#he made my days less bleak somehow

[bellaroles]

Reading SVSSS made me laugh so hard. Mostly be cause of Shen Qingqiu. So I want to draw him!

#he made my days less bleak somehow #shen qingqiu #svsss #the scum villain's self saving system #reference from the dongua version #the va did a perfect job on him lol #the inner drama queen versus outward calm and grand demeanor

[frogchiro]

HII HII ur writing is perf 4 this idea but you don’t hav 2 do it !! i js thought of u <3 little red riding hood reader & big bad wolf (ko, ghost, price) any cod guy & i think it’s js soo cute !!!

[art by doujinpearl]

ARE YOU KIDDING ME THIS IS SO CUTE??? YOU NEVER MISS LOVE!!! And thank you it really means a lot to me that you like my silly writing <33

tw// horror elements and this has like one mention of a 'off-screen' death but no one major

I think I'm gonna go with König for this one?? Bc something about him just screams big bad wolf to me y'know? Also for the sake of this story, König is described like on the pics above, so his lower half is life a literal werewolf.

okay also i'm putting this under the cut because this somehow grew into a whole fic?? My dear @9irly9irl if you see this know that I love you and this was so. freaking. enjoyable to write??? I love this so much??? Also I'm sorry for the horror themes but I'm getting ready for October and the gloomy weather outside made me do this. I hope you still enjoy and PLEASE send me more for this au!!

Big bad wolf König who is on the prowl for some time now, he's on a hunt for you, the sweet girl who lives alone with her mother on the edge of the dark forest your good old momma always tells you to stay away from and for good reason. The townsfolk from the villages around whisper in fear and dread about a monster lurking in the woods, half man-half wolf with an insatiable taste for blood; they call the beast König, the undisputed King.

And honestly? König likes that rep. It means less annoying pests wandering around his territory safe for a groups of young guys from time to time who think they have the balls to try and 'kill the beast' but they are dealt with...pretty quickly.

But no, König has his glowing eyes set on something more...Exquisite. On something soft and pliable, sweet smelling and so so pretty. Namely on you. The werewolf guesses he has to be thanking his lucky starts or whatever bullshit that while sniffing around your cottage he overheard your mother talking about going out into the forest to bring her sickly mother, your grandma, a basket full of food and some other supplies and being the sweet little thing that you are, you of course cried and volunteered to go yourself, that your mother is already older and that you will make quick work of it.

König swears that day that his blood never rushed downward to his dick so fast. You, soft little you, all alone in his forest? His territory?? It's like you're begging to get taken and mated! The trek from your cottage to your grandma's home would take you about 2-3 days as she lives deep in the woods, the perfect timing for him to reveal himself and take you away for himself into his den in the darkest parts of the forest where you will have the perfect life with him! No more worrying about food or warmth during the cold, dreary winter months, he is more than a capable provider for his future mate, not to mention your future litter of happy yipping pups you will birth for him! It's a perfect plan!

And so he waits. And waits. And waits until the day you finally leave with your cute basket in tow and a tearful goodbye with your mommy dear that you will return as soon as possible. Yea, sure sweetheart.

I think he'd reveal himself by the time it's getting nighttime, when the sun sets, the air is getting cold and a ominous darkness sets over the forest where your trembling body sits in a makeshift nest made of a blanket and a thick animal pelt under a old, big tree. Everything seems so loud, the cries of nocturnal animals sound much more bleak and unnerving, not to mention the weird, chilling feeling of...something following you. Like there were a pair of eyes trained on you since a few weeks ago but you never mentioned this to your poor mother as you didn't want to worry her, but the feeling only amplified ever since you left your home and went on a trip to your grandmother.

You couldn't help the loud yelp you let out when suddenly a pair of glowing golden eyes appeared in the small clearing around the tree; a pair of glowing, unblinking orbs that seemed to be suspended in the air in the surrounding darkness, the weak fireplace you managed to make doing basically nothing to light up the area and your poor little heart started to beat like crazy when you noticed the eyes moving forward, closer and closer to you until the light finally caught what was moving towards you...or more like who.

It was an enormous man, easily over 7ft tall, his broad, bulky shoulders moving as he stood from the position he was in to his full height and those ominous glowing eyes still were unblinking as they stared at you like you were just some lamb and...you probably were.

The one thing that somehow stood out the most, even amidst literally everything else unnatural about this man, were a pair of ear on top of his head, which only now you noticed was covered in some sort of tattered old hood with holes for the eyes and ears, and a huge fluffy tail which was wagging faster anytime you seemed to look the man over, but what really brought it all together was his lower half...it-it was all fur. His legs were that of some bipedal wolf and in that moment a silent scream tried to make its way out of your throat; it was König, the brutal and unforgiving beast that resided in the surrounding forests, the one that people tell horror stories about around campfire and...he was here. He was here before you to tear you apart and leave nothing behind, not even bones.

Tears were streaming down your face, a look of utter defeat on it because after all, what more could you do? You can't possibly fight him, you can't outrun him, hiding is out of the picture too...You were ready to feel the unimaginable pain of those jaws locking themselves on your throat and draining you of your life but the you felt...warmth? A slick, warm feeling on your cheek and when you opened your eyes a bit you saw what it was. It was König, or more like his long tongue licking away at your cheek in an almost comforting matter, his wide unblinking eyes still trained on you though his pupils seemed to grow in size, now taking over most of the glowing yellow and when he deemed you to be clean of your tears, a large crooked nose with a scar running across it nudged into your cheek and took a deep sniff to get your scent. A stray thought ran through your mind when you took a closer look at his uncovered face and noticed another huge scar across his face and a few smaller ones, who or what in their right mind got close enough to inflict such wounds on someone like König?

When you stayed still and just stared at him wide eyed and out of breath König let out a deep growl like purr of content; he could hear your small aborted breaths still coming out quick and your heart fluttering in your chest like a small erratic bird but he could see that you were a tiny bit calmer now and not on the brink of hysterics like a few seconds before. He couldn't help but grin in delight, a nasty, wide thing that revealed rows of sharp teeth. He finally had you. He had you exactly where he wanted and now you were his. Well not completely yet, you two would need to mate first but still, everyone had to start somewhere right? For now he had you calmed down even for a bit, showed you that he wasn't a threat to you and wasn't going to hurt you. It was still only the night of the first day of your travels and he will offer to guide you, he couldn't possibly allow such a cute young lady to just wander around the deep dark forest all alone, right?

Of course he won't mention it that he will be herding you away from the path and instead guide you deeper and deeper into the heart of the woods where his den in. He won't mention it that he will be making very obvious and insistent advances at you, insisting on staying close at all times and wrapping his huge body around you at night for warmth, nosing and nudging at you to cover you in his scent and maybe make you a little bit hot under that deliciously low neckline of the dress that you're wearing, the cape in a lovely shade of red acting like a blanket to shield you away when König is nosing at your neck and bosom, greedy for all the tiny, shy, flustered noises you make, greedy for making you all hot and ready for him.

And of course he certainly won't mention to you about your poor old granny's corpse, rotting for weeks already in her old, decaying house where she died of some illness or old age. No, no, your new life is here, with him. Forever.

#kin speaks #asks #interactions #cod mw x reader #cod x reader #hybrid au #werewolf!könig #red riding hood au #könig x reader #könig #konig x reader

[skythighs]

Calista's Dream: Child in your Womb

Hello guys, sorry I haven't posted in a while. I've been busy. My schedule is less hectic this week, so I will be posting at least twice more. This is not edited. I read through it, but I could have missed something, so please excuse any mistakes. These pictures have been linked in previous chapters already

Word count: 2.3k

Warnings: 18+ per usual, but this one just has some violence and mentions of pregnancy.

Chapter 8

It was late evening when a slave brought my missing letters to me on an ornate golden platter as promised. Feyd lounged on the bed totally nude while I replied to the many letters my father had sent and the one solitary letter my mother wrote. Although, calling it a letter was an overstatement. It was more of a message. A warning that I would be receiving a visit from the old woman I met many years ago when I was just a girl. No reasons were given as to why she was coming, simply that I should expect her. 

The days that followed my encounter with Baron Vladimir were surprisingly calm. Feyd and I had trained early this morning and I found myself feeling fatigued. I had bathed and changed with the help of Mia who reminded me that the Harkonnens' very own Suk doctor was expecting me today. Mia led me to the medical wing of the palace. It smelled...medicinal somehow and looked even more sterile than the rest of the cold bleak palace. 

“Na Baroness, welcome. Please sit on the exam table.”

The exam was quick and the outcome was not surprising. There was life inside me. A fluttering heart could be heard by the doctor's trained ear.

“A healthy heart is a good indicator the child will thrive. I have here a supplement you must take daily.”

“What is it for?”

“It’s filled with nutrients you may be missing in your new diet here on Giedi Prime.”

I nod and take the supplement along with a glass of water downing both.

“You may start to experience some pregnancy related illness. If so, send a message, you needn’t suffer through it.”

I make my way back towards my quarters with Mia there to guide me. She was doing a poor job at hiding her beaming smile after hearing the news alongside me. At least she was happy, I’m sure that feeling was rare for her. Once we returned to the bed chamber I felt relieved and terrified all at once. Now that I carried life I felt the slow tendrils of fear start to seep into my marrow. What would become of us?

“Now that you carry Na Barons child there will be many celebrations in your honor in these coming weeks. You will no longer be hidden away here in these rooms. You will be received into the public eye.”

I simply listen to her. She was knowledgeable and a true asset to me, maybe one day we would talk as friends as opposed to master and slave.

“There will be many feasts, and Na Baron will perform for you in the arena. You’ll be introduced to a group of ladies that you may call on and invite here to entertain.”

“All this now that I’m with child? What’s the significance?”

She kneels before me as I’m seated at the foot of the bed. She begins removing my slippers from my feet, massaging each foot slowly.

“You are truly one of us now. No restrictions. No one would dare speak ill of you or question you any longer.” 

She looked so happy for me. I guess I should be happy to be free of my isolation period but this didn’t feel real yet. 

The double doors open slowly and Feyd walks in taking in the scene before him. Mia on her knees before me. She looks at the ground now back to her usual submissive self. 

“Mia you may go.” I say softly.

Feyd watches her every move as she rises up bowing before me leaving the room quietly. Only once she has shut the doors behind her does Feyd turn to face me. There's a glint in his eyes as he inspects me. 

“You’ve heard the news I presume.”

He smiles a black smile at me before taking Mia’s place kneeling where she once did. 

“Since our betrothal was announced my uncle made it his personal goal to tell me how disappointing you’d be. How you would never be anything special to anyone, especially me.”

I look into his dark blue eyes not sure if I should respond or not.

“Do you know what he did in trying to convince me you were worthless?”

I shake my head, not sure where he was going with this.

“It made me wonder why he fears you. Now I know.”

“Fears me?” I echo incredulously. Standing from the bed walking away from him. 

“You are the Heir of Caladan, and now you carry Giedi Primes heir within you. You are untouchable now more than ever.”

His hands find me and he holds my face making our eyes meet. Penetrating me with his words, and his gaze. There behind the blue of his irises were the unspoken words he wanted me to hear. 

‘He is the insignificant one now.’

Somehow I heard it loud and clear. The roles have been reversed.

Today was the first day of celebratory events. I was dressed elegantly with a thin silk veil layered over my head and face. Feyd Rautha requested my presence thus here I am at an unfamiliar part of the palace. Mia waited outside the door and motioned for me to enter. Feyd stood in black loincloth with slaves surrounding him applying paint to his perfect physique. I look around the large round room and notice three women lounging and watching him closely. These must be his darlings.

“Husband.” One word hangs in the air drawing everyone's attention. More importantly it captures his attention. 

He smiles at me and beckons me forward.

“There you are, wife. I missed your sweet scent.”

He claims my lips once I’m at arms length. A passionate kiss. I find myself getting wet at the taste of him, but I pull away. 

“Won’t you finally introduce me to your darlings?”

I gesture to the lounging women that resemble large felines. They perk up hearing me mention them.

“My darlings, come greet your Na Baroness.” 

He turns my back to him, always preferring to observe my interactions from over my shoulder. The elegant pale women make their way to us, languidly. They stop before me looking me up and over again. Feyd begins to remove the veil from me slowly, as if teasing them with the idea of seeing my bare face. Tendrils of my hair are visible as he lifts the veil slower still. A quick pale hand reaches up and seizes up a lock of hair.

My frame tenses at the unexpected contact. The veil falls aside before it’s scoped up by a silent slave for safe keeping. The concubines can’t look away from my face, my hair, my umber eyes. They seem enthralled by my very being. They look at my belly in reverence, small touches here and there and everywhere makes me close my eyes softly. I don’t protest as I feel them take turns stroking my scalp gently. Noses pushing into my ebony hair occasionally.

“They love your scent as much as I do.” His sandpaper voice caresses my neck as he speaks. Opening my eyes and turning to face him I stroke his cheek.

“My Lord na- Baron your blades.” 

A portly man presents Feyd with two blades, one white the other black. Feyd walks towards him inspecting them. He grabs the white blade testing the sharpness of the tip on his own tongue. When the blade fails that test he slices the throat of a slave nearby. It slices her neck seamlessly, so he moves on and stabs another slave with the dull tip. He critiques the tip alone, commenting on the balance of the blade over all. 

My knees nearly buckle at the scene before me. Three pairs of hands hold my weight momentarily. He killed them so calmly. There was zero hesitation and just to test the blade, surely there was a better way. He grabbed the black blade testing it with his own flesh yet again, but this time the tip was indeed sharp. He nodded his approval before returning his attention to me. 

“This blade is worthy of your blood. Will you do me the honor?”

I nod hesitantly as he approaches me. He squats before me lifting the hem of my gown slowly exposing my creamy thighs. He takes the blade and slowly runs it along my inner thigh leaving a shallow cut. He removes it and uses his tongue to gather the small trickle of blood. He slurps obscenely, taking his time to make sure he didn’t miss out on a single drop. 

I look towards the concubines and see them lounging once again watching us with keen interest and smiles. They were not the hissing harpies I imagined whenever Vladimir chose to throw them in my face. They genuinely seemed like loyal pets, serving their purpose. Simple creatures content with their role as concubines, not jealous of ‘the wife’ or covetting my position. Perhaps that was a change done when they were modified just for him. Life must be much more simple if you could simply pick and choose which traits your women possessed. Especially women who could be blood thirsty and literally ate human flesh. However genetic modification was a touchy subject across the Imperium. 

The black sun and the gory arena scene nauseated me and I was barely containing my vomit as I was seated next to the Baron. He didn’t speak a single word to me and I was content being silent. Mia must have noticed my discomfort because she brought me a sweet cool drink to soothe me. Across the arena I noted a group of women with headdresses on. Bene Gesserit women, they looked as out of place here as I did. Perhaps the Reverend Mother was among them, watching me. A chill down my spine and a cold sweat broke out at the thought. She was indeed watching me from across the arena. 

“Na Baroness, perhaps you should retire and take a break from the sun. You don’t look well.” Whispered Mia.

I nod my head suddenly feeling very unwell. Mia helps me from my seat and leads me away. 

“The doctor said this could happen, in these early days. He has medication that can help.” Mia reassured me gently. 

The Suk doctor visited my chamber quickly with the requested medication and just to be sure he checked me over thoroughly. The child was doing well and it was all as expected. 

“This tonic will kick in quickly, I have been made aware you are to rejoin the festivities immediately after you recover.”

“Oh, I didn’t realize I would be missed so soon.”

“He walked into the arena to begin only to realize you weren’t present in your seat. He demanded it be put on hold.”

Embarrassment stung my cheeks. Oh no, I hope I did not offend him.

“Perhaps we should start heading that way now. I don’t want to cause more of a delay. As you said, the tincture is fast acting.” 

Once reseated and given another refreshment by the attentive Mia, the large arena doors open and my husband begins walking towards the center. As he reaches the center of the arena he kneels acknowledging the Baron. The seconds tick by as he stands and gestures for me to move closer. I stand and walk to the balcony offering him a better view of me even from the great distance between us.

He pulls the black blade out, the blade christened in my blood. He kisses the blade slowly with his pillowy lips before he holds it up to me. I smile at him lifting my veil to show him my face unobstructed. The crowd around us cheers with a deafening boom. Fireworks begin to go off and sadly they are black and colorless much like everything else here.

The crowd chants his name as he only has eyes for me. Like a cobra being charmed with a pungi I can’t look away from him. He was mesmerizing, he was god-like to his people and they adored him so. He finally resheathed the blade and turned towards the doors ready to begin his performance. I took my seat ignoring everything around me, my focus was entirely on Feyd Rautha. I wanted to see him in action against an actual opponent for the first time. 

Slaves large and small limped out towards the Na Baron and he stood still accessing his adversaries. Men were located around the arena wearing black garments from head to toe. They looked like something that would terrorize a child's worst nightmares. They moved in sync with Feyd watching his every step and the slaves around him. 

The battle begins with a charge of the largest slave towards Feyd Rautha. A sloppy attempt at rushing him and catching him off guard. Feyd immediately strikes a killing blow, slicing the man's head clean off with little to no effort. The next attack came from two at once and he dispelled them quickly. I noticed a large slave was merely watching Feyd assessing his moves but not attacking. He didn’t seem to limp when he walked; he looked to be in good health. Was this a part of the show perhaps? I notice Vladimir looking at Piter, understanding passed over Piters’ eyes then. 

“That slave has not been drugged Baron.” Piter spoke robotically. 

I looked back to the arena and watched Feyd closely. Surely he could handle a slave drugged or not.

“Do not ruin my nephew's day, Piter.”

Returning his eyes to Feyd Rautha as well, the Baron sat up straight.

“Congratulations my dear nephew.”

Taglist: @mamawiggers1980 @drunkennunicornn @aoi-targaryen @lovereadingfanfic @avidreader73

@nemodeus @landlockedmermaid77 @wo-ming-bai

#feyd rautha #feyd rautha x atreides oc #feyd rautha x oc #harkonnen #calista atreides #calista's dream #dune part 2 #dune part two #feyd rautha smut #dune fanfiction

[greyeyedmonster-18]

best day

(For @goodboylupin’s Candy Hearts Challenge. My candy heart prompt was "best day". thank you for hosting this mini-fest once again.)

Days are bad. Life is hard. Love is the easiest thing in the world.

-

It was raining outside, wind howling through the cracks of the windows, rattling the pipes outside of Remus and Sirius's flat. Remus was wishing right about then he hadn't insisted on paying part of the rent. Maybe then they would be tucked away in some lavish home in London; someplace where they didn't have to shut the windows with such force and didn't seem to be swaying with the wind.

He knew it was going to be a bad day the moment he rolled out of bed and heard the sound of the steady rain. Because his joints ached, and his hands were stiff. Because he was going to be one of those idiots outside in this weather--the kind everyone pointed at from their car windows, snickering behind their palms--holding fast to a withering umbrella, hoping he didn't get blown away with everything. Ordinarily, he wouldn't have bothered leaving their flat on days like this. Ordinarily, he would have made himself comfortable on the armchair they had found at some woman's estate sale, that had stains on the arm from too many nights with wine and mornings with cups of coffee and not moved a single muscle.

Waving his wand to do the simplest tasks and asking Sirius to do the others.

But today he had an interview at the Ministry, which required a lot more than a wand wave. Moving.

Remus sighed as he rummaged through his closet, pushing past worn t-shirts that Sirius insisted be hung up to find his slightly less worn button-downs. He pulled a pale green one off the hanger. No holes. No stains. It would do.

Brown trousers and a fraying belt that had survived both sixth and seventh year. He was overdue for a replacement, but when did he wear belts? For interviews, almost exclusively. Maybe once he got a job. If? He got a job. Blame it on wartime, blame it on the weather, blame it on himself, the market had been bleak. The prospects had been bleaker. Hogwarts certainly hadn’t advertised how difficult it would be to find any type of job let alone something he could actually find himself doing in the long term or had any interest in. It was all well and good to “Join the Order!” and “Fight the Good Fight!”, which Remus had been doing (whether he was doing it particularly well was another story) when you didn’t have to worry about working or making money to support yourself.

James and Sirius had both offered.

Remus always said no.

Even if right now, as he pulled a navy sweater over his collared shirt, he was wishing he had said “yes”.

Remus was wishing a lot of things.

He sat on the bed, unrolling a pair of mustard-colored socks to put on his feet.

