search where we can. If they came to that tree surely they wouldn’t be far from there.  You two come back as soon as you can i’ll stay and look some more”

Ronal rose from her seat. “I’ll go and look in the clan on the eastern sea. Maybe their Tsahik or Olo’eyktan has seen them”

“I’ll come along too” Tonowari commented, turning back to his daughter. “Daughter. You stay here While we are out” 

“I’ll stay with her.” Neytiri commented standing behind her mother. 

Jake nodded. “Alright. Good plan” 

That was the Plan. Mo’at could only hope that you would not experience the pain of loss. 

—---------------------------

The week went by in a flash. No sign of you anywhere. And your family was growing desperate. 

Life was going on and that's the way Ronal had to have it. Days passed. Weeks maybe? Ronal had lost track after the first year. Ateyo and Tsireya were her grounding points. And even they seemed to move on with the passing of time. 

“How long has it been”

“A month since Mo’at left. A month and three years since they did”

“Tonowari i dont think i can do this” Ronal spoke. It was dark. It was night. And for once she had time to speak her hearts sorrows.

“Be strong Ma Ronal” 

“I know. But i feel my heart breaking. Hear it every time i wake it falling and shattering. I want my son. I want him back at whatever costs” Ronal croaked. 

Something so deep in the core of her being was screaming. 

There was no comfort for this kind of thing. For its sad. And this thing does not happen. 

“Ma ronal i-”

“Tonowari i dont think i can wait anymore. My heart cries any time i ask for any glance of my son. Aches”

“I know ma Ronal. But be patient. I will be here with you” Tonowari spoke kissing her forehead as he hugged her tight. Too much time was passing

It had been Pure bliss really. The loving touches. The words and the feeling. That morning when you had awoken from Mating before Eywa would always be engraved in your feelings. 

And he could only ask for his son’s life. 

Tsaheylu was always a warm feeling. A feeling of becoming one unit and it was really nice. But Tsaheylu in the form of a mate? It was different. A good different. 

You had always imagined it would be different and under different circumstances. You would have a man of your clan and they in turn. And everyone would be happy for you. 

But this wasn't what you pictured. Ao’nungs hands. How he felt you. How his body worked alongside you. And connecting as one more than tsaheylu. It was something else for sure. 

You had felt it once more on one “date night” as Ao’nung had put it. But there was no room for that now. 

Ao’nung had been growing weak. And You had been growing tired. It was only a week and some days into your new bond that you had your suspicions and gathered the few leaves you had established that you were blessed with life inside of you. 

You were going to tell Ao’nung. But he had been laying in his pond far too long. And yet he had made it so known how happy he was for you two. 

“Ma Ao’ you seem paler today than the last days” 

“Its alright” He rasped out. His eyes were heavy with a tiredness you never knew. Exhausted, sunken into himself. You could count his lower ribs. His pale appearance now always wrapped in ointments to keep him comfortable

“I ask you to please lets head home.You are growing so ill now please”

“No. And risk my Mother taking you away from me?” 

You frowned. Placing your hand on his sunken cheek bone. “Please You are ill”

“You are the thing that keeps me going Ma Yawnetu” Ao’nung smiled,  Eyes closing. 

You had watched him fade and it scared you how you were alone. You laid your head on his shoulder. Feeling his breath slow. You sighed, feeling tears in your eyes. “Ao’nung i have something to tell you”

It was quiet. Far too quiet and far too long. 

“Ao’nung?” 

His eyes were shut and his breathing uneven. 

“Ao’nung!”

But it fell on deaf ears. You cursed under your breath. Wiping your eyes as you called to your Ikran. Grabbing his shoulders you Pulled him from the water. You didn’t want to do stuff without Ao’nung to know. But you had bit back your tongue far too long. 

Tossing Ao’nung over your shoulder and onto Mezu “Come on Ao’nung hold on a little longer” You whispered making Tsaheylu as you took flight. 

Praying and hoping that you could hold on just a little longer too

============================================

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#avatar the way of water #atwow #aonung x reader #ao'nung #ao'nung x reader #atwow imagines #ao’nung x reader #rambles #ao’nung x you #atwow headcanons #atwow x reader

[godsandvillains-if]

How would the ROs handle a drunk MC

This a likely scenario for the future so I won't spoil it too much. 🤗

Stardom — Will be more amused than anything else. For once, they will have to be the bigger person and not get shitfaced too since they have to take care of the MC. Will probably order some high-sugar snacks for both of them and then put the MC to bed.

Ace — Ace will be like a concerned parent, of course, having to take care of their drunk son on more than one occasion, they have experience in the matter. They will insist that the MC takes tons of water and a cold shower before going to bed.

Zodiac — Zodiac will have an arsenal of questions for the MC and a few harsh words as well, but they will wait until morning to let them out. They will make sure that the MC eats something and then drinks lots of water. When they wake up, the MC will find a glass of cold water and some headache medicine on the bedside table.

Wildcat — Wildcat will probably be mad that the MC didn't invite them to the party—there was no party, the MC just wanted to know what being drunk felt like. They will end up having to call Paladin, asking for help, because they are more used to being the drunk one.

Archon — Will be exasperated, since they will find MC's actions a lack of responsibility on their part. Even not linking the situation they will understand why the MC got carried away the way they did. Making sure the MC doesn't puke all over their apartment will be the top priority.

Paladin — Has a lot of experience taking care of a drunk Wildcat, and believe me, there's nothing more tiresome than that. They will calmly lead the MC to the bathroom and help them take a nice shower before making them honey chrysanthemum tea before putting them to sleep with an empty bucket by the bed, of course.

Mars — Mars is completely clueless as to what they are supposed to do with a drunk MC. They only drink wine themselves and never get drunk on it. They think the MC will appreciate a shoulder to lean on or to let their grievances go—they are a great listener. And if the MC ends up passing out, they will take great care to take them to bed.

Thank you for the question!! 🥰

#if: gods and villains #ask #ros

[aziraphales-library]

Hi mods Hope yall are doing good. Can i ask for some really domestic aziracrow? Like taking baths together and just being sappy

Hello. We have #fluff and #domestic fluff tags you can check out. Here are some domestic fluffly fics in which there is bathing...

Where Love Grows by AFrenchFanWriter, heeen (T)

“It starts, as it will end, with a garden.” Or After moving into their cottage in the South Downs, Crowley & Aziraphale cultivate flowers and memories together.

Soft and Soapy by Aegopixel (T)

“Can we skip to the part where I curl up next to the fireplace and fall asleep? It’d be nice to shed these layers so I can recuperate from the fatigue my tiresome good deeds caused.” At that request, Aziraphale placed his hands on his hips, looking for all the world like Peter Pan after facing down Captain Hook. “Actually, I’ve prepared something far more pleasing than that.” His statement peaked Crowley’s interest. “Oh really?” he drawled, tilting his head with seductive grace and a smirk to match. “What could be more pleasing, I wonder?” “Allow me to show you, my dear boy.” Crowley has spent his entire day out in the freezing cold, and now that they live together Aziraphale can take care of him in the most considerate of ways.

pausing the world to stay right where we are by RepQueen15 (T)

Aziraphale’s hands grasped at him gently, not in a commanding way, more like making sure he hadn’t stepped away. His pooling blue eyes gazed up at Crowley, and Crowley got the feeling he was just now realising how carefully they were doing this all, just how fondly he was being handled. Maybe he even guessed at the thoughts running through Crowley’s idiotically sappy mind right about now. In any case, he pulled at him slightly needily, almost vulnerable. He always looked this way, when he was at Crowley’s mercy, but there was no fear in his expression at all. “Are you…?” “‘M here, angel,” he said softly, stepping forward and taking Azirphale’s hand in his own. "It's okay." *** Crowley takes care of Aziraphale after Armageddon, exhausted, confused, but most of all, safe.

Lavender Haze by Scarlett_Oakenshield (T)

"You can stay at my place, if you like." "I don't think my side would like that." "You don't have a side anymore. Neither of us do." Right after the almost Armageddon, and with nowhere else to go, Aziraphale returns to Crowley's flat for the night. He takes a bubble bath to clear his head and decipher Agnes Nutter's final prophecy. Crowley joins him. They embrace their feelings with nothing left to lose, while simultaneously trying to figure out how they're going to get themselves out of this one. Or...canon compliant, couple bathing fluff for you to enjoy~

Just the Way You Are by Kat_Rowe (T)

Angels are, at their creation, biologically asexual. All too aware of his own vulnerability to pleasures of the flesh, Aziraphale has spent 6,000 years avoiding the sin of Lust by simply never adopting the equipment necessary to experience it. Until his relationship with Crowley started to grow more intimate (and more physical), Aziraphale never gave it much thought. Physical incompatibility can be solved in an instant, but he finds himself worrying how Crowley will react, and about the assumptions he might make. Now that they're covered in stardust and on their way into the shower, the issue can't be avoided any longer. But a tense discussion is a small price to pay for a romantic shower with your best friend in the universe.

he ahold of my hand by cuefog (G)

It takes them a while, but they do get there eventually: The cottage in the South Downs with the garden, and the greenhouse, and the private library of old books. The angel and the demon curled up in bed together, warm and safe under the covers. Meanwhile, Aziraphale has something to tell Crowley, but it takes him a few tries and a bit more time to figure things out for himself. (aka the slow burn after the slow burn: a collection of moments)

- Mod D

#good omens #ineffable husbands #domestic fluff #fluff #bathing #mod d

[lillianofliterature]

If your requests are open, and you are comfortable with it, could you maybe please do a King Thranduil x reader one-shot where reader has cancer and it is like angsty?

the toll of sickness | thranduil x reader

a/n: Anon, I am sincerely sorry for the long wait, but I wanted to provide all the angsty venting and comfort I could for you in this! Thank you for your request! I wanted to do this right by you. I hope this helps soothe whatever parts of you need soothing today. I don’t know anon’s/anyone’s specific diagnosis or symptoms, so I’m doing my best to remain respectful and widely general with the topic of cancer. I took inspiration from my own experiences with the mental/emotional toll of long-term chronic illness to supply a plot to resolve, I hope that’s okay (and still relatable). <3

The reader is implied feminine in this as they are referred to as lady/queen, but otherwise, I did my best to keep it gender-neutral with descriptions. 

This could also be interpreted as a reader with chronic illness.

DO NOT REPOST MY WORK. GIF EDIT IS MINE.

summary: after a long day of tiresome treatments and the heaviness of your thoughts, you retreat to your chambers to seek the comfort of your husband’s arms.

warnings: mentions of cancer (the reader has cancer), mentions of cancer treatments and symptoms (including needles), medical exhaustion, nonsexual nudity and nonsexual bathing, open discussions of symptoms, fear of death

word count: 6.1k

music:  As Long As We Both Shall Live by Bear McCreary

elvish translations: melamin = my love, melda = my dear/beloved

“I think we will conclude here for today, my lady.” 

The head healer’s voice drew your wayward attention back to his prim features. His thin lips spread into a smile as he gently unstrapped the tight leather band above your inner elbow, releasing the tension from your skin. The long syringe with its glass barrel was gently pulled from the blue vein that the pressure had highlighted. You rubbed your arm subconsciously as he set aside the supplies for cleaning, hoping the motion would rid your flesh of the awful sensation of being probed. 

You blinked away your muddled thoughts. Briefly, you worried that perhaps he had been talking to you long before you’d heard his assessment to end the treatments for the evening. If you had, you were grateful to find no resentment in his gaze for your absentminded silence. 

He softly closed his collection of books that had been displayed around a table on the wall adjacent to your cushioned cot in the infirmary. With a bottle of herbal salve, he applied a generous portion to the inner curve of your elbow, satiating any irritation from his needles. The cool gel of the aloe soothed the itchy redness, while the lavender masked the sterile scent of the medications and intensely bitter herbs.  

You glanced up from the healer’s gentle efforts, trying on your best smile. “Thank you for your diligence today, Sudryl. It is very much appreciated.” 

He bowed his head as he clasped your hand between his palms, “It is always a pleasure to tend to you, my queen. We will resume tomorrow morning if it suits your schedule?”

“My schedule is always free for your remedies. Thranduil has made sure to take over many of my duties so we may focus on my treatment.”

Sudryl smiled once more as he helped you stand from the cot, draping your silken robe over your bare arms as he did so. “The king is very wise, your majesty. I know you detest this period of healing you’re undergoing, but you mustn't mistake rest for idleness. Your people desire greatly for your full recovery, myself included. In order to achieve that, your rest is crucial.”

You didn’t know what to say. Rest was crucial, you knew that. As were the innumerable treatments and remedies being applied and adjusted every day. 

But didn’t anyone understand that you were tired of all of this? Exhausted by more than just the cancer and its seemingly endless repercussions that it presented almost daily. Worn down by more than just needles and salves and bitter syrups that lingered in your throat.

You missed feeling well-rested when you woke up in the mornings after a long sleep—you missed having the energy to spend your days fulfilling your duties as a queen, as a servant to her people. You missed the days in which every activity was not dictated or measured by searing pain or groggy fatigue. You were tired of wrestling with your body just to exist comfortably. 

But it’s your duty to get better, they keep telling you. 

It’s what everyone’s hoping for, your majesty. 

Do your best to rest and eat well, my lady. 

Don’t give up hope, Queen (Y/n). You are blessed among our kin!

The people have been petitioning their prayers to the Valar fervently, your grace.

They were supposed to be words of encouragement spoken to invigorate your fighting spirit, to ignite that spark of determination that was starting to flicker these last few months. But these endless strains of hope and enlightenment had started to weigh heavily upon your shoulders like a milkmaid’s yoke, and with every well-intentioned word and chorus of song another stone was dropped into the buckets you carried.

The pressure to recover for the sake of others was beginning to feel like too much—the toll of the sickness itself was enough for one to worry about, was it not? Not only did you feel this fearsome desperation to recover for your own sake, for your own life, but also the need of a thousand other voices begging for a show of strength you didn’t feel tangible anymore. 

The summoning of one of your servants outside the infirmary doors reminded you that the hour to retire for supper was nearing presently. You felt your posture deflate as it dawned on you that you couldn’t yet retire for the day. Although your extravagant evening meals were one of the few constants that motivated you to follow your days through until nightfall, your hunger had dispersed in the last few days. Being seated at a stiff table dressed with rich delicacies and savory wines sounded nothing short of torture at the moment, even with the promise of dessert. 

The servant curtseyed in the broad doorway as Sudryl led you across the room. You couldn’t help but tense as your legs tremored from the sudden activity. A long exhale slipped through your pursed lips.

“My queen,” She rose gracefully, her hands folding together at her waist. “Your supper with the king is nearly prepared. He will be present in the dining hall shortly as soon as his meeting has concluded. I was advised to escort you there safely.”

Clutching onto Sudryl’s forearm, you hesitated to address the messenger. You couldn’t help the expression of distaste that twisted your face. The thought of food was not the only thing that churned your stomach at that moment; the prospect of being walked through your own palace as though you were an invalid, incapable of making it there of your own merit, as though every pair of eyes in this forest need offer you their due pity, bothered you even more than the risk of losing your supper to the toilet. 

Knowing you couldn’t send her away under Sudryl’s watchful eye (for surely there would be further inquiries as a result of such an unnecessary dismissal), you managed to nod in thanks to her before turning to him. The head healer’s smile was brimming with empathy. You tried not to feel offended by his pitying compassion. He leaned forward and pecked your cheek reverently, bidding you a respectful farewell until the morning. 

You turned from him and followed the servant into the winding halls. Gaze following the eroded pathway of the massive tree roots beneath your sore feet, you bided the seconds until you were both too far to be noticed by any superior voices that might challenge your decision-making. When your footsteps halted, she turned to face you.

Her brows raised, she asked, “My lady? Is something wrong?”

“No, no. I’m alright,” You waved her worries aside with the vague gesture of your hand. “But I can manage the walk to the dining hall from here.”

Her brows drew together in an expression of confusion. You straightened your back—had she seen through your polite fib? Was it that obvious you had no intentions of eating this evening? Or was just she not used to being given conflicting commands between two monarchs?

“—On my own. I can make it there on my own.”

Her lips parted in protest as she recalled what you assumed were very clear orders from your husband only minutes prior. Stretching your hand out to gently touch her shoulder, you reassured her it would be alright. “I will explain to the king myself that I demanded to be left alone. No trouble will come to you, I promise. You will not lose your position.” 

“But my lady, I—it is my duty is to ensure your safe arrival. Are you sure you don’t—?”

The irritation that swelled within you wasn’t her fault, you hastily reminded yourself. You bit back the frustrated sigh you wanted to release, tightening your polite smile. Reasoning with another person about what you wanted to do and why you wanted to do it was the last thing you presently wanted to deal with. Desperate to detach yourself from her and anyone else lingering about, you decided to be straightforward. No beating around the bush. 

“I value your persistence, young one, but I would very much like to retire early tonight. You may inform my husband that I’ll be taking my meal in our chambers if you must.”

“Understood, your majesty. I shall inform the king. Have a good evening.” She dipped into an impulsive curtsy, quickly trailing back to the chancellery to relay your decision. 

You didn’t even wait for her to pass beyond the long hall ahead before you turned in the opposite direction. Your private chambers weren’t too far from the infirmary, thankfully. However, it still took some resolve on your behalf to encourage your depleted energy through corridors and foyers all the way back to your comfortable bed. The silver silk of your robe billowed around your feet with every step, giving your eyes something other than walls of stone and root to follow.

