#his whole house might turned into a burnt egg

[themidnightguardian]

The Hinata Effect (5/5)

Haikyuu | Hinata Shouyou/Miya Atsumu | Rating: T | Mini-Series: Five Times People Got Caught up in the Hinata Effect | each segment can be read as a standalone

warnings: non-graphic allusions to sex, Atsumu being a trainwreck of emotions

pt. 1 (TsukkiHina) | pt. 2 (KageHina) | pt. 3 (KenHina) | pt. 4 (OiHina)

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If you ask Osamu, Atsumu’s been pining after Hinata Shouyou for years. Since that first volleyball match between Karasuno and Inarizaki, even. It’s been hilariously pathetic.

If you ask Atsumu, first of all, he doesn’t pine. Second of all, really, the whole “holy shit he’s hot” moment didn’t happen until Shouyou walked into the MSBY Black Jackals open tryouts looking like sin itself and proceeded to kick ass.

(The only person who knows that Atsumu spent the next 48 hours repeatedly cycling through, “But I’m straight,” and, “Apparently Not,” is Sakusa Kiyoomi, and only because he accidentally walked in on Atsumu panic making onigiri at 5 AM in the communal kitchen. Atsumu had looked up, said, “I think I might be a little gay.” Sakusa, deciding that this was the timeline that God had abandoned, walked right back out.)

Being on a team with Shou-chan is divine torture. He is, hands-down, the most fun spiker to set for. Shouyou defies gravity, bends the laws of nature whenever they don’t suit him, and there’s something mesmerizing in the way he moves. It’s not that the others aren’t as good—despite the ribbing and teasing, Atsumu does genuinely like Omi-kun, and Bokuto is always a good time both on and off the court—but he likes Shouyou best.

Maybe it’s that Shouyou never wants Atsumu to stop setting for him, and Atsumu never gets tired of having someone to set for. Maybe it’s that Shouyou’s eyes are burnt-toffee brown and they shine so bright after every point he wins. Maybe it’s the way Shouyou bounces up to him, tucks himself under Atsumu’s arm without even thinking about it, like personal space is irrelevant and unnecessary, and talks near-endlessly about the different plays they could pull off. Maybe it’s the intensity of his focus, or the firm grip of his hand when he claps Atsumu on the shoulder, or…

Or maybe it’s that, in the early mornings, Shou-chan will sometimes seem quieter, more centered, fresh off his meditation and yoga routine. He’s graceful on the court and graceful as he bends himself into a dozen different shapes—each of which Atsumu has distinct and vivid fantasies about—but when he stumbles into the kitchen, he sometimes catches his hip on the corner of the counter. He’ll offer to make Atsumu breakfast—usually eggs and fruit, or yogurt and fruit, or, if he’s breaking the diet they’re supposed to be on, cornmeal cakes and fruit and ham, all things he picked up from Brazil—because Atsumu is always awake to watch Hinata do yoga to get an early start on his day.

It's one thing to think Hinata is hot, which he is, and for Atsumu to imagine what it’d be like to bend Hinata into one of those downward dog positions on Atsumu’s bed instead of a yoga mat, or get off to an illicit fantasy or ten about what might happen if the two of them were the last ones in the locker room at the end of practice. It’s another thing entirely to dream about some domestic shit where they take turns making dinner in their own house instead of the team apartment complex, to dream about the simplicity of just taking Shouyou’s hand and holding it, to dream about Shou-chan taking him to Brazil to meet the people who’ve become so important to him there, like a second family.

Osamu figures out that it’s more than just physical attraction or admiration for Shouyou’s skill approximately 27 seconds into one of their phone-calls and proceeds to laugh his ass off about it for a solid five minutes straight before saying, “Shoulda known you’d be stupid ‘bout this too.” And then he’d hung up.

Atsumu would like to think he’s not so obvious, that ‘Samu only knows ‘cause of twin shit. He’s pretty sure most of the team doesn’t know. Outside of practice, he only really spends time with Hinata, Sakusa, and Bokuto. And Bokuto’s kind of obtuse about a lot of stuff, probably because it’s Akaashi-Simp-Hours 24/7 in his head. But Atsumu should have known Omi-kun would figure it out.

“Eugh,” he says in Atsumu’s general direction a minimum of twelve times a day, usually when he catches Atsumu distractedly ogling Shouyou. Omi-kun, who seems like he doesn’t like anybody, does actually like Shou-chan, so he probably doesn’t think Atsumu’s good enough for him, but he also has a very firm “if it’s not my business, it’s not my problem” policy. Which is good for Atsumu.

What’s not good for Atsumu—not good for his heart, which is about to beat out of his chest, or his lungs, which have decided to stop functioning altogether—is the way Shouyou is standing in the doorway to Atsumu’s room with a slightly-sheepish, slightly-sly smile.

It’s past midnight, and they’ve finally wrapped up the after-party from celebrating their first defeat of the Adlers for the season. Some members of the other team had come, surprisingly amicable despite losing; Atsumu knows Omi-kun spent most of the evening quietly conversing with Ushiwaka, knows that Shouyou and Kageyama and Bokuto had gotten into something of a drinking contest—Atsumu wasn’t jealous, he wasn’t, even if everyone and their mother knows Kageyama was Shou-chan’s first love.

(Well, first human love, considering Shouyou’s first love is and always will be volleyball.)

Atsumu also knows that Kageyama, who apparently cannot hold his liquor as well as Shouyou can, is passed out in Shouyou’s room right now, on Shouyou’s bed, probably in some of Shouyou’s clothes—if there are any that would fit him—or maybe even naked, since his own clothes smelled pretty strongly of alcohol. He’ll never say it out loud, but this is one of Atsumu’s worst nightmares: that despite all the time and distance and experience between them now, Shouyou and Kageyama will continue to circle back to each other through some force of nature or fate, and there’s nothing Atsumu can do—even if he was brave enough to tell Shou-chan his feelings, even if those feelings were reciprocated in some way—to keep it from happening.

And yet.

Shouyou is here, standing in Atsumu’s doorway.

“Watcha doin’ Shou-chan?” he asks, because he has to say something, because he doesn’t understand what’s happening.

“Bakageyama’s taking up the whole bed,” Shouyou says, pouting. Atsumu’s about 90% sure it’s an act of some sort, but he doesn’t know what the end game is.

“I’m sure ya could fit,” Atsumu says, and then immediately wants to punch himself.

Shouyou’s head tips to the side, those toffee eyes wide and not-quite-innocent. “Why would I do that, Atsumu?”

He swallows harshly. Shouyou doesn’t call him Atsumu, not since Bokuto got everyone started on Tsum Tsum. And no one says his name like that, a little drawn out, quiet and serious, maybe a little teasing, and wow, yeah, Atsumu didn’t know hearing Shouyou say his name like that was going to put a serious fracture in his self-control. He’s pretty sure he’s blushing.

Something cautious flickers over Shouyou’s face, a tiny furrow in his brow, and he says, “Unless…if I’m wrong, I’m sorry, I—”

“No.” Atsumu’s speaking before he’s even aware of it. Something is happening here, something tremendous, and Atsumu is not going to let it slip by just because he’s a little terrified of his own feelings. There’s no doubting what Shouyou’s getting at, and the last thing in the world that Atsumu wants is for Shouyou to second-guess himself now. “Yer not…yer not wrong.”

“Oh.” And then Shouyou smiles, one of those slower, slyer curves of the mouth that hold a promise of something. “Good.”

(Atsumu wakes up to Shouyou’s body tucked firmly against his own, Shouyou’s mouth brushing the base of his throat, hot breath fanning across his collarbone. One of his own legs is tucked between Shouyou’s, and one of Shouyou’s is thrown over his hip. Atsumu is half-hard in his boxers and he doesn’t even care. Sex is the furthest thing from his mind at this moment, because all he can do is marvel at how perfectly Shouyou fits against him, how peaceful it is to wake up like this, how the sun is just peeking through the window, catching on the very tips of Shouyou’s hair, which means he’ll wake up soon and probably start his morning routine, and maybe they’ll have breakfast together, and Atsumu…

Atsumu is not sure yet, if he’s really in love or if he only thinks he is. But he hopes Shouyou will let him find out.)

#haikyuu #atsuhina #miya atsumu #hinata shouyou #minific #The Hinata Effect

[mel-0n-earth]

BG3 February Writing Challenge: Day 1

Day 1 (SFW, except one or two sentences are NSFW): What was Tav doing when they were abducted?

Link to the original prompt list

[Using this as an opportunity to plot out some backstory for a nonbinary Tav for the Kar'niss fic I'm brainstorming. Enjoy :) ]

Sunshine gleamed blinding over the pristine blocks of limestone lining the Upper City’s manicured streets like so many rows of straight, white teeth. The sun hung white hot from the cloudless blue sky, pouring radiant rays of heat onto the city below. The only shade to be found consisted of bleak shadows clinging to over-trimmed trees, all frighteningly identical to one another. The very air smelled sharply of soap and freshly juiced lemons.

Kai couldn’t stand it. The brightness, the sterile perfection of it all. It was difficult to believe that anyone actually lived here amidst the immaculate aisles of townhouses and fountains spouting pearly blue water. They’d seen at least two picturesque flocks of white doves since they crossed the bridge, yet the whole district was utterly spotless. It seemed even the birds saved their shit for the Lower City.  

Besides, all the sunshine hurt Kai’s eyes. That was one of the shit parts of having a deadbeat drow for a mother. At least dear old dad had the good sense to be humor, or Kai would be burnt to a crisp in this sun. They could practically feel their sclera cooking like eggs inside their skull. How much longer were they going to stand around out here?

“Getting impatient, Rahim,” Kai drawled, fingers tapping their bicep.

Their partner didn’t move an inch, or so much as spare them a glance. He’d been sitting like a statue on that bench for what must have been over an hour now, solid as a gargoyle, and perhaps just as frightening, with that craggy scar of his raking a diagonal across his tanned face, black hair pulled back into a bun and beard trimmed short. Even his dark eyes hadn’t moved from whatever distant spot they’d been studying since they got here. Kai might have thought him under a holding spell, if it weren’t for the glaring sparkle of sunlight catching his earring every time he moved even the slightest bit.

“Rahim?”

“We just got here, Kai,” he said in his usual cool tone. “What’s got you all twitchy?”  

Kai rolled their shoulders—a nervous habit. “Nothing. Just don’t like it here. Too damn clean.”

“There’s a nice thorny rosebush ‘round the corner if you want to squat for a piss. Hells, I’ll take a whole shit in it if you’ll hold still for five damned minutes. You’re drawing attention to yourself.”

Kai frowned at a saccharine house across the street, its latticed windows framed by painted window boxes stuffed with yellow tulips. “Your guy should’ve been here by now.”

“We’ve got time. Last thing we want is a rushed job.”

“Maybe, but why I haven’t seen a single Fist since we hit this street.”

“This is Upper City, Kai. Most Fists are posted in our neck of the woods.”

Kai nudged Rahims calf with their boot. Finally, he turned to face them, his brown eyes melted to amber honey in the sunshine. The color was made all the more striking by the kohl lining his lids. It gave Kai pause. No one should look that beautiful, especially smarmy rakes like him.

“Don’t you think it’s a little odd?” Kai asked, fingers digging into their arm.

Rahim’s lips quirked up, softening the hard edges of his sea-worn face. Kai steeled themself against the devilish look he only wore when he was busy reading them like a book. “What, you nervous? Looking for some reassurance?”

A breeze drifted by, and Kai caught a hint of the familiar saltwater scent that clung to his skin. Fuck, he even smelled good. Damned pirate bastard.

They looked quickly away. “I don’t trust this new guy, is all. Never worked with him before.”

Rahim turned his attention back to the distance. “Plan’s all his. If we want our cut, we better play along.”

“Yeah? Would love to hear about this plan of his.”

A muscle twitched in Rahim’s jaw, then he smiled. “All in due time. Just trust me on this one, love. Have I done you wrong before?”

Kai tilted their head back. The white hair over their neck was damp with sweat, and the shaved side of their head felt ready to blister under the sun. “No,” they conceded. “Just…got a weird feeling. Can’t quite shake it. Like something isn’t right.”

Rahim rested one rugged hand at the small of Kai’s back, fingers slipping beneath their shirt to brush the sensitive skin there. “Easy there. Should be a quick one, in and out. When it’s done, we can have some time to ourselves, eh?”

Kai shifted, but said nothing.

Rahim breathed a laugh. “See, nothing but cheek, until I talk sex, then you melt like butter.”  

“I might actually melt if we have to stand here any longer. It’s hot as the Hells out here.”

Rahim’s eyes darted to the other side of the street. Something flickered in his eyes that Kai couldn’t recognize, jaw tensing. “Hells indeed, speak of the devil…”

Kai followed his gaze across the street, only for their eyes to be immediately assaulted by yet more gleaming light. It was a dragonborn. A fucking copper one, light dancing off his scales in a a blinding dazzle. A headache started to prick at Kai’s skull.

“You’re kidding me,” they muttered to Rahim. But the damned handsome pirate didn’t say a word. He simply followed the dragonborn’s approach from beneath darkened brows, heel tapping against the foot of the bench.

The dragonborn regarded them both with acid-green eyes and a flick of their scaly tail before approaching the bench, hand outstretched. “Rahim,” he hissed in a voice that was unmistakably lizard-like.

Rahim clasped the proffered hand. “Cadmus. You’re late.”

The lizard—Cadmus, apparently, flashed him a toothy grin. “Apologies. Our decoy required a few finishing touches.”

Kai lifted a brow. “Decoy?”

Cadmus’s passed his gaze over them, eyes narrowing. “A drow?”

“Only half.”

His reptilian mouth approximated a frown. “Male or female?”

“If you’re wondering whether to call me a bitch or a bastard, either is fine with me.”

“I need to know for your uniform,” he intoned.

Kai gave them a bewildered look. “What uniform?”

Cadmus cast a glance at Rahim. “You didn’t brief them?”

Rahim gave a noncommittal tilt of his head. “Thought I’d let you do the honors.”

The dragonborn swiveled his head to check that no one was listening, even though the street was nearly empty, then gestured for them to follow. Rahim rose from his bench without question. Kai frowned, but made no argument as Cadmus led them to a nearby alleyway. At least they were in the shade now.

“The two of you will be retrieving an heirloom from the Jannath manor,” Cadmus explained. “My sources tell me the family just fired and replaced half their staff after the Lady’s lover disappeared. A perfect opportunity to pose as new hires.” He angled his chin at Rahim. “The Hells hath no fury like a lover scorned, no?”

Rahim’s lips thinned. “You think either of us will pass as servants?” His dark eyes slid to Kai’s—pale purple, like most surface drow. The color of lavender, he’d told them one night, sharing a pillow while his cock softened inside them. Like the sea at sunset.  

“So long as you’re dressed the part, no one will notice a thing.” Cadmus insisted. “But the uniforms…” he looked back to Kai. “Males wear pants, and females wear skirts. Which would you prefer.”

Kai rolled their eyes. “Pants, obviously. You think I want to do a heist in a skirt?”

Cadmus inclined his head, then reached clawed hands into the pack slung over his shoulder and produced a set of clothing—nothing exquisite, but far finer than anything Kai had ever worn. They resisted the urge to reach out and touch the supple material.

“Who’s this decoy you were mentioning then?” Kai asked.

“Not who,” Cadmus corrected. “What. See, we’ll be stealing this.” He spared another quick glance around, then opened his bag so Kai could see.

Kai frowned. “A necklace?”