The toe gave way. How long had he had these socks? Had they been his Dads?

Remus stared down at his big toe, poking through the top of his sock, the rest of his toes safely tucked inside.

“Well, this seems about right,” he muttered to himself, putting on his other sock before slapping his hands to his thighs and forcing himself out of the bed again.

Brushed his teeth.

A hair on the top of his head wouldn’t lie flat.

He sniffed a bottle of hair potion Sirius had in the cabinet, contemplating taking his chances, but decided better of it. Brown loafers. Remus’s bare toe wiggled inside the material. Somehow already sweating.

“Sirius?” Remus called, lingering in the threshold, realizing the flat was quiet. There was no singing; bread wasn’t baking; it wasn’t the weather for Sirius to be outside tinkering with his bike. “Sirius?” he tried again.

He ignored the sinking feeling in his chest. It was early, maybe he had just stepped out to the shops. Maybe, maybe, maybe.

Remus inhaled and reached for the door handle, the wind blowing it open. At least he could wave his wand for an umbrella.

--

The day got worse from there.

Before Remus could make it to the underground, a car rushed by, splashing his pants with mud and water. Loafers soaked, and it seemed pointless to keep drying them off. A spell wasn’t going to be able to fix the sweat under his arms, or his heart that only seemed to beat faster and faster, a racehorse trying its fucking best and going nowhere, as he got closer to the front desk of the Ministry to check in for his interview.

His shoes squeaked down the hallway; his toe poking through his sock, squelching and squirming.

His voice cracked through every answer—for a job he was certain he could and would do in his sleep. Filing for fucks sake! Putting things in drawers and sitting around waiting for more papers to go into drawers or be sent to the owlery and Remus couldn’t answer a single question without clearing his throat or sounding like he was en route to a second puberty.

He didn’t bother with the umbrella on the way home, letting rain soak through his clothes, drip down his face. At least the hair on his head was now flat.

Remus sighed as he walked in through his front door, beyond defeated, dropping his soaked RJ LUPIN briefcase on the floor with a thud.

“Is that you, Remus?”

“Who else would it be?” Remus shot back, rougher than perhaps warranted.

“The Queen. Invited her over for tea,” Sirius responded as he turned the corner, stopping in front of Remus and smile fading as he took in the sight before him. Remus returned with a weak jazz hand and a feeble grin. Ta-fucking-da. “Trying out a new look, are we?”

“Where were you?”

“When?”

“I don’t know, Sirius,” Remus said, shrugging off his jacket and letting it fall to the floor, “This morning?” This month?“I went—”

“In the pouring rain?”

“You didn’t let me finish.”

“Forget it.”

Sirius’s eyebrows were a straight line above his hooded eyes, and he opened his mouth to speak again, pick the fight Remus wanted him to. The wind groaned outside, Remus feeling like the flat was swaying and Sirius looked over his shoulder, breaking the irritated eye contact he had with Remus to make sure the “living room” windows were still holding fast.

Remus peeled off his stuck loafers, that probably needed to go straight to the bin. The hole in his sock was bigger now, his second toe trying to come to the surface for air. Sirius turned back around to face Remus, slowly scanning the pile of wet clothes, the umbrella that wasn’t used. The hole in his sock. A body that was a breath away from giving up hope and strength to keep him standing on two feet.

“Have you eaten?”

“I’m not particularly hungry.”

“But I have an idea.”

“For dinner?”

“No,” Sirius said with a slow grin, grey eyes turning up slightly, and he inclined his head toward the bedroom, “Sort of.”

“Sirius.” But Sirius just grabbed Remus’s hand and pulled him down the hallway through the door of their room. One by one Sirius slowly took off Remus’s soaked clothes, folding everything as Remus stood there near the bed. Too curious for what was going to happen next to want to continue a fight that neither of them wanted to have. But it was a hell of a lot easier than being afraid. Remus held his arms above his head, for Sirius to take off his sweater; watched deft fingers undo every single button on his nice shirt. Watched as Sirius took off his own clothing until they were both in their underwear. Remus swallowed and brought his hand up to push a long dark curl out of Sirius’s face, safely behind his ear.

“I think we need a redo,” Sirius said, putting his both of his hands around Remus’s waist, pulling him closer.

“A redo?”

“Of today. Fresh. Never happened.”

“What are you—”

“Shh, shh,” Sirius hushed him with a kiss to his mouth before pushing him backward onto the bed. Sirius made quick work of throwing the blanket over the top of them. Positioning Remus’s hand around his waist, and Sirius flicked his wrist, to turn the lights off. “Good night.”

“Are you out of your mind—”

“Remus I’m trying to sleep. Don’t you have a job interview tomorrow? You should really get some rest.”

“I—”

Sirius feigned a snore, and Remus fell silent, kissing the back of Sirius’s neck before getting comfortable underneath the blanket, resting his nose along Sirius’s shoulder the same way he did every night to fall asleep. It was probably only five minutes, maybe less, but when the sound of birds chirping magically filled the room, and gold and orange light appeared on the ceiling, Remus couldn’t help but feel restored.

Rejuvenated.

A brand-new day.

Sirius yawned and stretched. They took their time getting out from underneath the covers, throwing on sweatpants and old t-shirts. Toothpaste kisses in the bathroom, with matching foam goatees. A shower that was going to add some trouble to the water bill, but the steam, and the hands and the fancy bath soap Sirius liked pushed every worrying thought out of Remus’s mind.

A record played as they walked down the hallway into the kitchen, Sirius going to the cabinets and pulling out flour, while Remus went to the coffee machine.

“Fancy a Dutch Baby?” Sirius asked.

“Have you ever made one before?”

“No, but I do know how to read instructions.”

“Can you follow them though?”

“Where is the fun in that,” Sirius grinned, reaching for a recipe book on top of the fridge that had been a gift from Mrs. Potter, “If I recall, there’s one in here…”

The sun was getting close to setting outside. It was dark and gloomy, and the rain was determined to keep beating down on the pavement and windowpanes. Inside it was warm, sunlight radiating off of a boy with dark hair and big heart.

“Sirius, hey—”

“Forget about it,” Sirius said, “Don’t…think on it for another second, alright? Let’s…just have a good day. The best day even.”

A good day. They needed more of those.

Remus paused, before closing the lid of the coffee maker, “I love you.”

“Love you too, Moons. Now—remind me how the oven warms up,” Sirius said, gesturing to the stove and oven combination in their tiny kitchen. Remus shook his head and pressed a kissed to Sirius’s lips. Soft. Sighing. He looked down at his feet.

His socks were still on—Sirius hadn’t taken those off when the day restarted. The seam was intact.

#rscandyhearts #wolfstar #sirius black #remus lupin #and after the 900000th time attempting to post this i have been blessed #please enjoy this late love month dribble #thats not quite happy but not quite sad #and R is very very very wet

[onlineproblems]

anyway i'm just putting my thoughts in order this is so boring to anyone but me

God my mood took such a huge dive after our mini vacation because I was so exhausted. The exact same thing happened last year when we took a trip. Which is when I ended up self-harming. I was expecting the mood dysregulation this time so I took care of myself better but still. Jesus. I mean it helped that I didn't have to go back to a horrible job but at the same time I often feel like a leech because I only work a few hours a week right now. I know that's not the point of life but hey. You get this idea of usefulness and worth drilled into you and it's hard to separate your identity from creating capital. And obviously I'm aware of that, he's aware of that, but at the same time we both have those identical pressures on us so it feels very unfair for me to (seemingly) fuck around all day while he has to work 40 hours and be basically the sole provider. I haven't worked full time in a year now. And I keep getting interviews and not getting hired. The job market sucks but it does feel like I'm deficient somehow. Like why wouldn't they want me?? Do I have to settle for making minimum wage (or less) doing work I'm far overqualified for, and would be miserable doing?

Aside from that, it's been really hard to focus on learning. I'm unmedicated for ADHD because I can't tolerate any meds and the best I can do is be aware of my limits and work around them, play to my strengths. But I see other people succeeding and learning faster than me, and I feel so deficient and stupid. Why haven't I grasped this yet? Would I already have a job if I were just better, smarter? Am I just not applying myself enough? I always know the answer is, "You're working within your limits; your best is different from someone else's" but it still kind of hurts to feel like your potential is being wasted. To feel like everyone is looking at you and thinking of you as a failure, or lazy, or pitying you.

Am I happy? Yes, frequently. I enjoy my hobbies, I love my spouse, I feel more rested than I have in a long time, and I often feel fulfilled learning something that does actually challenge me. But I can't help my insecurities, the imposter syndrome.

I'm also lonely. I used to have a large friend group, and now I have two friends that I see on a regular basis. I have friends that I talk to online a lot, but as much as I love them, it doesn't satisfy me in the same way as being in someone's presence. If we ever moved, or if my two friends ever moved, I would be back to zero. My anxiety, especially about driving, makes it particularly hard to make friends in a city where you can't do anything without driving to get there. Not feeling capable of driving also makes me feel pretty pathetic. I can do it for short distances in areas I'm familiar with, but getting on the freeway makes me feel like I'm having an out-of-body experience, and not in a good way. Every time I manage to drive somewhere I feel this sense of exultation that I accomplished a huge feat, followed by such a hollow exhaustion that I often feel drained for the rest of the day. How are you supposed to maintain friends like that?

And these are just my small everyday concerns. In the back of my mind during all these I'm aware of the fact that the US is a flaming shit log right now, and I can sign petitions and donate money and vote in my primaries and do whatever and the world is still heating up and people are still getting fucking shotgunned and legislated to death and wrung out like a sponge by insane costs of living and corporations and billionaires are smoking petrol cigarettes made of corpses lit by fossil fuel private jet matches. So what do you. You just don't think about it most of the time.

I don't know. I think I'm really tired right now so naturally my outlook is more bleak, and if I had gotten more sleep I would feel better and happier. But I think I do still feel numb a lot and that I bury my head in easy distractions like TV and tumblr because facing painful emotions is just hard. I'm a chronic avoider. I put off conflict of any kind. If I think I see it coming, I close my eyes until it runs me over. I'm not as bad as I used to be; I'm trying to articulate how I feel more, and to be proactive about developing healthy coping mechanisms, but I think I'm not great about being self-aware yet. I think it still creeps up on me and I'm not aware until it's right over me.

At least I knew this time, before this trip, what was going to happen. I wouldn't say I dealt with it in the best way, but I prevented myself from self-harming and I talked about how I was feeling and I let myself feel angry a little bit. I had a fawning reaction for a lot of the time, but I was more aware of it. I can recognize the patterns better. And instead of giving into the compulsion, I felt the feeling and then let it pass.

This is probably just always going to happen. I mean, I still have the same impulses from my eating disorder that I've always had. I don't really think they've changed or gone away at all. I just don't act on the impulses anymore. I haven't for a couple years. Not to say I won't relapse, but again, I'm seeing the patterns and resisting the impulses. Wanting the better outcome instead of the immediate release of satisfying the compulsion.

I guess all I can do is keep trying and desiring the better outcome, trying to think in the long term. (It's so hard when "the future" is something I can't even visualize! It's liquid, nebulous, anything could happen, I don't have a plan or anything definitive that I want) (What do I want? There's a few things I guess I could daydream about -- having a yard, but I don't need that. Pursuing my hobbies, I guess -- but I can do that almost anywhere. Having friends -- hopefully some of the same ones as now. Being happy with my spouse, being comfortable in our house or apartment, working enough to live off of and maybe to retire early. Who cares? There's no set path to any of these things.) So yeah. As long as I'm engaging in healthy patterns more often than not, I can achieve the future I want. Right?

Anyway. This is a mess but I feel like I got some of the most tangled threads unraveled.

#stream-of-consciousness word vomit #pers0n4al #:3 #amceled

[sharpen-jadescythe]

Aunt Supima Jadescythe

Meet crazy Aunt Silla. Sometimes you'll see Sharpen in a different "skin" rp'ing as his own aunt, just cause a more severe character is fun to do.

A scion of a scion... Isn't that how they put it? Whenever a group of elves was threatened with extinction on Azeroth or nearly eradicated, you were spoken of as less than a person. A memory already.

When Black Rook Hold fell and I was left struggling to hold on, with only a few other survivors, there were no words for the devastation I and my comrades had seen, how destroyed we felt in their hearts. We stood watching the bleak sky, surrounded by their ravens, and the ghosts.

Ravencrest was a name that had epitomized greatness until that final battle. How to go on from there? Serving as a Black Rook Archer in a military order that was shattered and could never be put back? Could it ever serve the highest purpose it was intended for, as a real bulwark against the Legion?

I and the other remnants of house Ravencrest moved our base of operations to the Moon Guard, close to the border of Val'sharah and Suramar. The Moon Guard not only embraced us, the last of the great Ravencrest line, they understood us. Which was important because, when I and my comrades-in-arms conferred and decided that we did not want to disband nor quit our uniform or company colors, the Moon Guard allowed us to remain as we were, take up whatever last duties we felt Lord Ravencrest would have requested of us. So we, the remnants, patrolled the Night Elven borderlands, tried to ensure the military skill and technology of Black Rook Hold never fell into the wrong hands. Even that was painful when, once, whole armies of Ravencrest soldiers would have marched out to tear into the Legion with teeth, leaving these meager duties to squadrons of very green, new recruits.

But, we carried on. Then, after millenia, the Moon Guard also fell. And so I, Supima "crazy Aunt Silla" Jadescythe survived, somehow, until the modern day. I devote some of my time, whenever I can, to safeguarding my remaining family line if nothing else. And watching over my great great great... nephew Sharpen Jadescythe.

"I don't like to tell people why most of the Jadescythe family wasn't at Teldrassil when it burned, for a couple reasons. For one, my crazy Aunt Silla and her family tree stuff--she made us have a family reunion near Suramar. Suramar! Half of my family, if they even did remember us, turned Horde. It was embarrassing and no it did not go well."

After having endured so much, it's no wonder Sharpen's nutty 10,000 year-old aunt has slipped into some odd stunts, of course I would. Like having a family reunion near Suramar, now in Horde territory. I would never so easily respect what I see as superficial borders dividing up my family.

"Oh, goddess. Did I tell you about the time my crazy Aunt Silla made us have a family reunion in Draenor? Draenor! I got lost on the way, but then somehow, Maiev Shadowsong found me, she claims she is related to us. Maiev kept trying to fix me up with her creepy Warden friends who were there with her! I mean!! I can't even!!"

And then there was the other family reunion in Draenor that landed Sharpen in what he called the weirdest conversation of his life with Maiev of all people, who kept trying to fix him up with one of her Wardens. I'm sure the boy Shatpen doesn't realize his crazy Aunt Silla and Maiev go way back, and Maiev was only trying to pay an esteemed old friend Supima who's had an incredibly hard life, a favor, by looking after my extended family. In the eyes of young, foolish 300-somethings like Sharpen, that might all seem nuts.

"My crazy Aunt Silla is really big into family trees these days. However, she swears we're related to Malfurion, but not Illidan. Um, the Stormrage brothers are twins??"

And considering the level of Illidan's betrayal, an ancient Black Rook Hold archer like myself would be in turmoil knowing that my own family was related to this Stormrage twin as well, and I did attempt anything to take it back, logical or not. There is no standard of measurement for emotional pain, is there? And so, how can you contest any salve for hurt? Suffering can in fact be fathomless.

Yes. I am his crazy Aunt Silla, indeed. Funny how life is not always how it seems.

#aunt-silla

[ineedyoutofreeme]

And like that, I reverted to a child

You and me, at the start

Dancing to your favorite music

In my boyfriend's living room

You, rolling your eyes

Every time I snuck him kisses

I was glad I didn't have to hide that secret from you,

As much as you grimaced at our displays of affection

Your love didn't ask for me to be anyone else

You never cared much for a world that told you who to be

One day, I wanted to kiss you in his bed

And you looked at me

And I didn't

Because we both knew better

I still think about how fucked up that was

I was insatiable

No attention was ever enough

Somehow, you didn't hate me for it

What is love?

I cried for weeks when I moved away

And my parents tired of me missing him,

But I wouldn't trust a kid to know,

As a kid my heart ached for it,

Looked for it anywhere I could,

Tried to deny it would be as terrible as my parents made it seem

His love set my sights high

He made my heart soar and I walked all over him

And his mom cried and begged me not to love him

It was us against the world

But I couldn't help the longing to be a part of the world

So you and I wrote worlds together

Created our own where anything was possible

But I wouldn't have said I loved you at the time

You had a confidence I couldn't understand

And pain you didn't say out loud

We both should have screamed and cried like children, we were children, and nobody knew how to help us

And because of your own silent screaming

You heard me

Once he made the right decision and left,

You were left

Silently picking up my pieces

While you took your own pieces

And fit them into a puzzle of who you thought I wanted you to be

You hated that I had slipped through the cracks

You were never meant to become so docile,

Your wild heart found itself chained

While I stood by and mindlessly handed you link after link

Wondering why you often seemed to grieve

Then I finally saw a glimmer bounce off the metal,

a drop of blood on your stainless facade

And I childishly thought - love!

Love will make you feel better!

But it wasn't what you were asking for

And you bared your teeth like you were grinning,

Like you couldn't decide between "come closer" and "get the fuck away from me"

And I wailed at the door, asking you not to run

But the sound hurt your ears

And I was at a loss,

All that poured from my mouth was words

I spoke more, and wrote less

My hands burned on paper,

And eventually everything had burned

You were gone

And I couldn't escape to the worlds we created

Without you

But eventually,

After a fire life continues

Nature bounces back

I sifted through my rubble, the parts that I burned,

Kept what was good and fertile,

And moved along

But I still keep a notepad full of some of my favorite things you've ever said to me

I didn't keep the quote where

You told me I was a black hole,

That one is just charred into my soul,

But I keep this one in case we could give it all a better ending

One where I can give you back all the light I stole:

"Regardless of whether or not you ever, I know that I definitely love you. That's the only reason that even after all of this time I still feel this steady weight in my chest. But that doesn't matter anymore. I'm sorry for my part in the chaos. Not completely because some of our chaos was beautiful, but the end was bleak."

#Belle #nothing like crying in my husbands arms on a Wednesday night about the friendship that changed the whole course of my life #so dramatic I feel like a kid again #I missed you and I still do

[returntosaturn271995]

April 18th: Fricken Pissed Part 2: Reframing it.

Life is difficult, anger is normal. Let’s make this right in your eyes:

1.  ChicExecs took my 10 page presentation and never emailed me back. I added a negative review to Glassdoor (among many already there) and somehow that just made me angrier?

Reframe: If you had worked for them, you would have had a super shitty experience. You dodged a bullet and now you just have another example of work to send people. 

2. My interview (the third one) with Diff Eyewear was disorganized and I felt like the execs were sexist despite reaching out to me on Linkedin. GOD. Job hunting is bleak.

Reframe: If they move forward, ask for a fuck ton of money. If they don’t know what they’re doing, then they don’t know what you can’t do. These people can’t recruit for shit.

3. Marvelous Mrs. Maisel hasn’t been good since season 2

Reframe: You’ll always have those beloved seasons. Besides, there might be some watchable moments along the way. (cough Luke Kirby). 

4. Pretty sure Effexor withdrawal gives me vivid nightmares and night sweats.

Reframe: Pretty sure Effexor is also what keeps me from taking a marinara bath after a hard day. All good things have prices. 

5. Now that Scott’s back in Austin he never reached out again. Which is weird because he basically wanted to marry me before. I guess pussy power is about proximity.  

Reframe: Life is long. He treated me like a queen when he was in town. 

6. James hasn’t reached out since our date last week. After all the stuff he said about being so in to me. Maybe he’s just a bad texter because he’s always been like that but still. Am I allowed to be angry? Why does this make me like him more when two weeks ago I wasn’t even sure if I was that crazy about him?

Reframe: Well at least I’m hot. That’s the only explanation for why men go so crazy for me at the beginning. He’s also been out of town. He also spent over a hundred on dinner last week. Fuck it, let him self-select out. We used a condom. 

7. I got drunk and sent my college roommate a nice text wishing her well on her engagement. Ugh I’m lame. No, she did not respond.

Reframe: At least your drunk texts are friendly. Saying kind stuff is still saying kind stuff. Also if you die first she’ll feel like a total bitch for not saying thank you. 