You were sure your husband wouldn’t be taking the present news about your wellbeing all that agreeably. You could see it clearly in your mind—the disheveled, anxious worry in his eyes that he masked behind a wall of solemn regality. But you could always see what he was thinking. He wouldn’t like the fact that your treatments were taking more and more of a toll on your already wearisome state. He would like it even less when he found out you would soon be dismissing supper altogether. 

His concern wasn’t for himself, of course. It was for you—it was always for you.

He wanted desperately for you to be able to enjoy your meals in the glittering brilliance of the dining hall, unperturbed by fatigue and nausea. He wanted you to be able to take those strolls through the forest gardens that you adored so much without the sore discomfort in your bones. He wanted you to relish in your life and its unrivaled importance. And most of all, he wanted desperately to take this lingering sickness away; he wished he had been born with a skill for healing like some of his kin.

But all he could give you were the promises of an unsure future and the enlistment of his most skilled associates and all relevant resources that could be found about your condition. And some part of you—some sad, twisted part of you—felt a rush of guilt that so much commotion and worry was being circulated about the kingdom on your behalf. And that guilt only made the whole affair all the more frustrating and maddening. These days, everything inflamed your anger. This whole tumultuous ordeal seemed to be unraveling more than just your physical state. 

You knew it was ridiculous to feel responsible in some way for what was happening to you. You hadn’t chosen this, you hadn’t brought it on yourself—you most certainly didn’t deserve it. No one with cancer ever does. But reasoning with your inner turmoil was like wrestling a wild boar in the mud; there was never any true resolve without the cost of more anxieties, more wounds, more gashes in your soul. And the more you tried to gain a grip on yourself, the less grounded you became, the more it all slipped through your fingers. 

The click of the door was a chime of resolve as you leaned against the tall wooden frame from within the calm confines of your spacious bedroom. Sliding out of your supple leather flats and letting your robe slump to your elbows, you took the first deep breath you had been able to control since earlier that morning. The king-sized bed frame creaked subtly as you lowered yourself onto the fluffed silken duvet. Ever so gradually, you felt the weight of the vertical world begin to reprieve from your muscles like steam rushing upwards from a boiling pot. 

Rest wasn’t a cure for what ailed you, no, but Valar above, sometimes it felt like it. 

Since your diagnosis—the terrifying sickness devouring your energy and livelihood from within your own body—nearly every day had been spent in the infirmary or the healer’s sanctuary, remedies administered by the hour, conversations turning tiresome and sour. It had begun to feel like your own home was a prison, the world beyond the palace unreachable, like every action was a strenuous transaction of vitality and exhaustion. Even just walking the gardens that lead into the forest had become inexplicably draining—it left you feeling as though you’d run to Mirkwood’s southern border and back rather than taking a few turns about the courtyard. 

But here, on the cloud-like comfort of your private chambers, there was some reprieve from it all. There were no endless strands of questions about your well-being and your comfort and opinions on the tedious details of your health here—only the distant rush of the waterfalls that crashed brazenly into the river moat outside the palace gates. You could hear the chirping of the early summer insects as dusk narrowed on the horizon beyond the open terrace. There was no sterile smell of concentrated alcohol or the pungent gnawing of tart herbs. Instead, there was a faint aroma of lilacs wafting in from the gardens and the scent of your husband’s musk lingering in your bed.

Closing your eyes and rolling onto your lesser-sore side, you sought out the imprint that his body might have left there that morning. But the duvet was creased flat and folded with a chill under your skin. It was curious futility to think his warmth might have lasted after so many long hours away, you knew that; the bed was always plumped and remade in the mornings by your gracious servants. A coldness ran through you, engulfing your skin in little bumps that felt like prickling needles. 

Too sore from your aches to unfurl the taut covers from the mattress and too comfortable to retrieve one of your husband’s many fur throws, you recoiled your arm and folded your limbs closer together, curling into a position that would magnify your own body heat. While quietly taking in the environment of your sanctuary, this small peaceful haven that almost made you forget the turmoil your body was enduring, you hardly noticed as you faded into a light slumber. Caught between the ebbing flow of consciousness as it bobbed around the sleepy release of your strained body, wading between thoughts and dreams.

Unaware of the passage of time as you laid there in groggy consciousness, you hardly felt the urge to stir from your position until you felt the back of someone’s hand on your cheek, the brushing aside of your askew (h/c) tendrils. Then you made out the quiet husk of a voice that hovered above you in the dark. 

In the dark? Sunset was still a couple of hours away! And after that, dusk would linger still until the light vanished beyond the mountains to the west. Why was it already so dark?

Hadn’t it only been a few fleeting minutes since you’d closed your eyes, listening to the cicadas and savoring the sweetness of the summer flora? Eyebrows pursed, you could hear yourself attempt to answer, but the meticulous reply you’d fabricated in your mind was delivered in heavy vowels that grouped together lazily. Your speech felt like treacle slipping off your tired tongue. 

A velvet chuckle reverberated in your perking ears. 

“Have I forgotten my native tongue or was that a very poor attempt at Sindarin?”

Thranduil.

Your nose scrunched up as you fought to drain the sleepiness that was working against you so fervently. Before you could stir the tired droopiness from your eyes with eager fists, two gentle hands cupped your cheeks and swept their thumbs over your closed eyes. The motion was akin to a gentle massage, spanning your sore eyelids and dusting across your cheekbones, a cradling of your vulnerable stillness that filled your chest with a fond fervor. The supple tenderness of his lips collided briefly with yours before parting all too quickly. 

“Mm?” Your vocabulary hadn’t quite refreshed itself, it seemed. “When d’dju geten?”

Another rumbling chuckle he didn’t bother trying to hide. You pictured his willowy frame standing primly in front of the tall gilded looking glass, unfastening his stuffier robes and tucking his powder–blonde hair behind his pointed ears, or perhaps even tying it back for the night as he often did. 

Stars, it felt like there were weights on your shoulders pulling you back against the duvet as you forced yourself to sit up, like the muscles beneath your skin were unraveling at the seams. You rubbed your eyes and shooed your disheveled hair from your peripheral vision, glancing around the dark room for your husband’s silhouette. A flicker of light plumed suddenly in the sconce near the vanity, illuminating his fair features. The match in his hand extinguished with a puff of air from his lips before his pale blue eyes found yours. 

“I only just came in,” he reassured you, “I’m afraid I underestimated how much wind some of our advisors have in their lungs, especially when provoked.”

Another votive flickered to life on the other side of the room, another match snuffed out under his breath. The sunlight outside had all but gone in the murky hours you had been asleep. Now that you could take in the mellow darkness of the evening without confusion, some part of you felt distressed about the sudden absence of natural light. The daylight, warm and golden, always brought you a sense of comfort. But now it was dark and grey and the light of the moon was cold, distant, and you hadn't had a chance to prepare yourself for it. Another chill ran across your skin as a more frigid breeze swept in from the open terrace. 

“Did Sudryl have a chance to share the news with you before retiring this evening?” He asked, glancing over his shoulder at you. His lips pursed when he saw your unmoving figure still sitting on the edge of the bed, your back draped in silks, facing away from him. Your slumped posture told him all he needed to know about how you were feeling after your treatments—the exhaustion was palpable in how slow your palm rose to cradle your own forehead, in how shaky you were as you forced yourself up from the bed and took hold of the bedpost.

He was near you in an instant, his strong hands taking gentle hold of your bowed shoulders. There he was, combing the stray hairs on your head down with doting affection, all while the same frustrations were building up inside of you as your sleepiness dissipated. 

“You needn’t rise for me, melamin, I am no guest.” He chided gently.

“I know, I just need a bath before we settle in for the night.” 

“You’re in no state to manage that tonight, (Y/n)—”

“Thranduil, I haven’t rinsed off the ointments. I smell like the forest—and not in a good way.”

“You smell like an herb garden, fresh and natural, as all things should be.”

“Pungent is more like it,” You quipped, catching the accent of bitter walnuts exuding from your thin robes. It was that old, damp, dingy sort of bitterness that made you want to expel the air from your lungs with a snort when you caught a whiff of it—not the pleasant sort of musk from the gardens.

He laughed again, this time with more relief behind his eyes. Even though he knew you were spent from the day’s strenuous activities, the presence of your humor provided him with some semblance of comfort. And as for your own weary senses, his smooth strain of laughter was more than a consolation for the muted anxiousness that the infirmary always inflicted. 

“Then let me help you.”

“Thranduil, I can do it mys—”

“I insist,” He offered decidedly, and you knew well enough from past experience that arguing with him on the matter would prove ineffective. 

He gently looped your arm through the curve of his elbow, placing a sweet kiss to your messy hair before turning along with you toward the adjoined bathing chamber. You leaned into him for support and begrudgingly admitted to yourself that he was right—there was no way you could withstand the exertion on your own, at least not tonight. Not while you felt this lethargic, not while your stress levels were causing such tension throughout your body, making everything denser, slower, sluggish.

Once he led you into the warmly lit haven of the spacious chamber, the steam of the hot spring pool seemed to draw you in on its own accord. The walls and their rugged shapes made the flickering yellowness of the torchlight spread longer shadows among its natural angles and divots. The far right wall was connected to the run-off of one of the many springs that stretched like veins throughout the mountain palace—and it was little cavern rooms like this one that reminded you that you were living in the majesty of a low-peaking mountain, not just nestled in the forested density of the Greenwood.

You knelt at the rim of the bathing pool on the soft stone edge, dragging your hand through the clear blue water. The natural warmth of the hot spring invigorated you with a sense of eagerness as you remembered just how soothing these glowing pools always were. A gentle touch to your shoulder lured your attention back to your husband, who with a fond smile, was waiting to help you unravel your robes and underthings. Taking his hand, you were pulled to stand in front of him with the gentlest limits of his strength. 

You hardly felt the pressure or the tugging of his lithe fingers as he helped you undress, his touch but a breeze across your sore skin. When you were naked and chilled from the exposure, he guided you into the blue waters and leaned over the pool’s edge to make sure you were steady on the outcropped seat of eroded stonework submerged in the water. As the bubbling warmth enveloped your flesh, your eyes fluttered shut with an involuntary sigh of relief. 

There were very rarely things that proved effective for your ceaseless pains—medicines and supplements only lasted so long or relieved so little, and sleep was growing more difficult to manage. But this—the heat bubbling up from the earth, sorted through sediment and mineral—was the most relief you found these days. 

When submerged in the hot spring bath, your entire body numbed to its own plague as your bones and muscles absorbed whatever benefits came from the terrain around you. You briefly wondered how you ever managed to get out the last time you soaked like this, with every inch of your flesh basking in the warmth that enveloped you.

You relaxed against the glossy stones, trying to quiet your mind of all the infernal anxieties pressing a weight against your chest. The noise of your thoughts made it difficult to focus fully on the soothing effects of the natural hot spring, tensing and loosening your muscles and posture between every harsh doubt.

With a fresh cloth he brandished from a side table, Thranduil dipped it into the warm bath and began gently scrubbing away the ground athelas mixture. He’d seated himself comfortably on the edge of the bath, submerging his calves into the pool to cradle you between them. The cloth strummed along your chest and stomach as he reached over and behind, where the herbs from Sudryl’s remedies had been infiltrating the cancerous sickness plaguing your organs. You hadn’t meant to show him how weak you felt, how tired you were, how desperately you needed this—but your head fell back to rest against his stomach despite this as the steam curled around you both, dampening your hair and foreheads. 

After your rinsing from the spout of a silver pitcher, he coaxed oils and lathered soaps across your flesh, your own fingers clasping onto the pale skin of his forearm or around his leg, refusing to cease contact with him. And although he generously and willingly offered his aide while the healing minerals of that glowing pool of steam soothed you, some venomous voice in the back of your mind tried to feed you strings of doubt and loathing.

He shouldn’t have to do this. He shouldn’t have had to become my caretaker.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. I wasn’t supposed to get sick—neither of us was. 

He deserves more than this mess I’ve given him. He deserves better than me.

You cleared your throat, trying to silence the growing guilt and shame before that stinging swell of tears could grow any more than they already were. 

“What was it you were going to tell me?” You asked after the first of his own sweet-scented oils was being lathered along your arms, turning you about to face him. “Earlier, you mentioned something about Sudryl?”

“Ah, that,” he nodded in remembrance, “I gather he didn’t mention anything about Lord Elrond to you today?”

“Lord Elrond?” You inquired, lifting your questioning gaze to meet his. “No—no, he didn’t. Has something happened? Something to do with our alliances? Or with that trade treaty we adjusted with Laketown in the spring—”

“No, melamin, nothing of diplomatic proportions—all is still amiable with our kin for the time being,” he reassured. When he glanced up at you, the tranquil hope glittering in his blue eyes soothed the curious worry growing in your mind. He almost seemed excited about something. It tugged the corners of your mouth into a brief smile. “I sent word to him a little more than a month ago now, I suppose, to see what he might be able to do about your condition, to inquire about whether his skill with healing might mend what ails you.”

You swallowed hard over the sudden discomfort of anxiety that rose again like bile in your throat at the mention of more treatment, more guests, more expectations for healing. More, more, more. 

“He is to arrive within a week of his latest correspondence, which came this morning. Preparations are being made for his arrival as we speak.” 

Unknowingly, your grip had tightened on your husband’s forearm, your nails digging shallow crescents into his skin. The sharp sensation drew his attention downward to your hands, his dark brows furrowing in concern. His fingers winding around yours brought your attention to your vice-like grip, which you promptly loosened. 

“What is it, (Y/n)? Does this news not please you?” 

The earnestness in his pale eyes pierced your heart, the guilt bubbling up in your mind again. You weren’t sure what worried you most. The prospect of more prodding, more treatments, more attempts that might lead to nowhere; the fuss being made across the realm about your condition, about this peculiar, harsh sickness that was so puzzling to even the brightest minds; or perhaps, most worrisome of all, was the fact that you were no longer able to manage the upkeep of a happy facade. So many people were hoping, praying, supporting, and tending to you. 

And somehow, you found that to be the most exhausting part of it all. Not only were you fighting for your own body, for comfort and life, but you were trying to uphold and appease every pair of eyes that was eagerly awaiting your miraculous recovery from something you didn’t even know how to fight. There were so many hopes to meet, so many hearts to comfort on your behalf, and your resolve was quietly crumbling.

Before you could think to soften your words in an attempt to save Thranduil’s optimism, your lips began to move, a sudden impulse of tears gathering in your eyes. “What if there is nothing even Lord Elrond can do to cure this?”

He paused, his eyes searching yours briefly before his damp fingers reached up to caress your cheek. How had he not seen the disparagement growing behind your gaze, darkening the lilt in your voice? Hidden behind humor and mischievous quips, but no less obvious. 

“If—if I do not show improvement, our people will lose their resolve. Everyone’s counting on me to get better, to show some store of strength I no longer have and I–I can’t will my body to right itself,” you bore to him, panicked and spent from months of effort, “I cannot give everyone the hope they're seeking from me."

“Oh, melamin,” his chin nestled over your ear as he murmured with such rich affection, pressing your face into the musky homeliness of his neck. 

“I know I should be grateful for their support, for their prayers and their offerings, but it’s becoming too much, Thranduil. I don’t have the strength for a kingdom’s worth of miracles.” 

“You do not owe anyone but yourself the grace of your strength. Had I known their encouragement had put pressure on you to perform, I would have silenced the lot of them.” 

Despite his sincerity, you panicked on. “What if I am never rid of it? What if this is my blight that I must war with for the rest of my life?”

He sombered then, drawing in a deep string of air into his lungs. You could see him wrestling with the reality of your honesty, with the questions you both had been too afraid to speak aloud before now. Gathering himself, he drew you nearer to him, clinging to you with a brief urgency that almost startled you. 

“Then we will rise together each day to face it. There will never be a single day that you will have to endure this on your own. Do you hear me? That is my promise to you—that my vow and my diligence will never waver where you are concerned.”

Your tears burned with his words and you worked to force them at bay, his sweetness drawing every sour fear and thought of guilt from your mind and onto your tongue. “I am so sorry for this life I have given you. You didn’t ask for this—you cannot be happy with me—with this-this terrible thing I’ve brought upon us. You deserve so much more, and I can no longer give it to you.”

“You’re apologizing—?” He questioned, his voice quiet in shock. 

Your eyes clamped shut, forcing the well of sorrows from your eyes to plummet. Gently, he pulled himself back, repositioning his hands on your upper arms as if to garner your absolute attention. 

“(Y/n), this life you have given me has been far more than I have ever deserved and could ever strive to. From the moment we met, you have enriched my life just by your existence alone, much less the many qualities and traits about you I have come to treasure beyond all fortune or success. You have given me everything, a dozen lifetimes over, in the mere centuries we have been together.”

“You cannot have wanted this,” you breathed out, hushed by your own shame. 

“No, I did not want you to suffer with something so abysmal, something so beyond my control. Of course I did not want for your pain…but if this is our future, if this is our path together, then I want every minute of it, and I will not settle for a second less. I would upheave the very crest of the world and drown mountains in flame if it meant saving you. And if that makes me selfish or ruthless, then I will be the standard at which devils compare their sins.”

His hands had gradually found their way up to your face, cradling your damp cheeks with a sincerity that made your lip quiver.

“Look at me,” he whispered. 

The sight of the tearful waterline reflected in his eyes drew a noise of curt regret from your lungs. Your sob pierced his heart, filling him with a desperation to amend the shame and anxiety plaguing your mind. 