“Not just any necklace. This one is gnome-made.” He pointed a single talon to each detail as he named it. “Rubies set in gold and silver, with a dewdrop diamond at the apex. See the flowering detail? It was popular a few hundred years ago, and just came back into fashion. Should fetch a handsome price.”

Kai leaned in, squinting at the sparkling stones where they lay limp in his pack. “So this is a fake? Could’ve fooled me.”

The dragonborn’s maw split into a toothy smile. “That’s the idea.”

“So, how are we going to do this? Rahim?”

Rahim blinked, as if waking from a dream, then rubbed a hand over his thigh. “Ah, right. It’s just going to be you and me. You’ll watch the door while I run in. Once I grab the necklace, we make a break for it.”

Kai gave him a skeptical look. “What’s the catch?”

Rahim’s mouth pressed into a flat line.

“The catch,” Cadmus cut in, “is that the Jannaths have the jewelry box alarmed. The moment Rahim opens it, they’ll notify the guards. Hence the false necklace. Once Rahim has the real one in hand, he’ll lay low while you draw the guards away with the fake.”

“And what happens when I get caught with the fake?”

“The gems are made of glass,” Cadmus said. “They should break quite easily, and there’s no law preventing you from carrying a false reproduction.”

Kai chewed their lip. They were a good liar, but it would be a hard sell. Still, Cadmus was right—even the fake necklace looked like it would be worth a fortune. If they pulled this off, Kai might never have to sleep on a street again. Hells, they might be able to afford to sleep in a room with a door that locked. They could finally spend the night with Rahim without having to worry about someone walking in on them, or watching through a crack in the wall.

Kai turned to Rahim, who had remained uncharacteristically silent. “Well, what do you think?”

His eyes flickered to theirs before falling to the limestone brick beneath their feet—those damned pretty eyes. “I don’t know, Cadmus,” he said slowly. “Hearing you say it just now, there are a lot of cracks…”

The dragonborn gave him a sharp look. “Fastidious words for a man of so many debts.”

Kai pursed their lips. Rahim had never mentioned debts. They liked to gamble over cards every now and then, but he never had much to put down.

Still, if he owed someone a large sum, it would only spell trouble further down the road. Better to nip it in the bud now, for both their sakes. After all, he’d gotten Kai out of plenty of rough patches. It was their turn to return the favor.

“So,” Cadmus said, “Are you ready to begin?

Kadmus heaved a sigh, then met his acid-green eyes unflinching. “Yep. Let’s make it happen.”

***

The servant’s uniform turned out to be more comfortable than Kai expected. The undershirt was made of linen dyed a dark shade of indigo, the vest and pants fitted but breathable. Cadmus had guessed their measurements rather well. Rahim’s, on the other hand, seemed to fit too tightly. He wouldn’t stop pulling at his sleeves and collar, even well after Cadmus left them to make their way to the manor. When they were about a block out, Kai finally gave in to the urge to slap his hand away.

“Stop that, will you? People will think you have lice or something.”

His expression went taut, eyes fixed straight ahead to the busy street before them, chock full of well-dressed nobles and carefully maintained walkways. “Sorry,” he muttered. “Just not used to wearing this sort of thing.”

“Well, get used to it. You’re good at blending in. Just…try to look like you’re really good at pretending you love to wipe someone else’s ass for a living.”

Normally, that would have at least cracked a smile, but Rahim merely clenched his jaw a little tighter.

“What’s up with you?”

Finally, he turned to look at them, and something in his expression caught Kai off guard. “What do you mean?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Why didn’t you tell me you had gambling debts?”

His expression turned to stone. “What, were you going to offer to pay them off for me? With what coin?”

Kai bristled at that. “Fine then, don’t tell me.”

Rahim regarded them for a moment, then sighed. “Look, just got a bit reckless with my money is all. Nothing for you to worry about.”

“So long as we get paid, right?”

His throat bobbed. “You don’t have to do this on my behalf, you know. Could still bow out if you wanted.”

Kai thought about it for a moment, then shrugged. “Could. Don’t see why I would. If things go south, just drop the damned jewelry and run. We’ll ditch Camdus and find someone to fence the fake. Or we’ll find work elsewhere. Either way, I’ll make sure your debt is paid.”  

Rahim turned his attention back to the path forward, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides as they walked the final stretch to the Jannath’s manor. He didn’t say another word until they’d rounded their way to the back of the building where the servant’s entrance was located.

“You’ve got the decoy?” he asked in a hushed whisper.

In lieu of an answer, Kai pulled open their pants pocket so he could see the false rubies glint in the sunlight.

He heaved a sigh and nodded. “Alright then. Listen, I don’t care what Cadmus said: They don’t have to catch you for this to work, alright? Just lead them away. I’ll clear out fast as I can, promise.”

Kai’s mouth ticked up in a smile, and they leaned in to press a quick kiss on his lips. “You worry too much.”

Rahim regarded them with a burning stare, then tilted his head down to capture their mouth in another kiss, this one longer and more sensual, his tongue pressed warm against the seam of their lips. When he pulled back, Kai followed, almost tempted by the notion of abandoning this entire scheme and finding a shed to rut in instead. Almost.

“Bye then, love,” he hummed against their ear. “See you on the other side.”

He turned to slip inside the manor, never once looking back.

***

Kai’s boots collided hard with the pavement, like sparks rattling the grill of a stove. Sweat poured down their brow, and they could feel themselves sweating through the thin fabric of their shirt. The uniform’s vest had long been abandoned, dropped in the middle of the street as a bread crumb for the Fists to follow as they pursued them through the city. They’d taken the bait, and managed to track Kai all the way to the harbor before finally meeting them at a dead end.  

Really, Kai had let them catch up. Despite Rahim’s assurance that they didn’t need to get caught for the plan to work, they just couldn’t resist a chance to rub it in the Fists’ face that the goons had no grounds for an arrest. While Kai sprinted through the streets of the Gate, they’d pictured themselves smashing those glass rubies, proving that for once, they were the picture of innocence.  

But of course, something had to go wrong.

See, Kai had the whole thing planned out. They would run to the end of the dead end street, look up with pretend horror at the unsurpassable wall blocking their way, then slowly turn to the guards in pursuit, hands thrust in the air as if they’d just played their last card, only to pull one more from their sleeve when they least expected it.

“I didn’t steal anything, I swear!” Kai said, voice trembling with mock fear.

“Tyr’s bleeding arse you did,” one burly guard spat back. “Empty your pockets and we’ll see.”

It was only then that Kai let a sly smile spread across their face as they pulled the necklace from their pocket and dangled it in the air between them, giving it a quick jingle for good measure. “Is this what you were looking for? Well, too bad. It’s just a fake. See?” The necklace fell with a clatter to the stones. Kai lifted their leg, and delivered a decisive strike to one of the overly large rubies with the hard heel of their boot, the force of it enough to shatter glass.

Except it didn’t shatter.

When they lifted their heel, the necklace remained intact.

Confused, Kai lifted their leg again, ready to strike another blow at the trinket, but then they felt the Weave slither like a serpent around them, and their body came to a standstill.

“That’s enough of that,” came a familiar, lizard-like voice.

Kai couldn’t move a single limb. They didn’t even have the wherewithal to grimace past the spell’s hold as Cadmus appeared from amidst the throng of guards. They could only watch as the dragonborn fixed them with a smile that bore disgusting resemblance to the cat who got the canary, toothy and predatory. With a delicate hand, he reached down to retrieve the necklace from beneath their foot, taking a moment to study it in the sunlight before turning back to the guards.

“Well, I must commend the Flaming Fists for a job well done,” he crooned, the words dripping like poison from his scaly lips. “It seems you’ve caught the thief after all. I’m sure Lady Jannath will be pleased to see such a fine heirloom returned to her after being parted for so long.”

Kai felt their heart seize in their chest. What did that mean, “for so long?” They’d only just stolen it today.

Cadmus passed the necklace to one of the guards, who regarded it with a skeptical look.

“Everything should be in order,” Cadmus insisted. “Note the initials near the clasp? They belong to that of Lady Jannath’s great grandmother, the original owner.”

A few of the guards exchanged glances. “It certainly does appear to match her description.”

“I imagine the family will have no trouble confirming the provenance,” he continued. “After all, it is a rather unique item. The thief must have been quite the fool, to think they’d be able to sell such a recognizable piece. Even the most reckless fence wouldn’t dare take it on.”

Kai felt anger boil over in their chest. The pieces were falling into place. Of course something like that wouldn’t be easy to unload. And if the necklace was stolen “so long” ago…This wasn’t a heist—it was a setup.

It all made sense now—why Cadmus had approached a couple of lowlife thieves for an Upper City job, the need for a decoy, why Rahim had been ready to jump out of his own skin all day while claiming it was an “easy” job.

Rahim.

Kai could see him then—that edged look in his eye when he looked at them, the way he’d frozen up at the mention of a debt, how he’d offered them a way out at the last minute, the way he’d kissed them goodbye. He knew. All this time, he’d been planning to sell them out, and Kai was so busy staring at those pretty eyes, they hadn’t even seen it…

 All those nights, they’d spent together, all that sweet talk about lavender eyes, all the times he’d called them “love,” as if that word ever meant a fucking thing to him. It was all a baldfaced lie.

Kai wanted to scream, to tear their way through the circle of guards with their bare hands and come out bloody on the other side, to stalk Rahim to whatever dark hole he’d crawled into and demand an explanation, then rip his tongue out through his ass when it inevitably fell flat.

And to think, Kai had almost convinced themselves that bastard actually cared about them, fuck, loved them even. Shows what they knew.

Kai felt something hot fall over their cheek. At first, they thought it was the start of another spell. Then their vision started to blur, and they realized they were in fact crying. Having no control over their muscles, the tears simply came until they were streaming down their face. Gods, they must have looked pathetic.

Then, as if the day couldn’t have gotten any worse, a scream resounded from the next street over. Kai only just managed to slide their eyes up to witness the strange, hulking almagamation of flesh and sinew screaming through the sky before it brushed one of its slimy tentacles across their tear-streamed face.

They couldn’t even suck in a frightened breath before the ground fell away, and the world went black.  

#bg3ficfeb #bg3 fanfic #bg3 fanfic prompt #bg3 #OC tav #this was way too long #it was going to be longer but its almost midnight here #tomorrow's will be shorter

[prof-peach]

What would make a good ghost-type starter? My kid's about to turn ten and REALLY wants a Gastly. I think it's because the Ecruteak Gym Leader, Morty, and his Gengar are like, her childhood heroes. She says she even wants to be a ghost-type specialist. Honestly though, I'm kinda reluctant. I mean, you've heard the rumors about ghost-types and children, right?

Your concern as a parent is wholesome, and I can understand your reluctance to dishing out a ghost Pokemon without further investigation first, so let’s put some rumours to bed here.

The dex entries often depict ghost types and tricky, scary, wild and sometimes even dangerous, stealing children away, being living grudges, turning lost kids to Pokemon, and being overall hard to handle, often somewhat lacking in empathy even.

This is what a dex does, it’s built for kids, it’s information is out there to inspire kids to find intrigue in species that are overlooked. When your little, you make up stories, as a parent I’m sure you know, some of those stories your kids tell you seem actually terrifying, horrific, some kids love to indulge in the creepy, the unusual. It’s not to be feared, it’s to be celebrated. The dex is an exaggeration, a base for further learning, and often the gateway to kids wanting to know more. There is a fatal downside, their entries and statements about some species can be unnerving to a regular adult. We are fearful, we see this potentially spooky dangerous thing and of course we want to protect the family from that. But the info given is often a 1% (at most) chance occurrence.

Phantump? They aren’t born of lost kids in the woods. You ask any breeder worth their salt, and they’ll tell you they’ve seen those Pokemon hatch from eggs like everything else.

Drifloon, tries to steal kids apparently? Nah, they’re lighter than air, most of their movements just simply look that way, but it’s usually the wind pushing their bodies about. They’re actually very kind pokemon.

What else, oh, Banette. Born of a discarded toy with an eternal grudge? Haha nope. They aren’t all made that way, at all, many evolve to be perfectly happy healthy Pokemon with a lot of love for their trainers.

The dex focuses in on the unusual, the extraordinary, the facts that statistically will interest their target demographic most, and kids have way less fear than us. Look at yours. She’s been exposed to the same stuff you have, yet she’s not hesitant to want a ghost type, she’s not afraid, not learnt that fear yet, which is an incredibly good thing.

On the very unusual case where a ghost type is like their dex entry, it’s usually captured, aided, and rereleased in a secure location, away from those who could get hurt by it.

Ghost Pokemon do not hatch with a choice of body, a choice of type, or a set of rules to follow. Just like us, they learn and amble through their life trying to find satisfaction, friends, work, family, love and kindness, and to figure out how they fit in it all. They’re highly complex and empathetic Pokemon, often treated differently because of what they are, rather than who they are. When they find people and Pokemon who don’t treat them with hostility and unkindness, they will spend their life with them, they will give everything for them, protecting their loved ones with the ferocity other species can’t muster.

I for one think that as long as your kid knows what to expect, and is responsible and reliable in caring for a Pokemon, then perhaps it’s a good time to start looking. A ghastly is a perfectly fine starter, they have low care requirements, snacking occasionally, but feeding mostly from places of reflection or worship.

You know why ghost types always hang around graves? It’s how they feed. When people reflect, they produce a certain kind of energy, it is not something you can measure easily, or see, but a ghost Pokemon can sense it. They have learnt to live off the energy people expend reflecting, and the most common accessible place to get this for a ghost type, is graves. They also frequent places of worship, monuments beloved by locals, and buildings that once housed a lot of love. You can tell when an abandoned house had something truly terrible happen in it, not even the ghosts will feed there. The energy is bitter to them, and many don’t care for it.

To help your kid, set up a place within the house where you, your family, your other Pokemon, can go to reflect. Some people build this space around the telephone, or computer. When thinking of, or talking to distant loved ones, the same energy is produced, so at home the ghost type can snack and not run low on energy. It’s a nice modern day adaption that’s makes caring for ghost much easier thankfully. Spending 10-20 minutes every other day in the reflection zone will feed the ghost, but will not drain you or your kid. They do not eat up a lot from us, nothing we haven’t already expended.

Along with this, be aware that the ghost line can be somewhat nocturnal, so setting up a regular bedtime might be a little tricky, so that the Pokemon is accounted for, but also so the kids not out all night, that’s not safe at all. Sunset seems to be their peak active hour on average, long shadows mean they can jump around fast between dark patches, a trick ghost show off regularly.

If you are worried, try to make time to go out with your kid and their partner, to a park or maybe a more central street that’s well lit, so they can practice and be trainers in a safe environment. I can totally get not wanting them out in the dark alone, safety always comes first.

What else. She’ll probably have to start carrying an umbrella around. Ghastly aren’t too keen on suuuuper bright light, midday is not easy for them, but some do not want to sit in the pokeball while their trainer is up and awake, they want to play and be around them. An umbrella means they can get some shade no matter the time of day, and have some freedom to move about even in harsh sunlight. Too long in the sun will drain them of energy, and they’ll need to rest and sleep it off, recharge at the reflection station at home, or go spend an hour in a churchyard or something.

They eat most things and sleep anywhere, so there’s not a huge amount of specialist items to be bought for the home. Test different flavours on them, and try to find a ghastly that has a temperament that’ll get along with your whole family. You should definitely check out local adoption centres, they are in undated with ghost types this time of year. People hand them in for all sorts of reasons.