8. Kate’s had a dude here for two days straight and he keeps using my and Hannah’s bathroom. He goes through toilet paper at an alarming rate. He’s either buidling a mummy costume or Kate’s dating another dude who lives in his van.

Reframe: In fairness to Katie she’s only dated one dude who lived in his van. Also he clearly makes her happy. And thank god he’s moving to Bali soon. Even if his suitcase is stuffed with my toilet paper.

9. Kara Godfrey. She’s just a shitty friend. And she reminds me of a lot of shitty friends. So I project a lot of anger at the idea of her. Sara sent us both a text today, which was actually very sweet of her. I’ll try and focus on that.

Reframe: Kara’s got her own problems and I did fuck her brother years ago. She may or may not know. She’s also kind of a bad friend to everyone. 

10. Is it me? Why does it feel like it’s me? And why hasn’t therapy made me less annoying yet? I know I’m supposed to FEEL better, but I would sure love to be treated better and somehow deemed lovable. 

Reframe: All this anger is more perceived rejection than anything else. So maybe it’s a good sign it pisses me off. Because honestly I’ve been working hard on myself goddamnit. I’m having my back here.

11. I was pretty shitty at yoga today. Maybe I’ll give it another shot now that I’ve hopefully journaled a chunk of my crazy out.

Reframe: I at least rolled out the mat and cat-cowed a little. A couple of months ago that would have been a fucking punchline. Who knows maybe I’ll do it again in a bit. 

12. Once James messaged me and said “Why are you acting like a stranger?”. When he was the one who hadn’t reached out after our first date.

Reframe: So many men want to be chased and I aint doing it ‘lil mama. Lisa reached out to get pedicures, I’m going to hang with her instead.  

13. I still haven’t made the goddamn smoothie I promised myself I would make. I bought the ingredients Saturday. Maybe I’ll put on a murder podcast and TRY.

Reframe: I put on the murder podcast and made two smoothies. I feel better/more hydrated now. Some of this anger may have been based on my working out on an empty stomach. 

14. I was reading about Joe Biden and his first wife died in a horrible car crash right before Christmas that also took the life of his infant daughter.  Yes, it was 50 years ago. Yes, I already new about this. But now I’m downloading his autobiography and just lamenting the fact the BAD THINGS HAPPEN TO GOOD PEOPLE AND DONALD TRUMP GETS TO DO WHATEVER THE FUCK HE WANTS.

Reframe: Donald Trump could still go to jail. Joe Biden eventually met Jill. Hold your families close and persevere. Still that story is so fucking awful. My problems aren’t that big. 

15. Made the mistake of thinking too long on my walk home about a guy who took sexual advantage of me in college and realized that’s why I can’t stand soccer outside of a Ted Lasso episode. Idk why this is under the Mrs. Maisel season and yoga, but it is.

Reframe: I’m not alone. Soccer is boring. And I’m part of the cause that will improve the lives of future girls/women. Campus sexual assault is common, but that doesn’t mean it always has to be.

[blzzrdstryr]

Reveries of the Past. Yandere!Childe x Fatui!gn!reader

Wordcount: 3875

CW: Dissociation, graphic depiction of violence, hallucinations, unhealthy relationship and unhealthy power dynamics.

A.N.: I used a lot of my experience with dissociations in this and if it makes you uncomfortable, I would advice not to read it. I also plan on writing continuation for this, as it’s set before the Rite of Descension. P.s. I am not a native English speaker, so could you notify me if there’s awkward wording.

[Next chapter]

There are plenty of times you find yourself reminiscing about the past and now, your mind slips back to your memories, as you look at the horribly mangled body of the treasure hoarder. The stench of blood stuffs up your nose, it’s sickly sweet metallic odor making your gut clench and nausea rise, as your limbs grow heavier and numb. You don’t feel  like you belong in your skin and bones and blood anymore - it’s cold, so cold, yet you don’t feel any of it. You are an outsider, an unwanted intruder in the house that is your body, an indifferent observer looking at the world through the thick glass.

The world around disfigures, shapes and colors changing in the constant whirlwind - they jump and dance around, small becoming large and large shrinking so much it’s barely visible, green shifts to red to blue and to yellow and to million of other colors, and sounds suddenly become muffled, losing their sharpness, but you don’t care about it: the part that is “you” fled to the daydreams of your childhood moments ago, leaving a clinically observing, yet unfeeling being behind. 

Adults would describe you as a perfect child: quiet, obedient and dutiful, you were a stark contrast to the other louder and more free spirited kids. You studied hard, cleaned the house, helped with dishes and cooking and never talked back. 

I can't upset mom and dad because they work so much. I can't play with other kids because if I do, they will make fun of me, I have to study hard and get good grades, because mom said I will have a good job and become rich and help them. 

These particular memories don't feel good to you: they're bleak and boring, yet full of silent shame - they make your throat clog and eyes water, as something burning starts to bloom deep underneath your skin. 

Childe stops beating the still alive treasure hoarder, a blood smeared on the cheek and a dangerous glint in his eyes, and turns his head to you. 

"Hey, how about lending me a helping hand?", there’s a hunger in his voice you recognize, he wants to teach a lesson to the debtors, then. You walk towards him, feeling your knees get weaker and weaker with each step for some reason. A dagger made of ice shines in your hand with cold light. 

"It's no wonder [First] received a vision! My [First] is always so good and smart, there are no children better" the exact words your mother says, as she brags to her friends, showing them the vision you were bestowed with. You left it to her, not caring what will happen to it - despite all the child's wonder you felt before receiving it, the glowing orb doesn’t look so amazing to you now. It feels foreign and ugly, a reminder of what happened seconds before you gained it. 

“You know, when I was a child”, he takes the weapon and focuses on the treasure hoarder’s leader again, “we made a special kind of promise”. It’s tip travels to the hoarder’s hand. “You make a pinkie promise, you keep it all your life”

The sweet voice he uses and the fact that you  know the nursery rhyme too would make you sick in the stomach the other day, but not now. 

You don’t exactly remember how you joined the Fatui - it happened shortly after you gained a vision, when you were still too numb and cold to the outside world after the Event. 

Mom will hate me, dad will hate me too. I can’t let them know.

Your parents say that officials just knocked on the front door one day and offered you an entry into the Fatui and a monthly salary, big enough to stop your parents from overworking themselves. You were terrified back then, Fatuis despite being known as a diplomatic organization are still a mystery to the ordinary Shezhnayan and a direct servants to Her will. The thought of disappointing Tsaritsa or letting down Snezhnaya was enough to paralyze you, but seeing the smiles on your parents faces was enough to make you swear to yourself, that you will work there no matter how scary it seems.

“You break a pinkie promise, I throw you on the ice.” The blade stops between phalanges of the little finger: “The cold will kill the pinkie that once betrayed your friend", he presses it, strong enough to detach the limb from the rest of the body in one swift slash. Treasure hoarder starts to cry and scream from the sudden pain, yet quickly chokes on it as Childe hits him in the solar plexus. The crack of bones feels deafening among the sea of muffled sounds.

Training was rigorous to say the least, you came back to your dorm room absolutely exhausted and after you fell on the bed you were practically dead to the world. Turns out, having a vision wasn’t enough to make you a fighter - you needed to know how to climb, swim, run with a weight to lift and wield a weapon. There were other children and teens with you, they eyed your vision with a mix of adoration and envy, you pretended not to catch it in turn.

“The frost will freeze your tongue off so you never lie again”, harbinger forces the victim's jaw apart by squeezing it with one hand, the other rapidly forcing a dagger inside the mouth. Treasure hoarder gasps and mumbles, fat tears forming in his eyes. A part of you expects a sound of parting flesh, but none comes: Tartaglia stands up and removes the blade, leaving a shivering and terrified man laying on the ground.

“Well,” Childe shrugs, as if he didn’t just dismember a person, voice back to his cheery tone : “You didn’t actually make a pinkie promise, so consider it a small mercy”. The treasure hoarder cowers even more, snuggling the injured hand close to the bruised chest. “But if you fail to repay your debt I will oversee that the frost”, he points in your direction, a treasure hoarder’s eyes going wide as he notices your vision, “will actually freeze your lying tongue off”, his voice descends again, back to it’s dangerous half-whisper.

You meet Ajax during the winter, he’s close to you in age and just arrived into Fatui grounds. He boasts and shows off to all of you, and you desperately want to retort something acidic to shut him up and rip off that arrogant bravado, yet say nothing, picturing how the tomorrow training session will have him laying flat on his back, too hurt and too tired to move even a single finger. 

He defeats the trainer in less than a minute.

Now, that the treasure hoarder fled, still snuggling disfigured limb, Childe turns attention back to you. “You seem a little bit disinterested here”, his hand on your cheek is so foreign, it’s burning and freezing at the same time, the shock from the unwanted touch almost strong enough to pull you back into reality. He notices your unintentional flinching and unfocused eyes “Ah, you hurt my feelings, [First]! And I thought we already became friends”. 

You say nothing, cold and unmoving, blind and deaf to the outside world, his words register a second too late, and there’s no cliche phrase for you to reply with. He looks a bit baffled and deflated for a second, but shrugs it off, just like he did during teen years, when you deliberately ignored all his attempts at catching your attention.

“Huh, even if you are so cold to me, I still forgive you”, he takes your hand, his touch still too overwhelming for you to process and pulls you back to Liyue harbor, your legs barely bending as you walk after him, like an obedient dog trailing it’s master.

“You know [First], I can beat you up so badly, that you will barely walk”, you put feather aside, stopping writing the letter to your parents as you glare at Ajax with barely masked indignation. He grins, satisfied to finally catch your attention after the whole day of pestering you. “I am aware of that” you reply in an absolutely flat tone, holding yourself from pouncing on him and trying to break the teeth out of that smug smile. He beams even wider, as if sensing your not-so-good intentions, revealing even more pearly whites as if taunting you.

“But I won’t, count yourself lucky”. And he leaves, this short interaction filling you with so much rage that you shake, handwritten letters noticeably becoming sharper and faster, your thoughts clouding around the idea of acquating his face with your boots. 

 Nonetheless, you indeed count yourself fortunate enough, when you see Ajax defeating grown men with bare hands. When you two, the only vision holders among your peers have to spar, he always goes easy on you, prefering to immobilize you rather than beating, making your defeat less painful yet even more humiliating. 

Almost at the end of your trail he suddenly stops and says something, but you don't catch it, words turning into separate vowels and then fusing together into one unintelligible gibberish mess. He leans in, close enough for his breath to burn your neck, and he continues to get closer, until his empty eyes look into yours glazed ones. He seems disappointed for a second and backs down, his breathing no longer fanning your skin. 

Distantly you think that you somehow angered him and he will slap you for it, and do nothing to dodge the hit - you barely feel pain in this condition anyway, but he doesn’t. The road to the Northland Bank is completed in absolute silence, Childe no longer trying to grab your attention, only when you enter Liyue Harbor does he whisper, that you two must look like a pair with all that hand holding. Judging by the volume and tone of his voice he says it more to himself than to you.

***

You come back to yourself in the safety of your room on the third room of the Northland bank. It feels like a rush of sensation, as everything becomes sharper and clearer again, like you just swam to the surface of water from the very depths of it. An invisible bubble around your head pops in one moment, and the world becomes real again, mind and body connecting for once more.

Eyes and ears focused you take in surroundings: the room is neat and lifelessly empty - just a bed and a working desk with a stack of written but unsent letters, along with a small bookcase near, no figurines, pictures or even plants to decorate living place, as you see no reason to adorn the area you use for sleeping only. Indiscernible wallpapers and a small window close to the middle of the bed finish the picture of austerity.

 Once, your memory catches up to you, you can't help groan from the shame and irritation, hiding your face in both hands. Afterwards  always feels both like a disgraceful escape and a warm blanket during the stormy night, a duality that you accepted long ago after joining the Fatui and today is no exception. You curse Harbinger when you remember why exactly you had an episode, and get up from the bed you threw yourself on minutes ago. You come to the desk, taking a clean form of a relocation request from the drawer and writing materials. 

Filling in the blank feels like commiting a felony to you for some reason - you stop several times when you hear footsteps in the corridor, focusing on the door,ready to hide the half written form and say some lie as an excuse. You don't list the Childe-related reasons, knowing that there's nothing that could make any of the Harbingers face the consequence for their actions, and instead you write completely normal and fake causes: health concerns, family matters and so on. Part of you doubts that this will work and you will have the fortune to get away from a certain harbinger as far as possible. Trying and failing is better than never attempting, you think, quickly writing the paper.

Once you finish it, you almost rush to Ekaterina, praying that you won't run into a certain ginger on the way. Sometime ago you caught Tartaglia checking your letters, for a secrecy he said back then, we can’t let anyone know about the coming operation. Childe then instilled that every sent and received letter should be checked, lest Qixing and other Liyuens learned what Fatui had in plan. It sounded logical and sensible, but the paranoid thought that he enforced this policy just to have a glimpse at your feelings never stopped eating at you. From that day on you sent your family the most basic and vague letters, just stating that you’re in good health and mind, still missing them and Snezhnaya, leaving the ones with more private sentiments in your room. 

Her eyes are completely obscured by the mask, but even with that you can’t miss the pointed glare she sends your way - Tartaglia never shied away from showing off, be it his strength, money or his twisted obsession that he calls love. With the amount of time and finances he spends on you and the way he acts like a kicked lovesick puppy in your vicinity, you are pretty sure that at least half of the bank workers see you as a cunning and cruel seducer, so keen and devious in the art of temptation that you managed to lure in Eleventh Harbinger.

As if archons decided to laugh at you, Childe descends from the second floor too, catching the sight of you near the receptionist. He looks unusually somber for a moment, but then he sees you, a smile appearing on his face as he takes the form from Ekaterina's hands. You can just feel how Ekaterina rolls her eyes under the mask, as if muttering complaints about the lovers’ spat and insubordination, having been working with her for some time, enough to have a clue of the inner workings of her mind.

You have to give him that he plays the confusion and regret very persuasively. He asks how he can fix this, says what a valuable team member you are to him and how much you are needed in the Northland bank. You agree to his suggestion - if years of training with Ajax and then work with Childe taught you anything, it is that Ajax is the chaos incarnate and Tartaglia is Ajax’s less tolerable and more unpredictable version, so it’s better not to anger him.

***

In the end he invites you to dine with him at Wanmin restaurant, a place Childe heard from some “xiansheng” as he called them. A bustling Liyue street is open before you two, tall midday sun painting the whole street into bright orange, so unlike the pristine white landscapes of Snezhnaya. He orders two Black Back Perch Stews on the chef's recommendations, and hands a bouquet of local flowers in a parody of a normal boyfriend. Any random observer would really see it as a date.

You take the flowers, pretending to pay more attention to  them than to a man sitting near you. Tartaglia is an unpredictability wrapped in human skin, there’s no privilege as being lax and carefree near him, as even Tsaritsa has no idea what he will do next. 

To your mutual confusion Xiangling presents the meal with two pairs of chopsticks. Utensils feel foreign in your palm, you having no idea how to handle them and Childe, by the looks of it too. Tartaglia specifically asks the chef for spoons, while you observe the other clients, noting how they use theirs. Holding one stick like a pen and then placing the bottom one in a fixed position under the thumb you manage to grasp the fish from the soup, albeit clumsily. You consider it a small win. 

The image of a mighty Harbinger struggling in a failing battle with chopsticks would look funny to you, if it wasn’t for the whole "date" you were having. After putting them aside, and seemingly admitting defeat, Childe starts from afar: "You know [First], you changed a lot since I first met you" .

You raise an eyebrow at the starter, it's vague and innocent enough, but experience tells you that he will or at least try to stir the conversation into your relationship with him again. Straightening a bit and finally turning your eyes to him, you pause for a second, picking the least offensive reply you can muster - there’s a swarm of insults buzzing at the tip of your tongue prepared just for him, growing and sprouting since your pubescent years.

“Yes, I got taller”, he laughs it off, like you said some funny joke, his giggles not stopping for some time. "No, I mean as a person. Remember how you used to glare at me for joking? And now you act so unfazed ”

Joking. Is this what he calls it? Shivers creep up your spine when your memory oh so conveniently conjures the images of the aftermath of his jokes.

“Your jokes weren’t funny to anyone but you”. Breathe, you think, there’s no need to anger him. There are pictures of broken bones and bruised bodies and a cacophony of somebody else’s pained screams flashing and rattling in your head, Adults never did anything. Why would they? They had a golden boy Ajax, why would they help the others when they had him? Why would they help you? Bitterness and anger you thought you swallowed long ago rise up to the surface again, and you decide to bite down on the stew - Tartaglia always found a way to turn your words against you and hurt you, no need to give him more weapons now.

“I changed a lot too. I know I was insufferable as a teen”, he must have taken your silence as a free pass to continue whatever nonsense he’s sprouting, “I am sorry”.

The last three words catch you off guard, a piece of fish almost stuck in the throat from the jolt. Ajax takes you by surprise once again, for him to finally acknowledge and apologize for all the pain he caused and years he tormented you?

You blink and look at him intently, his facial expression changing into an unusually somber one. It seems authentic enough.

“Let’s start from the scratch?

You contemplate unsure what to say.

Was he lying?

Looking back, you in a sense are luckier than most of Childe's victims, witnessing his youth, familiarizing and distinguishing the tells of him lying and scheming, observing the way he bloomed into the manipulator he is today firsthand. You see a familiarity in his face and voice, something that helps you from falling to his charms. There's also the added fact that you were and still are an involuntary witness to the way how carnal and bloodthirsty usually friendly Ajax can become. 

When did you catch his attention?

You remember his smile when he first approached you, less teeth and more sincerity that is thereafter,a hand outstretched to you. It happens on the next day after his arrival, almost as cold and unpleasant as the previous one. You brush the limb away like a noisy fly, secretly angry at his arrogant attitude and how effortlessly he endured training. His smiling doesn’t stop, yet you feel a sudden change in the air around you.

Would your fate be different if you took his hand?

You can't forget how your mind disconnected from your body for the second time. It was Ajax again vying for your attention akin to a spoiled child, and like one he threw a tantrum when you refused to give him any. The poor recruit you were talking with was hospitalized the same day, as you helplessly watched the carnage before you. You didn't fight, you didn’t flee, you just froze, like a scared animal, paralyzed by fear, yet somehow too detached from feelings. That day was bizarre: once you felt reality, it was solid and undeniable and then you didn't. The realness of the current diffused, slipped through the fingers like sand, leaving nothing but unreliable and delusive reveries behind.

Will he let you go? 

“People do change and I see that you changed too. I don’t think of you as a teen you were” you carefully pick the words, Tartaglia visibly blooms, thinking that his apology worked, yet your next words snuff out his triumph: “but my memories stay the same. I don’t think we can start from scratch”

You bite the tongue, the second part still coming out too harsh for your liking. The moment of sincerity is interrupted, you see him, changing the masks, unsure what to do. It seems for the first time it was you who caught him off guard. You guess which one of the two standard facades he will decide to show to you, having spent years by his side to observe him masterfully wielding both, the friendly one with a vacant smile that never reaches his dead, dead eyes or the calculating one, distant and devoid of humanity?

In the end he uses none, a hurt still evident, dripping in his tone, face and moves - is it another mask you never got to see or is it real? - “So that is your answer”, he leans in closer, dull cerulean eyes looking right into yours.

You hold his stare, nodding, instead of saying anything and he hums, sitting back and wearing the cold mask, reserved for his enemies: “Just wanted to remind you that I am the Harbinger and you are just a position higher than an ordinary agent”. Despite seeing it so many times, it’s the first time he directs it at you and you have to suppress the shiver. The unsaid threat hangs heavy in the air, suffocating you.

You two are no longer solemn [First] and annoying Ajax, who trails your steps behind like a puppy, no, you are a special agent [Last] and Eleventh Fatui Harbinger Tartaglia, to whom you are personally assigned by Tsaritsa herself. Even possessing vision and delusion yourself you can’t match Childe’s power, and your loss would be easy to overlook if your harbinger wished for it. Honestly speaking, there are a lot of things he could do to you without anyone questioning it, the Harbingers being the second most powerful figures in the organization, right after Tsaritsa herself. You heard the stories of Krupp and other assistants who got missing under Il Dottore, you heard of horrible accidents happening to the people Scaramouche dislikes, you heard about the injuries Signora inflicts on the unfortunate recruits when she is in foul mood, yet you never thought that Tartaglia will abuse his power in the same way.