“If you truly believe that you are at fault for this sickness, then in turn I must be held responsible for allowing it to happen in the first place. As your husband first, but also as your king.”

“No, no that’s not true! It’s not even reasonable of you to—”

“Then how can it be your fault? How could any of this be on your shoulders? There is no sense in blame, (Y/n). Not here, not with this.” 

There was a stillness after his words, a stillness that was meant for rumination, and sealed with his lips against your skin and hair. Your hands rose to rest against his chest, nestling them over the dip of his collarbone as you felt for comfort in the blur of your tears. His silence prompted an answer. 

“It’s not my fault,” you replied. 

“Say it again.”

“It isn’t my fault,” you echoed, meeting his gaze once more, “just as it isn’t yours.”

And as shocking as it was for you to realize it, you truly believed the words he encouraged from you. This sickness wasn’t your fault. Neither of you could have had any sway with fate or destiny, with whatever had brought this on. And perhaps, it just simply was, with no cause or fault at all. What mattered now was how kind you could be to yourself, how to take one moment of strife and find something in it to hold onto. Moments like this were one of those morsels between the ebbing aches of pain and grief that you could relish and devour again and again. 

Thranduil leaned forward, pressing his sweat-laced brow against yours. “Do not ever blame yourself, melamin. Do not let those foul words pass between your lips again.”

You nodded against him, pulling him nearer. “I promise.” 

In the long minutes that followed, there was the solace of quiet intimacy as he rinsed through your hair one final time, peppering you with kisses and caresses at every opportunity. He met you with a soft fluffy towel when he led you out of the bath, never allowing a breeze to nip at your damp skin. His touch was featherlight as he patted you dry from head to toe, scrunching your drenched tendrils of (h/c) hair without complaint. 

“I’m still so afraid,” you managed the courage to speak aloud, “What if–...what if this sickness claims my life?”

“You will not part this world without me, melda. Not a single breath will leave your lungs without my sharing it, not a single heartbeat will we not share,” he vowed, the absolute belief in his voice making the promise all the richer, “there isn’t a corner in this world or any other that you could wander to that I would not accompany you.”

Your silk nightgown slipped over your outstretched arms swiftly, sliding down your body and into place comfortably. He did up the lace of the collar with efficiency, not missing the chance to playfully tug you closer with the slightest bit of his strength. You planted yourself against his chest, the smile on your lips effortless with his own. The firm warmth of his arms wrapping around you had the same sort of pain-numbing effect as the hot spring, lulling every fretful thought to a close. His somber laugh reverberated again, this time through your bones, bringing an ethereal kind of peace with it. 

The pillows of your large four-poster bed were positioned, fluffed, and repositioned. You waited patiently, upon his insistence, as he untucked and pulled the puffy duvet back for you to crawl under. Once comfortably tucked beneath layers of silk and cotton, he assumed his place beside you, careful not to jostle the mattress as he settled, mindful that every movement enticed your discomfort. 

His body heat made you sleepy as you sank further into the covers, fogging your thoughts with a drowsy anticipation for the release of slumber. You’d waited for this moment all day—it had been the image that had pushed you through the hours of treatment and questions—the moment you could finally burrow against his warmth and drunken yourself with his scent. There was a slight stirring as he reached off to the side to retrieve something on the bedside table. 

The fluttering of pages caught your fading attention, pulling your heavy-eyed gaze toward the book in his grasp. “Would you like to continue where we left off?” 

You smiled tiredly against his chest, not recalling the events of the book he’d been reading to you for the last few nights. Oftentimes, the first few pages would strike vividly in your imagination, but as his lustrous tone carried on through paragraphs and chapters, the sleepy security that his presence enticed made it impossible to recall anything beyond the thrilling hum of his voice. In all actuality, you were quite sure he didn’t mind if you knew anything at all about the story he was reading aloud. It was enough to hold you and be held. 

TAGS:  @tessaem @izbelross @bloodblossoms73 @sunnysidesidra 

#thranduil x reader #thranduil imagines #thranduil imagine #thranduilxreadaer #thranduil oropherion #King Thranduil #thranduil #thranduil one shot #thranduil one-shot #lee pace #lee pace imagine #lee pace x reader #leepacexreader #lee pace imagines #lee pace oneshot #thranduil oneshot #leep pace one-shot #lee pace one shot #reader with cancer #the hobbit reader insert #the lord of the rings x reader #the hobbit x reader #the hobbit imagine #the hobbit imagines #the hobbit #the lord of the rings imagine #the lord of the rings imagines #lotr x reader #thranduil x reader insert #thranduil reader insert

[poisonsage808]

♡ Bertholdt Hoover Alphabet Prompt ♡

♡ A. Admitting feelings ♡

Do they admit it first? Wait for someone else? And how do they go about it?

He’d need to hear the words come out of your mouth first. Bertholdt’s in denial of his own feelings for a plethora of reasons. Selfishly, the mission aside, he doesn’t believe you could ever feel that way about him. When you admit your feelings though, for a moment, he can’t think of anything else.

♡ B. Bad Habit ♡

What bad habits do they have?

Biting the insides of his cheeks when he wanders too deep into the darker part of his mind.

Something that would undoubtedly affect you though? White lies or half truths, believe him, all he wants is to tell you everything. Whether it’s because words fail him or the risk of danger is too high… he just can’t.

♡ C. Commitment ♡

Do they want a five-minute thing? Marriage? House and a dog?

Bertholdt is a romantic. In his mind he’ll have it all with you; the perfect life. He hangs onto that moment as he wakes up, the breathe right before reality crushes itself back on his shoulders. He chooses to forget about everything else just to have that sweet dream in his grasp a little longer.

♡ D. Damage ♡

As in ‘what’s their damage’ are they a difficult person? Been hurt before and need help healing? Won’t let people in? ‘don’t give a fuck’ attitude?

There’s a lock on him from head to toe and the key is always kept just out of reach. You can tell when he wants to tell you something, his lips part but shut just as quickly and he averts his olive green eyes. It’s awful, this part of the dance where he takes two steps away from you but holds onto your hand like a lifeline.

‘I could help you,’ you want to say.

His eyes say he knows that to be true.

♡ E. Energy ♡

Would you have trouble keeping up with them? Extrovert/introvert/ambient?

Introvert! He doesn’t mind being in a large group or crowd but he might need to leave early. Being one on one with you or doesn’t drain his social battery. Reiner is a different case, as much as Bertholdt respects and appreciates him, it’s tiresome holding up a persona even for his closest friend. Everything about you is so effortless.

♡ F. First date ♡

Their ideal first date

There’s things Bertholdt’s never done himself that he would love to experience with you. What would you like most, though? Fantasies create themselves at inconvenient times; from getting ice cream and enjoying it together by a fountain, picking apples, walking along the beach and finding shells for each other, stargazing and talking deep into the night, to simply chatting with you over a game of chess.

Despite all the possibilities, he knows exactly what he’d do. He wants to cook you dinner, your favorite meal, with wine and candles— the whole nine yards! In his mind it goes perfectly, he’d be the man you deserve. He’d pull out your chair and tell you how nice you look that evening, then quickly stammer out how you look nice every day. You’d hold his hand and thank him, flash him that smile he’d die for. In actuality, it doesn’t go perfect by definition but it is perfect because you’re there.

♡ G. Gentle ♡

How gentle are they?

Agonizingly gentle. Bertholdt’s touch trembles slightly in the beginning but as he grows more comfortable with you, he relaxes. You might be frustrated at first when he touches you like your glass, then you realize that’s.. simply who he is. Gentle. His words can be firm when they need to be but he almost never raises his voice and especially not at you. There’s this unfailing softness to Bertholdt that only you get to endure.

♡ H. Honesty ♡

How open are they?

Bertholdt has secrets (obviously) but tells you as much as he can without crossing that line. The moment the bond between you two go deeper then camaraderie, he vows not to lie to you if he can help it. He progressively gets better about explaining how he feels which is an enormous leap for him to make. You make saying something as simple as “I’m not ok right now,” easier.

♡ I. I love you’s ♡

Who says it first?

It’s messy and jumbled and sickeningly sweet and absolutely Bertholdt. He’ll never forget it. You were so incredibly patient even when you knew exactly where his extremely long sentence was going. Your eyes sparkled, your smile nearly broke your face and a gentle blush dusted your cheeks. His heart hurt in a way he never thought capable then suddenly stopped as soon as the words left his lips. During the tiniest gap of silence before you responded, his sweaty palms ran over his thighs,

“I love you too,”

His heart exploded then.

♡ J. Jealous ♡

Are they jealous? How do they handle it?

Specific incidents where someone is deliberately flirting with you and Bertholdt is nearby— or dare they attempt right in front of him, mistaking his quiet nature for weakness. Insecurities bubble to the surface, his face flushed red in anger, terror grips at his heart at the thought of losing you. With a bit of gentle prying he can explain, thanks to you, how he feels and why.

Stars forbid someone made you uncomfortable or grabbed at you though. Entirely different situation that would have Bertholdt utterly livid. He handles himself gracefully, quickly and angles himself in front of you, staring down the person and silently threatening them with a furious glare. It’s rare to see that side of Bertholdt but oddly sweet to know he’d do that for you.

♡ K. Kiss ♡

What kind of kisser? Deep and passionate? Sloppy? Little pecks on the cheek?

Stars, he’s the sweetest kisser on the planet! Bertholdt asks almost every time if he can kiss you, even though he gives himself away by staring at your lips and tip toeing closer in an odd dance. His lips are soft at first but the intent, the need, the love, has electricity zapping straight to your heart every time they touch.

♡ L. Listen ♡

Do they hang off your every word or have selective hearing?

You wonder sometimes if he has a library in his mind of things you’ve said or offhandedly mentioned. Bertholdt challenges himself to remember every single word that leaves your lips, and wins. You couldn’t know this, but he wants to commit every detail of you, everything you’ve ever said to memory… in case he ever has to think about you in past tense.

♡ M. Maintenance ♡

Are they high maintenance? Low? Do they need more skincare products than you?

Shoulders down it looks like he’s in tip-top shape. His uniform is always pristine, no wrinkles in his casual clothes, no dirt on his boots at the beginning of the day. Hair? A short, unkempt, bed headed mess. You love it. Overall Bertholdt is a very clean person and always smells nice.

♡ N. Nest ♡

What does their room look like?

Similar to his appearance, his personal room would be neat and tidy. There’s personal touches, hobbies, a plethora of books but no pictures. Bertholdt always keeps his bed made and sheets washed—except for if you were to use it. Not for anything weird! He just likes the reminder you were there. Sometimes your shampoo lingers on the pillow case and brings him comfort for a little while, it makes sleeping alone easier.

♡ O. Opinion ♡

Opinions are like assholes, everyone has one. Do they listen to others’ views? Mansplain? Talk over or have a spirited debate?

Bertholdt doesn’t give his opinion without being prompted. If he thinks it will hurt someone’s feelings he’d rather not say it at all. He listens plenty and gathers information like he was trained to do. You, for whatever reason, always want to hear what he thinks even if you disagree. He doesn’t like not being on the same page as you, he feels like it’s arguing or will lead to one and will brew into resentment. It never has.

♡ P. Protection ♡

Are they overboard or level headed about protecting their loved ones?

Considering he joined the Warrior program for his father, it’s safe to say he would go through any lengths to protect his family. Annie and Reiner can take care of themselves for certain but it doesn’t mean he doesn’t worry or won’t help keep them safe, if he can. The same goes for his other, newer camrades.

You though? Bertholdt will carry out unspeakable acts if it means keeping you alive. He won’t charge in blind, definitely not in a situation where he knows you can handle yourself. But that silent promise is forever there.

♡ Q. Quirk ♡

What strange little personality quirks do they have?

You noticed it before he did and innocently pointed it out which made him so flustered he couldn’t speak the rest of the day. Bertholdt tries to make himself small. Pressing himself against walls, crouching, hugging his legs when he sits, etc. First was stunned that you paid enough attention to him to see this, then he reflected on it for longer than he’d like to admit.

♡ R. Reliable ♡

Can you count on them?

He asks himself this often. His head and gut say no but his heart and body screams yes. The only time he moves before he can think about what he’s doing is when it comes to you.

♡ S. Scent ♡

Their perfume/cologne/natural musk

Naturally he smells like cedarwood and plums. You don’t know what plums are yet, it’s a subtly sweet, fruity scent. Barely there yet clings to him. Sometimes you catch whiffs of leather.

♡ T. Temper ♡

What is their temper like? Quick to anger? Long fuse? How bad do they lose it?

Seldom have you ever seen him snap, it’s a bit frightening when it happens. Bertholdt is very restrained, he prides himself on it.

♡ U. Unwind ♡

How do they relax?

Relax? Bertholdt? He’s stressed so much it bleeds into his sleep! Jokes aside, he enjoys reading and playing chess, enjoyable and a nice distraction. If he’s too wound up to sit still for those he likes to cook, an even better distraction and dispels that extra nervous energy he may have.

Fun fact: mornings are his favorite time of day; the sun kissing the horizon in greeting before the pleasant chill gets stolen away by its heat. Bertholdt prefers to sleep in if he can but if he has a nightmare, or just happens to be awake, he likes the peacefulness of mornings.

♡ V. Value ♡

What’s their love language? What makes them feel special?

Giving and receiving, Bertholdt’s love languages are tied between words of affirmation and quality time.

♡ W. Welcoming ♡

How do they feel about PDA?

Bertholdt wants to be selfish for once in his life and keep you his secret. It’s mostly for your safety but he couldn’t say how temporary that is. He won’t hesitate to help you off the ground and let your hands linger but PDA isn’t for him.

However, you’ve both found a way around that bump with hidden affectionate acts. Sitting next to him during meals so your legs can touch, maybe even holding pinkies under the table or resting a hand on a knee.

♡ X. Xylophone ♡

What’s their song?

Iris - Goo Goo Dolls

So when everything feels like the movies

Yeah, you bleed just to know you're alive

And I don't want the world to see me

'Cause I don't think that they'd understand

When everything's made to be broken

I just want you to know who I am, hey

♡ Y. Yearning ♡

How do they act when separated?

Where are you going? How long will you be gone? Are you safe? Bertholdt has worse case scenarios zipping through his head faster than Survey Corps horses can run. It’s par the course for this life, he’s often reminded bitterly. It’s not dramatic to admit he’d be more comfortable if he could see you at all times.

Also he just misses you when you’re parted. Badly. While on the outside it looks as if he’s unbothered, his eyes roam for you if he knows you’re returning soon. He’s often compared to a lost puppy, which he can’t bring himself to deny strongly enough for anyone to believe.

♡ Z. Zzz ♡

Do they sleep a lot? Not enough? Night owl or early bird? Light sleeper or heavy?

When he finally does fall asleep it can be hard to wake him up. His sleeping positions are infamous and he doesn’t wake to the laughter that go on around him. A nightmare, a loud sound or a jolting shove would do the trick but Bertholdt’s a deep sleeper.

In your arms it’s a different story. He sleps peacefully the whole night and wakes up refreshed for a change. It’s always a good day when he can open his eyes and see you there beside him.

#bertholdt hoover #aot bertholdt #bertholdt x reader #bertholdt hoover x reader #aot imagines #aot x reader #poiboidrabbles #x reader #imagine

[bagopucks]

N. Hischier - Smile Again

✄————————————

Nico Hischier x Female Reader

Word Count: 2.9k

She’s a long one, with a possible part 2

Warning(s): depression, talk of injury, not eating?

—————————————

Work is exhausting. That much, is apparent to me. I don’t know why it has to be so tiresome. I don’t know why I ever thought traveling would be so much fun. I enjoyed it at first. I loved it even. Being an architectural drafter was a dream I’d had since I was old enough to develop decent art skills. I grew up in a small city in Ohio, Wheeling. The buildings were known for their old exterior and design. I used to walk the streets of that city after school with my brother on the way home. I used to jerk on his arm and stop him to point out the designs and colors.

Traveling, at one point, had been my favorite part of the job. After graduating from college with a degree in my field, I found a company in New Jersey that I loved. I hadn’t been thrilled about the location, but I was willing to make sacrifices for the income and the dream of doing what I loved. I’ve only been out of the country once, and in many states aside from where I currently reside. The coasts were my favorite. But traveling quickly lost its luster when I met Nico. My brother had been in town visiting, and with the Blue Jackets playing the Devils on one of the evenings he was there, he decided to buy tickets and take me. I grew up in a sports family, and I was particularly fond of football, but hockey was never my style per se. After the Devils won, my brother insisted we go out to grab a bite to eat in the cultural district of the city. A place that had some of the most wonderful food I’ve ever eaten.

I met Nico in an Italian restaurant. A mom and pop type of location. I don’t know what possessed me to interrupt his meal, but he’d been alone, and he was beautiful under the soft warm glow of a half burnt out light bulb overhead. My brother looked horrified when I went to speak to the dark haired man, but I hadn’t realized until later that evening, that my brother hadn’t been horrified, he’d been betrayed. He had the same look on his face when I told him Nico and I had gotten together. It made Nico giggle.

Traveling was something Nico was used to. Something he had a love hate relationship with, as did I. He loved traveling to experience new cultures in the states. He loved the foods and trying to find places that reminded him of Sweden. He enjoyed finding me little gifts and postcards. His favorite routine he’d fallen into, was trying to find my name on the little necklaces and license plates that souvenir stores have. Some days he is lucky, and others he is not. But it gives us something more to look forward to when he arrives home.