Little tip, if you bring Morty spicy baked goods, like chilli cheese bread or something, he’s more inclined to help you. He hangs out near the burnt tower a lot with his team, and takes trips to the local food festivals too, so if you notice an advert for one, see if you can catch the guy there. He’s reluctant to take on students, but if your kid turns up with a ghastly, and (from what I can assume) and overabundance of energy for Pokemon, plus a spicy treat, the guy melts a little and you can ask questions or request a little time for your kid to get some tips and tricks from a professional gym leader. I think it’d be interesting to investigate at the least, sounds like he’s the closest link between her and the Pokemon she so desperately loves. Plus how cool would that be for her? Gets to talk to her childhood hero. Kind of cool.

As a parent, I advise you get some cleanse tags too. There may be rooms you don’t want them entering, or items you don’t want them messing with (knives/power tools ect) , placing a cleanse tag on each wall, or on the items, will stop them interacting with them, so you can sit knowing things are safe for the Pokemon and your family.

In short, don’t knock the ghost types, they’re just as important, kind and loving as any other Pokemon. I’m not saying naughty troublesome ones don’t exist, but chances are you’ll find one that’s a great match for your family. Thank you for asking questions and not jumping to just get a Pokemon ASAP, you’d be surprised how few people do their homework before inviting in a new Pokemon to the home.

#pokemon #prof.peach #peach talks #hoooo boy I went off on this one a bit #sorry guys #long post

[l-auraaa]

Megumi HC - sfw

My whole house simply cannot get the JJK friendships out of our head so we thought we’d chuck out some HCs. 

There are no warnings for this - all sfw!!

This boy is so messy and grotty like you walk into his room mid-afternoon and the blinds are still drawn, his bed is unmade, and there’s a growing monster consisting of dark shirts glowering at you from the corner. (Megumi often grabs one of them, gives ‘em a sniff and if it isn’t quite ripe but certainly isn’t clean he turns it inside out because “no one will know.” - Nobara knows)

Gojo is actually very neat so Megumi argues that his clutter is a personal rebellion against Gojo; whenever Yuji is in Megumi’s room he’s constantly picking up the shirts and folding them; Megumi’s eye twitches the whole time - “why are you tidying up my room man,” “um - have you seen the state of this place?!”

Sleeps with one of his Shikigami at the end of his bed - he won’t admit it but the pressure of something or someone in his bed or even just in the room helps him sleep; him, Nobara, and Yuji have all defintely fallen asleep in one bed together, cramped and tucked up into unnatural positions but that was the best night of sleep Megumi has ever experienced. 

He drools.

Accidentally got some on Nobara and she cried.

Gojo left him in a supermarket carpark once because he got distracted by a woman and left with her - Megumi could have called Gojo but he decided to walk home by himself - he enjoyed the peace.

He loves karaoke “only when he’s drunk” (pfft, it’s only when he’s drunk that he lets his guard down); his and Yuji’s song is Super Trouper by Abba. 

His cheeks go red when he drinks. 

In fact, he just blushes very easily and it winds him up because it betrays his cold demeanor. 

Nobara and Yuji once pinned him to the floor so that they could put a face mask on him (they have weekly pamper gossip dates; Nobara taught Yuji how to push back his cuticle’s etc.; he loves it) and they had to put a headband on him to push his hair back. 

He hatedloved how much he looked like Gojo. 

Grumbled the whole time but had to admit afterwards that his skin felt so soft.

Wears mismatched socks. 

Despite his messy room he has good personal hygiene; is still traumatised from the time he saw Gojo lick his palms and use his saliva as hair gel to get his hair to stick up like a troll doll. 

he might be a grotty teen but his hair just grows that way. 

No he can’t control the hair. 

Gojo once locked him in a car, left the window cracked open, said he would be gone for “10 minutes kid” and was gone for three hours. 

came back with snacks and covered in blood - he’s doing his best.

Megumi and Yuta have venting sessions about all the shit Gojo has done but get defensive whenever anyone else joins in. 

city boy; type of guy to say “cows!!!!!!!” everytime they pass one; for once Yuji is the one with the deadpan expression.

HATES monopoly; Gojo used to cheat all the time; Megumi once threw the board at him and was annoyed when it bounced off his infinity. 

Gojo used to hold him at an arms left with his palm on his forehead when he was annoyed; he still does. 

Terrible cook has never made anything edible in his life; burnt a boilt egg; Yuji tried to teach him how to cook once but nobody wants to know how he set fire to soup - he is literally banned from the kitchen.

obvious but he hates bullies. 

literally the mastermind behind all of Yuji and Nobara’s stupid plans; hides his crackhead energy under his grumpy demeanor. 

Instigator of fights between Nobara and Yuji - will tap Nobara on the shoulder and walk away before she sees or pull her hair; Yuji is stood there with innocent doe eyes as she violates him in return because she thinks he did it. 

he was raised by Gojo. 

has a POTTY MOUTH its Gojo’s fault.

godforbid you’re ever around him when he stubs his toes.

Once walked in on Gojo entertaining a lady friend; Gojo was wearing a pink robe, a nice sheer womanly one with feathered sleeves and hem; Megumi took photos for potential blackmail.

his plan for said blackmail was left in disarray when Gojo asKED HIM TO SEND HIM THE PICTUES. 

Megumi threw a hissy fit and smashed his phone so Gojo could never see the photos. 

“Hey kid send me those photos.” *smash* think of the so no head vine.

Attentive; remembers everything anyone ever says; will bring Yuji or Nobara their favourite snacks at random times especially if they’re stressed. Hates it when they say thank you. 

Can’t take compliments - Yuji once said he looked good and he turned on his heel and walked in the opposite direction, stone faced, but his ears were bright red. 

Equally can’t give compliments - “you don’t look bad today.” “that was good for you.” “no i like the skirt Nobara you’ve defintely looked worse.”

“What do you like about Yuji?” “Um... he fast?”

awkward thumbs up. 

King of the awkard hand signs - has backed out of a room doing hand guns and awkward moon walk when he’s pissed off Nobara. link

The first time Gojo teleported him, he dry heaved twice, choked “no I’m okay,’ and then threw up on Goju’s shoes. 

Goju threw up on him; he doesn’t do vomit. 

Megumi as a little child once ran into Goju’s room, standing in front of him saying “I think I’m going to be sick,” and Goju just vanished like teleported away. 

Had to get Ijichi to help. 

That being said, Goju is a total hypochondriac father; Megumi once cleared his throat and Goju grabbed by the back of the collar and sprinted (don’t ask why he didn’t teleport, he was panicKING) to the infamary to beg Shoko for help:

“WHAT’S WRONG WITH HIM?! WHAT’S WRONG WITH MY BOY.”

“You’re choking him out put the kid down!” megumi is literally being held up off the floor; gasping for air; feet swinging side to side as Goju frets swinging him back and forth crying.

“SHOKO I JUST GOT HIM HE’S BRAND NEW.”

Megumi now gets scared whenever he’s ill; would rather cry than let out the cough in case Gojo sees him. Will go bright red, sweat, veins threatening to pop.

cannot spell; Wednesday trips him up everytime. 

“WHY IS THERE A D?!”

#jjk megumi #jujutsu megumi #megumi fushiguro #megumi headcanons #megumi hc #jjk hc #jjk headcanons #gojo satoru #jjk yuji #jujutsu yuji #jujutsu itadori #nobara #nobara jjk #nobara hc #gojo hc #gojo headcanons #gojo is a menace #gojo is a dad #megumi is done with life #nanami kento #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen hcs #anime meme #anime hcs #itadori yūji

[barzzal]

between halls and thin walls → part two

summary: friends who fool around almost never work. almost.

↳ pairing: mathew barzal x you

↳ warnings: swearing, sex toys, masturbation, sexual/suggestive themes, and yenno, mathew :(

↳ genre: angst, smut, roommates au, best friend’s best friend, friends with benefits, 18+ minors dni*

↳ length: series; part one, part two (5.9k), part three, part four, part five, part six

↳ masterlist: the barn

↳ track: listened to a lot of beyoncé for this one !!

note: part two’s here!! and i know it’s late for an update but i just wanna thank everyone for commenting on the first part 🥺 really glad that you guys liked it. reading your tags are everything to me it means a lot! happy reading <3 (gif used: mine)

You come out of your bedroom dressed and ready for work. Your handbag was slung over the depth of your forearm as you headed for the kitchen and the other, scrolling past emails on your phone, admittedly bracing yourself for the mess you know will eventually greet you.

To your surprise, what you see instead were Mat Barzal’s guns rippling through the jet black sweater he had worn last night. A memory that sent your mind to less than eight hours ago, before eventually landing on what happened shortly when the two of you had woken up.

“Thank god you haven’t burnt the house down.” you kid, placing your handbag atop the island.

Mat spares you a quick glance, rolling his eyes whilst he lets you watch him whisk some eggs for breakfast.

“Like it?” he cocks, pertaining to how your eyes were pinned hard on his biceps that he was, for the most part, effortlessly sporting. It’s true, though. He didn’t need to flex because it was just there.

“Coffee or Juice?” he asks, as the kind friend and roommate that he is. 

Anthony, as surprising as it was, takes incredibly long showers. If people hadn’t known him well, they’d easily think he’s abusing himself there. But you’ve got to admit that not having him around felt nice for you didn’t have to feel so seen with Mathew.

‘Course, there’s nothing more, like a fix-in on the side, to your set up. You just appreciate the feeling of not having to lie to Beau about all the ugly concealed underneath all the innocent gazes you and Mathew exchange.

“Coffee.” you answer shortly, realizing that you forgot the material you need for today’s meeting.

“Where are you going?” Mat asks when he catches you receding out into the hallway. You didn’t bother looking back, “Forgot something!”

He gets back to whisking the eggs when a chime comes off his phone. He takes it from the counter, placed just before the plates he left to dry last night, absent-mindedly putting the bowl he was holding onto the island, toppling over the green juice he has prepared for himself. 

“Shit.” he curses as soon as he sees it for it was already spilling all over the place, making the mess you’ve been secretly anticipating the moment Mathew said he’d make breakfast.

Panicking at how you’d see he’s successfully screwed such a no-brainer task, Mat grabs the first thing he sees on the marbled surface and uses it to clean the mess he’d made.

“Huh.” he muses to himself, realizing that the silk fabric didn’t do much in helping him clean up. He tosses it over the sink carelessly and grabs a few napkin rolls from one of the cupboards. 

So much for making an effort to feed Anthony Beauvillier. 

“Now, that was fast.” you say with a smirk once you’ve entered the kitchen, startling Mathew as he continued cleaning up after his mess. 

“Ha-ha. Very funny.” he sarcastically laughs, discarding the paper towels onto the sink along with the used ones. 

Thankfully, your stuff was at the other side of the island so it was very much safe from all the chaos happening at the other end of the marbled surface. However, your laugh dies down the second you realize that your handkerchief was no longer where you’ve last put it.

“Hey,” you call on Mathew, “What’s up?”

“Have you seen my handkerchief? I know I left it somewhere.” you anxiously ask, eyeing every corner of the room hoping to see Nana’s handkerchief, the one she gave to you on your 18th birthday.

“What does it look like?” Mat asks, now holding a pan in his hand as he prepares breakfast.

You proceeded to describe your grandma’s handkerchief in the most specific and perhaps excruciating detail Mathew has ever heard someone talk about something as mind-numbing as a handkerchief.

Despite that, Mat lights up the moment it hits him, not realizing the bigger mess he’s about to walk into. He rejoices at how he knew exactly what you were looking for, “Oh! You mean this?” 

With clueless eyes, you watch Mat go over the sink after he wipes his hands dry, fishing out an all too familiar fabric from the sink. Once your eyes land onto the cream colored silk handkerchief, with details carefully sewn by hand, drenching in what seems to be Mat’s morning drink, your heart falls to the pit of your stomach. 

“What did you do??” The sudden rise in your voice startles an unsuspecting Mathew. You eagerly went over to his side and hastily snatched the smooth fabric off his hands, “It’s ruined!”

“What? I didn’t know it was yours!” Mat’s eyes are wild with confusion. Puzzled at how you were so fixated on the useless fabric. It didn’t help him anyway. There’s nothing much left to do but to throw it. It’s garbage. 

“You ruined it!” you lash out, letting Mat get eaten up by the sudden anger bubbling inside your guts but he was rather quick in defending himself, “I didn’t know it was yours since I grabbed the first thing I could find. Why are you getting upset over a shit-ass handkerchief?” 

Your mouth falls and you shake your head, finding his defensiveness quite appalling. “You’re an ass.”

“Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t know it was yours.” he explains, “Come on, it’s just a stupid handkerchief I’ll just buy you a new one.” he tries to laugh the tension off, sporting his signature grin.

Mat take shots of the stunned expression on your face, “Stupid?” you repeat what he said, your eyes already starting to sting with tears. Clearly, you were far too overwhelmed to even acknowledge Mathew’s half-assed apology.

“You’re a fucking asshole.” your words bite and that’s when things took a turn for the worse. 

“I said I was fucking sorry! What the hell do you want from me? Shit a fucking hanky?” he rans a hand through his hair, “Do you realize how childish you’re being right now?”

Outraged, and perhaps disappointed by how he was too high up his horse, your voice takes up a higher tone, entering what seems to be an early screaming match between you and Mathew.

“Could you just–” you breathe, “for one second– stop being so goddamn stupid and get over yourself!?” were words that welcomed Anthony the moment he stepped into the kitchen, towel wrapped around his waist, a grin on his face visible as he poured himself a glass of water, inviting himself in the screaming match you and Mathew have exclusively put forth for him.

“Stupid is not when you’ve already apologized a hundred times! Stupid is being such a crybaby and a bitch about it!” Mathew retorts, gaining his better end of the argument.

“What a beautiful morning, isn’t it?” Anthony chimes in, a hand resting on his chin, adoring his two best friends upon getting used to the best worst duo he’s ever known in his life. 

“Shut up, Beau.” you say, throwing him a glare.

“Well, beautiful is definitely not in Y/N’s dictionary.” Mathew chides with a smirk, enough to earn himself a scoff from you. 

“You know what? I don’t have the time for this bullshit.” you cuss, finally retreating, your already heavy heart taking a better hold on your thoughts, blocking your ability to even come up with a clever remark to come back at Mathew.

You throw the delicate, yet already ruined piece of fabric towards his way as hard as you could before marching out of the kitchen and head off for work.

“Fucking unbelievable.” Mathew curses under his breath once he catches the silk linen, shaking his head as he turns his attention back to the morning task at hand. 

You were fucking unbelievable.

Once the boys were left alone, Tito raises a brow, briefly looking back after your footsteps, “What happened here, anyway?” he asks, having realized what must’ve caused such a heated argument so early in the morning. 

“I used this handkerchief to wipe the whole thing off and she just went ape shit! I mean–” Anthony cuts Mathew the moment he recognizes the thin cloth he was holding.

“Woah, woah. Wait a minute, you used this?” he muses, stressing on the possibility of what might have been Mathew’s biggest mistake of the day, his eyes darting between him and the fabric.

With furrowed brows, admittedly weirded by how Anthony reacted almost the same way you did a while ago. “It’s just a handkerchief, man. I can go buy her a bunch if that’s what she wants.” he says defensively.

Anthony shakes his head wildly, his irises now dilated as he examined the stain already sitting on the material. “No no. Oh god no.” He says, snatching Mathew’s phone from the counter to google quick remedies that might remove the said stain from the already ruined cloth. 

“What do you mean no? You guys spend way too much time together, you’re beginning to be as weird as her.” He scoffs, sipping on a glass of water. 