“Don’t worry” he seems to have taken mercy on you, “I won’t use my position like that, it’s cheating and I like to play the fair game”, despite the seemingly reassuring words , you don’t let yourself relax, knowing him for years.

“Don’t think I will back down though, I am not the type to give up”

#yandere genshin impact #yandere childe #yandere childe x reader #yandere tartaglia #Yandere genshin impact x reader #yandere x reader #Yandere #Childe #Tartaglia #Dialogues are hard #My brain is melting #It's 4 am where I live #Reader will have a crush on Zhongli in ch 2 #my writing

[age-of-flower-power]

Bah-Humbug (J.M.K x Reader)

Summary: Local that hates x-mas meets man who somehow is the embodiment of the sun and loves the holiday. Shitty take on a Hallmark style of romance story. Are the holidays really that awful, or do you just need someone to share it with?

Word Count: 3.9k

Warnings: uhh none? Maybe except for total cliché romance and ooey-gooey feelings. 

A/N: Hey y’all! Hope you all are having some happy holidays! Here is a short Christmas fic as my gift to you for being the greatest fans to a rock band in the world. I definitely did not read this before posting so sorry for mistakes! Hope you guys enjoy! xoxo, Rosie. 

------------

Christmas was one of those times in the year you usually tried to avoid. Festivities were not really your strong suit, and especially not a holiday that the entire nation seemed to romanticize to death- not to mention you hated Christmas music. To you it seemed all the same, it was like every song tried to rub it in your face that, yeah, everyone was “holly and jolly” except for, well, you.

But, despite the whole pressure to be so merry at a time of the year that was rather bleak, you somehow found yourself at the local mall anyway. 

You shuffled through the crowds of people in each store, nearly having to push your way through each kiosk and patron, as you made your way down aisles upon aisles in search of the perfect gift. This year, unlike some of the others, was different to you now. You had a reason to stay outside in the blistering cold of late December, unlike other years where you would sit at home alone and mope. 

The thing was, you had a rather expressive friend group (if you could call it that), and that meant that they were all prepared to get each other gifts. You were hesitant at first at the sheer idea of even celebrating Christmas, it was one of those holidays to you that came and went like any other, but maybe that was why you were so determined this year to try and do better. 

As you perused and shopped, your arms became heavy with each bag you acquired. Some jewelry for your best friend, a cozy stocking cap for another, and of course socks for the friends you were unsure of what to get. It wasn’t like you were great at this, you hardly thought of meaningful things to get anyone, but you were trying. 

As you made it to your final destination, a department store on the far end of the busy mall, you stopped and stared at various things, trying to simply rack your mind around what else there could even possibly be to get someone. That was when it happened. 

Out of nowhere the bags in your hands went flying, you yelped out as your body began to plummet to the unpolished and sticky marbled floors of the store when suddenly- a strong hand graced your waist and another came to hold your shoulder, saving you from your fall and draping you in a dipped position under your savior. You took a moment to blink and look up, eyes focusing on a head of messy curls and a smile that could light up a city block for days. 

“Woah there,” the voice said, crisp like it could cut through a crowd of thousands of people even at this volume, “you okay?” The man lifted you back up slowly, helping you steady yourself once you were back on your feet and planted. 

You swiveled your head around, looking for what could’ve knocked you over so fast. Your eyes caught sight of a large family of people with shopping carts passing by a few aisles down, noting that one of them must’ve run into you without care, seeing that they paid no mind to their surroundings as the family hurried off and out of your sight quicker then you could blink, leaving a mess in their wake. You huffed, turning back to look at the man before you. 

“Fine, thank you.” You said shortly, picking up your bags from the floor in a less-graceful manner then you wanted. The man didn’t flinch at your tone, only smiled wider. 

“Not much for the holidays I take it?” He asked. You quirked a mean brow at him, standing awkwardly amongst the various collections of scarves and other winter apparel you found yourself in. 

“How could you tell?” You quipped back. He shrugged, leaning back to pick up a bag you had forgotten about on the floor and handed it over. 

“Sometimes you can just tell. You have that air about you, ya know? All bah-humbug.” You should’ve been offended, from anyone else you actually might’ve been, but he seemed so honest and the joke was light so you moved past it in your mind. 

“Well, is it cliché to say I hate Christmas?” That only earned you a chuckle, and god, was it a funny little sound. 

“Oh, totally. You could be a main character in a shitty hallmark movie with that attitude.” Okay yeah, you accidentally snorted a laugh, coughing to cover up the sound. He seemed pleased with himself as he watched you try to save yourself the embarrassment of actually admitting he made you laugh even a little. “I'm Josh.” 

You studied him now for a second in time, noticing his terrible Christmas patterned sweater, khakis, and white shoes that didn’t seem fit for all the snow your town had been getting this past month. You studied his relaxed posture and how his curls seemed to fit his personality better than they should. He looked you up and down as well, taking in your relaxed outfit that screamed ‘I woke up, left the house, and refuse to dress for any occasion other than laying in bed’. You shifted under his gaze. 

“Well, Josh,” you started, “thank you again for saving me… but I should definitely go. I have some presents to wrap half-ass.” You gave him an attempt at a friendly smile, turning on your heel and sauntering off in the opposite direction. He waved to you as you parted ways, cheery and happy to help. 

------------

The rest of the day was uneventful for you. After that little accident which ended up with you meeting the most stunningly handsome man on the planet, you really didn’t have much else going on. You had headed back to your apartment to attempt to wrap gifts, but after that didn’t go as well as you hoped, you decided to venture out once more to find gift bags and tissue paper to use to hopefully salvage your terrible wrapping jobs. 

The convenience store you lived by was close enough to walk, so you set out after bundling up to find something to ease your mild annoyance of the whole present fiasco. While you walked, you paid no mind to the people on the busy street around you, sighing as you waited to cross the street, staring at the orange hand that illuminated from across. 

When it was time to cross you stepped foot onto the street, but just as you were about to cross a biker came speeding past you, clearly not minding the pedestrian right-away and forcing you to hobble backwards, right into someone. 

“Shit sorry-” Was all you could get out before a hand swiftly pulled you back from the crosswalk to shield you yet again from the hustle of the busy road. 

“Hey there, be careful!” 

You groaned. You recognized that voice, it was the same one that had given you so much grief earlier in the day. 

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Your jaw dropped, staring up at, again, Josh. He flashed a smile, positioning you so that the others around could pass you both by. 

“What was that?” Josh asked, raising a brow. You steeled yourself, shaking off the incident from earlier. Fate seemed to have some plans for you today, very cruel and unusual ones. 

“Nothing..” You mumbled, feeling him release you from his touch. You took a tiny step back, only to get a better look at him. He was wearing a puffy winter coat this time, matching your winter exterior. “Are you stalking me?” You challenged him, pouting your bottom lip ever so slightly. He just laughed, curls bouncing as his head moved. 

“Stalking you? I saved you from two minor instances and my thanks is a stalking accusation? I'm wounded.” Josh touched a hand to his chest in mock-pain. You snorted at him. Right, of course. You met the guy barely a few hours ago, this was just a coincidence. 

“I know, I know. Sorry, I'm all wound up,” you waved him off, “what with the whole almost-dying twice in one day.” He laughed then at your joke, making your heart do an ugly-leap in your chest. 

“It’s okay, I understand. If anything, I'm lucky enough that I just so happen to be here each time. Crazy right?” But you weren’t listening anymore. You took notice of how he was slinging a huge canvas bag of presents over his arm. The bag looked ready to overflow, a few measly presents at the top nearly spilling over. You wondered how many friends a guy like this could have, or a family for that matter. 

“Miss? Did you hear me?” You blinked, looking back at his face and accidentally into his rich chocolate colored eyes. 

“It’s (Y/N)-” Your mouth said faster than your brain could keep up, betraying you as you realized you hadn’t said your name to Josh in the store earlier. 

“Oh-kay, (Y/N),” he tested the name on his tongue and figured he liked the way it sounded from the way it rolled off so easily, “I was wondering what you were doing out so late this time, and if I could be of any help.” He restated. How had you missed all of that while you were focused elsewhere? Well it didn’t matter. You were still technically on a mission. 

“Oh.” You said, shifting from one boot covered foot to the other. “I was going to get present bags since my wrapping job sort of, if you can believe it, failed.” 

Josh nodded smoothly, looking around the street to consider your statement and then back at you again, of course, with a smile. 

“I don’t see any bags with you.” He pointed out. You scoffed, rolling your eyes. 

“Thank you captain-obvious,” he nodded, “I was on my way to buy some. I'm like a block away from my apartment. I just wanted to do something quick and easy, but like you said, minor instances seem to always happen to me.” 

Josh shifted the tote bag over his arm again to get a better grip on it, his other hand pulling out his phone to check the time. “If you just-so-happen to be heading to that convenience store on 12th and main, sorry to break it to you, but it closes in about five minutes.” He held up his phone to show you the time. Your jaw dropped for the second time today, mentally cursing. 

“Oh my god, the party is tomorrow and I have to work in the morning are you serious-” You groaned, ready to give up and not come all together because of a simple failure to perform. He slipped his phone back into his pocket, holding up a hand in defense. 

“Hey now mama,” the pet name made your stomach do an awful leap, “I’ll help you. I have some stuff back at my place, why don’t you let me wrap them and you can be on your merry way?” He offered. You stared at him like he might have ulterior motives, but he seemed sincere and true. You chewed the inside of your cheek harshly as you considered it. 

“I just met you today.” Was all you said. He didn’t seem to mind, starting to walk back down the street, opposite from where you were headed earlier. Before you could argue, your feet seemed to already be in motion, following him along. Were you crazy? This guy could be a serial killer- a murder- or worse! A normal guy who was just super nice and so happened to be your saving grace. You didn’t want to admit to that, but you followed him anyway. 

------------

Josh ended up leading you to his apartment to gather some wrapping supplies since you explained to him you had mutilated your one good roll out of frustration. As it turns out, he did live close. Too close. You couldn’t remove the thought from your head that this all was some huge way of fate yelling at you for being such a sour person around the holidays. 

You noticed how clean his apartment was, and the overwhelming scent of peppermint and patchouli that filled the air as you stepped into his environment. There were subtle things lying around that showcased his personality, like the overwhelming shelves of records that lined his living room, or the pair of socks thrown behind his couch, and even the tiny Christmas tree that was filled haphazardly with homemade ornaments and pictures of people who looked like, what you assumed, to be his family. 

You watched as Josh wrangled his tote bag into a sitting position near the tree, leaving it as he excused himself to grab a box full of Christmas decorations, bows, and wrapping papers. You watched him fumble with it, only helping when a bow gracefully floated out of the box and onto the ground beneath your feet. You picked it up, placing it back inside the box and watched Josh smile at you. 

“Okay, ready to do some damage?” He chided, kicking your shoe gently with his own as he headed back for the door. You snorted, following at his heels. 

“How much more damage could a person like me accomplish in 24 hours in a day?” You joked back. He gave you a silly little pout as you stepped out of the door and into the apartment complex’s hallway. 

“Aw, c’mon, it can't be that bad.” With Josh’s overwhelming enthusiasm and your underwhelming sarcasm however, he severely underestimated just how bad of a job one person could be capable of. 

By the time you had made it back to your place (it was a short and brisk walk from his complex to your own), you threw open your door. Josh waltzed inside and set his box of supplies down on the carpet of your living room, taking in the sight before him. 

“Nope I lied, this is bad.” And that was all it took for you to fully, from your gut, laugh at his reaction. His smile twinkled at the sound of your honest laughter before focusing back at the task at hand. On the floor lay torn up pieces of tape and paper, gifts lying around carelessly in your wake. It was a nightmare, and anyone who took in the sight would assume you and Santa had probably gone to war. 

“See? I wasn’t lying, I'm genuinely not good at the whole “Christmas” thing.” You emphasize your point with air quotes. Josh doesn’t hesitate to sit down in the pile of scraps, hand rubbing his chin in careful consideration. 

“Well, the whole “Christmas” thing you mentioned?” He said, picking up a pair of socks and folding them into a neat square that would be easier to wrap, “Yeah, It’s not about the spirit of the holiday or anything, ya know? Your family and friends would’ve been happy with a terrible wrapping job, especially if it were to come from a lady like yourself.” Your heart danced in your ribcage but you shook the feeling away at his words. 

You stared down at him, amongst your apartment and your messy living room. You took in the sight, sighing gently. 

“I’ll go get a trash bag.” You offered, attempting to switch the conversation over from what he had mentioned earlier. Friends and Family, you thought to yourself as you searched under your sink for a garbage bag. Really, that was hardly what it was. It was a few close friends who had invited you along and their better friends who made it a point that you should try to attempt and socialize more outside your group. But what good would that do? You weren’t fond of people, and you didn’t like getting your hopes up. That’s all people usually did anyway, right? Use each other for personal gain. 

But maybe it didn’t have to be like that. Josh didn’t seem to be using you all for anything… In fact, rather selflessly, he had offered to help you, even when you were snarky and rude to him all day. You chewed the inside of your cheek again, walking back into your living room to find a few pairs of socks already expertly wrapped, sitting next to Josh’s thigh from his crisscross position on the floor. 

“Hey,” You said as you began to throw pieces of paper into the plastic bag, “thank you.” 

Josh looked up from where he was taping a small piece of tape over a fold in the paper, raising a brow at you as to say, for what?

You rolled your eyes, sitting down across from him in the same position once everything was cleaned up nicely. “I mean it, thank you. I wasn’t super nice to you, and honestly I'm surprised you tolerated my behavior, but you helping means a lot. I don't-” You coughed, “I'm not used to this, if you can believe it.” 

“Not used to this? I could hardly tell.” He commented back, smirking when you threw a plastic bow at his chest. It landed in his lap with a soft thud. “But hey, don’t worry about it. I'm surprised you even let me help with anything. You don’t seem like the type of person to open up to anyone.” 

Wow, okay. He was either really good at reading people, or somehow made an educated guess. You decided to accept the latter of the two for your own sanity. 

“What do you mean?” You asked him, inquiring about his observation. He took a moment to finish taping up the gift, setting it beside him, hands in his lap. He looked at you now, really looked, eyes fluttering in his response. 

“Well besides the whole bah-humbug attitude,” he looked away from you now and around your apartment, “there are no decorations up for Christmas,” he held up one finger, “no family or friend photos anywhere,” another finger, “and today you got people gifts that only family members who have no idea what someone likes usually get for people.” He finished, showing you three fingers in the air like he had calculated it all internally only to show you everything externally. 

You steeled yourself with his answer, considering it thoughtfully. It was true. You had no fun photos of anyone anywhere, unlike what you had seen from Josh’s place prior to your excursion at this moment. You weren’t close with your family, not at all. You didn’t like to think about it really, it was something you usually tried to avoid, but he was right. You hated this holiday because of that very reason. You decided to share that with him.

“Well, you sure know how to make a lady feel really special.” He didn’t laugh, only waited for you to continue. “You’re right though. I’m… not close with my family. I never really was growing up, and well,” oh boy, were you really about to spill everything to a guy you just met? Ah fuck it. Josh was listening so intently you might as well, right? “My parents are divorced. Dad moved away a long time ago, Mom forgot about me with her new husband.” You waved a hand in the air like you were trying to play off just how empty you truly sometimes felt around this time of year. 

“I guess I just,” you squinted and tried to find the right words, “I guess I just hate his holiday because I’ve never actually celebrated it with anyone before besides myself, and what kind of a holiday spirit would you have if you like me and had nobody in your life?” You finished, not looking up at him anymore, head facing downwards at your hands with rested now in your lap. 

You waited in silence for a moment. You probably scared him off right? With a sob story fit for some dumb character in a movie- 

But you didn’t. Almost immediately you were pulled into a hug. It was warm and tight, grounding you as his arms snaked around you to tug you close and encapsulate the true feeling of something you had never felt before. It was strange, but you found you liked it as he buried his head into your shoulder. Slowly you snaked yours around him as well, practically in his lap now, and patted his back. 

“(Y/N),” he said softly into your shirt, “I'm sorry.”

But that was new to you. It wasn’t out of pity, or even remorse. It was sorry for you because you had never gotten to share something he probably had a hundred times over. He was sorry for you because you weren’t lucky, but you were doing the best with what life had given you. 

You pulled away then as he did and looked at his face, and into his eyes. He looked so honest, from what you gathered today he always did. You gave him a small smile, lifting a hand to pat his soft cheek. 

“It’s okay.” You told him. “The small things make up for it.” 

Josh tilted his head into your hand, raising his brow. “Small things?” he asked you. You nodded slowly. 

“Like your kindness today. Or the way people around this time are somewhat nicer than they usually are the rest of the year…” You rambled. He lifted own hand to cup the one that had been on his cheek, holding it gently. “And because I don’t hate Christmas, not really. I just hate that I’ve never gotten the chance to celebrate it the way I always wanted to.” 

You pulled off of him, he let go of your hand. 

“Well,” he started, “things change. You never know, maybe we kept meeting today because the universe knew you needed a reason for some holiday cheer.” He emphasized the last part and it made you giggle quietly. “From here on (Y/N), I promise you,” he gestured around to some of the already wrapped gifts, “you’ll have a reason.” 

You blinked at him. What on earth could that mean?

------------

Years later, when you looked back on that fateful day, you finally did understand what it meant. You understood that even if you had assumed the universe was cruel sometimes, you were thankful that fate had other plans that one Christmas for you. 

Now, as you looked around your shared apartment, you took in the festive cheer and the brilliantly bright tree in the corner. You took in all the new photos of your new friends and shared family on the walls of your home. You allowed yourself to savor the beauty of having a festive and warm home. Because, well, that was what it was. A home you had made, along-side your partner in crime. 

“(Y/N)!” You heard a voice bellow from your bedroom, coming down the hall. The person beamed at you. “Like it?” Josh asked once he came to stand in the full light of the living room, wearing the ugliest sweater you had ever seen. You laughed with him as he did a spin to show off the atrocious pattern. 

“I love it.” You told him, bringing a hand to cover your mouth as you stifled a laugh at his antics, your wedding ring flashing in the yellow lights of the tree. 

Christmas was never your favorite holiday. Well, back then it wasn’t. You had quickly learned, with lots of growing to do and through a lot of love, that it could be. With Josh by your side for all those years, helping you to come out of your shell and be a better person, you found you rather liked this time of year. 

And who better to spend it with than the most cheerful person of all?

#gvf #greta van fic #greta van fleet x reader #greta van fleet fic author #greta van fleet #josh kiszka x reader #josh kiszka #unreliable narrator fr #my fic #no beta we die like men #gvf fic #josh kiszka fic #holiday fic

[apocalypticgargoyle]

meet clay, he knows how you'll die.

intro filler chapter sorry

☾ pairing: dream x reader

☾ cw: interact at your own risk; contains graphic depictions of various character death and violence, suicide, blood, gore, and other triggering material. angst, language, guns, adult content, mentions of sex, slow burn friends to lovers

☾ wc: ~4100

Clay pulled the strap of his backpack further on his shoulder as he wove through the mindless sea of college students, eyes scanning the crowd for you, his best friend and the only person he could stand at the early hour. His knuckles flashed white as he sighed, taking the blunt impact of someone walking into him. He removed one of his headphones, mumbling a quick apology and swatting off the enthusiastically apologetic sophomore girl. All he could focus on was how much she bit her lip as she stammered on about not seeing him. It wasn’t alluring to him when most girls tried to sway his affections by looking at him with a puppy dog expression; all his mind drifted to was the dead skin across the body of her lower lip.

He finally nodded and reinstated his headphone, turning on his heel and heading for the front of the building. He received a few greetings from his peers as they crossed his path, people who shared past lectures with him and who had cheated off of him during exams. He wasn’t popular by any means, but he stayed out of people’s business and didn’t express his opinions loudly, so people tended to like him. The autumn breeze picked up as he stood in the dwellings of political science majors on the front lawn, acting as if they hadn’t seen one another in years when it had been only a few days. Clay absent-mindedly looked down at his cellphone, flipping through music as he leaned against the cool brick of the hall’s facade, waiting for you to find him.

Clay’s usual brooding manner was often off-putting to outsiders, with the careless-hollow look in his eyes giving bystanders the impression that he was nothing but a machiavellian. But you always saw the brightness in him; the side that you always experienced was specifically for you, and he made sure to keep it that way. You had wedged herself into his life and he was ever grateful for the love you had given him.