With his most recent injury though, it has been me who is trying and failing again and again to find his name on anything. Nico had broken his ankle about a week ago. And in that week, I’d done my best to look after him and keep him distracted. Nothing pains him more to be away from his team and his career. But when I was informed that I would be traveling again, for a special project, my heart sank. I used to love traveling. Now I love Nico. And to leave him in a time of need.. it hurt to think about.

When I broke the news to him, he put on a brave face. He pursed his lips and nodded up at me from the couch. I could hear Adam Sandler yelling at a golf ball from the iPad on his lap while the gears in his head seemed to turn. He’d always been insistent that the huge flat screen on the wall was never close enough to enjoy each and every little detail. Sometimes I wondered if he needed glasses. In this moment, I wondered if he would need a better support system. I ended up on the couch with him that night, leaning back against the arm rest at one end, with Nico laying between my legs, his head resting against my chest while he finished his movie and picked another. By the time we slinked off to bed, I could tell the news had finally sank in. I felt too guilty to hold him. Too horrible to even ask for affection before I left. So I slept facing away from him while he stared at the back of my head and tried to find a way to ask if I could stay.

Nico never came up with anything. By the morning, I was packed, had kissed my boyfriend goodbye, and slipped out the door. Before I boarded my flight, I made sure to text Jack and remind him to check up on Nico here and there, and even offer to get him out of the house. As long as it wasn’t for hockey. Nico called the first few nights, and texted me nonstop, but eventually his attempts to reach out had dwindled. I feared that he had gotten sick of the long distance. Despite the fact that he is always the one away for work, I couldn’t shake the feeling that me being gone caused him to feel some form of neglect. I reached out to ask how he was doing a few times, but overall I gave him his space for the remainder of the week. By Saturday, today, I was shaking in my boots- trying to get him to answer the phone. What if he wasn’t okay? What if he hated me for leaving?

I only asked Jack twice over the time I’d been gone, how Nico was. And each time, the middle Hughes brother had responded with, ‘he’s doing good.’ No more, no less. I didn’t know that they hadn’t actually spent any time together. I knew I couldn’t text Jack today though, because he was at a morning skate. Instead, I focused my nerves on my bouncing knees and endless flight snacks. And Tetris. Once I landed, I had found an Uber and told the man up front my address. Usually I’d ask someone to pick me up, but my mind was hyper focused on Nico, and an Uber would get me to him faster than one of his teammates.

I tried texting one last time, hopeful that this one would warrant a response: Hey, Nix! I’m on my way home from the airport. Be there in 10.

I went the full ten minutes frantically checking my phone every time I psyched myself into feeling a buzz or hearing a ding. I never got a response.

The moment the taxi pulled over, I already had money in my hand, rushing the words ‘keep the change’ out of my mouth as I scrambled out of the car and dragged my suitcase and laptop bag with me. A wheel on my suitcase broke off when the bag nicked the curb, causing curses to fall from my lips as I spared one look at the lost piece of my unnecessarily expensive bag. One look was all it got, before I was dashing inside the apartment complex I’d known for a year. I almost took the steps before talking myself down from the adrenaline. You’d never get up to your floor before passing out. It was a trip that would have been faster for Nico and his strong legs, but not me. So I waited uncomfortably in the elevator, alongside an elderly woman who wore such a bright smile it made me want to ask her how she could be so happy in a situation like this.

“I swear, suitcases just fall apart at horrible times. Don’t they?” The woman spoke up, and I finally turned my head to look at her. She had blonde but greying hair. Shorter than me- though we’d be close to the same height if I wasn’t wearing converses with thick soles. Perhaps in her 50’s. She was wearing a smile on pink painted lips that matched her bright pink shirt. Her clothes were nothing special, but she looked like a supermodel in that outfit compared to Nico’s navy sweatpants that I wore- and the dark green crop top that was wrinkled everywhere. “There’s a place at the mall that sells great bags. A lot more durable than that piece of junk.”

I could tell she wasn’t trying to be rude, merely insulting a bag that had the audacity to lose a piece of itself when it was needed most. I didn’t realize that my boyfriend was in the same situation in a room up above. I huffed out a ‘thank you’ when the elevator doors opened, stepping out and making a sharp turn down the hall, jogging with the weight of two bags holding me down. The second I got to the apartment door, I dropped my laptop bag. Not my brightest moment.. but Nico.

I fished in my pockets for the keys to the door before finding them, my hands shaking as my anxieties bubbled over the edge of my emotional dam. After I got the door unlocked, I grabbed my laptop bag, moving it maybe a foot from outside of the door to the inside, before dropping it on the floor and setting my suitcase down. The broken wheel was long forgotten until the suitcase fell with a hard slam, the sound echoing through the eerily quiet and dark apartment. I let the door swing shut behind me, fear and hesitance filling my chest as I examined the area around me.

“Nico?” Maybe he wasn’t home. My eyes flickered toward the mat that sat beside the door frame. Nico’s favorite shoes were still there. I looked toward the living room to my left, taking notice of the way the blinds were overlapped to minimize the amount of light that came through. I made my way over to the couch, snatching up the unfolded blanket and the iPad left out. “Nico!” I called again, this time a little more forcefully. Maybe he’d rear his head if he thought I was mad.

He did not. I finally decided to face my fears, holding me back from trudging down the hall to find him. What was I so afraid of? “Baby, I’m home.” I let out a soft sigh, the blanket I held dragging the ground like a child going to find their mother in the night. I peeked into the bathroom, not a single thing out of place. I stopped by the small guest room -which we turned into a reading room of sorts- but he wasn’t in there either. I should have assumed he was in our bedroom. It was the only door in the apartment that was closed. I adopted a much quieter step as I twisted the doorknob, pushing the white barrier open, wincing at the creak.

“Nico.” I whispered this time, wondering if maybe he was asleep. But the blankets on our bed were a holy mess.. and nowhere to be found was my devil. So I left the iPad and blanket on the bed, and checked the master bathroom. Nothing. Not even a towel on the floor. Which he was guilty of leaving from time to time. As I went to close the bathroom door, I finally heard a shuffle- my head whipping as the rest of my body turned to look back into the bedroom. A pair of feet finally appeared from behind the corner of the bed. Silence followed the shuffle, and movement ceased. Relief flooded my system for a solid second before I began to wonder why he was laying on the floor. I cautiously made my way around the bed, leaning forward to see him before I even crossed the room. My heart broke.

Of all the time I’d known Nico, I’ve only ever seen him truly upset maybe a handful of times. He’s a sweet man. A caring one. A driven one. He doesn’t like to open up, and I can understand. Nobody likes to feel like a bother. But this look? A glazed over, empty, lost look.. it was not something I’d ever known his face to hold. He was curled up on the floor, wearing an old teal sweatshirt of mine that I bought in college. It was meant to be over sized on me, but on him it fit just right. He had on a pair of sweats as well, one pant leg bunched up to his knee -so it wouldn’t bother his cast- while the other was just above his ankle. I would have assumed he just took the best nap of his life, but the darkness under his eyes accompanied by red let me know that he hadn’t slept in a while.

I questioned if Nico had earbuds in, but I couldn’t see from the way the hood of my sweatshirt was pulled over his head. I carefully stepped over him, my heart clenching as I slowly knelt down, reaching out to gently pull the hood from Nico’s head. No earbuds, and completely unresponsive. “Nico, baby. What are you doing?” My words were soft, slowly sitting down as I ran my hand through his hair, grimacing momentarily at the feeling of it. My fingers caught in a few tangles, and what was once silky smooth was now greasy. His eyes seemed to reluctantly meet mine, hopeless and yet asking for answers I couldn’t provide. I realized that just as I didn’t know what was going on, he didn’t seem to either. But he wouldn’t talk to me. And then I realized-

My college roommate used to have similar behaviors. Sometimes she would get that dazed and lost look in her eyes. Like she didn’t know what she was living for. Like she had lost a piece of herself and didn’t have the strength to fight to have it back. When she opened up, she called them depressive episodes. I’d always offered to help, but she never let me into her life enough to feel comfortable asking for that assistance when she needed it.

“Okay baby.” I sat down while nodding, tears pricking the corners of my eyes. I thought he would have been fine without me. I continued to run my hand through his hair, watching as his face contorted and his brows knit together. Like he was trying to solve a difficult math problem. Not exactly in pain, simply frustrated. When his eyes opened again, they were full of tears, and those thick droplets fell down his cheeks without the aid of any blinking. “Shhh,” I cooed, immediately laying down beside him, and wrapping an arm around him. I’ve never had more strength in my life than I did in that moment, hoisting my heartbroken lover onto my chest as I lay on my back, wrapping my arms around him as sobs began to wrack his body.

I’d be lying if I said I didn’t cry too, but my tears were nothing compared to the wails and moans of pure agony that fell from my lover’s lips. When he began to breathe too hard, I would ease my hold on him and whisper numbers and patterns to follow until he settled. And when he cried too hard, I would squeeze him tighter and assure him he was loved, that I was there now, and that I wouldn’t leave him alone again for a really long time. I promised him hockey would return soon, and that we could even visit practices together. I tried to remind him of things he loved and emotions he felt other than what he was experiencing now. I held his head and I kissed his temples, I swear I felt his heart physically break at some point.

What was hours felt like minutes, until the pain settled to a subtle sting in both of our chests- and in our eyes. Nico still refused to speak, but I couldn’t push him. Nor would I. I continued to hold him despite the numbness in my body, feeling him shift occasionally, though he only ever moved his head from my neck to get a breath of air.

“I know you don’t want to hear this right now.. but we should try to get up, okay?” My friend in college used to tell me the hardest part was actually doing anything. I assumed that was why Nico’s hair was so gross, and why I could feel his hip bones pressed against my own, more defined than usual. I was given no response, but I knew Nico well enough to navigate him without words. “Let’s get a shower, sweetie. C’mon.” I tried to pull out from under him, only to feel Nico’s head sway from the crook of my neck and drape over my shoulder. His face was a sight to behold, but even snotty, messy, and asleep, he looked beautiful. My heart hurt for him. So much so that it made my chest hurt, and my stomach turn. “Okay.. just a short nap.”

I wasn’t getting up any time soon. I don’t know when the last time Nico slept was, and I didn’t want to chance him not sleeping again if I woke him up now. So I wrapped my arms back around him, and readjusted his head on my shoulder, supporting him physically and mentally with occasional whispers of love as he snored softly. He wasn’t okay. Far from it. But we would navigate this thing together. I’d travel to the ends of the earth to find the thing that made him happy again. And this time, I’d take him with me.

✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩

#nico hischier #nhl blurb #nhl imagine #new jersey devils #nico hischier x reader #nico hischier imagine #nico hischier imagines

[fanfic-lover-girl]

Magical Education in Harry Potter

I have continued reading snippets of HP and I realized once again how...boring the magic is in HP. Besides Snape, Dumbledore and Voldemort I think, no one in HP really does anything exceptional or innovative with their magic. Well...there are the Marauders with their map and their animagus transformations. Plus the Weasley twins are super creative too with their products. But I think that's it really. I will be mega generous and throw in Draco fixing the cabinet and Hermione's DA coins too.

Not even Harry Potter, who is supposed to be the chosen one and hero of the story, does anything great. He's tragically mediocre and not in a good way. I do not consider summoning a patronus at 13 to be a marvel. Considering he had special lessons from Lupin and his performing the spell is not really a special/new/creative magical endeavour.

The muggle world has great technological innovations. But wizards are not innovating magic on the same level at all. And I think part of the problem is their magical education system.

First, starting to learn magic at 11 is total rubbish. Using Avatar: The Last Airbender as an example. Learning magic at 11 is comparable to someone learning they can bend at 5 but they don't start training until 11. Or someone in our world has prodigious abilities but they don't train until high school. Do you see how dumb this is?

So in the meantime, wizard kids have this power that they can't control properly. It's not that big of a deal if the kid has a magical family but what about mugglebornes like Hermione or kids who grew up in muggle families like Harry?? Harry was literally a hazard to the Dursleys in more ways than one and it's understandable, not excusable, that they hated him.

Plus Hermione's character is annoying due to her role as an exposition device. It's tiresome that a muggleborne girl is constantly showing up purebloods who literally grew up around magic. As the books go on, she takes over Ron's role in the trio as the magical common sense guy. In reality, mugglebornes should be at a major disadvantage. Let's say I am trying to learn Spanish. I have no Spanish-speaking family. And let's say I end up in a class of immigrant kids whose parents all speak Spanish. They may not be fluent themselves but they have a huge headstart on me. In time I will catch up to them, especially if I work hard like Hermione, but initially, I would perform worse than them. As first years, the pureblood and halfblood kids should be blowing Hermione out of the water. If not for the entire first year then at least the first semester/term.

So how would I fix this issue? Four ways:

Magical kindergarten/elementary school

Hogwarts should be a highschool/college level institution. Or maybe Hogwarts could have different school levels. Kids should learn the introductory concepts for Charms, Transfiguration, Potions etc in primary/elementary school or even from their freaking parents. Ron's intro scene with that make my rat yellow prank spell was just sad. And having Hermione call him out for the spell not being real was just more salt in my annoyance. As kids, they learn the basics like wand movement, magic theory and safety. And basic spells.

Advanced learning

When they go to Hogwarts they should focus more on application and higher levels of theory. For example: Magical Ethics (what are the moral boundaries of magic **cough**rapedrugs**cough**polyjuicepotion**cough**), Magical Research (do projects/experiments to learn more about the nature of magic, like how is elf magic different from wizard magic), Spellmaking (why is Snape the only dude in HP inventing spells!), Improvised Spells (like in Wizards of Waverly Place), Magic Economics (how does magic work with the concept of scarcity, what is scarcity in the wizarding world), Magical Defense (not just against the dark arts but basic defence like self-defence in our world and perhaps survival skills) etc. They should learn non-verbal and non-wand magic as well of course. Maybe this could be taught at the end of primary school or the beginning of Hogwarts. Instead of the very end of their Hogwarts education.

Accessible classes for mugglebornes

So what about mugglebornes, you say? Well, there are two options. You can provide after-school classes for muggleborne students to learn magic before they attend Hogwarts. Think of extra lessons or night classes in our world. Or you can send the mugglebornes to summer school(s) before Hogwarts which leads me to my next point.

Different Class Tracks

Put muggleborne kids in a different class track from the purebloods/halfbloods who went to magical primary. Like how we have advanced classes for students who are super bright or slower-paced classes for students who need extra help. Students like Hermione would gradually graduate to the advanced track while lazier students like Harry may stay in the slower track. Or maybe bright students like Hermione could do placement tests to get into the advanced track from the start. Some pureblood students could even be demoted to the slower track if they begin to goof off (maybe Ron) or need extra help (maybe Neville). And you can mix and match! So Neville would be in Class 1 Herbology but Class 2 Potions :). Maybe Harry would be in Class 1 DADA but Class 2 Potions etc.

If lack of teachers is an issue, then pureblood families would teach their own kids and the primary school would be exclusively for muggleborne kids and/or pureblood/halfblood kids whose parents can't provide tutoring.

Conclusion

So yeah, that's how I would revamp the school system. Hogwarts is a weird school. Like students leave as adults but leaving Hogwarts feels like leaving primary school. I never felt prepared for the world after highschool but at least we have college/university. Even if HP has trade schools/apprenticeships for jobs like healing and being an auror, I think their magical education is seriously lacking. And the spellwork in HP is honestly very lame. Wands just end up being like guns. More battles should be like the Voldy vs Dumbles fight in book 5.

Magic should be something kids learn from the cradle. Magic is not a subject like Math is. Magic is literally part of who they are. Learning magic should be treated like learning how to groom yourself, eat healthily or even speak. It's strange how Hogwarts and the ministry restrict students from learning magic outside of classes. Maybe it's a conspiracy??

#harry potter books #harry potter movies #harry potter series #hogwarts #magical education #hermione granger #harry potter #neville longbottom #wizarding world #hogwarts is not a good school #advanced magic #magic system #harry james potter #severus snape #ron weasley #harry potter critical #hermione and ron's characters make no sense #hermione and ron's characters deserved better #polyjuice potion is messed up! #like you can see someone's naked body without their consent and even take pics of their genitals #marauders #the marauders #weasley twins #draco malfoy #hp essay #magical school #hogwarts critical #hermione granger critical #jkr is not good at worldbuilding

[honeybadgerwritings]

Let Me Teach You

Pairing: Peter Ballard x Fem!Reader

Requested: 001 (henry creel) 34, 35, in comfort, and 37 in smut I feel like those sentences could make a really hot hurt and comfort smut 🥵 pretty please with extra cherries and sprinkles on top 🥺

Prompts: “Shh, just look at me baby.”

“I know, baby, I know. I’m right here, just breathe.”

“Let me teach you.”

Warnings: Smut, Overstimulation, hint of Voyeurism, first time,

Summary: Super long PWP with you and Peter 😘

A/N: I usually refer to 001 as Peter instead of Henry, so that’s what I’ll be doing in this fic. Hope that’s okay! It’s mentioned in this fic that reader is an adult. I’m writing this with the mindset that she’s around 20/21. Thank you for reading! Also not proof read!