“No, you dumbass. This was her grandma’s!” Anthony says, eyes fixated on the delicate handkerchief. Remembering how you’d told him how long it has been in your family that having Nana give it to you after all the years you’ve spent admiring it from afar meant so much to you than anything anyone could have possibly given you.

“So?” Mat casually replies, closing his arms to his chest before adding, “Is she dead or something? Didn’t you guys visit her for the Holidays?” 

“What?? Why would you even say that?– You’re such a jerk.” Tito shakes his head, appalled by how Mathew easily shrugged the matter off when he knew full well how sentimental he himself could be.

“Well, how am I supposed to know?? If that thing’s so important I wouldn’t leave it on top of some random shit lying around!” He counters, defending himself for reaching for the nearest cloth he could find when he did whatever he does best when he’s in the kitchen.

Tito clicks his tongue and looks at Mathew exasperatedly, “Tell me, where did you find this exactly?”, to which Mathew only answered with a quiet voice, “It may or may not have been placed on top of her purse…” he avoids Tito’s gaze, finally catching on how he was the one in the wrong. 

“See? Jerk. Now, go figure out how you’ll take the stain off.” Anthony demands, his voice embraced by a definitive tone. One that made Mathew know he wouldn’t be able to persuade him into letting this go. 

Tito takes one good look at Mat’s catastrophic attempt to feed the house, striding his way out of the kitchen, “And make sure you apologize!” he adds, footsteps receding into the hallway, leaving Mathew scratching the back of his head out of guilt and frustration.

You have spent the following days either avoiding Mathew or ignoring his existence completely. Anthony talked to you the night that incident happened and assured you that he would do his best to have it fixed. You didn’t want to bother him nor take time off his already busy schedule, but you were just so bummed to even say a word.

That night, you spent the entire evening in your room, facetiming your mother, saying how much you’re missing home. You can’t bring yourself to tell her about the handkerchief. For some people, and that people being Mathew, it might’ve been just some silly thing but Tito knew how much that small piece of cloth meant to you. 

Mathew, on the one hand, was for sure guilty to his bones. He didn’t see you that night nor the nights that followed. He didn’t think much of it but when he found himself searching for that same handkerchief in the hopes of replacing it only to find out that it was nowhere to be found in the market, was when he did realize that ruining the one thing that held you closer to home was the last push your non-existent relationship with him had to have for you to finally lose any ounce of amour nor civility you once had for him. 

Anthony wasn’t a stranger for said changes either. He began waking up to a still apartment enveloped by a wall you profusely built between you and Mathew. You even unknowingly shut Tito out in the process as well. It was like you were grieving. Like, it was a whole different kind of heartbreak he knew he can’t get you out of that easily. 

You tried making it up for your best friend of course. Knowing that you haven’t been yourself since that day. You thought about the possibility of having taken the whole thing too seriously that you might’ve overreacted a bit. Nonetheless, no matter how much you try to push it in the back of your head, Mathew’s mere presence began irking you in ways it never did back when you used to enjoy the bickering you exchange with him, especially in bed.

“Thanks for dinner, belle.” Anthony politely says, earning a smile from you so effortlessly upon hearing the pet name he uses for you. Something Mat only shrugged off, trying to piece out the same gratitude, “Thanks, y/n.” he genuinely adds. But as expected, he had nothing.

You pick up all the empty plates, including Mathew’s, who was sitting in front of you while Anthony sat at the end of the table. Tito hurriedly wipes his mouth with a napkin and takes the plate from you, “Let me help you with that.” he says with the same kind eyes that has never failed to win you over. 

“Yeah. Okay, sure.” you shortly answer, leading the way towards the kitchen, leaving one Mathew Barzal feeling small and alone at the dining table. 

𖥸

If there was one thing you’d gladly acknowledge after all the years of watching people kiss Mathew’s ass was that he was is really good. He’s fast and he can do unimaginable damage on the ice. There’s no denying that he deserves to be the face of the New York Islanders. But we know you don’t care about any of that. The only thing you care about was how unbelievably good he is at everything he does that not even you or your pink rubber toy could suffice. 

He was just that damn good. 

As your eyes shut whilst you mount your pleasures on your own, biting your lips to choke in your own moans, Mathew handling you was what circled your mind since you started defiling yourself in the bathroom. You let your arousal be washed away by the warm water trickling down your skin, envisioning Mat’s rough hands grazing your body, touching your core like his hands were meant to do nothing else but that. 

It was wrong and pathetic, but you couldn’t think about anything else. You and Mathew have been avoiding each other for days. The dynamic went so much worse than when you weren’t sleeping together and you know that Tito was bound to notice it soon. Thankfully, the boys were on another roadie for a week so you had quite some time to think things through about your current sitch with Mathew. You didn’t like any of it because it felt like you gave a fuck (which obviously, you didn’t). You just feel obligated to sort things out with the biggest ass that ever lived because you didn’t want to involve Tito into the mess you’ve wrongfully made yourself. 

You hop off the shower feeling unsatisfied. You haven’t gotten laid since the last time you were with Mat. Which is sad, not just for you but also for her. You’d think considering the boys aren’t around you’d bring someone home, maybe even one or two. But just thinking about going on bars alone so you could find a potential bone-mate is already far too tedious and you weren’t in the right state to do so. You had so much going on at work, anyway. And you can always use a wand to scratch an itch. Neither would satisfy you more than how someone-who-will-not-be-named could, but you might as well be pathetic without having to hook up with some random dude whose name you’ll eventually forget in the morning. 

You opted to wear an old pull-over you borrowed (took) from Tito years and years ago and partnered it with some leggings so you’d be comfortable enough for the rest of the night. You have nothing else to do and you are already fed up with your workload that watching a crappy movie off of Netflix doesn’t sound like a bad idea. 

With a giant bowl of popcorn and two bottles of beer in your hands, you march your way into the living room, ready to spend the night binge watching romantic comedies, crying and laughing in between. Or maybe just fall asleep on the couch while your comfort TV series is on. 

The boys won three games out of the four that they had during the trip and you only saw the ones they won so you were thankful that you didn’t have to sit at home alone watching their faces fall after that OT lost against the Flyers. Anthony phoned you that night and you can just feel the relief in his voice that you didn’t have the time to see it. They weren’t playing like they should. Thankfully, they were able to bounce back. 

Your eyes were beginning to grow tired halfway into the movie when you hear the front door open, followed by luggages dragged into the house tirelessly. 

“Y/N?” Anthony calls out.

You hit the movie on pause and hurriedly make your way towards the hallway. “You’re home already?”

They were already taking their coats off when you met them halfway, Tito was putting his away while Mat had just taken off his toque and was running his hands through his hair, unconsciously meeting your eyes upon hearing your voice. 

You quickly break it off when you give Tito a quick embrace and plant a small kiss on his cheeks, “I texted you.” he says, eyebrows quirked, surprised that you didn’t know. 

In an effort to avert any more of his questions you immediately point towards the movie you had on, “Haven’t checked my messages, sorry.” 

“So, you guys ate dinner?” you ask, passing Mat a quick look. One that came as a surprise because he wasn’t even hoping to hear a word from you given the way you two left things a little too on the edge, screwing with the whole thing even more. 

Mat avoids your irises and faintly nods. 

“Big win tonight huh? Told you, you can do it.” you say with a beaming smile, nudging Tito with your hips as you get back to watching your film. “You gotta do what you gotta do, babe.” he winks, lugging his stuff around towards his bedroom. 

“Barz, don’t stay up, Trotz needs us first thing in the morning.” he looks back, reminding Mat who was already standing in front of his door, “Yeah. Sure.” he replies shortly with a tired voice. 

You and Anthony bid your own goodnights whilst Mat mutters a quiet “Night.” when you nodded his way, clearly not enjoying any of the first awkward encounters he’s yet to have with you. Seven days is quite a reasonable time for your anger to dissipate, a short yet seemingly long period of time that’s just enough to kill off whatever guilt Mat had initially felt before you parted ways.

𖥸

“Alright, I’m off.” Tito casually declares, putting on his watch. “There’s food in the fridge, and tell Mat to go easy on my beers.” he gives you a knowing look as he bends down to give you a kiss on the cheek. 

Tito had been seeing some mystery girl for quite some time now. He hasn’t told you anything spicy in particular but by the looks of it, you could already tell that she has him towed. 

“Good luck, loverboy.” you say, swatting his hand away and pushing him out to the door. The two of you cringe at what you said, sharing one last laugh before you watch him disappear out into the hallway.

The apartment was cramped the whole day because Anthony and Mat had the day off. Tito had plans for the night, obviously. As per you, you had plans lounging in the living room, switching through channels in the hopes of stumbling on a show that isn’t half as bad than the rest. 

Thankfully, a Sandra Bullock film was on HBO.

The Proposal, to be exact.

You decide to dive in the film with a cold bottle of beer on your hand. There was no way you’d be washing down the effects of a naked Ryan Reynolds with a glass of water. You haven’t gone mad. 

The film was already at the part where Sandra was proposing to Ryan when you hear Mathew’s door open. You haven’t talked since the night they came back home other than the small nods you exchange upon passing by each other. All of which are mind-numbing and impossible to swallow. The awkwardness has not dissipated completely unlike what you presumed. You were just grateful Tito was always around that you didn’t need to be alone together. 

Alarmed by another impending awkward encounter, you clear your throat and turn up the volume a little to remain focused on the film, investing your sole attention to it even if you have seen the movie countless times. 

Mathew, in his sweats and a gray shirt on, carefully makes his way out the hallway and into the common area after snatching a glass of water from the kitchen. You see him move further into the room but you make sure that he knows you weren’t paying attention. You take that he must’ve been thirsty and needed a drink but you don’t see him move further in the corner of your eye like he was making his way back in his room. It almost seemed like he was actually waiting for you to look his way.

Hesitantly, you follow your gut feel and see him standing a few feet away from you. “Yes?” you ask when you catch him staring. 

Mat blinks a few times, “Hi.” he takes a deep breath, trying to shake off the awkwardness circling the two of you.

When the only thing he gets from you is a tight lipped smile, he shakes his head and proceeds to walk where you were seated. 

“Mind if I join you?” he asks, his voice deep and clear enough to send your mind elsewhere. 

Regardless, you contain yourself and return a polite smile, “No. Not at all.”

“So, what are we watching?” he sits once you gestured onto the other end of the couch. 

“The Proposal.” you answer before throwing a question yourself, “Aren’t you supposed to be resting now?” you shake your head, absentmindedly chuckling. Not intending to make him feel that you’ve forgotten about what he’d done weeks ago. 

“I couldn’t sleep.” he props his back and lets himself sink in the cloud couch, his legs spread wide eating up most of the space left for the two of you to share. “Oh. I only like him when he’s Deadpool” he points out, cringing at how you were watching another one of your romantic comedy films.

You roll your eyes, admiring how he’s trying to break the tension between the two of you despite his unsolicited sentiments, “I like it when we were on not-speaking terms.” 

Mat mocks you for a while but decides to watch the movie so you let him be and get back to the film, letting a giggle slip every now and then. Something you thought Mat wouldn’t notice.

Watching the remainder of the film went with ease. ‘Course, Mat would steal a few glances here and there (ones he thought had gone unnoticed), but overall the quietude between the two of you was bearable. Almost like it was just two buddies hanging out. 

Although, not long after, your eyes were torn away from the huge flat screen when Mat spoke, “By the way,” he looks at you and calls your attention. 

Puzzled, you watch him take something from his pocket, “Here.” 

Once you see what he has in his hands your heart froze. Mat carefully hands you the cloth with an apologetic smile; his eyes soft with a hint of hope as he watches your reaction. 

“What– How?” you ask in bewilderment, failing to comprehend how he was able to fix the handkerchief. It looked the same as before. All of its details were in place, it was good as new. You were holding Nana’s handkerchief. 

Mathew didn’t bother to dance around and just offered you a quiet chuckle, evidently enjoying the wide smile painted on your lips. “Don’t worry about it. I just wanted to say that I’m sorry.” he apologizes, shielding you from all the strings he had to pull just to get that cloth fixed up.

You hold the smooth and delicate piece in your hands as you look at Mat, letting your feelings get a better hold of you, “Thank you.” you say, unknowingly reaching out, your arms wrapped around his neck as you give him a quick peck on the cheek. 

Mathew’s hand instinctively finds your back to support you, startling himself in the process. Nonetheless, the thought was easily shrugged off by how close your faces were, your smiles fading once you meet each other’s gaze. You feel the same rush you felt the night you and Mat got involved for the first time. Your hand was placed rather endearingly on his cheek, your faces, just like all the other times, unreasonably close to each other. Mat then clears his throat and only looks you in the eye. 

Afraid that the innocent hug would lead to something more, perhaps another mistake to be jotted down on the board, you breathe a laugh and break away, “Uh, thanks again. It really means a lot.” 

Mat must’ve sensed that you were being cautious so he puts his guards up and returns a chuckle, “So… we good?” he asks, reaching out a hand your way. 

Your fingers slide into his, gliding its way perfectly, your hands fitted well with his despite the obvious difference in proportion. His grip tightens in the most comfortable way possible. 

A smile breaks off his lips once he hears you answer, “We’re good.”

“I should probably get some sleep.” Mat tells you the moment you pull your hand away.

“Are you gonna be okay here?” he adds.

You looked at him, not wanting him to be obligated to keep you company, “Oh, yeah. I’m a big girl.” you say, making Mathew grin, shaking his head.

“Alright. I’ll be in my room if you need anything.”

Not picking up on whatever sloppy insinuation Mat has thrown out carelessly into thin air, he hears a simple “Mkay.” 

Thus far, letting him know that his subtle invitation was far from being RSVP’d.

𖥸

“You’ll be in your room?” Mat scoffs, staring at the ceiling while he lays on his bed, “The fuck was that, Mat?” he scolds himself for always coming up with the worst things to say. 

Mathew would be lying if he’d say he hasn’t thought about you (or doing you) for the past week of not being around home. But he definitely wouldn’t deny that the roadie kind of made things easier for him because then he didn’t have to stomach seeing you walk around the flat looking like the hot piece of ass that you were in his eyes. 

Mat knows he needs to pull his shit together. He wasn’t some 13 year-old boy raging with hormones. He needs to control himself around you and he could only do that once he learns how to push this whole thing between the two of you behind him. 

What happened with you and Mathew shouldn’t have happened at all. It was just a moment of weakness, and he hated that he’d let his dick (and apparently, him being one) ruin the relationship he once had with you. 

Before that night, seeing you do yoga and work out on the terrace was just seeing you drenched in sweat, and in your work out clothes looking icky and constipated. Something he’ll later on tease you about and he’ll end up catching the water bottle you throw in his face. But now, after all that fucking, seeing you sweaty and all worked out in the same yoga pants is just like walking into a porn commercial. Like the ones they show before the actual porn. In fact, he doesn’t even have to watch any of it. Tents and Boners were pretty much sponsored by you from then on. It’s sick, and he knows it. 

However, the tension he feels with you is palpable that he’s even certain that you feel it too. But how can he be wrong? He sees how your eyes blink a few times when he’s fresh out the shower, he sees you follow his trance when you thought he wasn’t paying attention, and you never fail to slide him shadowed hints with every touch you “accidentally” pass at him. The kind that’s short enough to remain innocent but not so much as to keep him at bay. Mat hated everything about it. He hated that he wanted you– and he hated that he thinks he might be right about you wanting him too.

All that self-loathing aside, did he regret it? 