Despite the understood truth between the two of you that nothing was to be left unsaid, Clay still found himself keeping one of the most important aspects of his character unknown to you. His bloodcurdling secret was his own curse, something that would only be poison for another soul to know.

“What’s up, stud?” Somehow a flush of relief rippled through Clay’s body as his eyes locked to yours, pulling him from his isolated shell. Your hair looked brighter today against the dark hoodie peeking out from beneath an all too familiar bomber jacket. The wind fluffed your locks slightly as you continued towards him.

His eyebrows perked up as if to signal he was attempting to downplay his excited demeanor. “Stud, huh?” You smirked at his response, taking one of his headphones and putting it in your own ear, her face angled up to Clay as you waited to recognize the song, swaying slightly.

He chuckled as you shrunk away from him after muttering the song’s artist disappointedly and rolling your eyes, pulling on his hoodie pocket to follow you. As chaotic as his life often felt, he could always rely on the consistency of you. You usually attached yourself to one of his backpack straps, handles, his belt loop, or ended up under his arm, wedged against his side. It had gotten to the point that he felt naked if you weren’t within arm’s length of him, which was rare for the two of you. “So, I have something for you.” He smugly looked down at you, green eyes masking a hidden sparkle as you handed him a can of root beer, making him chuckle.

“Aren’t you sweet?” He popped the tab, taking a sip as you waved at a group of girls passing the two of you before slipping your hand against the crook of his elbow where his hoodie sleeves were pushed back.

“Actually, I was hoping it could be payment for later. I need to head over to the cemetery for some rubbings. History 270 has me getting into some weird shit, huh?” He laughed again at you, offering you the drink.

“And you need wheels?” You nodded and smiled politely at him, beaming at his words. “Yeah, alright. I have to sketch something for art anyway.” He thought about the week’s assignment and then about your little project he had dealt with the prior year. You had acted like the two of you hadn’t been to the cemetery on a regular basis, but he was grateful that you wanted him to come along with you.

You quietly jumped once. “You are my hero in faded denim, Clay. You know that, right?”

The two of you parted ways to your select destinations, one of Clay’s least favorite parts of the day, which was only solidified as he sunk into his seat and attempted to look equipped for the lecture. He spotted an unfamiliar kid shaking his knee in a distant section of the classroom. In any other circumstance, he wouldn’t have thought twice, but the sie of the class had given him the pleasantries of getting his own personal curse out of the way on the first day.

He carefully watched the boy speak smugly to a few of the more athletic kids in the room. One of the athletes pointed to the general direction Clay was sitting in and they all moved towards him. He, yet again, took out his headphones, knowing full well that they would be talking to him for the rest of the class.

“Oi, Shaman,” one of the main guys greeted Clay like they always did: a strange pattern of slapping and shaking his hand. He was thankful he had gotten all of their first impressions months prior and didn’t have to worry about getting their scenarios again, but he geared up to meet the new kid.

“How are you, Punz?” Clay took a deep breath as the new kid was gestured to and brought into the light.

“This is Mark. He’s a transfer from one of the commuter campuses. Mark, this is the mastermind you pay for notes.”

Clay sarcastically smiled at Punz. “My, you flatter me more than any girl. Nice to meet you, man.” As soon as he touched Mark’s hand, Clay’s mind flashed to a dingy-looking barn out in the middle of nowhere before an older man in his mid-thirties came into view with a lever-action rifle in his hand. In another flash, Clay was in front of the man, now kneeling with the gun in his mouth, red, blurry eyes looking straight through Clay. A pang of guilt broke open in Clay’s stomach as he pushed against the handguard lever and pulled it back into place, squeezing the trigger and sending Ckay back to the class. He let out a sigh and fought to plaster one of his less absent smiles.

“Speaking of our lovely girls, Mark here has a question about her.” Clay’s head tilted towards Mark, not exactly squaring up to him, but sending him an amused look as if to warn him not to cross a line, knowing full-well this conversation would somehow involve you. “We all know that no guy would ever intrude on her without your blessing, but Mark sat near her on the bus before his first class and was thinking about asking her out.”

Clay bit back a laugh, feeling like the Vito Corleone. “Well, you know her, Punz, and you know she would be mortified if I told some guy to fuck off, so I would just ask her yourself?” Oh, how desperately Clay wanted to bash Mark for not even telling Clay himself and the fact that the boy before him was nowhere near your type, but Clay knew better than to burn bridges and he felt bad for the way Mark would meet his end.

Nobody, not even you, knew about Clay’s gift. In the going-on-five years of knowing you, he came breaths away from letting his secret slip but has always kept it hidden, hoping to bury it with him after being married to you for forty happy years.

The visions started around his fifth-grade year, beginning with vivid dreams of dying in the midst of the Civil War, feeling the warm gushing of blood leaving his system, and the stabbing pain of being shot multiple times beside a woman who oddly looked enough like you that he almost called out your name. He had lived what he presumed to be his death in the life before this one several times, each vision taking him a few clicks further.

Soon, he found himself catching glimpses of others’ deaths before they happened as soon as they touched him, but thankfully it was usually over with no time passing and he only endured the visions once for each person, fate having already sealed itself. The only person who seemed to mix him up was you.

It was love at first sight for him, but as soon as you touched his arm, bleak snapshots of a boating accident raced into his mind, only to have to re-experience the scenario a few months later with you stepping in front of a train. Even as a measly high school freshman, he promised himself that there was no way he was letting you die in the gruesome manners being predicted to you. He didn’t think changing fate was possible until he witnessed you in action. He hated seeing you so young in each of the glimpses, tearing him to shreds as he knew time and time again that there was no way he could change what was meant to be.

There were even times when he quietly promised you that he’d die by your side if he couldn’t stop it.

As his lecture let out, Clay found you tucked into a corner of the library, smiling to yourself silently as knew you had finally found what you were looking for in one of the massive books before you. There were many moments like this that Clay wished he could pause and remember for the rest of his life. He was proud that you were there for him even though you could have left instead of playing your own little game of library scavenger hunts.

Since knowing you, he had taken note of how you treated other boys, usually as first dates and never true pick-ups. You didn’t care if they called you the next day or not and he was sure you had never even been kissed before. Something about your guys’ relationship gave others the nod to leave it the fuck alone, and that your heart truly belonged to Clay; a responsibility he wished didn’t plague you with. Despite this, he couldn’t bring himself to be with you, only worried that what you had would be destroyed because he knew that as soon as he told you about his gift, you might leave.

You always brought a bag of marbles and a bouquet of flowers to the cemetery. You loved to find the tombstones that looked neglected or ones with older dates, knowing that the possibility of having family members who remembered the person was lower. The trees in the graveyard were reds and yellows with the changing season, leaves scattered over the grass, naturally piling in large masses. This was your favorite for how neglected it seemed to always be. You had a knack for making inanimate objects and lost souls feel loved; Clay often feeling like he was one of these disembodied figures.

Clay leaned his back against one of the massive trees a few paces from the tombstone you had picked, smiling as he watched you carry out her routine. He flipped to a clean page in his sketchbook as you sat cross-legged in front of the great stone resting place, pulling the long-dead flowers from the concrete gauntlet and replenishing a few flowers in their place while setting an equal number of marbles along the grass line of the stone. A daisy was tucked behind your ear as you ran her fingers against the worn chiseling of the dates, smiling slightly. He began to sketch you out. Your eyes drifted to him before the corners of your mouth curled up into a smirk and you returned to her previous position, straightening your shoulders. “Who is it?” He asked, blending a rough edge with the pads of his finger as you tilted your head at the script carvings.

“George McAfee. Born 1926. Died 1963.” The wind picked up, blowing your hair away from your face as you pulled your jacket closer around you. “What was happening in 1963?” You turned your head to him momentarily before looking back at the lucky man. “I mean besides Beatlemania and JFK’s assassination?”

Clay outstretched one of his legs, swallowing as he thought, his eyes fluttering from the page in front of him to you. “Well, Alcatraz was shut down, Studebaker stopped production, the USSR sent the first woman into space…” he trailed off, watching you as the gears began to spin in your head.

“Do you think he died in the Coliseum explosion?” You wet your lips and he couldn’t help but smile at you.

“Maybe he died in the USS Thresher sinking?” He was thankful that he could capture your thoughtful gaze in this picture.

“You’re smart, Dream. Have I ever told you that?” He chuckled at the sigh in your voice. He detailed the bomber jacket you were wearing---which you’d stolen from his closet god knows when---a bit as you placed a piece of paper over the engraving and rubbed a crayon against the stone, his name coming to life on the paper as you came to life on Clay’s. It didn’t matter why you two would be in the cemetery, you always had a type of bond with the dead, surprising Clay due to how bright you were and your power of holding onto so much compassion. He threw his sketchbook into his backpack and slug in over his shoulder, moving to help you up. You decided to give the rest of the flowers to George as Clay stood next to you, gazing down at his grave.

A high-pitched moan startled the two of you, snapping your heads to look over the hedges separating your section of graves and the one beside it. Clay’s eyes widened as they fell to a girl in all black with porcelain skin propped on top of one of the tombstones. You clasped your hand over his mouth pulling him onto the ground next to you as you peered through a hole in the bushes. His mind noticed your arms first. One of them was secured over his chest and the other wrapped around his shoulder from beneath his arm, holding onto him as he steadied himself in the weird crouching position. “Are you enjoying this?” He jeered, looking over his shoulder slightly as he heard you snicker. The girl began to ride the stone harder.

“How many times in your life are you going to see a girl humping a gravestone? Honestly, Clay, how many?” He shook his head as you both looked at the girl, giggling to yourselves. You dug her face into his shoulder trying to stifle the next laugh trying to rip through your body as the gothic girl moaned, letting out more labored breaths. Clay’s face contorted into a twisted look of disgust as the girl tugged on her own hair. “Oh, do you think that hurts?” You took the words out of his mouth, tightening your arms around him as he shrugged.

“I doubt it’s any rockier than sex with a human.” He bit his lip, a hollow sound interrupting him quietly laughing at his own joke as you thumped him in the chest. The girl moaned louder. “Alright, she’s climaxing. I’m uncomfortable now.” Clay stood and Willow popped up next to him, lacing your fingers with his, bringing color back to his cheeks as you slipped the remaining marbles into his pocket.

“Oh, hi!” In the midst of holding hands with you again and trying to slink back to his car, he hadn’t even realized that the moaning had stopped. The girl now stood near the two of you in what seemed to be a black slip. Clay found it hard to make direct eye contact with her. “Are you guys looking for someone?”

“We were, but we couldn’t find him so-” you began, gesturing for Clay’s car and pulling him next to you.

“Well, I can help. Who are you looking for?” A thousand sarcastically vulgar comments ran through Clay’shead but his eyes flickered from her face to the tombstone she was on previously.

“Uh, my grandpa. His name was Rupert Daniels,” Clay managed to choke out. Your nails dug into his arm while your hand squeezed his. The girl looked around at the surrounding stones.

“I don’t see him right now, but I can look?” You both shook your heads quickly and muttered various responses before finally slipping away from her and getting into his car. Neither of you said anything as you pulled off the gravel driveway until crossing the railroad tracks when Clay burst out laughing.

“Do you think she even knew who it was she was gettin’ it on with or did she just pick somewhere random?” Clay laughed harder at your stunned response. “I’m serious. Clay, what the fuck. How can someone even get off in a cemetery?”

“I don’t know, man. Would you hook up with someone in a cemetery?” Clay quipped, wiggling his eyebrows at you, causing you to laugh. You dug into his console, pulling out a bag of M&Ms you had stashed in there last week, popping one in your mouth.

“Only if it was you.”

He giggled. “Excuse me, what?”

“There are just some things you do with certain people, Dream. You know what I mean.”

“I don’t know if I should be flattered I’m the only one you would have sex with in a cemetery, or like, disgusted?” You laughed at his reaction.

Within ten minutes the sun had begun to set and Clay sang loudly with you to the song playing over the radio as Clay sped along one of the county roads near your apartment complex, not wanting the night to end. He loved these moments with you. You turned down the radio and threw your hair back into a ponytail. “So, what do you think of that new kid, Mark?” Something in Clay shifted, taking away the free feeling he had recently possessed next to you. He thought carefully.

He chewed his bottom lip. “Depends on what you think?”

“Well, he seems like a wannabe Punz. And he asked me out. Naturally, I said ‘yes’ because maybe he’s different?” Clay chuckled at your sarcasm, putting his car in park on the side of the street your flat was on and getting out with you. The radio still hummed in the air lowly. “He insisted on Friday, though.” Clay dramatically acted like you had stabbed him in the heart, even though it did hurt. Friday night was their night. It had been a running tradition for movie night every Friday since your freshman year and you had never canceled on Clay for a date. “I know, I know. But I figured that I’d tell him I had diarrhea when it hit eight o’clock and be over at your place with an extra pizza? Your roommate’s working right?” He chuckled with a nod, walking you up the first three steps to your place as you made it to the concrete landing. You turned to him. “And he said he was taking me somewhere fancy, so I’ll snag you some breadsticks.” He tilted his head at you as you winked at him.

“Nah, don’t worry about it. Wanna be Punz might be fun. Maybe I’ll call up Minx and hang out with her?” He joked. Minx was a friend of yours that hung out with the two of you sometimes. He had never really liked her, but she was friends with you and thus he was always civil.

“You’re still my number one, babe.” You pushed him slightly as you climbed a few more steps, leaning on the railing as he waved to leave. “Hey, Dream?” He turned on his heel as you forced yourself to make eye contact. He stuffed his hands in his jeans pockets. “You could kiss me, you know? For science.” You smiled softly at him from where you were perched. He wet his lips as his heart hammered in his chest. He wanted to scale the steps and close the space between you, to knock you off your feet and show you just how much he was in love with you.

He hated himself. “A first kiss should have more magic in it than just for science. As a romantic, you should know first hand.” You smiled at the ground in front of you.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.” The two of you seemed to shake off the serious moment as you stuck your tongue out at him and slipped inside your house as both giggled.

“I love you,” he murmured as you left, punching himself in the shoulder as he got back into his car.

Clay’s heartbeat pulsed in his ears, making him truly believe he was going to pass out. He had lost his gun at least a mile back. He was running mindlessly now, not knowing how long or where he was going. He trudged through the forest, hearing dogs barking and gunshots erupting around him, the ringing in his ears building with every step he forced himself to make. He wanted to rip open the front of his jacket to release the body heat drenching his collar, but he didn’t move other than propelling his body further and further away from the soldiers. You ran beside him, holding your skirt up while your hair danced around your shoulders like a great waterfall. As soon as his body felt like it might just give out, he would look at you and somehow find more of a drive to pull forward. His breaths were brittle and hoarse as he drew in borrowed oxygen. His lungs felt shallow like they were giving out on him.

You reached back, grasping his hand and pulling him into a sharp corner, hoping to lose the group. You both had managed to weave into the forest, but the dogs were somehow still picking up on your scent. The pair of you finally came upon a clearing and kneeled down out of sight, spotting a house in the middle of a glen. Bullets were streaming through the air. The forest was catching fire and cannons were echoing through the distant air. You squeezed his hand tightly, looking at him with terror in your eyes. He had gotten the two of you into this mess, but he was glad he was beside you.

He pulled you to your feet as the pair of you sprinted for a distant house. A sharp pain stabbed into Clay’s back, making him drop to the ground. How did he not hear the gun? You dropped to your feet, your eyes welling with tears, ripping at his jacket, but he pushed you off, telling you to leave quickly. He leaned forward, eyes locking on the soldiers in gray coming towards them, reloading their rifles. He groaned, pushing himself up, but only having the same stabbing sensation two more times in his chest. He heard you scream, but he couldn’t see you.

His hands were going numb as he touched where the bullets entered, feeling the warm and sticky crimson substance seep between his fingers. The soldiers reached you before you had made it to the house, pulling you to the ground next to him. You were crying heavily as you looked at him. Everything began to run quiet as you held onto him tightly. You were saying something to him, but he couldn’t hear you. He was only aware of his jacket soaking with blood. He coughed, wanting to tell you he loved you one last time, but you were tugged away from him, pressed to one of the men in gray. He raised a hand to you as you fought against the man. And then everything went dark.

Dream Tag List: (hopefully this works)

@karlkitten @pluto-dizzz @more-like-reyna @honk-izzie-was-taken @marrymetheonott @froggyy06 @ghoulandghost @savingpluto @marshmallow-babe @drunkpumpkincake @unstableye @tinyegg @behzzyboo @twist3dtinkerbell @sparkletash @shroomieissmall @clubfairy @camerondiaz48104 @victory-is-here @rat-poisin @alm334 @acidluvs @pachowpachowbucket @bbigbbrainn @cdizzlevalntyne @idiotinnit @generallysleepdeprived @sacvf @phsychopathetic @froggerrrr @robinslie @essencee @jemalovesmarvel @sbi-is-my-onlysanity @jenlouvre @victoria-a567 @miilliiie @bunnylotl @thegirlwhowritesawksh-t @carlyferrell @dumb-chaotic-bi-energy @nyxieahh @quivvyintheclouds @sarcasticmichelle @book-of-anarchy @millavalntyne @lightdreamy @baddiesforcorpse @sunnynapp @fantasy-innit @rat-poisin @wreny24 @deepestofwaters @exenestea @indecisivehusky @fallxnly @alm334 @skaratjung @punzcanrailme @sap-naps @denki-exe @angeltears18 @silvemistxe33 @andreamalik6 @kris-stuff @sun-fiower-seed @where-thesundoesntshine @dilfdream @esmegregory04 @itsparasocial @mlqcool @mcgoddess404 @rinatdawn @chaoscait @peppermintkisses @libbynotfound @speedrunningtherapy @lunxramour @aoonai @loraleiix @ghoulpixiie

#dream x you #dream x fem!reader #dream x y/n #dream imagine #dream x reader #mcyt au #mcyt x reader #cw gore #cw language #tw violence #tw death #tw angst #tw gore #tw suicide #tw blood

[fromthedeskoftheraven]

Always kiss me goodnight

Pairing: Din Djarin x female reader

Content:  Pining, kissing, mention of food, oh no there’s only one bed,   helmetless Din (but it’s dark), baby Yoda is an adorable tiny terror

Word count: ~2200

Note:  I swear I was only going to write one Pedro character fic. Has this   kind of thing been done a million times? Yes. Am I doing it once more?   Also yes. It’s self-indulgent hours and this little love letter to our favorite space dad and his green baby has been nagging at my mind since I  first watched the show.

Tagging the people who asked (If anyone wants to be tagged or un-tagged in any future fics since it seems  I’m well and truly back on my bs just say the word): @songsformonkeys @yespolkadotkitty @emesispo @beccaplaying

———————————————

Fatigue has caught up with the little green child now that his belly is full, and crankiness along with it. The Mandalorian has been known to lovingly  call his adopted son a womp rat, but when the baby gets overtired, a rancor is more like it.

This time, you can hardly blame him. The three of you have spent the better part of the day traveling, finally landing on this backwater planet late in the evening. With some searching and a small fortune in credits, Din managed to find a safe, out-of-the-way place to stay, leaving you and the child to eat and settle in while he went to scout the bounty’s location for the next  day’s work.

As the child’s fussing gains momentum, you hustle to the small sink in the corner of the room.

“We’ll wash your face and go straight to bed,” you promise him, letting the   water warm before wetting a cloth and wringing it out thoroughly.

In the mirror, your own face looks as exhausted as he obviously feels. The bed in question is little more than a pallet with a mattress and some  blankets, but it might as well be a royal welcome at this stage of the game.

Despite your gentleness, the baby erupts in an indignant whine as you wipe the cloth over his face and ears. “I know, little love,” you soothe while he struggles in protest. “Almost done.”

He quiets when you scoop him up into your arms, pressing a kiss to his fuzzy head. You hum bits of a song from your childhood, rocking him from side to side, and his little face crumples with a yawn. His tiny fingers curl into the fabric of your tunic and his head goes heavy on your shoulder, but still he fidgets, making pathetic little sounds in the direction of the door.

“I know,” you murmur again, still swaying on the spot. “He’ll be back soon.”

You’ve grown to love the child and you know he’s fond of you, but as far as   he’s concerned Din is the one who hangs the stars in the sky. He’s always a little agitated when his father is out of sight, and truth be told, so are you.