18+ Content So Minors DNI

~~~~~~~~~

Sometimes you think back to the lack of freedom and education that you were given in Hawkins Lab and it makes you shudder. It really was a nightmare. You were never allowed to shower alone, you couldn’t make any noise once you’d entered your room, you couldn’t go anywhere without the orderlies watching your every move, and nobody ever taught you anything that didn’t have to do with your powers. They would only throw you in the rainbow room filled with a bunch of different puzzles and children’s books for three hours a day, thinking that was all you ever needed.

And for a while it was. For the first many years of your life you were entertained by these things as most children were. But the older you became, the more tiresome you grew of them. You wanted to learn something else. Something more. Something new.

That’s why you befriended Peter so quickly. Being a fully grown adult and knowing nothing more than the words you’ve read in children’s books was frustrating to you, and he could see that. He would always enjoy teaching you new things, new words, and new experiences if it meant he got to see your face light up each time. It was easy to feel lonely at the lab, which is why you two found solace in each other.

After a few months, your friendship began to grow into more, and while you didn’t understand the concept of a “boyfriend” or a “relationship,” Peter was more than happy to enlighten you. But this time instead of explaining, he showed you. Sneaking into your room after lights out to talk for hours, spending more time with you than anyone else in the rainbow room, quick kisses and lingering touches when no one was paying attention. It was something new, and it made you happy.

You shake your head at the memory, eyes focusing back in on the 002 tattoo that you had on your arm. You realized that you had gotten lost in thought thinking about the lab. The two of you had escaped six months ago after you had been caught together and they tried to separate you.

After that, Peter had told you everything about his past and his powers and you were stunned to say the least, but you didn’t love him any less.

And now? The two of you were hiding out in a cabin somewhere in Maine. Peter had found a full time job working at the bakery across town, and you found a part time one at the library just down the road. You loved it. You loved being able to spend your entire day reading books and learning new things. It helped that your schedules were pretty similar.

On the days that the two of you both worked you could take the bus together, but after work you would have to walk home. You got done with work an hour after Peter did, so while he got to take the bus back home, it would unfortunately stop running before you were clocked out. You didn’t mind though, the walk was peaceful. At least, when it wasn’t winter.

Right now though you were at the front door, where your hand had been sitting on the knob for the last 5 minutes, right where your eye caught the tattoo. You sighed, shaking your head again before pushing the door open. You had expected to see Peter in the kitchen cooking dinner like he usually was when you arrived home, but he wasn’t there. Infact, he was nowhere in sight.

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion as you heard noises coming from down the hall towards your bedroom. As you got closer you could tell that the noises were coming from Peter, he was calling out your name and he sounded in pain. You immediately worried that they had found you. The lab. And now they were in there hurting Peter. You began to panic at the thought of him laying there helplessly calling out to you. You quickly and quietly made your way to the door, pushing it open just a crack to see inside.

Peter was lying on the bed, panting and moaning. You frowned in confusion, only able to see him from the waist up. You peeked your head in just a little bit more, and you had to hold in a gasp at what you saw.

Peter had his hand wrapped around his length, and he was stroking it. His head was tipped back and his eyes were closed as he moaned your name over and over. Sweat was dripping down his temples as he moaned again,

“Fuck Y/N, you make me feel so good baby.”

You bit your lip as you realized, he was making himself feel good while thinking of you. A weird sensation formed in your lower stomach as you slowly backed away from the door, making your way back down the hallway. You opened the front door quietly, making sure he wouldn’t hear, before shutting it behind you and sitting down on the porch bench. You wanted to give him privacy, you didn’t want to let him know that you had seen him.

But you couldn’t help the blush that rose to your cheeks when you thought about what you had seen.

The way your name left his lips sounded almost angelic as he desperately bucked his hips up into his hand. The memory alone was enough to make you drool, and you rubbed your thighs together to try to ease the tension in between your legs. You had read about this somewhere, in one of the library books. It was a random one that you had picked off the shelf that seemed to be popular with some of the older moms in town. There were a lot of surprising scenes written in that book, including one that was very similar to what you had just witnessed Peter doing.

Your thoughts were abruptly interrupted as the front door swung open and Peter stepped out, looking around at first with a slightly worried look in his eyes before they eventually settled on you.

“There you are, I was starting to get worried.”

Your eyes scanned over his body, the one that had just been completely naked just moments ago, and you started to imagine that it had been you stroking him, making him feel good.

A hand waved in front of your face as you were dragged back to reality.

“Sweetheart? Are you with me?” He asked, worried. You gulped and nodded in response, standing up abruptly and stumbling. He put his arms on your shoulders to steady you, and all of a sudden you were imagining them elsewhere. You imagined him squeezing your breasts as his lips made their way down the side of your neck, desperate moans leaving your lips as you clung to him.

You snapped out of it to find him staring at you.

“I-I’m sorry... what did you say?” You stutter. He raised an eyebrow at you before pressing his hand to your forehead, checking your temperature. “I asked if you’re feeling alright...cause it sure doesn’t seem like it.” He flips his hand over, gently dragging the back of it down to rest on your reddened cheek. “I don’t think you have a temperature, but your face is still very warm.” His eyebrows furrow in confusion as he tries to determine what’s the matter with you.

“I’m okay really, I’m just...tired. From walking...you know?”

He nods slowly not really seeming convinced, but you don’t give him enough time to question you as you quickly pushed past him, rushing inside and leaving him out on the porch. He stands out there for a moment, pondering, before eventually shrugging and stepping inside, closing the door behind him.

~~~~

It’s been a couple of hours since your interaction with Peter on the porch, and you haven’t been able to make eye contact with him since. You had spent most of your time in the bedroom continuing to daydream and fantasize about Peter while trying to keep the feeling in your lower stomach at bay.

Now you were sitting at the dinner table with him, attempting to enjoy the nice dinner that he had made for the both of you. But it was hard to even think about food let alone eat it when he was just sitting so close to you. A lot closer than he normally did.

“Is something wrong with the food baby?” You heard him ask. You shake your head, taking a bite to prove your answer. You continue to eat in silence for a few more moments which is not normal for the two of you, and you both know it.

“Y/N.” You hum in response, not looking up at him. “Y/N.” He repeats, placing his hand on your shoulder, squeezing lightly. You tense up at that, your thighs pressing together once again. “Y-yes Peter?” you stutter out.

You can feel his eyes studying your form for a few moments. “I find it strange that you haven’t so much as looked at me since you got home.” He speaks lowly, hand tugging your plate of food away. You gulp nervously, and think that maybe you could ignore him for a minute longer, but he slides his fingers beneath your chin, pressing upwards until you look at him. You watch as his eyes scan over your features like he’s searching for something, speaking just moments later, “Why don’t you tell me what’s going on with you hm?”

Shaking your head, you try to look down but his fingers are ever present and you crack under his gaze, "I just- god, Peter, I’m so embarrassed-” his brows started furrowing, so you find yourself rushing the rest, "-and I don't want you to think I'm weird or anything but when I came home I saw what you were doing in the bedroom and now it feels like somethings wrong with me because I think I enjoyed watching you and- and I don’t know why I feel like this but I can’t get it to go away I’m just- I’m sorry I-” you rambled, breath picking up slightly and tears coming to your eyes in embarrassment as you tried to explain yourself.

Peter lowers his way out of his chair, crouching down in front of you to hold your face in his hands. “No...no no no sweetheart don’t cry please. It’s nothing to be embarrassed about.” You look at him with big doe eyes, sniffling.

“It’s not?”

He shakes his head, a pitiful smile gracing his face, “Not at all. It’s actually kind of...adorable.” He tucks a hair behind your ear, his touch causing you to shudder. This doesn’t go unnoticed by Peter and a lustful glint forms in his eyes. He trails his hand from your ear down the side of your neck, to your arm, before eventually placing it on your thigh, squeezing it lightly. Heat rises to your cheeks as you squirm beneath his touch, thighs rubbing together. He watches your reactions closely, a smirk forming on his lip as he watches you bite yours.

“P-Peter...” You stutter out, your breath hitching in your throat.

“I can help you sweetheart... I can help you feel better.” His eyes never leave yours as his thumb makes his way towards your inner thigh, gently stroking, “Is that what you want?”

You nod slowly, “I-It is but... I don’t know how to-”

“Let me teach you.” He cuts you off, his other hand stroking your cheek, “Let me teach you something new hm? I know you like it when I teach you things.”

A quiet, desperate whimper leaves your lips at his words and your legs begin to tremble underneath his touch. You take a deep breathe before answering with a nod,

“Yes please.”

Peter smiles, standing up and offering his hand to you. You instantly take it, following him to the bedroom. He closes the door behind the two of you and spins around to find you standing in the middle of the room, eyes to the floor and twiddling your thumbs nervously. Peter chuckles at the sight of you, and you look up at him innocently.

“Why don’t you lie back on the bed for me sweetheart?” Peter asks sweetly. You nod, doing as he says. Once you’re situated he climbs on top of you, his lips immediately findings yours. This you were used to. You could spend all day kissing Peter with your hands tangled in his hair and you’d have absolutely no complaints. But then he started moving out of comfortable territory. His lips made their way from yours, down your jawline and eventually to your neck, where he began to gently suck and nibble at your skin.

You were tense at first, unsure of what to do, where to put your hands, how you should react. You were so...nervous. Peter glanced up at you, taking this in. He gently grabbed your wrists, maneuvering them so they were wrapped around him and resting on his back. His head dipped down against your cheek, placing a chaste kiss there before murmuring, “Don’t think so much, just let your body take control.”

His lips find their way to your neck once again, and you began to relax, tilting your head back to give him more access. Your hands roamed his back as breathless pants and whines left your lips while he marked you. You could tell that he relished in the pretty little noises that you were making, as gentle moans made their way from his mouth to the flushed skin of your neck. It wasn’t long before red and purple hickeys decorated your skin and Peter pulled back, admiring his work.

“What a pretty sight you are.”

You blushed heavily once again at his words before you pulled him back down to you, your lips meeting his once again. His hands began to roam your body, making their way from your face, down your chest, eventually resting on your hips.

“Is it okay if I start to remove your clothes darling?” He asks you gently. You bite your lip nervously, unsure if you were ready for that. “I don’t want to do anything that you’re uncomfortable with.” He adds, giving you a reassuring smile as he places a comforting kiss to your temple. You ponder for another moment before a burst of courage surges through you and you nod.

He tuts his tongue in response, reaching up to stroke your cheek. “How about we use our words hm?” He states, a stern tone added to his voice. You take a breath before responding with a very meek, “Yes Peter.”

He smiles, satisfied, before leaning in to kiss you again, murmuring a small “Good girl” against your lips. He slowly guided the hem of your shirt up and over your head, leaving you in your jeans and your t-shirt bra. His mouth practically watered at the sight of your breasts.

You whimper pathetically in response to his gaze, and he gently reaches around you to unclasp the hooks of your bra, pulling it from your body. He stares down at your breasts in awe, reaching up to fondle them in his hands as you bite back a moan.

“God you’re so fucking perfect.” He murmurs, leaning down and taking your right nipple into his mouth, gently sucking as his tongue circles around it. He looks up at you while he fondles your other breast, watching you fall apart underneath him. You were writhing, your hands running through his hair as content little hums left your lips. He switches positions, giving your other breast some attention before he starts to make his way further down, from the valley between your breasts and down your stomach, eventually reaching the hem of your pants.

He delicately unbuttons them and wraps his fingers around the hem. He pauses for a moment to look up at you with smirk before he drags them down your thighs, taking your panties with them. A gasp of surprise leaves your lips, realizing you’re now completely bare in front of Peter. His eyes somehow manage to grow even more lustful as he stares at your drooling cunt.

“Is this all for me?” He asks leaning forward, his breath hot against your core as he swipes a finger up your slit. Your hips buck up and a strangled moan escapes your throat when he does so. “You poor thing, you’ve been this worked up for hours haven’t you?” His thumb gently circles your clit and you can only mewl in response, hips bucking again.

“I’m gonna make it all better baby. I’m gonna make you feel so good.”

That’s the last thing he says to you before he licks a long strip from your weeping hole all the way up to your clit, beginning to suckle on the sensitive little nub. You gasp sharply, thighs attempting to close around his head but pushes them back apart, holding them still.

You desperately try to cling onto something, anything; eventually settling for Peters hair. You tug on it, holding on for dear life as he eats you out. His bright blue eyes watch your reactions intently from between your legs as you completely fall apart. He’s locked onto the way that your eyes roll back into your head, moaning and panting his name repeatedly from those cute lips.

He begins to prod one finger at your hole, gently circling the tip around your soaked entrance. Your eyes widen in realization and you tense up immediately. Peter pauses, pulling his finger away slightly, gauging your reaction.

“I’m just going to stretch you out a bit okay sweetheart? Want to get you nice and warmed up to take my cock.” You blush at the way he worded it, and nod nervously. He slowly pressed his finger against your hole once again, “It’s going to be uncomfortable at first but I promise I’ll be gentle okay?” You nod once again and his eyebrows furrow, his grip on your one thigh tightening. “Words baby. Use your words.”

“Y-Yes Peter.”

He wastes no time before slowly pressing his finger inside of your tight hole. You squirm in discomfort at first while he pulls his finger out, only to slowly thrust back in.

“God you’re so fucking tight Y/N...you have no idea what you’re doing to me.”

You bite your lip to prevent the whine attempting to leave them. You feel him dip his head down once more as he begins to suck and swirl his tongue around your clit again, distracting you from the discomfort. After a few more moments of thrusting you began to enjoy the feeling of being stretched out around his finger. “M-more please Peter...I want more.” You beg, almost pathetically.

“Such a polite little thing you are. Of course my love, you’re taking me so well already.” He prods another finger at your hole, sliding it in very easily as he goes back to attacking your clit with his mouth. This time the stretch burns, but in a good way, and your hips buck up to meet his hand once again. You begin to feel an intense sensation building in your lower stomach as your moans start to grow louder and louder.

“O-oh god Peter, it feels so good I-I...”

He hums in response against your clit as he thrusts a third finger inside of you. Your hands grip his hair harshly, sweat drips down your face, and your muscles begin to tighten as the pressure in your core builds to a climax. The hand that had been holding your thighs apart slid up to your lower stomach and pressed down lightly.

And just like that you were too far gone.

Choked out moans and pants leave your pretty little lips as you come hard around his fingers, your drooling cunt pulsing around them.

“Shh, shh," he hushes you. “There you go baby, all over my fingers. Such a messy little thing you are...” He continues finger fucking you through your orgasm, his thumb circling your clit. Eventually though it’s too much, you’re too sensitive.

You squirm away from him, whining, and he shushes you as he gently removes his fingers from your poor sensitive little cunt. “Alright baby, alright. It’s okay.” He says to you, before licking your cum off of his fingers, relishing in the taste of you. He slowly climbs back up your body, hovering over the top of you as he slams his lips against yours. You begin to undo the buttons of his shirt, and you can feel how hard he is through his pants as he grinds down against your leg, causing you to gasp. He smirks down at you, gauging your reaction.

“You see what you do to me baby? You feel how fucking hard you make me?” You nod innocently, the thought of him being inside of you almost making you drool. He sits up, straddling you as he removes his shirt and begins to undo his buckle, before sliding his pants and then his boxers down his legs, until he too is completely naked.

You stare in awe as his cock bobs out of his boxers. It was throbbing red and the tip was glistening with precum, he was a decent size and it was so....so thick. You knew that the stretch would most certainly burn more that it did with his fingers. This time as you were staring at it, you actually began to drool and he chuckles at you. You watch him lean over to the bedside table, pulling out a little square packet, tearing it open and rolling the rubber content from inside over his cock. You didn’t know what it was, you didn’t care. You would ask about it later because the only thing you cared about right now was him.

He slowly crawls back on top of you, resting his forehead against yours. He makes sure you’re still fully into this by asking you, “Are you sure you want this sweetheart?” You nod eagerly, pulling him into a kiss as you feel him lining up his cock with your already ruined cunt.

He pulls his lips from yours and gauges your reactions as he slowly begins to push his cock inside of you, your walls attempting to adjust to him. You hiss in pain, tears pricking your eyes as you grip Peter tightly, nails digging into his back.

“P-Peter i-it hurts...”

He moans at how tight you are around him, but is more focused on your comfort than his own pleasure. “I know, baby, I know. I’m right here, just breathe.”

He pushes his cock the rest of the way inside of you, just barely bottoming out as his balls rest against your ass cheeks. You groan and whimper in pain as you try to adjust to his size. Your cunt flutters and pulses around him, still sensitive and he groans. “God sweetheart, you’re so fucking tight around me. Taking me so well. You tell me when you want me to move okay baby?”

You gasp out in pain as he shifts just slightly inside of you and you nod, “Y-yes Peter.”

He leans down, pressing his lips to yours in an attempt to distract you from the pain. His lips feel soft and warm against yours, and they taste like the vanilla chapstick that he loves so much. His hands reach up to cup your face lovingly as you make out, and you smile into the kiss.

After a few more moments of kissing, you nod your head to him, signaling for him to start moving. And he does, very slowly. It definitely still hurts, enough to make the tears that were pricking at your eyes fall down your cheeks. A small pained cry leaves your lips as he thrusts again and again.

“Shh, just look at me baby,” He whispers, continuing to stroke your cheek, “You’re doing so good for me, taking me so fucking well. I don’t know what I did to deserve you but your perfect, you’re so fucking perfect. It’s like you were made for me. I love you so fucking much.” He rambles, pecking your face in between every sentence until you begin to giggle.

“I love you too Peter- ah!”