That was one of the things he feels bad about. Because as much as he wants to lie and push it aside, he didn’t regret any of it. He didn’t like you that way and just thought about you sexually but he just wishes that you could push past this and just be friends. He was still sexually attracted to you, yes. But he knows he’d eventually get over it and be back on his game. That is if he can ever find someone who’d be as good as how you were the last three times you’ve let him be with you because it would really help him a lot if he could stop picturing your mouth getting stretched by his cock every time he hops into the shower.

Mat was pulled from his thoughts when he heard a knock on his door. The shy banging sound made his heart beat rapidly in an instant, knowing full well that the two of you were alone in the house and that Tito was, in no way, going to be home for another hour or two.

A faint knock follows the first one before he gets to the door. 

“Hi.” you greet him, a moment unfolding like it was déjà-vu.

“Hi.” 

“Did I wake you?” you sheepishly ask, your hands balled into fists before eventually settling down to hug your own build, unsure of where to put your hands exactly.

Mat quickly shakes his head, “No. I couldn’t sleep myself.”

You offer him a smile, acknowledging how he’s been nothing but good to you ever since they got home. Of course you wanted to get your hands on him being that you were completely dry and horny ever since you’ve ignored him completely, but you haven’t gone mad and you weren’t a complete neanderthal. You can keep your hands to yourself and act like a decent human being. 

“I’m sorry for making things weird between us.” you say, your eyes heavy with guilt. “But I’m only apologizing for being so unreasonable for the last couple of weeks.” you reiterated.

To which he only answers with, “You shouldn’t be. You have every right to be unreasonable– and I know that I’ve been a giant prick that day. It’s what I deserve.” he bites his lower lip, scratching his brow as he continues, “That’s why if there’s someone who owes someone an apology, it should be me. What I did was pretty crappy, so… I’m sorry.”

Like all the other times, Mathew towers over you wearing the same confidence he does when you’re around. Your bodies were reasonably apart from each other but close enough to mean something else if someone had walked by. Mathew was still in his room while you were out in the hallway, separated by the thin line made by the door frame. 

You feel Mat’s steady breathing and everything went still. He looks down at you, pretty eyes drowning yours. His messed up bed hair ridiculously makes up for how dressed down he was. No, actually, he looks fine even when he is. And all of that sight instantly makes your throat dry as you feel something curl in your belly, enough to make your hands sweaty as the thought of tasting his lips again cruised your mind entirely.

Mathew was no stranger to the said feeling either. He watched you punish him more at how plump and inviting your lips were. Or how your hand brushed on your clothes as you remain uncomposed under his gaze. 

Mat was becoming accustomed to how the two of you meet. Same time, same place, only this time, a different hallway. He steps further and crosses the line that divides the two of you, making you take a deep breath as his scent floors every nerve in your body. Waking what has been awake ever since that moment you shared back in the living room even more. 

“Yeah, okay.” you gather yourself, “I– I should probably head back.” 

Just by how his shoulders dropped, you knew you had said the wrong thing. And you hated that you did. Mat clears his voice and swallows, breaking off his gaze, “You probably should.” 

“Good night, Mat.” you smile, trying to regain yourself. 

“Good night.” he replies as he watches you turn your back before finally closing the door behind him. 

Frustrated for he was already starting to feel things more than just being “sorry”, Mat leans against the door and runs a hand through his hair. He takes a deep breath and tries to get you out of his head. 

He was about to walk away from the door and sleep off his frustration when he hears your faint footsteps on the other side of the door. He rests his head back on the wooden surface and sighs, “You’re still out there, aren’t you?”

There was a total silence for a moment, devoid of the knowledge of how you had your fist, ready to knock yet again, suspended in mid-air. 

Mathew hears you deny sheepishly, “No.” 

You hear him let out a small laugh, knowing that he was trying to contain himself. 

The door sprung open again, and for a second you thought how what you’re about to walk into will start another mess for you and Mathew. But how could you possibly think about it that way when you have nothing else but this man standing at the other end? 

A friend that took no seconds to waste as he finally lets his thirst and perhaps foolishness, get the better hold of him once he cages your heated face in his hands, crashing into your lips as fast as he’d taken you to his end of that thin gray line that has once irkingly parted him from you. A gray line you’re both willing to cross if that meant sharing another night in between halls and thin walls.

#mat barzal #mat barzal imagine #mat barzal fanfiction #mat barzal fic #mat barzal smut #hockey imagine #nhl imagine #nhl smut #hockey smut #letters to barzy #barzzal imagines

[wheninitalyy]

Jealous Benny Watts imagine

A/N - hiii ! I have been having a writer’s block with ,,France is no escape” so here’s a simple imagine. I got a (anonymous) request for a jealous Benny Watts story so I said, screw it even if I wasn't going to do requests, because this actually was refreshing to write. I’m not very satisfied with how this turned out because I felt like I couldn't get enough detail in- but I didn't want it to be too long.

A bit of context : the reader has known Benny for around a year and they have been rather close friends, there has never been any romance in their relationship. You can view this as either platonic or romantic.

(also this is gender neutral again because they didn't specify if they wanted the reader with any specific gender or pronouns)

Pairing : Benny Watts x reader

Word count : 2260

Warnings : swearing, that’s basically it :]

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

I pulled my shirt over my head as I sat down in front of my vanity.

I’ve had a miserable morning. 

My morning started off with the ringing sound of my smoke detector—which was wrongfully going off—so I had to stumble out of bed to run and turn it off. 

After a bit of fidgeting and bothering the stupid ringing machine on my wall, I decided to try and cheer my morning up with some breakfast.

I hit my hip harshly against the corner of the counter while I was making myself eggs and then burnt my eggs on the stove. 

No wonder I don’t wake up early.

The frown stuck on my face no matter what I looked at.

I pulled myself out of my chair, hissing from the pain that has seemed to spread farther than just my hip. 

I walked over to the window and peeked through the curtains; it was barely light outside. 

The scent of damp concrete from the New York rain was paired with the wet autumn leaves that scattered my little corner of this large city.

I was rudely awakened before sunrise with no reasoning to be up.

I am recently unemployed and can’t seem to find a job that uses my skills, I had the money to keep up my rent and bills for a couple months but after that I may as well be asking my parents for money... again. 

I jumped at the sound of the phone, “Jesus Christ,” I mumbled as I put a hand on my chest stopping my ghost from jumping out of my body.

I grabbed the phone that sat on my withering nightstand, I cleared my throat and spoke.

“Hello?” I answered,

“You’re up early,” the man laughed,

“Yes, yes I am. What do you need Benny?” I asked him, I wasn’t exactly the friendliest this morning, but this was not new treatment for Benny.

“Fancy a morning walk?” 

“Now?” I looked at the vanity mirror behind me, an irritated half-dressed zombie looked back at me. 

“It is morning, isn’t it? Anyway, be ready in ten- I’m on my way out,” he hung up abruptly.

I pulled the phone away from my ear, “Fuckin’ Benny,” I growled dropping the phone back onto the stand. 

A knocking came from the front door as I fumbled shoving my last-minute toast in my mouth and grabbing my coat. 

I rushed to the door and unlocked it; Benny stood on the other side playing with his house keys.

The tall man in front of me looked up and smiled, Benny dressed himself in his multiple shades and fabrics of dark clothing. His leather hat sat on his dirty-blonde waves of hair; his trench coat ended at his knees.

“Woah... you look terrible,” he joked and slipped his keys into his pocket,

I mumbled an inaudible insult through the toast I was holding in my mouth, he sighed and pulled me outside. 

Benny, slim yet strong, barely let me lock the door behind me before he tugged me down the stairs outside of my small apartment. 

“You’re so pushy,” I told him and let out my first laugh of today.

He held my hand as he guided me down the stairs and down the sidewalk. 

Benny always held my hand when we were together- when we were with friends, when we walked together, when he introduced me to chess reporters and interviewers.

His hands were always cold, always boney, and the metal of his rings always rubbed rather uncomfortably against my fingers, but I didn’t mind it so much anymore.

“So- you know how I was going to do that interview with Chess Review?” he asked me, glancing over. I let out a quiet ‘mhm’ and sped up my pace to keep up with his large steps, my hip was in pain, but I kept quiet and just tried to keep up. 

“Well, we are going to the interview right now,” my eyes widened,

“We are what?” 

  It didn’t matter how much I protested Benny having me tag along to his interviews, because here I sat in a diner at 6:45 AM with Benny and an author for one of the most read Chess magazines.

  I pulled my mind away from their conversation after a while of hearing the same average interviewing questions-

How are you feeling about this up-and-coming tournament?

Is there anyone you are nervous about playing?

Any new love interests in your life?

I watched the traffic out the diner’s window, the people walking past, the leaves and city trash carried by the weak wind.

“I think that’s all I’ll need for today… oh sorry, who’s this?” the reporter asked Benny.

I glanced over to Benny and then to the reporter.

“Uh, yeah- this is Y/N,” Benny introduced me, I felt weak, so I simply smiled.

“Not very talkative, huh?” the reporter joked, I looked the man dead in the eyes almost amused by his behavior.

“You want to talk? How about you ask better questions while you have a US Chess Champion in front of you?” I straightened out, “Like what’s your thoughts on what high school chess players are being taught? And do you plan to play in France next year against Borgov?” I turned to the man—who was dressed in a dull colored suit—and smiled, a bit proud of myself.

Benny held back a laugh as the reporter sat speechless for a moment… he reporter smiled and then burst into a laughter that caught the whole diner’s attention.

Unlike most interviews, we planned to meet for dinner with the reporter—who’s name I learned was Henry—due to what I said.

Benny agreed only because he got to choose the place and he seemed to be interested by the reporter and his ability to feel less like an obsessed interviewer and more of a ‘friend’ which I believe he took back those words later in the night.

  “You ready?” Benny asked me, I had spent the rest of the morning and afternoon with him in his apartment.

I straightened my dress-shirt and sighed, I turned around and checked my back in the mirror for any imperfections in my outfit.

After we left the diner, Benny had me grab a new pair of clothes for the dinner on our way to his apartment. And thank goodness I grabbed new clothes since my jeans had been rubbing against my hip just a bit too roughly.

Benny opened the door to his room, where he offered me to get dressed in instead of his small bathroom.

“You look nice,” he complimented me, I whipped my head in his direction and smiled.

“You too, is that a new hat?” I teased him. He never changes, and I’ve never even seen him dress to impress once.

He snorted and walked up beside me, “This might be weird,” I paused and turned to face him. “Do you think I could get an editor position at Chess Review if I… charmed Henry?” I asked him.

He stared at me, he never seemed to be afraid of eye-contact.

“Charmed?” he questioned,

“Not like that- I mean,” I sighed as he smiled, “You’re the worst,” I straightened his coat as he stood in front of me.

“Let’s get going before Henry writes me out to be known to ditch dinners,” Benny joked and pulled me to the door.

  Henry greeted us both with a hug when we arrived at the restaurant.

Benny picked a downtown restaurant, not too well-known, not too sketchy.

The place was lit up in strings of lights of all colors giving the place almost a festive feel, the place was Italian as far as I could tell.

60s pop music played quietly behind the laughter and chatter of the guests, everyone wore their coats indoors because of the random breezes that came from the open windows and doors.

  I pushed a couple strands of hair behind my ear as I listened to Henry enthuse about some writing class he went to; he was quite the writer as well as a decent reporter.

“So, what does it take to get an editing job there?” I asked Henry,

“Oh? Looking, are we?” he laughed quietly, “You might be in luck, one of our editors is moving to our branch in California. Need a reference from a trusted, handsome, reporter?” he smiled and leaned back in his chair.

“I might,” I took a sip of my drink,

“Let’s say I get you an interview- could I ask you to dinner some time?” he flirted, I almost choked on my drink.

I whipped my mouth with my napkin and smiled nervously, I looked at Benny who rested his head on his hand. Benny was staring at me, his eyes told me to decline but if I declined, I wouldn’t be sure I would get this interview.

“Ask me when you get that interview,” I told Henry looking away from Benny’s judging gaze.

He chuckled, “That’s fair, you have your priorities,” he didn’t seem to take it as a no, but he didn’t flirt again.

  I thought the night ended nicely, Henry said he would work on getting me an interview with Chess Review and he asked Benny a lot of more relevant questions that he should’ve asked this morning.

Benny took his chance to offer to walk me home before Henry could, Benny seemed tense and a bit upset after Henry flirted with me, but I wasn’t going to turn down a job to make him happy.

  I shoved my hands in the pockets of my coat as I walked home, I glanced beside me at Benny who refused to let me walk home by myself at this hour even if it was a couple blocks away by now.

“Really, you can go home. I’m fine,” I told Benny, he scoffed and stopped.

“You shoulda’ turned him down, told him you weren’t interested,” Benny told me bluntly,

“Are you seriously upset about this?” I turned to him,

“Yes, yes I’m fuckin’ upset that a man tried to make a move on you while we were all at dinner,” he spat, he pulled his hat off and ran a hand through is hair.

“Benny! I turned him down!” I walked over to the stairs up to someone’s apartment, I went to sit down on the stairs and hissed in pain.

Benny’s eyes darted to me, “What’s wrong with you?” he asked.

“It’s nothing! I just hit my hip against the counter this morning, it’s just bruised,” I said, stress tangled in my voice.

Benny sighed and crouched down by me, he lifted my coat and pulled my shirt out from tucked in my pants. I held my coat and shirt out of his way, and he moved my pants to look at my hip,

“What were you doin’? Dancing around and shit?” he almost laughed as he ran his thumb over my bruise,

“Could you not do that?” I held back a squeal from the feeling of his cold fingers against my hip.

He exhaled heavily due to the cold weather and helped me pull my clothes back down, he pulled me up off the stairs.

“C’mon,” his fingers found their way in between mine—which he hadn’t done on our walk back previously—as he walked me back home.

  Once we got to my door, Benny grabbed my keys from me and unlocked my door. He walked in, pulling me in after him.

Benny made himself at home as per usual as he took off his hat and coat on his way to my small kitchen.

I sat down on a stool in my kitchen as I watched him open my freezer and grab my ice-tray, he wrapped some ice in a cloth and put the tray back.

“Really?” I groaned as he handed me the cloth with ice, he nodded and gave me a look that said I didn’t want to test him.

“Fine,” I sighed.

I unzipped my coat and threw it on the counter behind me, I pulled my shirt up on the side just a bit and made my bruise visible. I hadn’t really looked at the bruise since I got it, it was all kinds of shades of purple and blue and it even looked like it hurt.

Benny suddenly pressed the cold rag against the side of my hip, “Ah!” I yelped.

Benny snickered and held the cloth against my hip as he leaned his side against the counter and faced me.

Silence filled my apartment quickly and all you could hear was distant cars and wind from outside.

“Thank you,” I filled the silence, Benny looked away from the window to me.

“You wouldn’t go to dinner with some self-absorbed asshole reporter, right?” he asked for reassurance of some kind,

“Not Henry… maybe one who wore a hat,” I paused, Benny raised an eyebrow. “He of course has to be blonde, and a trench coat would be a nice addition,” it took only seconds to see Benny realize what I was doing.

Benny pressed the ice against my hip harshly, “Ah! Okay! I’m sorry!” I laughed.

  In all the time I’ve known Benny, this was one of the first times he had actually been openly jealous. Of course, it’s not every day I get asked for dinner while he is around, but it was strange. It was strange because it felt nice, I liked thinking he didn’t want me dating others, maybe it proved my suspicions.