“I know what we can do,” you say. “Let’s make a plate for your buir for when he comes back. Don’t you think that’ll be nice for him?”

Neither you nor Din are sure how much the child actually understands, but you don’t let it stop you talking to him. If nothing else it makes you feel a little less alone in the long hours when Din is hunting his quarries.

His drooping ears twitch upward with this suggestion. He watches with interest as you lay a plate with some of the fresh fruit, bread, and stewed meat Din bought from the innkeeper for your supper.

“There we go. Now then, bedtime for little ones.”

You turn to survey the sleeping area with a stab of nerves. The minuscule size of the room isn’t a challenge -- the Razor Crest has made you an expert in living in small spaces -- but the lone bed is a wrinkle you hadn’t expected.

Din, ever pragmatic, had been quick to point out that it was plenty big enough for the three of you, and it was only one night. He was right, of course.

Still, you’d never been so grateful for dim lighting, sure that your secret longing for the Mandalorian was written plainly on your flustered face.

You couldn’t have said exactly when your feelings for Din Djarin had strayed  into dangerous territory. Somewhere in the months of traveling with him, caring for his child, helping maintain his ship, reminding him to eat, and tending the worst of his wounds your initial wariness turned to admiration, admiration to fondness, and fondness to something alarmingly like love.

It’s a fool’s errand.

For all his kindness to you Din is an island of a man, set apart from the world in  his shell of beskar and the even more unyielding armor of his creed.  Even if his heart is big enough to encompass the child, you don’t dare to hope there’s room for you too.

And now this bed -- this one kriffing bed -- sits there mocking you and all your silly fantasies of you and Din and the child being a real family, bound together by love instead of convenience.

You turn off the light overhead, leaving only the small, sickly lamp at the table to light Din’s way to his supper.

The mattress is clean and the blankets are a bit threadbare but soft, and the baby only has the energy to grumble a little when you lay him down on the side closest to the wall and tuck the thickest of them around   him. Yawning widely, he stretches out a hand toward you, fingers grabbing at the air.

The gesture warms your weary heart.

“Don’t worry. I’m not going anywhere.”

You lie down beside him and face away from the table, mindful that Din will need privacy to eat. The little body shuffles closer to you, curling into your shoulder, and a surge of fierce affection pricks your eyes with tears. You wrap your arm around the baby to hold him close as the full brunt of the long day overtakes you.

“Good night, little love,” you say around a yawn, just as your eyes fall closed.

***

You wake with a start. The windowless room is pitch black, and in the absence of any landmarks your brain races to orient itself.

At your back, the child’s soft, snuffling breaths. A well-worn blanket draped over you and a slightly lumpy mattress beneath.

The inn, you remember in a flash.

At your front...something warm and broad and solid. You’ve nestled into it  in your sleep, one arm thrown over it, your hand grasping soft fabric. A familiar, comforting scent surrounds you, a scent you cherish from laundry days and the cramped quarters of a small ship.

Oh, Maker.

You clearly slept through Din coming back and getting into bed, and now you’re wrapped around him like a second set of clothes. The rush of blood into your cheeks flames so hot you worry he must feel it through the base layers he’s wearing to sleep.

Shrinking into yourself, you begin to pull away, as stealthily as you can. If you  can just get back to your own side of the bed and brazen it out in the  morning, maybe he’ll never be the wiser.

Slowly, so slowly, you  release the handful of his shirt you’re holding and move your arm from where it’s resting across his chest...

In the darkness, a hand encircles your wrist.

Oh, Maker.

You’ve watched Din wrestle enough uncooperative bounties into the carbonite   chamber to know you’re not getting away from him if he doesn’t want you to. But his grip on your wrist is light, gentle. His thumb rests on the place where your pulse is fluttering like a trapped bird, whether from embarrassment or his closeness you’re not entirely sure.

“Din.” It comes out barely a whisper, sabotaged by the sudden dryness of your mouth. You swallow hard and try again. “Din, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to do that.”

“It’s all right.”

His voice is a revelation. Free of the modulator’s rasp, it’s warmer, richer, somehow softer and more resonant at the same time. You’ve never even been in the same room with him when he has his helmet off, and the realization that he’s right there, a breath away, is dizzying.

Silence stretches before he speaks again, more quietly. “It’s...nice.”

Your brain fails you entirely. “Oh.”

You search desperately for something more intelligent to say, but his thumb is drawing feather-light circles over the soft skin of your wrist and your pulse is thundering in your ears. Those touches, so delicate from a man so strong, blur your thoughts like liquor and drag a confession from your lips before you can bite it back. “I’ve always wanted to hold you.”

You wait, blessing the darkness that swallows your shame,  and hope he’s not going to tell you to pack your things and find a job in this bleak little skug hole for when he leaves you behind.

Instead, you feel the mattress shift and know he’s turned toward you.

The sudden fear of breaking Din’s creed is overwhelming, even in the dark. Instinct has you squeezing your eyes shut so tightly that white specks float behind your eyelids.

“I can’t see you,” you say quickly. “I promise.”

“I know.”

His thumb moves from your wrist across your palm, uncurling your fingers to map each one in turn, trailing up to the tips and back down again. You wonder how long it’s been since he’s touched anyone’s bare skin.

He sighs, which is nothing new, but this one doesn’t sound exasperated. It sounds almost...content. “Mesh’la,” he murmurs. “Beautiful girl. I thought so the first time I saw you.”

You’re overcome with a wild, childish urge to pinch yourself to make sure you’re not dreaming.

His praise gives you a rush of courage to ask for something you’ve only dreamed of. “Din...can I touch you? Is it allowed?”

His only answer is to cradle your hand in his, bringing it to rest on his cheek.

Stubble prickles your palm as your fingers slowly trace his scruffy jawline and the thick column of his neck, savoring the feel of him. His hair is soft, long enough to curl at its nape, and when you comb your fingers through the tousled strands he makes a low, strangled sound in the back of his throat. It reverberates through your body like a bell, making your head swim with the thrill of affecting him.

You only just resist the urge to suck a mark into the spot where his pulse races under his warm skin.

Your greedy hands move on to discover a strong brow and the curved bridge of a prominent nose. A mustache frames lips that are more plush than you imagined, a note of sensuality in an angular, warrior’s face.

“Can you tell me what color your eyes are?” you ask, fingertips traveling over his cheekbone.

“Brown.”

Brown. You see them in your mind’s eye, soft and dark, expressing all the   things he doesn’t say out loud. Stroking his lower lip, you repeat his own word back to him: “Mesh’la.”

Din’s mouth twitches under your fingers. “You can’t see me.”

He has no idea. His body warming yours and the sweetness of his voice   calling you beautiful is everything you’ve ever wanted and thought yourself unworthy of having, and he thinks you’re only talking about his  face.

You cup his cheek, smile at him, even though he can’t see it. “I don’t need to, Din. I just know it. I always have.”

“You’re so good to me.” His hand catches yours in his large one, his voice   rough with some nameless emotion. “To me, and the baby. All the time.”

“You deserve everything good,” you whisper past the lump in your throat.

He’s caressing your hand again, holding it in place to press his lips to the pad of your thumb. “I want to kiss you, cyare.”

Your exhale is somewhere between a laugh and a sob. “Please.”

His hand moves to cradle your head as he closes the distance between you. If you were expecting him to pounce, you’re completely unprepared for him to linger, breath hovering over your lips for a long, agonizing moment as he brushes his nose over yours.

You’re almost startled by the first touch of his lips, a little chapped but warm and lush. His mustache is softer than you thought it would be, and so are his kisses, a series of slow, gentle presses of his mouth. Like he wants to do with his lips what you’ve done with your hands, sketching and learning.

It’s only when you slide your hand into his hair again that something inside him breaks. His arm snakes around your waist, holding you to the refuge of his broad chest as he slants his mouth over yours, claiming you in earnest. He’s possessive and tender in equal measure and the tease of  his tongue against yours, his teeth nipping your lower lip, the span of his hand on your back has you drunk on him and whispering his name between kisses like a prayer.

...Apparently not quietly enough.

A little hand scrabbling at your shoulder blade brings you out of your haze. As you pull away from Din the baby is climbing over you as quickly as his short limbs will let him. He wedges himself between the two of you with a delighted coo at Din, hands flailing to find his father’s face.

Din heaves a sigh, but there’s no malice in it. “I’m here, ad’ika,” he says, with unmistakable fondness. “We’re all here.”

You can’t stifle a breathless laugh as the baby snuggles into Din’s arms, making himself comfortable for the night.

Your Mandalorian surrenders good-naturedly, wrapping an arm around you with  the child tucked safely in the middle. He presses a kiss to your forehead before settling on the pillow beside you. “Sleep, cyare.”

Drowsiness is already fuzzing the edges of your mind again, but it catches on the word he’s said twice now. “What does that mean?” you murmur. “Cyare?”

You feel him smile against your temple, one last brush of his lips. “Share my bunk tomorrow night, and I’ll tell you.”

#din djarin x reader #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin #pedro pascal #the mandalorian #the mandalorian fanfiction #din djarin fanfiction #din djarin x female reader #the mandalorian x female reader

[entities-of-posts]

When did this blog become a rp blog?? What’s happening?? /nm I just wanna know so I can keep up with whatever plot is happening rn

Well about two weeks ago now I (more or less) accidentally kicked off a Vast ritual - or, rather, helped it gain traction. The point was to reblog a very very long post as many times in a row possible to torture your followers, and I kept a scoreboard updated about the developments. Long story short, after that, people started interacting a lot more with me and before I knew it this was a Proper Roleplay Blog™. Since then a couple of things have happened, briefly listed:

- people started sending me statements for appraisal and questions about the Entities/avatarhood

- I started taking in students - rookie avatars who I helped choose their path and educate. Some of them are terrible troublemakers.

- I tried very very hard not to talk about Homestuck but people kept goading me into it and I eventually cracked and went Insane for One Night Only

- in retribution for Homestuck Crimes, a Slaughter avatar challenged me to a duel. I won with the power of intellect and incredible violence :) now her right eye sits in a bottle on my desk as a paperweight

- one of my students got kidnapped and thrown into the Lonely by my spider friends who used to help me around the Archives. Note the now-past tense.

- I got a cat :D his name is The Detective and he’s of the Flesh and he’s adorable

- tape recorders started showing up. Uh oh.

- another of my students was kidnapped by the spiders. Same day, the first one stopped sending updates from the Lonely. Now I was getting worked up.

- a friend got possessed & taken by the Web and started sending coded messages. At this point my relationship with the Web was officially updated to “complicated”. I spent a few frantic days trying to exchange what messages I could with the missing people and breaking cipher after cipher with the help of a few people, mainly my remaining student, until they got taken as well, and things were looking Kinda Bleak!

- finally fed up and desperate enough to take Pretty Rash actions, I gathered together some useful things from artifact storage, including a few gifts from Spiral avatars: a map of the Hallways given to me by my second pupil, plus glasses to read it and a key to unlock any door I needed to given to me by Michael. With these and the help of a Buried avatar + rocky grunts, I made my way to where I’d figured out the four missing people were: a web spun by a very very big Spider just at the edge between the domains of the Lonely and the Vast, right above the fog. There was an epic battle and I used a Desolation lighter to blow myself and the Spider up. We both survived but got hurt enough that my crew - rescue team and rescued - could escape back through the Hallways (a few of us kind of had to be dragged along at this point and I might have been in the number…)

- everyone having made it back safe, we had a big sleepover party and everyone was invited and it was very nice :) even if a lot of us were Just A Little Bit hurt.

- the next day I took it slow and answered statements and focused on healing the severe burns on 1/3 of my body :) it was a calm day overall! Though during the evening an incredibly untrustworthy looking Web avatar showed up and offered me to gamble “small favors” over a game of blackjack. They looked so suspicious and I had just barely gotten out of a scrap with the Web the day before and it was clearly a trap, so of course I said yes

- there followed a tense game; five rounds, which ended with a score of two for me and three for the Spider, meaning I now owe the Web one (1) “small favor” which isn’t worrying at all :) but I think it was worth it for the info I got out of it and because it was fun and they were kinda hot

- then I went looking through the Archives for a Stranger avatar that had gotten in there somehow (it’s off limits) and learned an unfortunate story

And that’s where we are now :) no I don’t know how this happened either. I’m having fun though

#this post is under Schrödinger’s Canonicity #as in I’m sort of speaking as the Archivist but also sort of not? #anyway yeah it’s been a wild ride but that’s the general overview #statements

[illumilu]

there’s only one bed” - illumi zoldyck x reader

a/n: a very stereotypical cliche for fanfics, but, yk what? cringe makes the world go round. so here, have my drabbling of what would happen if you were to spend an unwanted night in the same hotel bed as the adultrio. i feel like i may have made this way too long again, but who cares?? this time it’s with illumi! aka loml ...

summary: after a lengthy car trip, you arrive at the hotel with illumi, but to your horror (wink wink), there’s only one bed. including: you dreaming abt him when he’s literally right in front of you (embarrassing). this is part two of a three-part series, with the adultrio. hisoka is already written and chrollo will be coming soon!

warnings: no particular trigger warnings, lowercase intended, a lot of fluff! and cuddling! only on your part though, since illumi is basically awkwardness personified... no nsfw <3

illumi zoldyck:

- the trip to the hotel had taken 6 hours. 6 hours in which you had fallen asleep multiple times, cramped your legs, somehow made every sleeping position dangerously uncomfortable, cracked your neck and twisted your back, possibly to the point of no return.

- for mr zoldyck, or rather, “illumi”, as he had instructed you to call him, the trip was no problem. his upbringing, which consisted of mainly torture, included staying awake for as long as a fortnight at a time. 6 hours may as well have been a few minutes. 

- “the silent son of the zoldycks” was his reputational nickname, or, rather, “lifeless koi fish”, as your friend, hisoka, enjoyed calling him. either way, illumi was not going to let a car ride tire him.

- when you had first met him, he had scared you. a lot. the entire “trained dangerous traumatised assassin” storyline was one that felt like a threat. you were undoubtedly taking a risk by working with him, but it was one you were willing to; it may have been twisted, but murder was your forte, and you were searching for a partner.

- over time, you had grown to be less intimidated by him.

- you were now colleagues with him, working on a new assassination.

- shockingly, planning murder took time, and who better to plan it with than the assassin himself? you had spent the past day on a “business trip”, paid for by illumi’s grandfather, where you sized up the area and familiarised yourself with yorknew.

- all for the big night.

- tonight was the day before the murder of the ten dons.

- illumi and kalluto would carry out the murder, while you made sure everything went smoothly, via a small mic attached to his clothes. the entire operation was based on trust, and would therefore be executed like clockwork.

- you had taken the necessary mental images and kept the targets in mind; all that was left was a night at a pre-booked hotel and then it would be go-time.

- you had assumed that the hotel would be high-class, with doormen, perhaps some marble flooring and pillars - it was the zoldycks who were paying, after all, and you knew they had money to spare. 

- “we’re here.” illumi stated blankly, face reflecting in the window. admittedly, he did look a little bit like a koi fish.

- you nudged past him to look out of the window, leaning over to get a good view.

- oh.

- it seemed you had made quite the overestimation. it was a simple, plain building with a few stories. no doormen or extravagance could be sighted.

- you supposed keeping a low profile was important, but the depressing accommodation was somehow making you wearier.

- the two of you didn’t exchange any conversation on the way up to your room, but you were used to that. 

- you and illumi had met around 5 months ago, and most of it had been comfortable silence. you hadn’t expected it to be like that - in all honesty, you had expected him to kill you - but illumi seemed... calm around you. 

- it was probably because you shared such an odd passion with him; the logistics of murder. you assumed it gave him a chance to loosen his harsh demeanour and enjoy himself. the both of you had worked on multiple murders together, focusing on theory and planning, but this was a huge assassination. nevertheless, you knew he could pull it off; illumi was smart, you had to give him that.

- finally, you arrived at your hotel room, sighing from the lengthy stairway winding up to your unnecessarily high room. you assumed it was for safety purposes, but for god’s sake; why did safety have to be so enervating?

- illumi pushed the door open, and you walked in with him. finally, you could catch some rest.

- except, you couldn’t. 

- a singular bed placed in the middle of the room.

- “why.” you thought to yourself tiredly. 

- you stood there silently, waiting for him to say something. 

- then, you remembered that he was illumi. he obviously wouldn’t see anything wrong with the situation. 

- the bastard.

- it didn’t help that he gave you no visible reaction when you stared at him with your face scrunched up expectantly, as if to ask what his plan was.

- “is there a problem, y/n?” illumi asked, his tone flat as usual.

- you took a deep, worn out breath, clearing your throat.

- after a bit, you shook your head. this was strictly professional. illumi wouldn’t do anything, because he was illumi. nothing would happen.this was an important night, where rest and a clear mind were essential. blame it on the fatigue, and nothing else. you were just exhausted. there was nothing else to it. nothing.

- “no. i’m just a little tired.” you dismissed.

- a silence skimmed past.

- “my grandfather... he often tends to be absentminded. occasionally, he forgets to do certain things, or plan them correctly, i suppose. you could say this is a prime example of such.”

- “zeno forgot another goddamn bed, hm?” you laughed nervously.

- illumi stared at you once again, blinking a few times, in a methodical manner, face neutral and robotic. you smiled awkwardly and remembered that he was not one to laugh at jokes. or anything, for that matter. 

- you wondered if he laughed at bloodshed. or maybe hisoka.

- “i’m going to... go to set up my stuff now.” 

- turning your back to illumi, you winced at the uncomfortable air. even after all your time with him, you never learnt to stop trying to lighten the mood. the mood was literally just always unnatural, in some way. that was another one of illumi’s specialties.

- after some time, in which you had finalized tomorrow's plan and each changed into comfortable clothes, you watched illumi tie his hair up from across the room. 

- his hair had always fascinated you. 

- you had always wanted to touch it. honestly, even when you had first met him, apart from his magnetic eyes, you had been drawn to his hair. you imagined it felt like silk sheets, caressing over one’s hands as smoothly as honey. you were glad he grew it out; in fact, upon seeing his teenage photos, you had laughed so hard you ended up getting a nosebleed from hitting your face. illumi had been left in confusion for a while.

- you realized how random you sounded. why were you reminiscing so much? 

- shaking yourself back to your senses, you admired as he artfully twisted his hair into a loose bun, strands of hair cupping his elegant, pale face.

- what a beautiful koi fish.

- most people couldn’t compute that illumi had true, human feelings. after all, it would be hard to believe a man like him felt anything. but, of course, he did, unhealthily so. he channeled all his trauma and hurt into his villainy, and received happiness from his villainy, anger from his villainy and occasionally fear from his villainy.  however, there was one emotion he could never grasp. he hated himself for it, but soon realised he could manipulate his hatred into villainy, too.

- illumi was a man who could manipulate anyone or anything he wished. 

- except himself.

- internally, he had always felt at a loss whenever he confronted his emotions. but, after he had met you, something had changed. as he caught you staring at his hair through the hotel mirror, he couldn’t help but feel something small stir inside of his stomach. not evil, not happiness, not hatred, not anger. perhaps, friendship?

- this tinge of new emotion inside of him initially made him feel uneasy, but that worry morphed into giddiness, a childish high buzzing somewhere in his core.

- eventually, he stood up to face you and suggested going to sleep. you checked the time on the wall clock. 8 in the evening. well, illumi had always been particular. you agreed that rest was essential for tomorrow.

- you hesitantly took the left side, and, upon seeing your choice, illumi followed to lie on the right.

- after a few minutes, you looked back at him, noticing illumi fell asleep abnormally quickly. you furrowed your brow quizzically at the rock-like manner he was in. frankly, he looked like a plank when he slept. you almost laughed, but held it in for his sake. 

- he had a very specific sleep schedule, as did the other zoldycks. he could go to sleep immediately at his own command, and stayed perfectly still as he did so. he woke up at 5 in the morning every single day, without fail, almost like he had some sort of alarm clock planted in his body. 

- looking at him lying there like a block, you smiled softly. illumi was quite the conundrum to you. you often speculated whether he ever got what he deserved; love, affection, anything really. you knew about his past from when he had told you nonchalantly, within a few weeks of your acquaintance. you always hoped he’d find someone to love him, but doubted whether people would bother looking beyond his bleak surface, and into his excellent mind. lost in thought, you found yourself getting drowsier. you also fell asleep generally quickly, limbs aching from the stupid car ride.