You were cut off by a moan as he thrusted deep inside of you once again, the pain beginning to dissipate, slowly being replaced with pleasure. A smirk forms on his face as he thrusts into the exact same spot, causing you to mewl in response.

“There we go darling....feels nice doesn’t it?” He asks you, “I’ve been waiting for so long to fuck you like this and ruin your pretty little cunt. I’d touch myself every day when I got home just imagining I was fucking you.”

Your eyes roll back again at his words and you moan, “O-oh god Peter...I feel so full.” He grunts into your ear as he reaches down, toying with your clit again, using his thumb to circle it as his thrusts begin to pick up the pace. Your hips desperately buck up to meet his and you can feel the pressure beginning to build again.

“God you’re so fucking tight baby, I’m so close, so fucking close.” He pants, leaning his forehead against yours. He starts rubbing your clit even faster and his thrusts start to become more sloppy. Your pussy starts to pulse around him again as you grow closer and closer to the edge.

“Peter I’m gonna- oh fuck I-”

“Cum for me baby, just relax and let go for me. Let yourself feel good.”

And you do. With one final thrust of his hips inside you your vision goes white and you’re taken over by pure bliss. Your head falls back and your back arches as you cum hard all over your boyfriends cock. Peter thrusts two to three more times before he releases as well, panting and moaning as his cock twitches inside of your poor abused little pussy.

He wishes he could fill you up with his cum and watch it leak out of you while your cunt is still sensitive and pulsing, but he knows you’re not ready for that yet. Instead he slowly pulls out of you, taking off the condom and throwing it in the trash. His eyes drift over your form proudly as you lay there exhausted and out of breath.

He leans down to admire the aftermath of your cunt, and moans as he watches it continue to twitch and pulse around nothing as your hole leaks onto the bedsheets. He smirks and decides to do something a little bit evil, and cleans you up with his tongue. He’s quick to hold your legs down as he licks all of your juices up. You immediately cry out, feeling extremely sensitive and try to buck your hips away from him, to no avail.

His tongue finds its way inside your hole, fucking in and out of you just as his cock was only two minutes prior. The feeling is so intense for you and you try to shove him off with your powers, but to no avail. He was already stronger than you, and you were just a weak little thing right now. He senses your attempt however, and looks up at you pouting.

“I was just trying to clean you up darling, but it seems I’m gonna have to teach you a lesson.” He smirks at you, before pinning your hands to the mattress with a flick of his head. He re-pins your thighs down with his hands and continues his attack on your poor little hole with his tongue, occasionally circling it around your sensitive and tortured clit just to make you squirm and whine.

“P-please Peter it’s so sensitive I-I....”

“Shhhh, just one more for me baby. You can do that can’t you? You can be a good girl and give me one more.” You nod, as best as you can, wanting to please Peter as he fucks you with his tongue. Your orgasm builds a lot quicker this time and he knows it.

Peter closes his eyes as he continues to eat you out, focusing all of his energy into your poor little pussy, wanting you to cum as hard as you possible could. Your eyes widened as the pleasure grew immensely and your legs began to tremble. By this point you were yelling Peter’s name in utter ecstasy, as he forced another orgasm out of you. The feeling was so intense that you cried your way through the orgasm, your whole body trembling.

You fade in and out of consciousness for a few minutes, your body trying to play catch up with everything that had just happened. When you finally came to, the sheets had been changed, you were completely dressed in your pajamas and your hair was wet. You felt... clean.

How long were you out for?

Peter steps into the room a moment later, a towel wrapped around his waist. He hadn’t noticed you had awoken when he dropped the towel, pulling on a clean pair of boxers before crawling into bed with you. Just as he does, you roll over to face him. He looks at you in total surprise.

“I thought you had fallen asleep for the night.”

“Yeah well I thought I’d fallen asleep for 2 minutes.” He chuckles at that, pulling you into his chest. “No baby, you’ve been out for the last hour. I cleaned you up and everything...guess I really did a number on you hm?” He looks down at you, stroking your cheek as it turned a bright pink.

You’re silent for a few seconds before you look up at him. “Peter?” You ask, and he responds with a hum of adoration. “Thank you,” you whisper, tracing imaginary shapes onto the bare skin of his chest, “For everything. I love you.”

He smiles at that, pulling you in to kiss your forehead, “You know I’d do anything for you sweet girl, I love you too.”

#fiction #henry creel #imagines #peter ballard #stranger things #001 stranger things #writers #smut #my prompts #dialogue prompts #requested #peter ballard x reader #peter ballard smut

[thatone-brightstar]

Before You (Carmen Berzatto X Fem!OC)

It was Isaac before Carmy, and it was Ross before you.

Part I: December.

Part II: January.

Part III: February.

words: 3.4k

a/n: Welcome all to the second part of my TB & TF series!! This is a prequel to the first part, so if you haven't read that, you can either read this first then the other one or vise versa. Also, this is me kinda just adding personal experience to her story because as a hostess, I think we don't get credit enough for having to deal with some people's shit (sigh) however, she's her own character so feel free to relate however you please. Another thing, I wrote this before S2 came out, so any coincidence with the firework scene in Ep5 is just me being ✨psychic✨ Enjoy! XX

No amount of deep breaths could calm the blistering anger circulating through her system. Her quickening steps move across the dining hall of the stupidly ostentatious restaurant she has the misfortune of working at. From the elegant decorum and the expensive menu, she can pinpoint the exact type of diners the place hosts: terrible, horrible, shitty people. And while she’s completely against placing anyone under any category, New York socialites seemed to never want to leave the rooted stereotype of being pompous, rude and extremely annoying.

Her theory had been proven correct once more after spending the last 10 minutes getting berated for not seating a walk-in on one of the busiest nights of the month. 

“You should save a table of that size for these situations…” The insufferable trust fund baby spat at her and all the self composure in the world could not stop the words from leaving her  mouth.

“Maybe send us a heads up by telepathy next time and I’ll try and catch it…” She had mumbled sarcastically, hoping that the background noise would drown it out as she tapped meaninglessly around the tablet.

It did not. And now her mouth was coated with the metal taste of blood that had oozed from her bitten tongue. She usually wasn’t this easy to frustrate, it took more than a pretentious jackass to destabilize her mood- especially in her line of work- but the weight of the day crashed on tiresome shoulders and the little manbitch past the podium had just been the spoiled cherry on top. 

The smooth Jazz is replaced by the sharp sounds of metal clinging against each other once she pushes past the service doors, in direction to the back alley. Her presence pulls a few looks from the chefs, but with a hardened scowl and a rigid stance, only an idiot would be aloof to the irritation detaching off her in not so subtle waves.

“Yo Ross, baby-” One of the cooks shouts, but is soon silenced by a threatening look and pointed finger.

“Fuck you Frank- not now.” She spits back, without even stopping or wasting any more time.

The frigid winter air finds a worthy opponent in the heat cursing through her veins as she crosses the emergency exit and drops against the brick wall with hands around her face, fully embracing the cold. A muffled groan vibrates through her fingers and blends in seamlessly with the usual sirens and horns blaring from the street ahead. It doesn’t take long for the dropping temperature to catch up to her- numbing the balls of her fingers and painting the tip of her nose red- but her manager told her to take five to calm down and she would not oppose to stealing company time, even if it meant freezing her ass off.

Ross pushes herself off the grimy wall and begins to tread along the small alley to warm up while she tries to talk herself out of quitting for what feels like the fifth time that month. 

“Chill, okay? You’ll find shitty people everywhere-” Her voice swims around the reduced space, comfortable in the privacy of her own company. “Besides, next one’s the good one and you can say goodbye to this shithole wrapped in a Gucci sweater…”

The noise of the busy kitchen pierces her bubble when the door opens again, blinding her with the white light while a body passes through, then closing back again and leaving them with the dim yellow bulb fighting to stay lit. 

“Ross.” He greets with a single nod of his head as his eyes spot her in the darkness, pulling a beaten up package from his pocket and lighting the thin tube with one of those long kitchen lighters he always seems to carry.

“Chef.” She answers back with a similar nod. 

Her cheeks carry a crimson that goes beyond the freezing cold, embarrassed to think that he might have heard her little self pep talk and she’s thankful for the lack of lighting in the space. The sound of his steady exhales and the lingering scent of tobacco slowly make their way to her as she keeps her eyes on the ground, uncomfortable shoes rubbing away over the pavement in distraction. 

“You, uh, you good?” He clears his throat and shuffles against the wall, switching from one overworked foot to another. 

They’ve probably only ever crossed a couple sentences despite her working there for almost a year, but she tries to hide the doubt behind a nod. 

“Uh… y-yeah. Another day, another shitty customer.” She jokes in hopes to break the barrier of ice, though it seems to be thicker than she expected, because all she gets is another nod that has her wanting to scurry back inside. 

“What’d they tell you now?” He asks through another smoky exhale. 

“That he’s friends with the head chef and that he’d have my head if I didn’t give ‘em a table…” 

“That’s bull-“ He says, sucking in his cheeks and making the ember tip glow bright orange. “I don’t have any friends.”

“Yeah that’s what I told him too.” Ross adds and receives the wisp of a snigger in return. 

It’s small and almost unnoticeable- so tiny it could be confused with a cough- but it’s there. And the ice wall doesn’t seem as thick as she thought now. 

“So did you?” The chef asks again, cigarette halfway finished while she tries to keep her teeth from chattering. “Let ‘em in, I mean..”

“Like hell I did.” She responds before rolling her eyes. “But fucking Martin probably did…” 

He nods his head slowly in acknowledgement, then lets another soft breath blow through his nose, smoke and vapor invisible in the low light. “I can send ‘em a shitty stake if you want.”

Ross knows it’s a joke, no respectable chef in the building would ever ruin a $300 Kobe beef just to spite a shitty client, but the solidarity in his offer grants him her own smile. 

“Nah, I’ll just ask the bartender to pour ‘em the cheap stuff so they get a hangover tomorrow.” 

Despite wanting to continue the unforeseen interaction- mostly out of scientific curiosity- the cold seeping through the thin material of her uniform finally triggers her feet in direction of the door, a few feet away from where he’s finishing his cigarette. Her fingers stay curled over the handle, contemplating the words and if they have any space in the situation, but before she can convince herself otherwise, she calls out to the chef. 

“I know it’s a shitty day to work ‘n all… but Merry Christmas… I guess.”

He nods again, brows raised and eyes wide seems to be the default expression on his face, then a ghost of something she can assume is a barely visible smile hides behind the dying tube. 

“Yeah… you too.” 

**********

“Have a good night guys, happy new year!” She recites with a wave to the departing guests, the phrase already lacking meaning after constant repetition.

New Year’s dinner rush is a blatant copy of the week before, with the exception of the nice vibes that many seem to carry, influenced by the faux restart. However, it does move painfully slow, between kind guests and uncomfortable offers from the Wall Street wannabe bros who couldn’t take a hint. Every advance had to be deflected with a kind smile and by the end of the night her cheeks had grown tired from all the tension they were forced to endure. Thankfully, there were only a few tables left and she could finally switch the uncomfortable heels for her sneakers, which facilitated finishing her last tasks in record time.

“Hey, Ross-” 

“Yeah” She turns to Meg- one of the waitresses and her friend- while shuffling through the menus, but stops as she sets a small plate with an even smaller dessert over the wooden desk. “What’s this?”

“From the kitchen…” She answers with a teasing tone and a smile that makes her roll her eyes.

“Take it back and tell Frank to fuck off- I’m not sucking his dick for an eclair-”

“It’s not from him, idiot! Chef Carmen sent it…” Meg whispers leaning in as if sharing some long kept secret. 

“What? Why?”

Meg shrugs and pulls a tiny spoon from one of the pockets on her apron. “Probably heard you bitchin’ about some guest again.” Then she scoops a piece of the dessert and pops it in her mouth, groaning in delight. “Say what you want about that man, but god is he good with his hands.”

“Dude that sounds so wrong.” Ross chuckles before taking a piece for herself and can’t help but agree with the delicious taste of the pastry. “We’re still on for drinks, right?”

“Can’t-” Meg mumbles between spoonfuls. “Mom’s making me meet them at grandma’s after this. She says this is probably her last new year so…”

“Shit- I don’t wanna go just with Frank.”

“Why don’t you ask your chef.” She suggests teasingly, before picking up the empty plate. “‘New year, new you’ ‘n all that. He already sent you food ‘n plus you’ve had the hots for him for a while now-”

“I do not!” She bickers a bit too defensively, rolling her eyes at the disbelief in Meg’s expression. “I’m nice to everyone, not just him.”

With a sarcastic ‘Sure, kid’ and an exaggerated nod, Meg turns on her shoes and heads deep into the emptying dining room.

By the time she’s finally done, it’s an hour to midnight and almost everyone has gone home except Frank, who sits wrapped up in his own coat and sharing a cigarette with another cook. Her steps lose power past the door and stop altogether once she notices the lonely man leaning on the wall a few feet in front of her.

“Hey, chef-” The girl calls towards him, his head immediately snapping up in her direction, unlit cig hanging loosely from his lips. “You got any plans?”

Ross doesn’t wait for an answer, steps moving closer towards him. There’s a thin nervous expression harboring his normally closed off features as his eyes dart around her face and the two men ahead of them, slowly putting the smoke back in the box.

“So?” She asks again. “You got anywhere to be?”

“Uh… no but-”

“Great, c’mon. Let's go grab some drinks.” She doesn’t wait for a response before linking her arm around his and walking closer to the waiting men.

She can see the tightness locked over Frank's jaw but tries her best to ignore it, pulling the chef in the opposite direction from where they’re standing. 

“Night boys.” She calls out before turning the corner and out of their view. 

Ross lets go of his arm once they’re a few blocks away, the warmth of her touch immediately escaping through the frigid wind. 

“Sorry ‘bout that… Frank’s just a little too much and I don’t wanna deal with that right now.” She says while growing the space between them. 

“Yeah-no I get it- he gets on my nerves sometimes… too.” 

They can hear the faint noise that the wind carries from a few blocks away, the celebrating multitude that has crowded Times Square in anticipation of the ball drop only growing thicker by the minute. 

“So, um, you really don’t have anywhere to be?” She asks, nervous fists inside her coat pockets. 

“Just home.” He shrugs. 

“Cool- so, what do you say to that drink?”

He shrugs again, not in an ‘I’m too cool to care’ way but more of an ‘I suck with words’ kind of way, that triggers a soft smile over her freezing features. 

“Thanks for the dessert… by the way.” She thanks with a slow step so he can catch up beside her once they’ve renewed their destination. 

“Oh-uh- yeah, sure.” He stammers, hands tightly in his pockets. “Anyone piss you off tonight?”

“Someone pisses me off every night-” She jokes, the lightheartedness growing with each step further away from work. “Curse of the trade, I guess.” She adds with a shrug.

They can hear the music emanating from the bar before even seeing it. The regular spot sits at the end of the curve, seemingly untouched by the masses, though the dusty windows show the movement of bodies inside. After maneuvering their way through the dispersed crowd, they’re still able to find an empty spot by the corner of the bar where it’s easier to reach the bartender. Every screen in their view covers the transmission of the infamous ball drop- as if the event wasn’t occurring a  few blocks away- but she figures it’s more comfortable seeing it from the inside of a heated bar than in the crushing crowd of bodies freezing outside.

It takes her five minutes to grab the barman’s attention and another two to get their drinks, but when he pats down his pants in search of his wallet, she’s already pocketing down the change the man’s given her.

“I asked you, remember?” She says to him while passing his drink, noticing a soft tint over his cheeks that hadn’t been there at their arrival and her brows raise slightly, before choosing to ignore it.

Ross can feel the man shuffling and clearing his throat beside her and the anxious actions pull a thin lipped smile over her face. He seems very different from the person she has observed behind the kitchen- a baby deer almost- careful not to trip over his own legs. It’s kind of endearing to her, how the confidence he carries in the confinements of a kitchen switches off the second he’s outside of one, replacing it with silence and the constant cracking of his knuckles that has her asking:

“You don’t go out much, do you?”

He exhales in the form of a small laugh, then takes a drink from his emptying mug. “That obvious?”

She nods and turns to him. “Well we’ve been here for almost twenty minutes and you’ve said three words… max.”

“Five now…” He jokes and a grin forms on her face at the dumb joke.

Ross turns to him, shifting her body in the stool to face him completely, bare knee brushing against his clothed one. “Tell me the thing you hate most about your job.”

He takes a few seconds to respond, gaze lost in the multitude as a terrible rendition of ‘Sweet Caroline’ from the karaoke machine flows through the speakers. “I don’t- think I have one…”

“Nothing?” He shakes his head. “At all?” Another shake and a thin unnoticeable smile. “Chef Carmen-”

“-Carmy.” He corrects and the grin on her face grows a few inches wide.

“Okay Carmy, tell me you don’t hate people messing up your dishes or modifying your recipes?”

A grin slowly spreads across his static features as he looks down at his empty jug of beer and scratches over his brow out of habit. Then he nods in agreement. “I really fuckin’ hate that shit.”

“Right!?” Ross’ excitement pulls a snicker that has him agreeing to another drink, which he insists on paying for. “Like, I get it when it’s an allergy, right? You don’t wanna kill anyone. But Meg was telling me about some guy that wanted the ‘blanc’ but not the ‘beurre’ on his fish- and if 8th grade French doesn’t fail me- that literally translates to ‘white butter’!”

Carmy’s warm chuckle blends in nicely with the buzzing surroundings, causing a slight tint to graze her cheeks and hold a smile on the edge of her glass as she watches him.