#benny watts #benny watts x reader #benny watts imagines #The Queens Gambit #the queens gambit imagines

[dadsbongos]

good heart

Movie/Game/Show: The Devil All the Time Dynamic: Arvin Russell/Reader Warnings: use of the daddy word but it’s purely platonic, sacrilege, post-canon, proofread but i am illiterate, fem pronouns Summary: Arvin knows he wants more, but he won’t let himself run for it. ~~~

Arvin slides onto the nearest stool he can find at the counter without looking around too much, peeling off his hat and holding it tight to the shiny surface with both fists. He keeps his head low and waits for a waitress to approach him.

“You want anything or you just getting out of the sun?” a voice teases from behind the counter.

His head lifts and he offers a fracture of a polite smile and nod, “Just a black coffee, ma’am. Please.”

“‘Ma’am’” you repeat as you write down the order, “You’re awful formal, don’t you think?”

“Sorry, ma’am.”

“Oh, no, you don’t gotta apologize for anything,” you awkwardly offer a smile, “I just tease sometimes, sorry ‘bout that.”

“Now, how many times have I told you to stop that,” an older man chides from the kitchen, “Bring that poor boy’s order over and stop messin’ with people.”

“Sorry, daddy,” you mutter, turning to hand over the ticket with Arvin’s measly order.

The man takes the paper and squints to read it, shaking his head before turning to the brunette boy at the counter, “Sorry ‘bout her. Gets bored around here.”

Arvin finally glances around the whole room and sees that the diner is empty of customers except for him.

He shakes his head and gives a slight grin, “Don’t worry none, sir. Just a rough few days, is all - nothin’ wrong with your daughter havin’ fun.”

He’s waved off by the older man and you soon return to Arvin’s front with a bounce in your step at his words, “Thanks for backin’ me up, stranger.”

“Just the truth,” Arvin murmurs, looking around the barren diner once again, “Slow day, huh?”

He internally cringes at the awkward starter but resolves to let it slide when you light up at the branch.

“Yeah, it’s Sunday service hours, ya know. Don’t get too many people willing to skip a meetin’ with the Lord for scrambled eggs and coffee.”

Lenora and Emma would be at service by now. Lenora would be praying with her neighbors and family by now. She loved services.

A bell dings before Arvin can claw out a subpar response and you’re making a trip to the little window between the kitchen and sitting area before carrying back a breakfast of toast, eggs, and coffee.

“Oh, I can’t- “

“On the house,” you wink, pushing the plate towards Arvin, “Don’t gotta eat it if you don’t want, but Daddy likes makin’ the effort to feed people,” leaning over and whispering so your father can’t hear, you let him in on a secret, “He looks mean but he’s got a real soft spot for people like you.”

He quirks a brow, picking up a fork to poke at his eggs, “Strays?��

You roll your eyes at the suggestion, “People who look like they need a good meal. He’s old but he reads people real well. I can take it back, if you don’t want it.”

“No!” he recoils and his face sours at the volume of his own voice, “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” you shrug, “Gotten a lot worse from customers for a lot less.”

Arvin finishes off a bite of toast before asking, “People yell at you often?”

Again, you merely shrug, “Polite young men like you ain’t exactly common around here.”

“Who could do that? You seem mighty fine,” Arvin shakes his head, “I don’t know you real well, ma’am, but somethin’ ‘bout that don’t rub me the right way.”

“Not much I can do ‘bout it. Daddy kicks ‘em out fast as he can but it ain’t like he’s always listenin’ out for people who don’t like his daughter.”

“What if I could get ‘em out?”

“What? You plan on sittin’ in a slow diner just waitin’ for people to get rough with little ol’ me?”

“Sad as it may sound, ma’am, I don’t got a lot goin’ on. ‘Sides,” Arvin shovels up more eggs on his fork, “your daddy ain’t a bad cook.”

You weren’t actually expecting Arvin to come back the next day. Or the one after that. Or the one after that. Or even the week later. But he did, just like he said he would - he came back and made sure nobody gave you a hard time. He wasn’t the tallest or the most muscular, but nobody could deny the intimidation Arvin could give out. He seemed like he’d seen more than most men his age. Seemed like he’d done a lot more than a lot of men his age. After a day you asked his name, he panicked and said Eugene just in case either of you knew of the sins living in Arvin Russell.

After a mere week of him coming around, your father offered him a job at the diner. He’d take the floor while you had the counter, and if the floor wasn’t busy he’d be on call for anything else needed. After a month, you asked where he was staying and found out he had nowhere to really go and he felt guilt claw at his chest that night when he wound up sleeping in your father’s bed with your father on the couch.

But he seemed sweet on you, calling you darlin’ in that backwoods drawl of his - offering to carry dishes when he saw you struggling. Offering to take over your position if you seemed overwhelmed. Helped your father around the diner and in the house, kept you company, kept out people who threw fits in the diner. Never made a fuss, never made himself difficult.

He didn’t give out his real name until a few months into his staying. His legs bouncing under the counter with nerves and hands gripping the surface for any sort of purchase. By now he figured you and your father would have some sort of attachment to him, maybe he wouldn’t have to explain his past - maybe both of you already knew. Maybe you’d turn him in. Maybe you’d understand. Maybe he could stay.

Please, Lord, let him stay.

It was after closing hours, leaving just the three of you as he spilled all the weight looming over his guilt-wracked mind. Telling you both - he wasn’t born as Eugene. He was born as Arvin.

“Russell, ain’t that right?”

He wants to dig himself a hole and die in it with how your father looks at him. Judging and waiting. Spying and predatory. It reminds him of those woods. It reminds him of the sheriff.

“How many people have you told?” he’s surprised by how you reach across the table so quickly to grab his hands and hold them in your own.

“Just you two…”

“You shot that reverend. Suspected on a sheriff. We heard about you,” your father’s voice is cold and he wishes he could go back by mere seconds and never tell either of you who he was.

He didn’t want to go to prison. He wasn’t a bad person, he had good reason. He knows he had good reason but the bodies piled up and he felt his chances at getting out of this diner in anything but handcuffs slip away. He knows any chance he had at companionship with anyone other than his own head were burnt to ash.

“Why’d you do it?”

His attention is brought back to you at your shockingly soft tone when asking the question, he purses his lips, “It’s gonna sound like a lie, but I swear that none of those people were any good.”

“Arvin,” you lean towards him slightly to make eye contact, “I wanna believe that, I do. But you’ve gotta explain yourself more than that.”

He lets himself find comfort in your sincere expression for a few seconds longer before looking to your father and then back to you, “That preacher - he, he - he hurt my sister. Real bad. She… she killed herself cuz a’ him. And the sheriff chased me ‘round after I…” he shook his head, clenching his eyes shut at how ridiculous he sounded, “They weren’t no good, I promise you. I swear it.”

“Arvin, why’d you kill the sheriff?” you pat his cheek gently, “Why was he chasin’ you? Was it over the preacher?”

“No, I- I shot his sister. And her husband,” he opens his eyes in time to see that your father has come closer and he wishes he never opened his mouth, “They were tryin’ to kill me. I swear it. They took me into their car, said they’d give me a ride but they- they stopped and I saw him pull out a gun and I knew they were up to no good and I had to protect myself. I didn’t wanna do it, I didn’t want- I didn’t want any a’ this,” he looks away from your father and back to you, tears now springing in his eyes, “I didn’t wanna hurt anybody… I didn’t wanna kill them… I’m not a bad person, I swear.”

You wipe away his tears, “Arvin, I wanna believe you, I do. But I also know you know this is a lot to take in, right?” you look back at your father as if silently asking where to go next.

He pulls you away from Arvin and stares down at the young man as if he could physically read whether he was lying or not. Arvin wishes he was looking at you again, he felt more comfortable when he was looking at you. He felt more comfortable with his hands in yours. He wants his hands in yours.

“If I was you,” he begins, “If my sister was hurt however bad yours was, I know that I’d kill that man. If anyone did what that man did to make your sister take her own life to my sister or, God forbid, my daughter, I know that I’d kill that man. I know that if someone tried taking me outta this world, I’d kill them too,” he nodded to himself, weathered and wrinkled hands splaying out on the table, “I’ve never killed anybody with these hands, Arvin. But if I think you’re lying for a second, they just might have to.”

“Daddy,” you pitch in over your father’s shoulder nervously, “what’re you sayin’?”

“I believe you, Arvin. I believe you’re a good kid, I believe you wouldn’t hurt someone without a damn good reason. You’re good to us and you do good work here. I believe you’re tellin’ the truth,” he looks into the young man’s eyes, “If you ain’t, and you’re lying to me, then I hope the Lord makes you see our faces every time you close those eyes.”

“I ain’t lyin’, sir, I promise,” Arvin shakes his head, growing desperate as tears pool at his waterline, he just wants one of you to say it - just say he’s okay. Say he can stay. He can stay here with you. Say he’s okay.

He just wants to be okay.

Your father leaves wordlessly, retreating to the kitchen, lights flickering as he began the routine clean-up for the night and preparation for an early tomorrow. Arvin turns to you in the growing silence, you’re a blotchy outline with the tears gathering in his eyes.

“D’you believe me?”

You come around the counter and reach out, taking Arvin’s head and pressing it to your chest, just over your heart. Gently removing his hat and placing it on the counter, your fingers begin carding through Arvin’s messy hair, “I believe you, Arvin. The man you’ve been to me is not somebody who’d go around hurtin’ people, I believe you.”

He swallows at the lump in his throat, eyes falling closed and hands grounding themselves in your work uniform, “Thank you, darlin’. Thank you, thank you, thank you...”

“You’re safe here, Arvin. We won’t tell nobody, I promise.”

Your voice is more comforting to him than the thought of any eternal bliss waiting outside this life. He wants to protect it - protect you. He wants to stay.

“Can I stay…” he turns his head to press his face into the cloth of your uniform as if that’d prevent any upcoming rejection, “Can I stay, darlin’?”

“You can stay, Arvin,” you murmur, continuing to run your fingers through his hair, “I want you to stay.”

Arvin kept himself wound around you for as long as you’d let him hold on, and you were content enough to keep him in your arms until your father was finished with his routine in the kitchen.

“Ready to head home now?”

“I’m goin’ too?” Arvin pulled away from you just enough to not muffle his reply, eyebrows furrowed, “I’m still stayin’ with you both?”

“Arvin,” you cupped his cheeks to direct his eyes with yours, a small smile just peeking at your lips, “We believe you’re good. Of course, you’re comin’ home with us. We love you, Arvin.”

Your father nodded quietly, patting the boy’s shoulder before walking past you both, “I’ll start up the car, so hurry up. We got an early mornin’ tomorrow.”

It was in the dead of night later on that Arvin found himself still unable to relax. His eyes wide open and fingers nervously tapping at his stomach through the comforter on what used to be your father’s bed. What if you both were tricking him at the diner and there’ll be a police officer out in the front lawn by morning? What if you were at the station turning him in right now and he’s actually all alone in this house?

That thought has him springing up from the bed and down the small hall to where your bedroom door is shut. He feels guilty doubting the sincerity you’d shown but his brain won’t rest and his heart refuses to calm down. He knows he could never blame you for giving him up but he needs you in his life now that he has you.

He curls around the doorknob and pushes open until he’s fully inside. He can just make out your figure in bed within the darkness, his eyes hurrying to adjust to the night.

Creeping to the side of your bed, Arvin hesitates but ultimately shakes you awake anyway, “Darlin’?”

You hum and groan and rub your eyes until you’re fully awake with Arvin at your side, “What’re you doin’ up? Didn’t you hear daddy? We gotta be up early tomorrow.”

“I can’t sleep, I- I keep worryin’.”

At the admission, you’re sitting up and bringing a hand over Arvin’s, “‘Bout what?”

“D’you really trust me, or was that just an act back at the diner?”

“I believe you,” you make room on the bed and drag Arvin into it, coddling him to your body, “I know you’re good. I’ve known you for a long while now. It’ll take a bit to get used to, but I know you’re a good man. I love that you’re a good man.”

You’ve gotten so close to saying what he wants to hear, he could almost pretend it’s what you’d said. He could almost pretend he heard you say you love him - he likes to pretend that’s what he heard. But he knows he doesn’t deserve that love - he just needs to protect what he has now rather than strive for more.

“Thank you for believin’ me, darlin’.”

“I’ll believe you ‘til the end, Arvin. I know you’re good.”

He feels comforted, once again, by those words - by your words. He feels comforted by your hold and he hopes that this is a safe place to lie until his bones give out - if you’ll let him. He knows what he wants is to have and hold and cherish this home you’ve given him both in the form of a roof over his head and the spot between your arms but he has to remind himself that what he needs is to just protect you. At least until you decide his sinful heart is worthy of loving with yours.

#arvin russell x you #arvin russell fluff #arvin russell x reader #arvin russel x you #arvin russel x y/n #arvin russel x reader #arvin russel fic

[hangezoeenthusiast]

Cooking

gn!reader

person: georgenotfound

pronouns: they/them

warnings: cursing, yelling

word count: 1036

you were watching from a distance george horribly cook food. supposedly he was going to make a "full course meal". that was a load of crap.

the mozzarella sticks that he was currently making were too thick, he cut the cheese wrong. "hey y/n, how do you like the size of the cheese?" he asked of you. you lied, "yeah george, they look great."

you cringed, "why the fuck is it so thick, it's not supposed to be like that," you thought in your head. "we got approval of the significant other, lets coat it in bread crumbs and- wait, i'm not supposed to do that?" chat was spamming wrong, he accidentally added paprika to the eggs, he supposed to add it to the mixture of bread crumbs and flour. "shit, shit, chat, just forget the last 5 minutes yea?" he demanded.

you stopped laughing, "ohh george, you're shit at cooking." "SHUT UP Y/N YOU CAN'T EVEN MAKE PANCAKES." he retaliated. "yeah, but at least i know that i suck, you just believe that you are the greatest chef in the world, like gordon ramsey." "no i do not." he pouted.

he placed the pan of the cheesy sticks inside the oven, setting a timer for 10 minutes. "ok chat, next we are going to do the steak, now be careful, and wash your hands before cooking." he grabbed the "steak seasoning" and placed a minimal amount of it on top of the meat. "ohhh, this is disgusting." he squinted.

"george, stop being a pussy and mix it, do it with some umphh." you told him. "just let me cook y/n without any distractions." you put your hands up, "ok big shot, just wait until you fuck something up, then you'll need my help." you stepped out of the way, and waited until he did something wrong with his "fantastic cooking".

"george, stop being a pussy and mix it, do it with some umphh." you told him. "just let me cook y/n without any distractions." you put your hands up, "ok big shot, just wait until you fuck something up, then you'll need my help." you stepped out of the way, and waited until he did something wrong with his "fantastic cooking".

he finished shyly mixing the seasoning with the steak, then coated a pan with barely to none oil. he put the steak on the pan, and watched as it sizzled. then, he flipped the steak on the other side and waited it to cook on that side. after he was done, he took the steak out of the pan, and placed it on a plate.

"chat, look what i did, im a 5-star chef BabY."

then suddenly, dream called him. "GEORGE CUT THE STEAK OPEN." he yelled at george, repeating his statement over and over again. "fine, just shut up." he cut open the steak with a knife, and showed chat on the camera. "see, i'm the best."

chat was spamming, "eat it". he tried a piece, and he felt like he was in heaven. "OHHH SHIT, THIS TASTES GOOD, Y/N DO YOU WANT SOME." you answered, "no thanks, i don't want food poisoning." "OHHH COME ONE, TRY IT, YOU MIGHT LIKE IT." "did you just quote dora, or i'm just crazy?" "nope, you're just crazy, but PWEASE, EAT IT."