- the night passed.

- illumi was the first to wake up at 5am, stoic and in the same place he had fallen asleep in. no surprise there.

- but you. 

- that was the first thing he saw when his eyes opened.

- he did not expect you to be lying on him lazily, snuggling into his body, arm and leg comfortably wrapped around his side. you were breathing lightly, face burrowing onto the ridge of his chest.

- i suppose you didn’t expect to be there either, which he realized, but the point still remained.

- why were on you his chest.

- “y/n.”

- no answer.

- illumi could have pushed you away; in fact, he could have blown you 983 metres away (his personal record). 

- but he didn’t.

- it wasn’t the thought of disturbing your comfort that stopped illumi from hurling you into oblivion. it wasn’t the fact that he explicitly enjoyed it, either. he remembered that the mission was today; if he were to wake you, and you hadn’t slept enough, you wouldn’t be at your upmost performance.

- the murder of the ten dons was his priority, right? yes. it was. there was no doubt about it. that was the only and final reason he wouldn’t wake you. end of discussion. 

- so, illumi stayed there, waiting for you to wake up and get off of him. 30 minutes passed, and he watched you for every single one.

- hard as it was to admit, watching you rise and fall in sync with his chest made the spark of emotion in his core grow fervently. what had that foreign feeling been? yesterday, he had settled at friendship, but now he wasn’t so sure.

- you looked so peaceful while you slept. less confusing. he remembered the time you had accidentally complimented his hair when the two of you had first met. he had found that amusing. he remembered the time you got a nosebleed from hitting your face too hard - it was after laughing at his teenage pictures, which perplexed him greatly. he remembered the times you two had sat together, working and theorizing on missions, accidentally meeting eyes or brushing hands. one time, you had dipped one of his pins in ink and scratched his name on some paper “for fun”. you had handed it to him and, for some unknown reason, the scrap was still tucked safely in his wallet. your unrivaled intelligence, your idiotic sense of humour, your smile, your lack of common sense, your twinkling eyes that so ironically contrasted his, everything. everything crossed his mind while he lay there.

- illumi found it strange how people remembered the oddest things at the oddest times. 

- why did he think of that now, as you were sleeping? even worse, on the day of a meticulously planned assassination. why couldn’t he manipulate his emotions to stop fluctuating around you so much?

- it all frustrated him.

- why had he let you call him by “illumi” so quickly? mr zoldyck would have been fine. and why had he been so lenient with your antics? no one else got to touch his pins. why did he feel like keeping you on his chest forever, and keeping you safe? most importantly, why was he thinking about you so much?

- his contemplation came to a halt when he heard you stir a little in your sleep.

-  finally, you’d wake up and he could forget about this entire problem.

- he watched you, expecting you to get up soon.

- you began shuffling around, brushing against his chest, and soon your eyes fluttered open, hazy and glazed over. it almost seemed like you were still in a dream, in some sort of half-sleep.

- “huh?” you whispered quietly, still lying on illumi. you looked up lazily, meeting eyes with him.

- “oh... i get it...” you hummed quietly, falling back onto his chest.

- he furrowed his brows.

- “why are you here?” you hugged him from the side, softly laughing at your ridiculous dream. he tensed up at you embracing him, but soon relaxed after realizing what was going on.

- illumi looked at you, one eyebrow raised. did you... think you were dreaming?

- to be honest, he found it kind of entertaining, the way you were fawning over him. if he let you stay there, he could figure out a lot of things about his newly found emotion. it could be worth it. just not today.

- illumi came back to his senses fairly quickly; you were obviously awake now, so why couldn’t you get off of him already?

- “y/n.”

- “mmm? what? so serious all the damn timeee, illum-” 

- “you aren’t dreaming. get off.”

- SHIT

- SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIT

- you jolted off him immediately, staring down at illumi zoldyck. 

- the real illumi zoldyck.

- oh my god what. what. what. what.

- every nerve in your body began to panic, and, in the stress of trying to find the correct words to say, you just ended up making some sort of incomputable “aaaahhh” noise and jumping off the bed.

-  illumi had finally gotten up and was now staring concernedly at you.

- an awkward pause.

- “let me just start by saying i did not-”

- “y/n. we have more pressing priorities for today. i don’t care.”

- illumi zoldyck had lied. even to himself. he did care. and so what if he ignored it until it festered so intensely inside of him he couldn’t do anything but tell you? he cared about you. and he knew it.

- “ok. you’re right. you’re right! illumi. one question. was i like that the whole night?”

- “i don’t know. i woke up at 5 and you were there.”

- you looked at the clock. it was 6am? what had he been doing for an hour? you opened your mouth to ask but closed it soon after. you recalled your thoughts about illumi growing up void of affection, or love, or appreciation. 

- some questions were best left unanswered.

- “how long was i... mumbling like that?”

- “a few minutes.”

- you gulped. there were a few things you had to come to terms with. shutting your eyes firmly, you apologised profusely, annoyed at yourself.

- “y/n. i don’t care.” he lied once again.

- “you’re right!” you rambled - “the ten dons are today! it doesn’t matter what i said... none of it matters, we can both just forget it!”

- you sounded like you were trying to convince yourself more than anyone.

- “so all we need to do is go over the plan one last time, get kalluto, and then we’ll carry it out, and soon enou-”

- “stop it. you’re wasting time. just go and get ready.”

- you sighed and smiled weakly. on the inside, you were sure your soul had died a little.

- while you left to change, overcome by embarrassment, illumi lingered by the bed for a few seconds. he tried to push down whatever he was currently feeling, but it was no use. the feeling in his core had risen up to his throat, a burst of something waiting to leave his lips. 

- for the first time in a while, illumi zoldyck smiled. not at murder, or at power, or fulfillment, or achievement, or even villainy.

- illumi zoldyck had smiled at the thought of you.

- let’s just say illumi had trouble focusing on his mission. 

i am honestly so fucking sorry you had to read that whole thing. the way i am literally in love with illumi zoldyck and ended up writing 2857 words bye bye bye i’m so sorry!!! PLZ what?? anyways,, i feel like i heavily underwrote hisoka now, since i did such a prologue thing for this! honestly i feel like this one came out a little boring, im sorry again AAAAA just agh; chrollo should b coming when i have time but i have exams rn so idkkkk hh

either way, likes or reblogs or whatever are super appreciated, but don’t feel forced to or anything! either way, i feel like no one’s gonna see this with my reach LMAOO but anyways thank you for reading, if you made it here! feedback and tips for writing on here are always helpful :)

#hxh #hunterxhunter #hunter x hunter #hxh 2011 #illumi #illumi zoldyck #illumi x reader #fanfiction #anime #shounen #illumi headcanons #drabble #hxh hcs #fanfics #illumi hcs #hunter x hunter headcanons #hxh x reader #hunter x hunter 2011 #illumi zoldyck x reader #fluff #anime fanfictions #hxh oneshots #hunter x hunter oneshots #anime oneshots #hisoka #chrollo #this was way too long im so sorry #illumi is the loml though #nobody's gonna be reading this #but hey if you are

[bamfdaddio]

X-Men Abridged: 1981

The X-Men, those back-to-the-future mutants that have sworn to protect a world that hates and fears them, are a cultural juggernaut with a long, tangled history. Want to unravel this tapestry? Then read the Abridged X-Men!

(Uncanny X-Men 141 - 152) - by Chris Claremont and John Byrne, Brent Anderson, Dave Cockrum, Jim Sherman, Bob McLeod and Josef Rubinstein

While I also committed various fashion atrocities at the age of 14 (tye-die and fauxhawks, oh my), even Liberace would find Kitty’s outfits too much. (Uncanny X-Men 149; Uncanny X-Men Annual ‘81)

We dial back from the v. epic scope of the last few arcs. Instead, 1981 is just a lot of fun! We get:

Storm and Emma doing a Freaky Friday!

the X-Men vs. Magneto (again!)

A surprisingly effective Alien rip-off

An dystopian future! (OoOoOoOo)

Last year was the year of the Dark Phoenix, this is the year of Kitty Pryde. That’s not to say Jean’s death is swept under the rug: all throughout, we see her friends mourning her loss or remembering her fondly. (Scott even gets to have a demonic adventure about it.) But in general, Claremont puts Kitty in the forefront, fleshing out his YA-addition to the team. And what would a YA heroine be without a grim dystopia? Roll out the iconic Days of Future Past!

To be fair, 2013 was a dark time for all of us: What Does the Fox Say somehow got to the top of the charts and I was still watching Glee. (Uncanny X-Men 141)

How cool would it have been to see a name like Jonothon Starsmore or Eva Bell on those tombstones?

Anyway, that’s Kate. Kate’s had it rough. Mutants are at the bottom of the foodchain, most X-Men are dead and only a small cadre of resistance fighters remain, Sentinels dominate, and while she is married to Piotr, her children have been murdered. Bleak. Luckily, the rebellion has concocted the plan to shunt Kate’s spirit back in time to prevent this awful future from happening. (You’ve seen Days of Future Past, the last passably good X-Men film, you know what’s up.)

Let’s do the time warp again! 1981!Kitty’s mind gets taken over by 2013!Kitty, who promptly tries to convince the X-Men that a new Brotherhood of v. Evil Mutants will try to kill Senator Kelly, a presidential candidate who tries to put the mutant menace on the agenda. (Mutants tend to blow stuff up when he’s around.) Since the X-Men recently took a literal trip to Dante’s Infero and also befriended a cosmic world-ending entity, they basically shrug and go: “Yeah, this checks out.”

Off to Washington they go (zoommm) and there, they happen upon the Baddest Bitches in Herstory:

“How dare you hate mutants, senator Kelly! We’ll fix that by killing you!” (Uncanny X-Men 141)

This All-New, All-Different Brotherhood consists out of:

Destiny, a blind woman who can see the future. Definitely the eeriest member of this group. Badass lesbian, though that won´t be canon for years.

Avalanche. Greek who makes things shake. Is a long-standing member of the X-Men Rogue’s gallery, but rarely features in the spotlight. I think he got more characterization in four years of X-Men Evolution than he ever did in the comics.

Mystique. Shapeshifter. Ruthless and unhinged, the Cersei Lannister of the X-Men universe. Absolute legend, secretly the wife of Destiny, currently not as unhinged as she’ll be later. Immediately implied to be related to Nightcrawler: it’s the yellow-eyes-blue-skin-combo.

Pyro. Can manipulate fire, not create it. Absolute pillock, in all the best ways of the word. Originally intended as gay, but they decided to make him Australian instead. (?!)

Blob. Big, strong, immovable. We’ve seen him before.

One of the details in this fight I enjoy is that Storm is still struggling with her leadership, although she has a better grip on things than Cyclops:

Wolverine then proceeds to use those iconic but deadly claws about twice per issue for the next, oh, forty years. (Uncanny X-Men 142)

While the X-Men fight the Brotherhood in the present, we cut back and forth to the future. There, the X-Men consist out of some familiar faces - Storm, Colossus, Wolverine - and some surprises: Magneto (in a wheelchair), Franklin Richards (son of) and an unfamiliar ginger girl called Rachel. (She’ll be important later.) We even learn (one of) Magneto’s names: this is the first time he’s canonically called Magnus.

One of the strengths of Days of Future Past lies in its brevity, the way it tantalizingly taunts us with a brutal but familiar future without giving away too much. It’s single-handedly responsible for all those dark future timelines the X-lines are so fond of which will eventually culminate in time-displaced grandsons from alternative dimensions and the impossibility of a succinct answer to the question: “Who’s Cable?” Too much of a good thing and all that.

Still, what Days of Future Past does so successfully is:

Put the idea of the mutant menace back at the forefront, hammering home the metaphor of mutants being a minority. Mutants being put in camps and being forbidden to breed should - regretfully - make us think of all too many real life equivalents. (Specifically, all of the imagery harkens back to the Holocaust.)

It starkly shows what happens should the X-Men lose, reminding everyone of the stakes. The X-Men are here for a reason: bridging the gap between mutants and humankind. If they fuck up, we end up with mutant concentration camps.

It helps that the X-Men in the future almost all die horribly: Franklin is incinerated, Storm is impaled… It's brutal stuff. The only one to survive is Rachel, who wonders if their plan actually changed the future or if they created an alternative timeline. (It did the latter, sorry ‘bout it, Rachel.)

In the present, Kate chases after Destiny, who trains a gun on senator Kelly. I always wondered how this works: if Destiny saw the future, she knew that killing Kelly would trigger a terrifying future. What in the current Marvel timeline made her decide that the Days of Future Past was better? Did she see her own death? Did she see the Onslaught-crossover coming? The Chuck Austen run? What was it?

In any case, time-anomalous Kate stops Destiny from killing Kelly and the future is safe! For now. Kate disappears, Kitty returns to her body and some of the Brotherhood are apprehended. All is well, for now.

After being a key figure in DoFP, Kitty is also the main character in the Christmas special, which is basically a straight up horror and a pastiche of the Alien-movie.

Seriously, John Byrne still isn’t sure why he wasn’t sued by Ridley Scott for this. (Uncanny X-Men 143)

If you love Kitty Pryde? Read this issue. If you’re not convinced you like 80’s Kitty? Read this issue. It’s not continuity relevant and it’s basically Kitty playing the part of a Final Girl in a horror where she’s being chased by a demon, but it’s so good. It showcases all her strengths and her foibles. Kitty’s intelligent, cute (sometimes preciously so) and brave, but she’s also young, self-conscious and hot-headed. And it's not as if the other X-Men automatically adore her: Storm berates her all the time, she’s afraid of Kurt because of the way he looks (though she grows out of that) and she fights with Professor Xavier a lot. Moreover, she has a clever power-set for a young superhero who faces menaces on a daily basis: a thirteen year old who can go intangible is far less likely to have reality ensue on her and be dramatically offed because she's better at protecting herself.

I’m sure there are people who thought Sprite was hogging the spotlight, but I, for one, say she brings more to the table than, say, Angel. She’s not the Dawn Summers of this franchise.

Scott also gets a side quest. Poor guy can’t catch a break: first the love of his life dies, so he quits the X-Men, then he realizes he can’t do much else than be a superhero. He becomes a sailor on the ship of spunky captain Lee Forrester, is drawn into the sadistic plans of a demon unironically named D’Spayre and then shipwrecks in Bermuda with Lee.

The X-Men, meanwhile, are tormented by a team-up of Doom (who’s currently Latverialess and working on a comeback) and Arcade, that annoying crony. Locke, Arcade’s dom, has kidnapped the loved ones of the X-Men (Moira MacTaggart, Jean Grey’s parents, Illyana Rasputin and Amanda Sefton) in order to blackmail them into getting Doom to free Arcade. Apparently, Arcade accidentally insulted Doom and DOOM DOES NOT FORGIVE THAT FOLLY.

While the B-Squad (Polaris, Havok, Banshee and Iceman) goes to save Arcade’s hostages, the X-Men sneak into Doom’s castle. Well, except for Storm, who doesn’t give a single fuck and simply flies up to Doom, demanding an audience. Doom likes the cut of her jib and invites her to have dinner. (This is pre-Tinder, so this is a legit way of scoring a date.)

If Storm has a flaw (I said if!), it’s got to be her atrocious taste in men. (Uncanny X-Men 145)

The X-Men find Arcade’s cell empty, while Arcade casually saunters up to Storm and says hi. Storm realizes too late that this is a trap: while the X-Men are all trapped in Saw-like traps, Storm is encased in ‘living chrome’.

If you remember she’s claustrophobic, you know why this is a bad move.

While the X-Men free themselves from their traps - Polaris hilariously has to deal with a murderous merry-go-round - Storm is slowly driven mad in her prison, triggering a worldwide tempest. (She causes Lee and Scott to shipwreck.) Under the threat of Wolverine’s claws, Doom releases Storm - or rather, unleashes her.

“Instead of a Dark Lord, you would have a queen, not dark but beautiful and terrible as the dawn! Tempestuous as the sea, and stronger than the foundations of the earth! All shall love me and despair!” (Uncanny X-Men 147)

The memory of Jean brings Ororo back to herself and she starts undoing the superstorm she created. (If only climate change were reversed that easily.) Their confrontation ends by Storm easily forgiving Doom, because she apparently trespassed on his grounds without adequate cause.

Mkay.

All of Arcade’s hostages return to their homesteads, except for Illyana Rasputin, Piotr’s sister: she’s staying at the mansion for a while. Angel, who’s sort of been a part of the team since the Phoenix thing, has had it with Wolverine and his ‘tude, and decides to quit the X-Men : he doesn’t want to be a part of an outfit that has a killer like Wolverine on it. (Or maybe he’s just mad Claremont didn’t give him any storylines: his presence has been mostly pointless.) It’s too bad he left before Kitty started experimenting with her outfits: I bet he would have loved her ugly-ass costumes.

Equally inconsequential is the introduction of a brand new character, who then proceeds to disappear from the narrative for the rest of the year:

Black Tom has tried to kill you at least twice, but him sending you a long-lost daughter doesn’t give you pause? Ugh, Sean, you deserve Moira. (Uncanny X-Men 148)

Intrigued by Theresa? TOO BAD, WON’T SEE HER AGAIN ANYTIME SOON.

Another new character is the lonely, decidedly mutant looking Caliban, who can sense “people like him” and is on the lookout for companions. Like many lonely people who try and grasp at friendship, he decides to overshoot his shot and ruin the night of Storm, Kitty and Jessica Drew at a Dazzler concert. Because he tries to kidnap Kitty, the girls react a trifle aggressively. When they realize their mistake - the eerily pale Caliban is a simpleton rather than a menace - he’s already fled. No mention is made of the Morlocks yet!

There’s also another dull annual where the X-Men team up with the Fantastic Four to save Arkon’s dimension from the Badoon and yaaaaawn. Far more interesting is the landmark issue #150. Slowly, through the adventures of Scott and Lee Forrester, Claremont has been setting things up for the return of a favorite villain. While the X-Men investigate Magneto’s old base in Antarctica on a hunch of Professor X and tangle with Garruk, Scott and Lee survive Storm’s tempest, only to wake up next to a strange island that seems to have been raised from the ocean.

It’s apparently some ancient citadel from a long forgotten civilization with a fondness for squid statues. (I don’t know man, I’ve never been to the Bermuda Triangle, maybe this is just super-accurate.)The tentacles make Lee Forrester feel very amorous, but before Scott can tell her he is way too repressed to just have sex with an attractive someone he’s known intimately for a month or two, Magneto saves his ass by revealing he, in fact, raised this island from the seafloor.

Oh, Magneto. So extra.

My ambitious little mutant demagogue then proceeds to take the entire world hostage, showing how much he’s grown from the pompous, raving madman from the sixties. (Sure, Magneto is still a bit of a madman, but increasingly, he starts being on the right side of history.)

“I’m trying to make Magneto more sympathetic.”

“Just put him on a page with some bigger villains who are less noble, like the Vanisher, Count Nefaria, or…”

“Reagan, Thatcher and Brezhnov?”

“Er.” (Uncanny X-Men 150)

It’s obvious Magneto is being pivoted as a more noble villain, codified into the well-intentioned extremist we know and love today. Not only do we get the first hints at his past, fleshing out his motivations, he’s also not wrong. Humans are historically not great at taking care of the planet or each other.

When the Russians call his bluff and launch nukes at Magneto’s new island, he quickly disarms them. His retribution is swift and ferocious: the entire citadel is a machine that massively amplifies his powers. He sinks the submarine that launched the missiles, condemning the entire crew to death, and he casually erects a vulcano in a Russian city in Siberia.

Damn. Not messing around this time.

Despite his good intentions, Magneto is still definitely in the wrong: not only because of his methods, but as Scott points out: if Magneto unifies the world under his kind of benevolent dictatorship, all of that will simply fall apart as soon as Magnus dies.

In a way, Magneto is just as big a dreamer as Charles is: Charles believes in peace and integration, whereas Magneto believes his iron fist will be enough to make a perfect world happen. Both of them ignore the reality that acceptance is difficult and messy, because you’re trying to change essential human nature: the fear of the other. Magneto believes in big, sweeping gestures that will fix the world in move, while changing the world is also boring, hard work. One step forward, two steps back. Magneto just wants to leapfrog to his ultimate goal.