“One of the waiters once asked me if I could just send ‘em a rack of ribs cause they didn’t like anything on the menu…”

“Jesus! As if you had a rack to spare behind that aged ham you got hanging in the walk-in…”

“You- you’ve been inside the walk-in?” He asks in surprise while she takes another sip off her second drink.

“That’s where I go to vent.” Ross shrugs with a soft grin. “Plus it’s soundproof so no one can hear me cry or lose my shit.”

He knew it wasn’t. He’s seen her barely hold her composure many times as she crosses down the hallway- hands tightly in fists- before hearing a muffled shriek from somewhere in the back; but he always assumed it came from the depot or the alley, never his walk-in. He wasn’t gonna tell her that, though.

Their drinks slowly drain while their attention falls heavy on the transmission from the TVs. With only ten minutes to spare, she can feel the growing excitement buzzing around the room as many inch closer to their loved ones, arms over shoulders and complicit kisses galore. For a second her eyes flicker over the rim of her glass towards Carmy’s profile, drinking in the strong shape of his nose and the many little scars she hadn’t noticed from a distance.

“I don't get it…” Ross says suddenly, turning back to him again. 

“Uh… context?”

“Right- sorry-” She clears her throat -as a way to order her ideas- and places the mug back on the bar, but doesn’t notice how her body leans in closer to him when she turns back around. “So, you’re like… the shit, right?” She starts, pulling a nervous chuckle from the man.

“Solid start.”

“Shut up-” She groans. “I mean it as in… anyone who knows anything about the culinary world knows who you are. These people, they pay big bucks for your food and they always leave boasting about how great it is-”

“No they don’t-” He tries to argue with a shake of his head.

“Yes they do!” She reassures, voice a little higher and eyes a little glossier. “They do. You have the skill- the reputation to open your own place, make it however you want it to be… why stay here?” 

There’s a look behind his eyes that makes her throat run dry, brows sunken over a concentrated gaze as he settles all his attention on her and everything seems to just vanish into white noise. It could be the confidence the alcohol carries that’s made her so vocal about her thoughts, but the rational part in her head warns that it’s not her place to comment on what she doesn’t know.

Ross shakes her head lightly and mumbles a soft ‘Sorry, nevermind it's stupid.’ before gulping her drink and redirecting her attention and posture back to the screens.

‘1 Minute to Midnight!’ flashes over every screen, bathing the room in an emerald green glow that bounces perfectly off her profile and catches Carmy’s attention. The playlist of 80s anthems and the growing excitement packed in the small room are loud enough to drown out the constant nagging voice in the back of his head. He sucks in a breath and moves impossibly slow in her direction.

“I’ve thought about it.” Carmy confesses loud enough so she can hear him over the chanting crowd.

Ten. She doesn’t expect him to be so close when she turns towards him. Specks of silver rim the outer edges of his eyes, wide enough that she can almost see her reflection staring back, stealing the breath from her lungs.

Nine. Betrayal in her body flicks her eyes down to his lips only for a brief moment and it has him questioning if he might have imagined it, before a teasing smile rounds at the edges of hers.

Eight. “Well when you decide to do it, call me if you ever need a bitchy hostess…” Ross whispers.

Seven. The air from his laugh blows softly over her cheeks, growing hot with the small distance. With a quickened pulse, she tries to settle her gaze on any other part of his face.

Six. ‘Just look at his eyes- shit no, not the eyes!’ ‘The mouth? No, that's even worse!’ ‘Jesus, you’ve kissed people before, why are you so fucking nervous?!’

Five. The turmoil in her head doesn’t bleed through to her calm expression, keeping a gentle smile that has Carmen letting out his own.

“Okay… ” 

Four. The bundle of words hangs from his lips, swinging in her direction and hooking around her neck to pull her closer.

Three. There’s a prevalent pulsing rippling from her chest that drowns out any other sound around her, as if a fish bowl had fallen over the two, blocking out any exterior sound.

Two. “D’you mind if I kiss you?” She asks, gently.

One. The TV behind him explodes in multicolored lights as the ball finally drops. Fireworks reflect back to him from the shimmer of her eyes and all he can do is swallow hard, nod and let her gravity pull him forward.

A soft “Happy New Year, Carmy” brushes over his lower lip.

Then the last thing he remembers is the sweet taste of coconut gloss followed by the smooth movements of velvet lips above his bumbling ones.

**********

Part II

Taglist: @pearlstiare @teteminne, @beebslebobs, @harrysmatcha, @yum-yahgurt, @pussy-f41ry, @kirakombat, @redsakura101 , @hobisunshine13 and that’s it lmao

#the bear & the fox #carmy x oc #the bear fx #carmy berzatto #Carmy berzatto x oc #carmy the bear #carmy smut #the bear tv #carmen 'carmy' berzatto #carmen berzatto smut #carmy berzatto imagines #carmy berzatto fluff #carmy berzatto smut #carmen berzatto #carmen berzatto fic #jeremy allen white #carmen berzatto imagine #carmen berzatto the bear #the bear fic #the bear imagine #the bear #carmen berzatto fan fiction

[isimpfortoomanypeople]

A Spark can turn into a flame- Billy Hargrove X Female Henderson Reader

The aftermath of having your body controlled by something from a different dimension took its toll upon billy, especially as he can’t tell anyone what he faced the past month. Till one night a party celebrating the graduates of Hawkins he finally met someone he could confide in

Warnings: alcohol, vomit warning, mentions of abuse, implied smut (minors do not interact!) and a lot of teeth rottingly cute fluff (Billy may seem out of character but allow the fluff as an apology for my last Billy fic)

A/N: I went camping last weekend and this fic hit me out of nowhere so I had to write it down, I wanted some soft Billy fluff so that’s what I wrote. I’m from the U.K. so sorry if some parts sounds overly British. I apologise for all spelling and grammatical mistakes as I’m super dyslexic, enjoy

Billy took a sip of his beer hoping that it would help to alleviate this dread he was feeling, high school is drawing to an end. And what did billy have to show for 4 years of his life? Barely passable grades, going through half the girls at Hawkins till he got a reputation for himself and not a single person who cares about him.

Sure he has nearly the whole of the basketball team competing for the title of’Billy Hargrove’s right hand man’ but it was all superficial, all for show and nothing more.

Billy feared this lonely feeling that haunts him late at night, that he may turn into his farther, a bastard who only talks with his fists doomed to live a loveless life for as long as he shall live. Which is why he puts on this ‘I don’t give a fuck’ attitude or drowns those thoughts into too much booze till they become slurred and hard to understand.

“Here you are keg king” Tommy slurred passing Billy another beer. Without a second thought he down the liquid as if it’s water, causing some drunken cheers towards his direction. No amount of liquor in his system could melt away this pit of numbness, for these past few months since the attack that’s all he felt. So desperate to feel something, anything. No matter how many people he screwed or parties he stumbled his way out of could stop this pain he was feeling. At least he was thankful that the government extinguished all evidence from the starcourt mall attack, now he is known as the hero who survived the fires brutal flames.

He was somehow able to be convinced to join this fireside party, labelled as the last hurrah before college starts in the fall.

He stumbled up to his feet, suddenly forgetting how his feet worked. Was it right foot then left foot then left again?

“Woah! Are you okay?” You asked catching Billy’s frame before he hit the ground

“I’m fine princess” he dismissed, trying to shake you off.

You could tell by the way he was barely coherent that it was not the case. You watched where his eye line was heading towards, it made you roll your eyes and groaned at his typical behaviour.

Fucking high school boys and the way that they believe their limit is higher than what it is

“I think that you should have a break for a while”

“I’m fine” he growled, his jaw clenched with frustration.

Who does this girl think she is? Yes he was pissed off on the surface but deep down he was thankful that someone cared for him even if it was just for a while. But his stubborn arrogance that he wore as a protective cloak for years sealed this emotion from reaching the surface, leaving a cool sense of dismissal on the surface.

You sighed knowing that this would not be an easy fight, the only way you knew how to win with a drunk person, and by experience, was to bargain with them. Tell them a fake promise of receiving alcohol hoping that they’d forget about it upon the way.

“How about we go for a walk then we can get you more beer, keg king? “ you chuckled, holding his body upright

“Fine” he sighed like a child in kindergarten rolling his eyes, hating the fact that you maybe right

The walk was more tiresome than what you thought , Billy leaning his body weight upon you to keep him walking in a straight line. But Billy is more heavier than what you took into account for , but then again he had a six pack and muscles that were visible from all directions, so you really should of thought clearly before offering this alternative to alcohol.

“Can we stop princess?” He murmured, the world spinning at a high speed that made him feel nauseous. He swallowed thickly but he felt the vomit creeping up his throat till he couldn’t ignore it. He retched and out spewed the 10 beers and whatever was in those shots he was handed through out the night.

Billy felt a gentle hand patting his back helping him to bring up the puke that held captive in his throat.

“It’s okay, bring it up”

“You shouldn’t see this princess-“ he was interrupted by another stream of vomit blocking off the final words of his sentence.

You couldn’t help but laugh about how typical this night ended, your last high school party having to hold someone’s hair back while they vomited their way into sobriety.

But then again you yearn for anything typical as having a younger brother who thought his way through demons and monsters from a different dimension . You’d give anything to have the text book high school experience that you saw in sixteen candles or even at a push the breakfast club style of normal. But no you were destined to hold a baseball bat or patch up teens after their near death experience. It was a miracle that you passed your grades with this hectic norm you learnt to accept.

You helped to lower Billy on a rock while he slowly took some deep breaths to steady his churning stomach.

You know the saying drunk speak is sober thoughts? Well this applied true to Billy especially tonight

“Billy are you okay?” You question seeing his eyes welling up with tears. Sure you and Billy have barely said a word to each other all semester, maybe it’s having a baby brother but as soon as you see someone close to tears, it drives something in you, the nurturing side of you, wanting to do anything till their pain subsides.

“You wouldn’t believe me princess” he muttered, burying his face in his hands. Isn’t this typical, no amount of alcohol could erase the past month from his mind

You lightly chuckled sitting beside him, you both stared out at lovers lake, you never knew how it got the name. Sure it was pretty and peaceful but after all it was just a lake.

After a few beats of silence, you cleared your throat allowing the words you’ve been concocting in your throat to escape.

“Well I think that you might be surprised about what I’d believe”

“No you wouldn’t-“

“Try me-“

“Fine! He snapped, he cringed at the awkward atmosphere he created. He didn’t mean to yell but you were being so persistent and wouldn’t drop it even when he asked you twice, so was he really to blame?

“I feel like I’m losing my fucking mind every day, I can’t escape this feeling of dread, like this thing is going to come after me again” he spat out these words that tasted bitter within his mouth, like he had to get these words out quickly as if it was killing him to say them.

“There was this monster. I know this sounds crazy, but my brain, my body was controlled by someone else. It made me control other people till it killed them, I feel like it’s all my fault. I couldn’t stop it, but it was my own body doing these things. I saw myself doing this fucked up shit but I couldn’t stop it, I even threatened to kill a group of kids.” A single tear fell down his cheek, his jaw clenched in irritation by his own stupidity, it was a mixture of allowing himself to be vulnerable in front of a stranger or allowing himself to be controlled.

“I know what you’re thinking, Billy is going crazy, so go on tell them! Because I don’t care anymore” the last part of the sentence became so loud it made you cower from his induced sudden bust of rage.

“Billy” you spoke softly trying to defuse the tense atmosphere created, you reached out to place a gentle hand on his shoulder, to comfort him. To help him believe that he wasn’t truly alone. Sure you wanted to escape the horrors that has now became your life for one night, but you couldn’t leave someone so vulnerable on their own.

He hissed and flinched from your touch, allowing his shoulders to close in around his frame to create a barrier between him and you.

“I don’t think your crazy, my brother Dustin is friends with your sister Max. Well I know about the mind slayer and the upside down, I’ve been involved in it for years. I’ve faced life and death from monsters most believe exists in movies. So believe me Billy, you’re not crazy and non of this was your fault. No one blames you, it wasn’t you, you didn’t do this” you softly smiled again towards his direction, your eyes gently glistening.

The weight of the heavy atmosphere melted away making the air more easier to breathe. This confession felt cathartic, this weight that felt like it was eating both of you alive finally released.

Billy’s body turned over to face you once again. His eyes red over your comforting words, for the first time in a month he felt free. Someone finally got it, he didn’t feel so crazy anymore.

“You’re not lying to me?”

“Of course not Billy”

You held out your arms towards him, and for once in his life did he allow himself to feel some form of affection. He broke down as soon as your arms wrapped around his frame, like your arms removed the dams that kept all the emotions he was too scared to feel at bay. You held him as each sob coursed through his body, allowing him to feel what ever he needed in that moment. As from experience that’s all you needed from nearly facing death from something you had no choice but to keep a secret.

——————————————————————————

“Y/N!”

You groaned, pulling your pillow over your head. Trying to muffle your brother’s screams, now isn’t the time to be so rudely awaken especially when your head is pounding from the weight of alcohol that weighed heavy upon your skull.

“Y/N!”

“What?” You yelled back, throat horse and gravelly from just being forced out of your slumber.

“Phone” Dustin called upstairs.

You rolled your eyes as you staggered out of bed, whoever this is better be worth waking up for. Clutching the phone close to your head, you yawned

“Hi, who is this? “

“Hi princess, I hope you don’t mind but I asked max for your number” the voice rasped, clearly in a worse state of hungover than you.

You chuckled, feeling a large smile creeping across your cheeks

“I’m surprised you made it home, last time I saw you I had to hold your hair back” you joked, chewing your lip to stop yourself from recalling the rest of the night incase he didn’t remember or hoped you forgot.

“ I got a ride not too long after our little talk. I want to say thanks for dealing with my shit last night, I didn’t mean to drag your evening down-

“Billy-“

“But! I want to ask you if I could take you out, say this Saturday? To show my gratitude?”

You held the phone far-away from your face, as a small squeal of excitement escaped your lips, your lips turned into a smile so big your cheeks ached

“Princess are you there?” Billy anxiously spoke, twirling the wire around his fingers trying to fight this small pang in his stomach telling him this was a bad idea.

“I’d like that”

“Then it’s a date”

——————————————————————————-

Over the course of the meal you both felt this bond, it could be the way we was able to look at you in a way that made you believe that no one else existed in that moment in time, or could it be that you both finally felt like you have met someone who got you in a way that no one else did. It was a mix of the shared trauma or the fact that you were the first person billy felt like he could be his true self around, not this asshole persona he kept on the forefront to protect himself.

Sure you heard the whispers along the hallways about the blonde haired boy, enough to know that he was bad news. That he has a reputation for having a few notches under his belt, that he wore he signature I don’t give a fuck attitude as much as he wore his skin tight jeans. Dustin made no effort to conceal his feelings for the Hargrove boy, and if he knew that you were here tonight you were sure he’d combust on the spot.

You felt guilty to admit that you once fallen into the ‘I hate Billy fan club’ but that was to do with your close friendship with Steve, you were once convinced that this ‘bad boy’ act was just what he was, he was a hollow shallow boy who only thought with his dick. But that all changed the night where El recounted what she saw within Billy’s past, it was far from an excuse for the shitty way he behaved, but you felt a sense of sorrow for the blonde. He was just a kid who wanted to be loved by his own farther, but that kid felt the shame and humiliation pummelled into him by his father’s fists. Too ashamed of the way he turned out that he had to break someone down just to build himself back up again, not caring if that person was his own child. Your heart broke for the boy you barely knew, no one should ever have to go through that, it made you wonder how much he was hiding, how much he had to suffer in silence because that was all he was taught.

The boy who was sitting across from you in the booth was completely different from the person you use to hold a strong disliking for. For this Billy was charming, he was funny and you could see the ever present glimmers of the sensitive person you met a few nights ago. You felt this intriguing energy from him, pulling you in like a moth to a flame, you wanted to get to know him further, plus he was very easy on the eyes which certainly helped.

“We had O’Malley’s math class together’ you chuckled recollecting the very few memories you had together

“Oh god I hated O’Malley” Billy rolled his eyes, placing another fry into his mouth. “He gave me shit for no reason, he liked to make it apparent that I only just scraped a pass”

“That could be because you had a habit of taking naps in his class”

“Hey it’s not my fault his teaching sucked that much it sent me to sleep”

Billy was having an internal battle the entirety of the date, you saw him at his worse so it should be easy to allow him to let you in. But because of his upbringing he felt this urge to keep his guard up, not allowing you in because god forbid you ever see him that vulnerable again. He hates to admit it but for once in his life, he feels this small spark. There’s something about having someone see him, the true him, the sensitive broken inner self and not judge or pity him but just listen to him. That moment felt intimate and soothing, something he was never able to feel in all the parties or the girls he used to try and heal this part of himself that was taken away from him within the past month. All it took was a beautiful girl with a similar experience sitting across from him to realise that.

He use to roll his eyes whenever he heard the expression ‘butterflies in the stomach’, believing this to be stupid, how could anyone be this idiotic to allow themselves to let someone in. Now he knows how the butterflies felt, it felt scary and unfamiliar, he heard those rumours spread about him and the way his own father would make him believe that he is unworthy and undeserving to feel love. He tried to kill the butterflies that were frantically crashing into the his stomach lining, too scared if this spark turns into a flame.

God why did drunk Billy have to confide in you?