"but didn't you say you did not want any "distractions". "YEAH, NOW YOU CAN DISTRACT ME." "fineee."

you went over to george, took a piece of the steak, and ate it. "george, i don't know what is wrong with your tastebuds, but it tastes like shit." "WHAT DO YOU MEAN, IT TASTES BEAUTFIUL." "i'm just trying to be blunt, but it tastes like horse shit."

"YOU ARE OFFICIALLY BANNED FROM THE KITCHEN FOR THE REST OF THE DAY." "ok that's fine, as long as i don't taste your shitty food."

"I DON'T LIKE YOU ANYMORE Y/N."

"me too george, me too."

"hey, that's mean."

"JK, LOVE YOU HONEY." you screamed from basically across the house.

he continued with being a 5-star chef, and his food ended up ehhh. the mozzarella sticks, at least most of them were burnt on the outside, the crepe was burnt, the steak was under-seasoned, and the potato fried were mushy, under-cooked, and not even crispy, like what, crispy fries are more delicious than soggy fries.

he called you back to the kitchen, "if i let you back in, will you promise me that you won't be mean to me?" "no promises." "y/nnn, stop it." he jokingly threatened you. "ok fine, what do you want?"

"i want you to try out the finished product."

"george, i'm definitely going to get food poisoning if i eat this shit."

"come on y/n, seriously, is all my food bad?"

"yes." you said bluntly. "y/n, just take one tiny bite." you scowled at him, "fine, but if i get poisoned by you, i'm suing."

"by the way, i suggest you don't eat the crepe, that part sucked."

you rolled your eyes, "ok then, will you let me eat now?"

"THANK YOU, THANK YOU." he hugged you. "calm down, there's children here." he was the one who now rolled his eyes, "fine, just eat." you took a bite of the mozzarella sticks first, "george, this is overly burnt on the outside, the only part that is actually good is the cheese part." you eat the fries next, "this is too under-cooked for my taste, also it's not even crispy, WHY ISN'T IT CRIPSY, THAT'S THE WHOLE POINT OF FRENCH FRIES, NOT EVEN KETCHUP CAN FIX THIS." you already tried the steak earlier, you didn't like how it was under-seasoned and under-cooked.

"WHY. DO. YOU. HAVE. TO. BE. MEAN. TO. ME." he fake cried. "at least it was me that ate it, if it was someone else they would've have died from how shitty this is." you responded. "chat, it's confirmed, y/n is a big bully." he pouted. "noo, i'm not george, it's just your ego being too big that made you disappointed." you teased.

"i don't like you, don't talk to me ever again." he turned away from you, crossing his arms. "sure george, sure, anyways want some chicken nuggies from McDonalds?"

#dream smp #dream smp x reader #dream smp x y/n #dream smp x you #mcyt x reader #mcyt #mcyt x y/n #mcyt x you #georgenotfound #georgenotfound x reader #georgenotfound x you #georgenotfound x y/n #louistommosnesquickmilk writes #louistommosnesquickmilk #gnf

[fridayfirefly]

Virtual Sleepover

Read Virtual Sleepover on AO3

Masterlist

Written for Maribat March Day 4 - Internet Friends

Quarantine had been rough at Wayne Manor, but for Tim Drake, Marinette Dupain-Cheng was a bright light through it all. Tim was getting ahead of himself, though. The story of Marinette Dupain-Cheng started on March 20th, 2020. Panic over coronavirus was sweeping the nation. Bruce had gathered all of the members of the Wayne family into the dining room to explain the new rules of the house. No one was to go in or out. Groceries would be delivered to the house. There would be no superhero outings for at least two weeks. Tim didn't think his family would be able to survive, trapped in a house together.

So to preserve his sanity, Tim turned to the internet. There were hundreds of cold cases that he had put on the backburner and hundreds of forums and websites dedicated to solving cold cases. Tim turned to the most popular website and started dumping information, hoping for someone to show up and work through it with him. That's how Tim met Marinette. @MarinetteDC showed up on his page with a friend request, a wide range of technical knowledge about textiles and designs, and about seven different theories on a murder case Tim considered all but unsolvable. Her sleep schedule was just as chaotic as Tim's and she also drank a near-inhuman amount of coffee. Marinette Dupain-Cheng enthralled Tim. And when the chaos of his house threatened to make Tim lose his mind, Marinette became his lifeline.

"Can you hear me?"

Tim nodded. "Yep!"

"Nice!" cheered Marinette. Tim relished the opportunity to see her face, even if it was through a zoom call. "So what do we want to do first? I don't have class until Monday, so we have the whole weekend ahead of us."

"I think we should start with the iconic sleepover classic: truth or dare," suggested Tim.

"Alright. Truth or dare, Tim?"

"Dare." Tim was confident in his abilities to pull off any stunt she might come up with. However, his confidence started to fade as he watched a devious look grow on her face.

"I dare you to bake a batch of cookies - any kind of cookies you want - without using a recipe."

Tim blinked, trying to recall the last time he had baked. Besides a few times helping Alfred out in the kitchen, Tim wasn't certain that he had ever used the Wayne Manor kitchen for anything other than brewing coffee and heating frozen pizzas. "Could I have a new dare?"

Marinette shook her head, the grin on her face demonstrating exactly how much fun she was having, watching the panic in Tim's eyes. "I'll give you one hint on how to make them, but only one, so use it wisely."

Tim groaned, unplugging his laptop from its charger so he could move it to the kitchen. "I'm not actually certain I know all of the ingredients in cookies. Or how long you bake them for. I feel like an hour is probably too long, but I feel like half an hour might not be enough time."

On the other side of the screen, Marinette tried to stifle her giggles but was unable to keep them all in. "No offense Tim, but this is going to be a disaster. I can't wait."

Tim let out another groan. "Must you torture me?"

"How about you keep the laptop camera pointed towards the oven, that way I can tell you once something starts to burn?" Marinette joked.

Tim knew that she was teasing, but honestly, he knew he could use all the help he could get. Still, he wanted to preserve at least a little of his dignity. "Very funny," Tim said sarcastically, setting the laptop down on the kitchen counter.

"Start with ingredients," Marinette advised.

"What all goes into a chocolate chip cookie..?" mused Tim. He got out the flour, white and brown sugar, eggs, butter, vanilla extract, and three different types of chocolate chips that Alfred kept stocked.

Marinette raised an eyebrow. "Is that all?"

Tim cast a wary gaze upon his ingredients. It didn't seem like enough, but at the same time he couldn't figure out what he was missing. Tim sighed. "I'm ready to use my hint. Tell me what I forgot."

"You forgot to get out the salt, and more importantly, the baking soda," advised Marinette.

"Can I have a second hint?" asked Tim as he gathered his two missing ingredients.

"That depends on what you're asking," teased Marinette.

"I'm going to start listing measurements, and you tell me if it's too much or not enough."

Marinette pretended to think it over before replying, "I'll do it, but only because I want the cookies to come out edible, not because we're friends or anything like that. There are no friends in the Dupain-Cheng kitchen," said Marinette, her voice filled with faux seriousness.

"Lucky for me, these cookies are being made in the Wayne kitchen, and we're all very nice here, and we don't let Tim burn his cookies."

Marinette giggled. "You have a point there," she acquiesced. "Start listing your measurements."

Tim grabbed the measuring cup and starting approximating. "Two cups flour?"

"That will make about five dozen cookies."

"One cup of each type of sugar?"

Marinette shook her head. "You'll want a 3/4 cup of each."

The rest of the measuring process proceeded smoothly, with Tim guessing measurements of fluctuating accuracy (he correctly guessed that he would need two eggs, but his guess of a half-cup of baking soda led to Marinette questioning whether he had ever been in a kitchen before).  Once Tim got the cookie dough mixed, spooned out onto a tray, and put in the oven, they resumed their game of truth-or-dare.

"Your turn, Marinette. Truth or dare?"

"Truth."

Tim tried to think of a good question to ask. "Since you've now seen how abysmal I am in the kitchen, I want to know one thing that you're terrible at."

Marinette scrunched up her brow. "It's nowhere near as bad as you're inability to crack an egg-"

Tim winced a little, remembering the painstaking process of digging out fragments of eggshell after he completely shattered it in his attempts to crack it.

"-But I have really bad depth perception. I trip over every little crack in the sidewalk. I'm probably the clumsiest person you'll ever meet."

Tim chuckled. "And here I thought you were perfect."

Marinette grinned. "Almost perfect. Truth or dare?"

"I'll pick truth this time, and hopefully avoid being humiliated again."

"I'll go easy on you this round. When was the last time you lied, and what was it about?"

Tim combed back through his memory of the past week, trying to pick out the last time he lied. "I think it was yesterday morning. Dick asked me if the coffee I was drinking was my first coffee of the day. I said yes, but really I hadn't slept that night so I just decided to arbitrarily count my start of the day at the time I would have woken up had I actually gone to sleep."

"So how many coffee's had you had yesterday?"

Tim shrugged. "Since midnight? Probably three or four. I've gotten away with a lot more coffee since I modified the Keurig in my room to stop making so much noise."

"I'm lucky," said Marinette. "My parents sleep so far away from me that they can't hear my Keurig."

"Truth or dare?" asked Tim, continuing the game.

"Truth."

"What's the most embarrassing thing you've ever done because you had a crush on someone?"

Marinette flushed red, and Tim immediately knew that this was going to be a good story. "Once I accidentally sent a text to my crush so I stolehisphoneanddeletedthetext." Marinette rushed the last few words, so fast that Tim couldn't quite make them out.

"What was that?"

"I stole his phone and deleted the text before he could read it. In my defense, I made a lot of questionable decisions at that age."

Tim burst out laughing. "How old were you?"

"I was thirteen," admitted Marinette.

Tim couldn't stop laughing at the absurdity of her claims. "You couldn't have asked him to borrow his phone and deleted it then?"

"I was in panic mode. It was between steal his phone or destroy his phone."

"Those were your two options?!" exclaimed Tim.

Marinette blushed even more furiously. "It's your turn. Don't expect me to go easy on you this round. Truth or dare?"

Tim kept up the trend. "Truth."

"What was the worst thing you did at thirteen?"

Tim thought back to his days as Robin, and the many, many stories he could tell. In the end, he settled on one that Jason still brought up when he needed leverage over Tim. "It's not as bad as phone thievery, but it's still a pretty funny story, looking back on it. You know how I have two older brothers, right?"

"Dick and Jason," Marinette confirmed.

"Well, one night I managed to convince Dick to let me drive Bruce's favorite car. Now, keep in mind, I had never actually driven a car before. Surprisingly, I wasn't that bad at driving. I made it home without incident - that is, until I tried to park the car back in the garage and accidentally crashed into Jason's motorcycle. For years after that, Jason used the threat of telling Bruce about my little car crash to keep me in line."

Marinette snorted. "You think that borrowing a phone to delete a text message is worse than borrowing and crashing a car?"

Tim shrugged. "It's a matter of opinion. Truth or dare?"

With a roll of her eyes, Marinette said, "Truth."

"What's one thing you would never tell me?" It was the sort of question that could only be asked during a game of truth or dare. In Tim's opinion, it was this sort of question that made the game worth playing.

Marinette pouted. "I don't like that question."

"Too bad. The rules of truth or dare state that you have to answer it."

"Fine." Marinette looked up at the ceiling, deep in thought. Just as she turned back to face her laptop, her face lit up. It was evident that she had an answer. "Usually I let people learn from their mistakes in the kitchen. However, I will now tell you - because I have to - that your cookies have been in the oven for too long. They're going to start burning if you don't take them out soon."

Tim jumped up to get his cookies out of the oven. They looked a little burnt, brown rather than the golden-brown that Alfred would make, but they still looked edible. "I'll accept your answer, but only because you saved my cookies."

"Now that your cookies are done, do you want to finish up our game of truth or dare?"

"One last question," decided Tim. "And I'll pick truth, to make it easy for you."

"What's the biggest secret that you've currently keeping from your family?"

After Tim's last question, he had expected Marinette to follow it up with an invasive question. Luckily, her question had a very simple answer.

"Easy question - my friendship with you."

Marinette looked confused. "What do you mean?"

"Most of my friendships begin through the connections they have to my family. Because of that, I've never really had serious friendships that my family wasn't actively involved in."

"It's not because you're ashamed of me, right?" Marinette sounded unsure of herself. Insecurity was a side of her that Tim had never seen before.

"Of course not," Tim assured her. "You're the best friend I could have ever asked for, Marinette."

"Good, because you're not getting rid of me that easy. I still have a lot to teach you about baking. I think we might try cupcakes at our next sleepover."

Tim laughed. "We'll see about that." He had no doubts that there would be sleepovers to come, and shenanigans involving baked goods to go along with them.

@maribatmarch-2k21

#maribat #MaribatMarch2021 #timari #Marinette Dupain-Cheng #Tim Drake #miraculous ladybug fic #my work

[thiswasinevitableid]

Demonic Intervention (Indruck)

Prompt for the 7th: “Hell is empty, and all the devils are here.” - The Tempest (William Shakespeare). This fill is NSFW

It can't get much worse. 

Indrid is barely scraping by. He can count his friends in town on one hand. He’s gay in a tiny, rural community and one of the few men like him is a goddamn priest. His house is a mess. And his every waking moment is filled with the demons of his past or the devils lurking in his future. There are so many of them in his present too, roaming the streets of Kepler. 

What’s one more in the mix?

He lights the stubby black candle by the bed, scratches the symbols on the floor, and retreats into his cocoon of blankets to wait.

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

Duck hates when it’s his turn on the summoning shifts. All this ancient knowledge and power and he’s stuck waiting to see if some yahoo in a graveyard or a wannabe cult leader will call him up into the world. 

He has brambles that need pruning, damn it. 

His name isn’t well known among humans, so he only gets summoned if someone is just rooting around for a demonic entity without caring who they get. He’s only been summoned twice in the last hundred years. The tingle in his horns tells him it’s about to be three. 

The room he arrives in is gloomier than any graveyard; the lights are off, the curtains are shut, and the place looks like it got hit by a tornado with a grudge. By the light of the candle, a pale-haired head emerges from the blankets of the small bed. A hand reaches for the floor, comes back with a pair of red glasses.

“Greetings, infernal one. Thank you for answering my summons.” The man’s voice is flat.

“Even demons got manners. So, uh, what’s the job?”

“There are so many dishes in the sink that the thought of doing them is an insurmountable task. Please do them for me.”

“...You realize I’m takin somethin’ from you for this, right? Like a piece of soul or a month of your life?”

“Mmmm” The man rolls over and says nothing else. 

“A day of your life for this.” Duck feels like he should haggle more, but then he’d had to pretend he actually thought a higher price was fair. 

“I accept your terms.” A crackle of green and black electricity flickers in the air in the form of  Duck’s signature and the other man’s name: Indrid Cold.

“Pleasure doin’ business with you.” 

Indrid says nothing. Duck is sure to wash and dry before he goes. 

The next day he’s summoned to the exact same room, in the exact same state of depressing mess. 

“Greetings, infernal one. Please clean this room.”

“Same terms?”

“Mmhmm” Indrid is just staring at the ceiling. 

“You gotta say you accept.”

“I accept.” 

Duck snaps, turning on the light, and gets to work. Technically he could do all this with a wave of his hand. But then he’d lose his chance to learn a little more about the guy who’s settled on demonic deals instead of a maid service. It’s the opposite of the usual problem he has in these kinds of situations, where the humans reveal their deepest secrets, desires, and fears within five minutes of meeting him. 