The X-Men fly over the citadel, returning from Antarctica, and their plane crashes into the ocean. (Magneto does not brook planes over his territory, humans!) The Professor is also nearby, looking for Scott with Moira, Peter Corbeau and Carol Danvers. The X-Men sneak onto the island, but to their horror, their powers are nullified by some machine of Magneto. They reunite with Scott, who formulates a plan to thwart the would-be ruler of the world.

While the rest of the X-Men go to trash the machine, Storm, Kitty and Lee infiltrate the control chamber where Storm finds a sleeping, shirtless Magneto. Once again showing her terrible taste in men, she is not weak in the knees at the sight of a sleeping Magnus: instead, she contemplates killing him.

Storm knows how dangerous he is, but she also knows that he’s a great man who’s fighting for ideals, no matter how misguided. She hesitates too long: Magneto stirs, suspects an attack and tosses her out of the window, to her death.

Magneto quickly undoes the sabotage the other X-Men have wrought to his machine. A fight erupts. Storm, meanwhile, has managed to grab hold of a ledge. She crawls back up and smashes an important-looking computer, restoring everyone’s powers.

The battle turns grim, but Scott sends Kitty away to wreck Magneto’s machinery. She sneaks off, following Scott’s orders and destroying both Magneto's power-up device and all of his plans by phasing though the computer circuitry. Magneto senses this and furiously gives chase. Overcome by rage, he attacks Kitty and disrupts her phasing power with a magnetic bolt, seemingly killing her?

Everything about this story beat is great: mama bear!Ororo, mournful Magnus and even the fact that Kitty’s godawful outfit serves a narrative function: highlighting to us (and Magneto) just how young she is. The fact that Kitty’s Jewish is just icing on the cake. (Uncanny X-Men 150)

And thus, the softening of Magneto commences. 1981 might be a year with wildly varying narratives, but it has given us at least three enduring legacies to the X-Mythos: a new kind of Magneto, a fondness for dystopian futures and the character of Kitty Pryde, who's really come into her own this year.

Ugliest Costume: Kitty! Purposefully, but still. Best costume, by the way, goes to Destiny, with her creepy, creepy golden mask. Just imagine this lady casually strolling across a battlefield, eerily calm and collected, dodging everything you throw at her. Awesome design.

Best new character: I usually pick one character - what good is having a shared award when declaring the best of anything? - but this year, it’s going to one of my favorite couples: Mystique and Destiny. Can’t wait to see more of them.

Most audacious retcon: Blob somehow retroactively becomes a member of the original Brotherhood, which is not what happened. Ever weirder is Xavier pondering that he never met Magneto before his attack in X-Men #1, while their cordially adversarial relationship rooted in a youthful friendship would soon become a cornerstone of the X-Men.

What to read: Uncanny X-Men 141 - 143 and 150 - 152

#x-men abridged #abridged x-men #uncanny x-men #professor x #cyclops #storm #nightcrawler #colossus #kitty pryde #wolverine #magneto #days of future past #dr doom #arcade #chris claremont #john byrne #dave cockrum #angel #syrin #banshee

[egcdeath]

strangers again

summary: “hiiii sweetie!! can i request a steve x reader where he left yn for peggy. but he always felt guilty and missed yn. he would always stare at her pic. when he came back he bumped into yn while she was dropping a kid to daycare. and steve realized it was his son. kinda sad but fluff at the end pls!!!! and oh i super love your works!!! tysm 🌼🥺💕”

pairing: steve rogers x reader

warnings: decent angst, brief mention of a depressive episode, abandonment, somewhat unrealistic behavior

word count: 3.8k

author’s note:  i really hope that this lives up to your expectations but it is a little cheesy. i’d also like to warn that i have not interacted with a child in several years, so.. sorry. (there’s also a lot of exposition so double sorry if that’s not your thing!)

You’d never forget the moment Steve left to return the stones, with the promise to be back in only a matter of moments.

Maybe your definition of a matter of moments was different from his.

You seemed to be the only one without a clue of what Steve truly planned to do, with Bucky only telling you after the matter that Steve was leaving for the past and for Peggy, and probably not coming back.

After finding out, something deep within you broke. You could barely leave your bed for days, you struggled to eat, sleep, even drink water. Every task that used to seem like muscle memory, began to feel like it carried the weight of the world behind it. Every hobby that you once enjoyed becoming empty and bleak.

You constantly felt inadequate. How could you love someone so much, and be told you were loved so much while always being second to someone else?

The simple sentiment of it had left you feeling miserable, and sick to your stomach. Literally. Nearly every morning, and occasionally if you smelled something too strong, you found the contents of your stomach emptied.

You attempted to ignore it at first. Meshed with every other unpleasant symptom you were going through, you’d figured that it was just one more bullet point on the list of things that had been plaguing you. But when your friends insisted that you go check up with your doctor, you had a hard time saying no.

Once you received the results from your blood test, you were completely taken aback by the fact that you were pregnant. You couldn't believe that you hadn’t considered the possibility of pregnancy earlier.

Yet,  after a long and hard period of pondering, you managed to surprise yourself once again after you realized you wanted to keep it.

After all, that could be the only piece of Steve you had left.

----

You began to tell yourself that Steve was dead. That was somehow less painful than the idea that he left you for someone that he barely knew, yet had fallen so hard for nearly 70 years ago. You refused to let yourself fall for anyone else romantically, now that you were aware that anyone had the capacity to leave you at any time, no matter how deep you perceived your relationship to be.

You guarded your heart, and made sure to only let in those that you knew you could trust for a fact. For the remainder of your pregnancy, only your closest family members and friends stood by your side.

About 8 months later, you brought a small, but healthy infant into the world. From that moment on, you promised yourself to become the best version of yourself that you could be. No dwelling on the past, and no yearning for what could’ve been. Your only duty now was to provide the best life possible for your offspring.

So you did.

----

You stood in the kitchen, peeling an orange for your son before he bounded into the room. You turned and gave him a big grin, and he grinned back to you.

“Did you get dressed all by yourself?” You asked him excitedly, receiving a nod in return before he ran up to your leg, and hugged it.

“I did, Mommy!” He looked up at you with his soulful eyes, and you couldn’t help but to feel bombarded with emotion.

Even at the tender age of five, Grant seemed to become a bit more like his father every day. The shape of his eyes, the slope of his nose, the sound of his giggle. To the average onlooker, he came across as the same as any other child, but to you, your son was the splitting image of Steve.

“Good work, little man. Now go sit at the table so mommy can finish breakfast, okay?” He didn’t even bother confirming with you before more or less sprinting to the table. You couldn’t help but to ask yourself if your son had obtained all of that energy and speed from his father as well.

Breakfast was over almost as soon as it started, and before you knew it, you were warming up your car after you’d assisted Grant with brushing his teeth.

You were in an oddly nostalgic mood that day, playing music from a time period before you’d even imagined bringing another life into the world. You glanced up at the rearview mirror and watched your son happily bop his head to the beat. You thought in passing about how much of a gift he truly was.

After arriving at his school, you hopped out of the car and over to the furthest seat in the back, where he’d insisted on sitting that day.

“You ready, big guy?” You questioned while reaching out to grab him from the car seat.

“Born ready,” he agreed. You chuckled and shook your head fondly at that while getting him out of the car.

“Who taught you that?”

Grant shrugged, “I came up with it myself.”

“I’m sure. Can you hold my hand while we’re out please?” You reached out for him, and he gladly obliged.

You soon became distracted by a large man across the street, his built figure and light blonde hair making you recall the father of your child. You gave Grant’s hand a light squeeze and continued to approach the door, not being able to help yourself, and glancing over at the man one last time.

Except this time was different. Your eyes locked with the blonde man outside of the coffee shop across the street unexpectedly. Where you once thought casually to yourself that it looked like Steve, you now had confirmation that it was in fact the man who you’d fallen in love with, and found yourself pregnant by.

You audibly gasped, receiving a bit of a questioning look from your child. Your heart dropped as a metric ton of emotions hit you all at once, anger, sadness, confusion. Everything you told yourself you needed to repress, had suddenly come back to you all at once.

Even from a distance, you swore you could see his eyes flit from you to Grant, and the next thing you knew, he was approaching your direction. Looking for an easy out, and a distraction from your rather observant child, you quickly caused a misdirection.

“Grant, is that Stacey over on the playground? You should totally go show her that new version of tag that you were telling me about!”

Your son, ever the speedster, booked it towards the playground, and you let out a sigh of relief. Although, the relief didn’t last long, as just moments later, Steve was almost all the way up to you. As you turned to try to escape, you felt a hand on your arm.

“Y/N?” He asked, almost timidly.

You weren’t even sure what to say. In fact, you didn’t feel like you had control of your own body at this point. “Steve? I-“ You ran a hand through your hair and bit the inside of your lip. “You need to go.” The pain that was rushing through you was too much for you to bare, especially considering the man who caused the hurt had suddenly decided to reappear in your life after giving you a world of self doubt and abandonment issues.

Steve seemed hurt by your statement, but you weren’t sure how much longer you could stand to even look at his face. “Please, Y/N, let me explain,” he begged.

“No, Steve. You don’t get that luxury. You left me for someone else, and I guess you got to live a nice, long life with her. You don’t get to just show back up in my life when you get bored, okay? I can’t afford to play those types of games anymore. Now if you’d let me go-“ You attempted to get to your car, but Steve side stepped you.

“It wasn’t like that. You know it isn’t like that.”

“Just fucking leave! You have no idea what this has all been like for me. You had your opportunity to leave, and you gladly took it. Stay the fuck out of my life, and the hell away from my son.” You grabbed the handle of your car door and got in, reeling as you watched a dejected Steve walk away.

Your heart pounded in your chest as you rested your head against the steering wheel. You were feeling way too many emotions to pinpoint exactly how you felt, but you knew that this couldn’t be good.

——

You put a brave face on for your son that day, picking him up from school in a daze, and only half listening to whatever it was that he was telling you.

You felt bad for only being able to nod along to whatever he was saying, and did he just ask you if he could get a dog? Did you just say yes?

You felt like a stranger watching yourself from the outside in. The ghost of the person you’d developed into over the years watching the past version of yourself slip right back into your body, and take over your daily routine through the next few days of your life.

You had an obscene amount of anger that soon dissolved into a deep sadness, and that sadness shorty developed into a morbid curiosity.

You spent an unreasonable, and certainly unhealthy amount of time searching your old lover’s name on tabloid websites and social media, just to see if he’d given a statement on his whereabouts, or a statement about anything at all.

After about day three of your minor internet stalking, you’d had an epiphany while sitting in your office.

You still have Steve’s number saved on your phone.

That was, of course, if it hadn’t changed between now and the years that he’d been off living in the past.

Something about knowing that you were just one text away from him made your heart race with a mixture of nerves and interest. Just one impulsive decision, and you could change the whole trajectory of the rest of your life.

If you got back in contact with Steve, you might not ever be willing to leave him. You refused to make that mistake again.

Until you did.

After reading Grant his nightly bedtime story, then wrapping him tightly in his little bed, you’d decided to treat yourself to a glass of Chardonnay.

It’d been a weird past couple of days. Your time traveling ex had randomly appeared back into your life, your coworkers seemed to get on your nerves a little more every moment you were around them, and Grant had a temper tantrum in the grocery store that afternoon over a chocolate bar, which gained judging stares from customers, and may have made you feel the slightest bit inadequate.

At least that’s what you told yourself as you filled your glass again, because two glasses can’t hurt, and again, since I kinda deserve this extra one, don’t I? The next thing you knew, the bottle was empty, and you were texting Steve for the first time in years.

Y: Is this Steve?

You watched as three white dots hovered on your screen for a moment, disappeared, then came back once again.

S: Is this Y/N?

Y: Yes.

Y: We should tlak

Y: *talk

S: I agree.

Y: So lets

Y: talk

S: I don’t think this is a conversation for texts.

Y: Then call me???????????????????

S: We should talk in person.

Y: Im not gonna do that sober

S: You’re not sober?

Y: do you think id text u sober u big fuckni asshole

S: I guess you’re right

S: So are we gonna talk?

Y: no ur gonna meet me at b cup cafe tomorrow at 10

S: AM or PM?

Y: AM I’m off

S: Are you sure you want to do this?

Y: Say yes before i change my mind

S: I’ll see you there

Y: Bye babydaddy

S: ????

You promptly deleted the messages, tossed your phone somewhere on the sofa, and sunk into the seat. Even in your not-completely-sober state, you already felt the all too familiar sense regret. You dragged the blanket that hung over the top of the sofa over your exhausted body, and closed your eyes, wishing that this was somehow all a dream.

----

It was not all just a dream.

You woke up with dried drool on your chin, and a deep pit of bad feelings and regret in your chest. Of course, you ignored the bad feelings and got ready, business as usual. You successfully dropped Grant off at school with little complications, and found yourself perking up a bit more.

Yet, something still felt slightly off. You reached into the passenger seat for your phone, and as you looked down on it, saw the familiar notification of a calendar event.  

10:00 AM b cup coff w Steeb

You groaned out loud at this. There was no obligation for you to go meet with him, but perhaps going and talking to Steve would bring you some sort of closure. Maybe then you could move on with your life, get with a nice guy who would mean it when he tells you he won't leave you, who loves Grant like he’s his own biological offspring, and to take care of the both of you through thick and thin.

You gladly daydreamed of this fantasy man while driving to the shop, but you couldn’t help but to see Steve’s face doing all of the aforementioned things. Before you even fell pregnant, that’s what you’d truly wanted with Steve. To be a family. To have your definition of home be with your people, rather than a place.

Entering the coffee shop, you briefly ordered your drink before looking around and find Steve sitting alone in a booth, mindlessly stirring around the liquid in his cup.

Timidly, you approached the booth, before setting your purse down and sitting across from him.

“You... you came?” He looked up to you with almost watery eyes.

“Of course I did,” you tried to hold yourself back from mentioning something about following through on your word. You wanted this to be as civil as possible. To build bridges rather than burn them.

“I just didn’t expect to see you in person again. And, you know, you were running a little late,” he added.

“Well, you try waking a five year old up and getting him ready for school every day,” you expelled a humorless chuckle to deflect from the slight agitation you were feeling.

“While you’re hungover?” Steve asked with a bit of a smirk, trying to lighten up the mood.

“While you’re hungover,” You confirmed, genuinely laughing now. It felt good, natural even. You’d kind of forgotten just how pleasant things used to be with Steve.

“Did you mean it last night?” he interrupted the laughter with a serious look.

“I honestly cannot remember anything I said last night. Elaborate, please?”

“That he’s mine. Your son.” He watched you silently nod, then began to speak again, “Wow, I just didn’t realize… How did that happen?” He looked down into his drink nervously.

“Well, it’s kind of hard to recall the exact details, but when a mommy and a daddy love each other very much...” You trailed off, and looked up as a barista called a butchered version of your name.

You were glad to have an excuse to get up and leave for a moment. Adrenaline was racing through your body, and you weren’t sure how much longer you could keep your composure before you erupted into tears, or had some sort of angry outburst.

Bringing your cup back to the booth, you sat down and took a sip of the scalding drink, “Where did we leave off?”

“I believe you were giving me the birds and the bees?”

“Right! Well, I think you know the rest. I’ll tell you more about Grant later. Right now, I want to know why you left and suddenly decided to come back.” You genuinely felt proud of your delivery. This was the moment you’d practiced in front of the mirror for years, and you didn’t even butcher it.

Steve shook his head and looked into his drink once again. It was so hard to look at you, let alone make eye contact with you, when he knew that he’d been the one to give you an ocean of grief. Yet, he was somewhat intrigued by hearing that his son’s name was his middle name.  

“It’s kind of a long story,” Steve began.

“Good thing we have time,” you crossed your arms as you spoke.

“Well, waking up in a whole new time period isn’t exactly the easiest thing ever. You and me both know I missed it there, and it’s always been more than just nostalgia for me. I truly believed that I belonged back there.”

Of course, you had an idea of this, but hearing Steve confirm what you’d already thought made your insides twist.

“But I was so wrong. More than anything, I guess I was in love with a romanticized version of the past. Of Peggy.”

Hearing her name, especially from Steve, made you bristle. You wanted to interrupt him at this point, but it wouldn’t do you or him any good to become hostile while he explained himself.

“By the time I realized, it was too late. I figured you’d already moved on and found someone else to take care of you, and the world, this world, didn’t really need me anymore. But something possessed me to come back.”

“So you’re telling me that if you stopped being an idiot that just assumes things, we could’ve worked this out before? That you could’ve been an active participant in your son’s life?”

“I guess that’s a good way to interpret that story. I know I haven’t been in his life, but is there any way that I can still meet him?” Steve asked hopefully.

“Yeah, of course. He’s just like,” you sighed a bit to yourself. “He’s like a carbon copy of you. Especially his personality, but like, down to his mannerisms. I always struggled to understand how he could be so much like his dad, and never even had met him. You’ll love him.”

“Even if I didn't like him, I’d still love him.”

“How do you still manage to be such a cheeseball all the damn time? You think you’d be able to make it to dinner tonight?”

----

At exactly 6:30 on the dot, your doorbell rang, and before you even had the chance to think about opening it, Grant already was at the door, and opening it. You cringed on the inside, and made a mental note to have another conversation about stranger danger with him.

“Do I know you? Who are you?” you heard your child question from the other room as you set down the last of the plates in your dining room.  

“I’m Steve, your mom’s friend... and…” Steve nearly spilled the beans to his son, but didn’t want to cause any more damage than he’d already done. “Her friend.”

“That’s so cool! I have friends too, like Nick, and Stacey, and,” you’d rushed up to the door and wiped your brow, internally hoping that you hadn’t just smudged the makeup you’d put on for the occasion.

“Hi, Steve, come on in,” You beckoned him in, and pulled Grant to the side, quietly scolding him before leading Steve into the dining room. “Grant! This is the last time I’m telling you about opening doors, okay?” He nodded obediently, then followed you and Steve.

“Can I sit next to your friend, Mommy?”

“Is that alright with you, Steve?”

“More than fine.”

Grant sat down next to him, and scooted a bit closer than necessary, while you sat across from the two of them.

“I have to in… enter a gate you now. Because Mommy never brings any over her friends over. I didn’t know she had any friends.”

You blushed a bit at this, at your son’s overdramatic behavior, and his admission that you’d become a bit of a loner.

“Go ahead, pal,” Steve chuckled heartily.

“When did you meet my mom?”

“Before you were even born.”

“Wow! That’s a long time. You’re really old. What’s your favorite dinosaur?”

“I’ve heard T-Rexes are pretty cool.”

“Have you met any?”

You nearly spat out your drink at this. If only your son had known.

“Nope, never. Have you?”

“Hmm, not yet. But they’re my favorite dino too. Now your ‘gating is over.”

You couldn’t help but to burst out into laughter at the bizarre exchange, but you were glad that your son and Steve were getting along so well.

The rest of dinner went pretty similarly, with Grant bantering with Steve, and Steve indulging him. You could tell that the relationship between the two of them was something that came both naturally and easily. You couldn’t help but to grin as Grant began to ramble about how cool Steve was, and how he swore he was better friends with Steve than you were.

“Mommy, isn’t Steve the best? You guys should totally get married so he can have dinner with us every day!” he swooned. “He even kinda looks like me, right?!”

That’s why you couldn’t help what came out of your mouth next.

“Grant, Steve is… He’s your dad,” you said quietly.

Grant nodded, then slurped up a noodle, “That’s why he’s so cool! He gets it from me, right Mom?”

“That sounds right to me,” You glanced up at Steve, and noticed his surprised expression. You mouthed something along the lines to ‘He’ll process it later,’ and waved a dismissive hand, before going in for another bite of food.

----

After putting Grant to bed, You and Steve stood at your kitchen sink, bumping elbows occasionally as the two of you silently worked together to wash and dry dishes.

The domesticity and familiarity of the action brought you an obscene amount of comfort. You remembered how you once believed that this is what your future would look like. Your thoughts were interrupted by Steve beginning to talk.

“Doesn’t this remind you of life after the first snap?” He asked, breaking the silence.

“Kind of. You’re not off the hook yet, by the way. You still have plenty of explaining and proving you’ve changed to do.” You set the last cup in the cupboard, then dried your hands off.

“I know, I know,” Steve began.

“We don’t even know if you’re ready for fatherhood. But right now, I kinda don’t care. I really just want you to kiss me.” You reached up to Steve’s cheek, and he pulled you in for a soft and chaste kiss.

You’d never felt more at home.

——

me with this fic:

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