——————————————————————————-

“And my house is on the left”

“Well Goodnight princess” he flirtatiously smirked at you, leaning in close to seal the distance between you both

Fuck it! You grabbed Billy’s shoulders pulling him closer to you. Desperately kissing him, needing to feel more connection between your two bodies. This kiss was intense, your two lips fighting for dominance. You felt his tongue snaking it’s way into your mouth, exploring every part of it.

You groaned as his lips started to explore your neck, till he found that sweet spot just above your collar bone, you gasped as he gently bit down on the soft flesh.

“My mom isn’t in and my brother is at Mike’s. So do you want to take this inside?” You seductively suggested. This was not the way you planned this night to end, you planned on having a sweet innocent kiss Goodnight, but you definitely weren’t complaining about the direction this night turned.

——————————————————————————

Your eyes stung by the light blaring from the gaps within your curtains, fluttering your eyes open you saw billy inches away from you. You had to bite your lip from letting out a squeal of delight as you recalled last nights events, yes the sex was the best you ever had, but you actually felt the dangerous feeling of yearning creeping across your whole body as you watched him lay there.

He looked so peaceful, his breaths rhythmically flowing, his hair sprawled around the pillow framing his face in a messy blonde halo. You had to shut down the ever present thought of what would this be like to have this be your everyday? As you hated to admit this was the best you have slept in a while.

Nope! these thoughts are getting dangerous!

“Hey” you whispered, gently waking him up with a tender kiss to his forehead

“Good morning princess” he smiled, voice raspy from just waking up, he brought you close into a sweet kiss.

“Y/N, I need to- OH MY GOD!” Dustin froze in your doorway like a deer frozen in headlights. He definitely regretted not knocking first. He has literally seen a monster eat his cat but this was somehow the most traumatic thing he had the displeasure of witnessing.

“GET OUT!” You screamed in a mix of panic and embarrassment as the door was closed as quickly as it was opened, not before a pillow was thrown in his face by yours truly.

You cried out in embarrassment, burying your face in your hands as if they had the power to erase you from reality.

“It’s not funny” you cringed hearing Billy’s raucous outburst of laughter.

“Sorry princess” he laughed wiping away a stray tear, you rolled your eyes at him

“Haha, I’m glad that my pain is funny to you Hargrove. I’m never going to-“

You were cut off by Billy’s lips finding it’s place back upon yours, you couldn’t help but melt upon his kiss pulling him closer towards you.

Maybe this spark did turn into a flame and for once you both weren’t scared of the outcome

A/N: am I forgiven for making you all cry with the previous fic? I have more Billy fics on the way. I hope this fic was good, I’m super self critical lol

#stranger things billy #stranger things #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things imagine #billy hargrove x female reader #billy hargrove x y/n #billy hargrove x you #billy hargrove x reader #billy hargrove fluff #billy hargrove imagine #billy hargrove

[fangswbenefits]

First of all, Ruby, thank you for your beautiful and intricate writing! I'm one of your newer followers, and I read your fanfic stories every night before I go to bed. I hope you know how appreciated you are! I do have a burning question that I wanted to ask.. And I hope this won't cause a lot of controversy, so I understand if you don't want to share this publicly! But I recently got Astarion's scar tattooed on my back, just as big as his as well. For me, it represents the trauma that I've gone through, but it also represents hope and healing. It's all we can do, grow and heal..

But what's your personal take on people who get it tattooed? Is it bad? Offensive? Was I wrong for getting it? I know some might have a strong opinion on it because they may think it's disrespectful because, for Astarion, it meant trauma, abuse, and suffering. And I understand that it's a very real thing that people go through in real life. I've had a similar experience myself, unfortunately. And that's why I chose to get this tattooed. It's telling my story, acknowledging that it will always be a part of me, but learning how to cope and grow from that dark part of my past. I just hope that if anyone ever recognizes it, that it doesn't offend or upset them because of Astarion's story..

Anyway, much love, Ruby, and thank you again for sharing your amazing talent with us. Never change who you are. And I can't wait to continue supporting you! 🫶🏼

My friend, I know people online can be... tiresome.

What matters is what it means to you. It's your body. You have the right to deal with trauma in ways that are healthy. This, in my opinion, is one of them 🫂

I have the inscription of the One Ring on my arm, and I got it because it represents a very happy part of my life. I grew up watching LOTR with my siblings and I loved the design and got it. As simple as that.

Don't worry about what others think. It's your story. Your life. Your trauma. Your coping mechanism. You don't owe anyone any explanations 🩷 thank you for feeling comfortable enough to share this with me and I hope you're doing well 🫂

#answered ‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

[seraphiism]

𓆩 ღ 𓆪 𝐩𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐚

( i hope your dream won't just be left as a dream. )

chara : alhaitham fandom : genshin impact quote cr : agust d a/n : i must be honest . i have no idea what i wrote (ﾉ `Д`) ﾉ. focuses on alhaitham's past, might be ooc

prologue : ( the absence ) of dreams.

there is a place where knowledge survives in the depths of the world, its roots far and wide : agile, ubiquitous, resilient. how it fosters progressive growth and brilliant minds, sets the driving force for discovery and beyond.

there is a place where knowledge remains stagnant in the depths of the world, its roots damaged and decomposed : devitalized. dying. dead. how it fosters an insatiability and never ending greed, sets the expectations for discovery to come and go with such ease.

in this place, dreams are stolen away, only witnessed by youth. because there is always something to be learned in these visions, they'll say, because they'll stretch the truth, make something out of nothing ; they'll find a way to justify the theft of one's mind and soul and spirit intertwined in the manifestation of reverie, and you would have never known.

in this place, a scribe thrives, mind sharp and knowledgeable. in this place, a loneliness grows up and distances himself from the rest, finds that solitude has always been a friend first and foremost.

in this place, the foundation of wisdom and greater things-- home, alhaitham learns to dream again.

prologue , revisited : ( the absence ) of dreams , the absence of what could have been.

alhaitham remembers little of his childhood ; ask him of his origins and he will remember seldom through first-hand experience. they won't question it, not too much-- because oh, well-- it's hard to remember those things when you're so young, and they'll leave it at that because that's normal, isn't it? to be forgetful of a time where you knew so little, knew only how to rely on others and how to breathe and live and survive through the hand that feeds.

they'll leave it at that, but even if they didn't, he doesn't think he would mind. perhaps there is a distant sadness that survives in the crevices of the heart, never learning to fade in years past, and maybe that's just part of the human equation. he doesn't think about it much. no need to, after all.

yes, they'll leave it at that, blame the lack of memories in youth from age. they won't know that he lost his parents too early, lost something he never quite had, because can you really say you had something when it slipped out of your grasp so quickly and so soon? alhaitham finds some semblance of logic in that, but maybe that's selfish. of course he had his parents. he is sure that he loved them and he is sure that they loved him. maybe it is easier to cope somehow with these thoughts, even if there may be some cruelty in it.

perhaps he does miss his parents, after all, even if he understands that sometimes, it is hard to miss what you never had.

chapter one : the first dream.

it's an ordinary sunday and the room is white. look out the window and there's sunlight to be found, and what a beautiful sight it is, but what a frightening realization it is : it reaches and reaches, begging, but it never reaches the room, obstructed by the glass.

alhaitham doesn't know what it means. he doesn't know how he remembers that it's sunday, doesn't know why this place is familiar. it's cold. he doesn't think he's afraid, but this feeling that creeps up his spine deems an unrest, but he'll call it uncertainty, because there's always an explanation for everything, but even he cannot find the answers to what lies before him.

it is a vast space, endless, but he continues anyway. the path is tiresome, progress indistinguishable in the white. the sunlight stays, too. there is something to be found here. liminal space or not, he continues forth. the unrest brews. something in him trembles, but he walks, anyway.

endless. unforgiving. endless. unfamiliar. an undesired forever, the tiring of self, the burning in one's limbs, the extinction of energy, then --

a faint orange and yellow. alhaitham glances at the windows now, finds that the sunlight has found its way to the place where it belongs. he walks again. the orange and yellow hues grow with each step ; the cold slowly dissipates, and in his trek, it is almost like he is unearthing a life. he doesn't run, no, but part of him wants to, because there is something to be found here, but he doesn't. not yet.

the colors flood in. the white becomes something unforgotten, summons everything else in its absence. there is something that lies at the end -- he can see it -- it is something so terribly familiar but not known, so he runs and he runs and he runs until he becomes of close proximity, then he stops.

there is something to be found : a memory, a happiness, a sorrow.

it is almost a vision of some sort-- a strange sight, the image of himself. he doesn't move, frozen in place. he wonders what sort of expression he wields.

because before him, there is a happy family. a mother and father, one with the same shade of gray hair, another with the same shade of green eyes. it's a tranquil scene, and he cannot make out what is being said, but there are smiles on their faces as they look down at the child the mother holds.

he swallows hard. he does not know what to make of this. he takes a deep breath, shuts his eyes, almost smiles at the sound of distant laughter, and wonders if this is a dream. if it is, then this is not reality -- so he can find distance from this, somehow, and release himself from the fear and confusion of the unknown.

yes, perhaps this is a dream. maybe this is a memory of when his parents first brought him home.

his eyes feel heavy. he opens them anyway, witnesses the blooming of a newfound love and joy. he smiles a bittersweet smile and wonders if he will remember this when he wakes.

chapter one , aftermath : the first dream.

alhaitham wakes with a racing heart. he blinks, stares absentmindedly at the ceiling. he remembers bits and pieces of something; it lingers on the tip of his tongue, threatens to be forgotten. he should remember. he knows it was something very dear to him.

his heart slows eventually. he doesn't move. he has to remember, but the pillow under his head and the warmth of your body slowly lull him back to slumber, threaten to bring him under and free him of a lost memory on the verge of discovery.

"that's not sleeping."

he snaps from his train of thought at your mumbling. you don't think much of it at first; alhaitham is such a light sleeper that the smallest movement would wake him, but there is something different about his countenance that piques your curiosity.

"you okay?"

he looks at you, almost uncertain-- an expression you rarely see from your lover, but he nods before his gaze returns to the ceiling. he looks more perplexed than anything, deep in thought, and you almost want to press the issue, but you don't.

"i dreamt."

the knowing of dreams is no longer a shocking revelation nowadays, but even so, the restoration of them is a celebration. you do not remember yours too often, but when you do, you write them down, knowing that the recovery of such a vision should be cherished. you wonder if this is the first time he remembers his.

you wonder if it was peaceful. you wonder what it is that brings him uncertainty : the dream itself, or the ability to dream once again.

"was it a good one?" your voice is quiet. careful.

silence. the wind is a gentle breeze outside, barely heard. alhaitham inhales deeply, turns on his side to face you. it's almost instinct that your hands meet, palm against palm, and he smiles gently when he compares his hands to yours.

"it was." he laces his fingers with yours. "i dreamt of my parents."

even in the moonlit darkness, you feel the kindness in his gaze. you squeeze his hand, feel that lump in your throat when you remember his past hardships.

"i'm glad." your lips brush against his knuckles, grateful. "i hope you dream of them again."

chapter two : the second dream.

it's an ordinary sunday and the room is already filled with sunlight. alhaitham recognizes this, surrounded by rays of tenderness and warmth, and knows this to be yet another dream. he wonders if it will be different than before. he is reminded of that endless loop of dreams, understands them to be both wanted and unwanted, but he recalls the first dream, knows that to relive such a sight would be most welcome.

he walks. the path is vast once again, but there is hope in his stride. this time, there is a familiar shade of green and white that fills his vision. distant figures. he walks, anyway.

before him there are two people. one wields that same shade of gray, but this time, it is through age, and the other--

alhaitham suddenly feels an ache. the other is a young child. the other is him, an orphan, an outcast. he sits next to his grandmother, bright curiosity and intrigue in his eyes as she reads to him. a day like any other, he remembers, but special, nonetheless.

he smiles a bittersweet smile. dreams are not always beautiful, and even if this one hurts, it still is.

he swallows hard, takes a deep breath, closes his eyes. somewhere in the distance, he hears his grandmother's laughter when his younger self asks for yet another story.

one more, she'll say, he imagines, and she does.

he smiles a bittersweet smile. something aches so terribly.

he should wake soon.

chapter two , aftermath : the second dream.

"alhaitham?"

alhaitham wakes with a racing heart. there is something wrong-- there must be with the way you look at him, eyes wide and filled with worry. your fingers linger on his wrist, frantic pulse known by your touch. he doesn't quite understand, slumber weakly holding onto consciousness, and it is only when he feels something trail down his face that he truly wakes.

rare is it that he sheds tears. in truth, he remembers the last time he cried, dressed in all black, vision blurred. a burial site. words of comfort unheard, muffled. forgotten.

how many apologies did he hear until they meant nothing?

"love--" you grab his wrist, gentle, slowly ease him back to the present. "are you--" you pause, take a deep breath, ease the tension from your shoulders. there are only so many times you can ask someone if they're okay, so you don't. another deep breath. "i'm here with you."

you have never seen alhaitham in such a state, never seen him cry. although he may not actively be distressed, the baffled countenance he fails to keep at bay says more than enough. with a soothing touch, you wipe the tears away, notice how quick they are to stop. alhaitham doesn't say much, tells you that he's alright, thanks you for your comfort.

you don't ask what he dreamt of, but there is something very lonely in the way he holds you that night.

he is afraid to fall asleep. he does not know if he desires yet another memory in slumber.

what a very selfish thought to have. he is sorry.

chapter three : the third dream.

it's a special sunday and the room is white, but already is it filled with warmth and daylight. he recognizes this place, knows it to be one of many celebrations. there is no journey, no endless trek. he is right where he needs to be. the scene is different this time. he is not a spectator ; instead, he is here, now, in this moment.

around him, there is endless chatter. he imagines he would enjoy the quiet more, but this time is different -- it almost brings relief to his heart, brings a lightness to it. around him are familiar companions-- a certain forest ranger, a known eremite-- ah, there's kaveh, crying and mumbling a thousand congratulations that aren't quite coherent.

and right before him, there is you ; your hands in his, both adorned with silver bands. you look beautiful, is his first thought, and he wonders if he said it out loud, given the way you smile so brightly at him.

this is a dream. it is a beautiful one, and it is one that he hopes will come true one day.

alhaitham smiles back, kisses you with all the love in the world.

he will wake up soon. he wishes he could hold onto this dream for a little bit longer, but that's okay, because when he wakes, you'll be at his side.

chapter three , aftermath : the third dream.

"i dreamt of you."

your normal routine goes this way : annoying alarm, the impending doom of the workday, and the useless means of avoidance by burying yourself deeper into the sheets until alhaitham drags you out of bed. sometimes he kisses your head in a silent greeting, sometimes he wishes you a good morning.

this, you think, is very much new, and probably the fastest way he's ever woken you up.

"oh." you stare at the ceiling before you roll over and look at him. "good morning to you, too."

worry is your first instinct-- given the nature of his previous dreams, you do not know what to expect. the visions the dreamscape blesses him with are both nostalgic and gut-wrenching, sorrow laced with catharsis.

"good morning." like clockwork, he raises his hand, lips curling faintly when you press yours against his.

"gonna share with the class?"

"the class should practice patience." he chuckles at your mildly annoyed expression, wonders how you will react to his thoughts. "i dreamt that we got married."

you freeze at those words, eyes wide, brows knit ever so slightly as you try to comprehend the words. he says it so casually, the topic of marriage. dream or not, the mere thought of a future together for the rest of your lives brings a sense of serenity, though your expression doesn't quite reflect it at the moment.

alhaitham finds it endearing.

"i would like to remember that dream for a long time."

you shake yourself out of stupor, ignore the way your face practically feels like it's the sun itself.

"tell me more about it."

"kaveh was crying."

"okay, and?"

he hums, thoughtful.

"you looked beautiful."

"oh? sounds like a good dream."

your response is nonchalant, though it is betrayed by the blithe smile that graces your lips at the thought of what that day would be like. alhaitham's gaze is filled with an incredible fondness as he looks at you, wonders when that day will come.

"yes, it was. i'd like to make it real."

oh. you wonder how he can manage to say such a thing so casually-- one would almost think he was discussing the weather. you blink, speechless. you almost want to ask if he's joking , though you know he's entirely serious when he says that, but still--

"okay." there is no hesitation in your words. "i'll marry you, alhaitham."

he almost seems surprised himself-- a spark of shock that quickly dies down into mild relief buried in amusement.

"that isn't my official proposal."

you lace your fingers together, press a kiss against his knuckles.

"i know." your words are barely above a whisper now, almost sacred, but he hears them loud and clear. "but whenever or however you do it, i'll say yes, you know."

of course he knows. always has. he squeezes your hand before pulling you closer, lips meeting in quiet euphoria and promise.

somewhere, there is a place where dreams are deemed part of one's soul once more, unraveling and uncovering the most vulnerable parts of the spirit. in this place, alhaitham dreams once more, memories revived and revisited.

in this place, alhaitham dreams of a happily ever after with you, and someday, you will relive that dream together, and it will be wonderful.

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #favoniuslibrary #astronetwrk #alhaitham x reader #im dead. nearly 2.7k words. idk what happened . i dont even know what i wrote #i meant to write smth brief . smth came over me #i love sumeru + dreams ... what a concept .... #anyway ... lots of abstract and mindless writing in this one as well. probably why #i feel like it's not cohesive but the less i think abt my writing the better it turns out bc im not limiting myself #so hopefully this isn't too bad LMAO IM NERVOUS #its 6am . if there are errors. do not perceive them . goodnight #.: writing