The records he stacks near their player, the clothes all go in the hamper to be magicked clean, then are hung in the closet; they’re loose and soft, not a scratchy fabric to be found. Tarot cards and candles abound, as do art supplies, and under a pile of drawings he finds magazines featuring muscular, hairy men in various sexual positions. Some of them even look like his preferred human form, the one he’s wearing now. 

He glances at the bed; Indrid is on his side, facing him, must have been watching him at some point but has dropped into a restless sleep. The blankets are slipping, showing a The Sonics tank top hanging off skinny shoulders. Right, that was one of the bands in the record stack. 

Duck doesn’t tend to pry into souls or auras or shit like that; there are whole heaps of trouble that lay that direction. But as he flicks the dust from the bookshelf covered in paperbacks, he feels the edges of Indrids and nearly falls on his ass from the wave of exhaustion and loneliness. 

When it’s time to go, he pauses to pull the blankets back up around him, sets his glasses on the bedside table, and turns the calendar on the wall from “September 1974” to “October 1974.”

When he’s summoned right back to Indrid’s room the next evening, he spots the same tank top on him as he sits up in bed.

“Greetings infernal one.”

“You can just call me ‘Duck’. It’s a nickname.” 

“Oh” Indrid blinks, perplexed, “very well. I, ah, there are some bills that need to be paid to keep the lights on.”

“You need the money for them?”

“No, just for someone to fill out the forms and checks and put them in the mail.”

“Okay. But my fee’s a little different this time: you gotta tell me when you last ate.”

“I accept. I ate this morning.”

Duck snaps his fingers

“Two days ago!” Indrid yelps, then slaps his hands over his mouth. He glares, “why does it matter?”

“Because while I’m payin those bills, you’re eatin’ dinner.”

“Everything in the fridge is disgusting and I can’t go to the store.” 

Duck takes the short trip out to the kitchen, opens the fridge to the new sound of Indrid’s footfalls behind him. 

“You got lots of decent stuff in here; could make you some eggs?”

“No, thank you.” Indrid shakes his head, looking a bit ill. 

“Well, what do you want? I can summon it up.”

“I’m out of Lucky Charms.” The humans says sheepishly, staring at his bare feet. 

A fresh box of cereal appears on the table, Duck pulling out the half empty bottle of milk. He thinks back to the drawings he saw yesterday and conjures a bowl covered in a pattern of brightly colored moths. 

He gathers the stack of bills of while hearts, stars, and horseshoes rattle into the bowl. After a few moments of crunching he hears, “May I ask a question?”

“Shoot.”

“Why is your nickname Duck? Does that word mean something else in demonic speech?”

Duck stuffs paper into envelopes, “Nah. It’s, uh, kinda silly but, uh, most demons learn how to take on an animal form. When it was my turn, they asked me which I wanted and, uh, I said I wanted to try bein’ a duck. Liked it so much I stayed that way for three months.”

There’s an odd, strangled sound that makes him look up; Indrid has one hand over his mouth and is shaking with little squeaks. He’s laughing. 

“I’m, I’m s-sorry but, but I, I cannot get over the image of you as a little, feathery waterbird.”

Duck smirks, “Only part that ever gave me trouble was the quackin’; always came out too deep.”

He just manages to pull the envelopes back as milk comes out the human’s nose and he giggles uncontrollably. 

“Ow, ow, heeh, oh g-goodness, I’m s-sorry I, I just haven’t laughed in so long, ugh, there’s milk on my shirt-”

“Guess you’re gonna need to shower now too.” 

“Nono, I can just change-”

Duck waves the bills back and forth, “Uh uh, if you want me to actually put these in the mailbox, you gotta agree to shower.”

“But that’s changing the terms!”

“Demon.” Duck grins. 

“Very well. Let me finish my dinner first.” Indrid scarfs the rest of the cereal, pads back towards the bedroom while Duck cleans the table. He waits to hear water running before going to the mailbox. When he gets back he sticks his head into the steamy bathroom.

“I’m gonna go now.”

“Oh, alright. Thank you again.” Indrid pokes his head out from the shower curtain and Duck resists the temptation to make the whole barrier disappear just for a peak. What can he say? He’s always liked his humans a bit unique looking. 

He draws a special sigil in the steamed-up mirror and heads for home. 

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

Indrid sets the candle on the table, lights it, adds the symbol he found in the mirror, and then starts unpacking his groceries. 

“Lookit you doin’ chores.” The whiff of burnt pine needles accompanies Duck’s voice and draws the tension from Indrid’s shoulders. 

“I’ll have you know I swept today as well.” Indrid turns and crunches the bag of potato chips in his fists; Duck hasn’t put his horns or claws away, and his shirt is half unbuttoned. 

“Caught me while I was gardenin, which is why I ain’t as put together as normal. What can I do for you?”

“This may sound strange but, ah, what is the fee for just talking with you?”

Duck’s eyebrows shoot up and then he chuckles, “You’re full of surprises, little moth.”

Indrid touches the luna moth on his shoulder; how much had Duck studied him when he was here? Did he like what he saw? Does he give everyone he makes deals with nicknames that come out in a drawl like summer honey?

“Hows a little nibble of the old soul sound?”

“I accept. Ah, would you like some cookies? A friend of mine brought them over to me.”

“Sure. The fella on the fridge bring ‘em?” The demon indicates the picture of himself and Barclay, the one he can’t bring himself to throw away. 

“No. My friend Dani, she’s in charge of the gardens for the little co-op in town and when the bakery has seconds she often drops them off for me.” 

He really needs to stop staring at Duck’s chest, even demons probably find ogling rude. Duck’s eyes--one blue, one brown-- catch his own and suddenly claw tips are undoing the remaining buttons. Indrid goes pink but manages to get the cookies and two glasses of water on the table without incident. 

“You know, you never told me why you stayed a duck for so long.”

“It’s the least demonic thing you’ve ever heard but, uh, I just thought it was nice. Bein’ out in the woods, paddlin’ on the lake and watchin the world go by. Sleepin under the stars. Just makes you feel like you’re part of somethin’ bigger than yourself. Now, I got a question for you; why go to all the trouble of summonin’ me just to do your chores?”

Indrid bites his lip, “I knew I was in the kind of mental place where I could not manage it myself. And it felt safer to ask you than to ask my friends. Not that they wouldn’t help me. It’s just, when my mind is like that it turns so inward I can’t conceive of a world that might contain things for me.”

The demon says nothing for a moment, sips his water with a thoughtful look. Then he sets down the empty glass, “Glad you’re feelin a little better.” He tilts his head to indicate the sketch on the counter, “that new?”

“Yes” excitement bubbles up in his chest, “I was reading about--ah, well, it’s, it’s sort of a long story, I don’t want to bore you.”

Duck kicks his feet up on the spare chair and gestures for him to continue. So he does, tells the demon about reading every book he could find on the mythology and folklore of the Mexico and the American southwest, about his new inspiration for a series of drawings, his worries that no one will like them or purchase them and he’ll be stuck running his little psychic side business until he dies 

Duck, in turn, tells him about life as a forest demon, about his hellcat, and about the fact he routinely comes up to the human world for french onion soup because the stuff made in his realm never tastes right. When Indrid next looks at the clock, it’s well after midnight. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to keep you so long.”

“No complaints here. But I oughta get home and feed Winnie before she shreds my cabinets again.” The demon stands, rounding the table, “gotta get my fee first.”

“Right. How should I…” Indrid stiffens as Duck bends forward, wondering if the sharp teeth that smiled at him all night are about to pierce his skin. 

Warm lips meet his forehead and he sighs at the tenderness in the gesture. Duck, however, moans as he pulls back, then quickly covers his mouth.

“Uh, that, that’s a totally, uh, totally not, uh, un-normal reaction, uh, fuck, see you around.” 

He’s gone with a campfire crackle, leaving Indrid to wonder how a demon can be such a terrible liar.

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

“Sweet fuckin hell.” Duck gasps as his living room forms around him. His lips still tingle from kissing the human’s forehead, from the sheer force of the want and yes that came when he took that sip of soul. It’s never like that, never comes so willingly and eagerly, like the soul is searching for someone to look after it. 

Technically, there’s nothing stopping him from zipping right back up there and pinning Indrid to his bed while he takes what the human seems so happy to give. 

Duck takes five deep breaths, then ten, and then goes to retrieve Winnie from the cabinet she clawed her way into.

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

When Barclay suggested Indrid find someone to confide in, Indrid’s going to guess he didn’t mean, “routinely invite a demon into your house to play cards or listen to music.”

Most times, Indrid isn’t even summoning him; they have two standing dates a week, plus a game night with Dani and her new girlfriend, Aubrey (who Duck seems to know but refuses to say more about how). Duck will sometimes drop by unannounced, and he hardly ever collects a fee these days. When he does, it’s always a taste of Indrid’s soul, taken via a kiss on the cheek. 

Indrid would let him take it any way he wanted. He’s well past denying the fact Duck is type in all his forms, that he’s gentler than most humans, and that he’s so charming Indrid would eat out of his hand. 

Duck even goes out with him, like the boyfriend he wishes he had. When he puts on his human form to accompany Indrid around town, he radiates enough residual, demonic energy that the people who normally make Indrid’s life a living hell stay far, far away. In fact, tonight is the first night in months he’s had something close to a disaster, and it was mostly an accident. He’s peeling his beer-soaked shirt over his head when he feels mis-matched eyes on his back.

“Have a little too much fun bartendin’ tonight?” Duck holds out his hand, rendering the shirt fresh and clean when it touches his palm.

“Some caveman hit on one of our regulars and would not back off when asked. She threw a full pint of beer on him and I happened to be standing right behind him when she did.” He wiggles out of his jeans, let’s Duck give them the same treatment he gave the shirt, “ugh, I need a bath, I smell like Rheingold.”

“Allow me.” Duck waves his hand and steam wafts from the bedroom, goes into it and grabs the bubble bath from under the sink as Indrid follows him in his underwear. Duck’s constant glancing at his crotch and legs makes him bold. 

“What’s the fee for such excellent service?”

“No fee, little moth. I’m just doin’ a favor for my friend.”

“And what if your friend wants to repay you anyway?”

When the demon looks up from the tub, his eyes are glowing, “Only if he’s doin’ it because he wants to and not because he owes me.”

“I want to, so very badly.”

In a flash Duck is in the tub, beckoning Indrid to join him. Indrid tests the water with his finger just to be safe.

“Mmm, nice and warm.”

“Hellfire, sugar. Now get your cute ass into the tub or--oh fuck yeah.” Duck growls as Indrid strips and climbs in with him, drags him into his lap and traces his claws up his sides while Indrid yanks him into a kiss.Curious, Indrid reaches one hand up to rub the base of his horn, the dark brown curls like smooth bark beneath his fingers. 

“Fuuuck” Duck groans, “feels like gettin a back-rub.”

“Then I better keep at it. Oh, oh my” Indrid sits back to admire the vines of green appearing in Duck’s skin, “you’re absolutely beautiful.”

“Kinky little thing, you like that I’m a demon.” Duck scrapes his teeth along Indrid’s shoulder, “that really why you summoned me? You were hopin I’d have my, uh, demonic way with you?”

“N-no, I, I, it’s no secret I’m attracted to you but I, you make me feel so happy, I’m so safe when I’m with you, and, and if all your care and affection towards me has been part of some malevolent plan please, please just tell me because I, I think I’m falling in love with you.” He kisses Duck with far more force than before, forestalling the inevitable confession that this was all just a game for his soul and his own, pathetic admission that he’s not sure that changes anything. 

“Oh, sugar” Duck keeps brushing their lips together as he speaks, “First time I tasted your soul I knew I was fucked. Knew I wanted to keep seein’ you, even if you never gave me another goddamn thing.”

Indrid buries his face in Duck’s shoulder, letting out shuddery sighs as Duck pets his back. He’s never leaving this spot, Duck is just going to have to carry him about while he does his infernal business and his housekeeping.

“Tell me what you want, little moth.” Duck kisses the shell of his ear. It still tingles, even when his soul stays put.

“Please fuck me? Oh! Oh that’s very efficient and extremely strange.” He squirms in Duck’s lap as his ass turns slick and stretched, like someone has pulled four fingers from it.

“Do it the traditional way some other time” The curved head of a cock bumps his ass, “you wanna feel just to be sure you can take it?”

He flails in the water a moment, finds a warm, responsive shaft with four, bumpy ridges leading to the head. It’s no bigger than the one toy he splurged on during his last trip to the city.

“Yes, certainly, oh, oh, AHHhnnnn yes.” The cock is hotter than his body as it slides in and he wonders if it will just melt him from the inside out, if Duck’s cum will be just as warm, how it will feel on his tongue and down his throat when he drags the demon into his bed.

“That’s it sugar, take it all the way. Fuck, been jerkin off to the thought of you on my dick for months.”

“Nnngh” Is his eloquent reply, the ridges of Duck’s cock making his toes curl and his fingers dig into Duck’s skin. 

“You like that idea, little moth? Knowin I could be out temptin anyone I wanted to and instead I was in bed thinkin’ about you?”

“Mhhmmm” He whines, the desire pouring off the demon wrapping around him and soothing his insecurities. 

Duck slows the thrusts of his hips and his voice is gentle when he whispers, “Course I did; no one can compare to you, ‘Drid.”

“Ohgod, Duck, please, please, please, want to be yours, always yours-”

“Careful,sugar, that sounds like you’re anglin’ for an infernal marriage.”

“A, a what? OHhhhnnyes” He moans as claws knead his ass.

“It’s a special kind of deal where a human agrees to marry a demon. Soon as they’re dead, they go straight to their spouse, no other options provided.” Duck cups his face, holding it steady so he can look into his eyes, “but there ain’t no need for that right now; way I see it, we can do this like we were just two normal fellas for now.”

“But it sounds fun.” Indrid offers a teasing pout and gets an adoring kiss in return. 

“Yeah? What if I tell you a lot of demons mark their spouses by piercing these” He pinches Indrid’s nipples, the pain making him bounce more determinedly on his dick. His demon growls, drops one hand down to thumb at the head of his aching cock, “pierce here too. Won’t even do it in public like you’re supposed to; do it at home so no one else will see just what a sweet, needy thing you are for me--whoah, fuck, did not expect you to cum just from playin with this nice dick a little.”

“V-very sensitive” Indrid gasps against the green swirls in Duck’s shoulder, his orgasm such a surprise he’s still registering it, hips twitching and tongue threatening to loll out of his mouth.

“Keep that in mind for next time. Might even bring a cage so you don’t cum too early and spoil my plans. Now, hold tight, little moth.” 

Indrid clings to the warm bulk of Duck’s body as his cock pounds up into him, the demon easily holding his hips up and his ass open so all he can do is whimper and writhe on it. When he cums it’s hot enough that Indrid squirms

“Don’t hurt does it?” Duck pets his sides, concerned. 

“Nono, it, it’s nice, just very strange.” Indrid winces as Duck pulls out, watches him wave his fingers to clear away the mess. When the demon makes no move to let go, Indrid looks up, “you really meant what you said? About wanting me as a boyfriend?”

“Damn right I do. Now c’mere, lemme get the beer outta your hair.”

Indrid hums as Duck scrubs his scalp and runs warm water over his skin, talking all the while about how they should go camping as a first date so no one will bother them, says he’ll even turn into a duck to make Indrid smile. 

Indrid says he knows just the spot, let’s his boyfriend dry them off and bundle them to bed and then, for the first time, falls asleep with a devil in his arms.

#indruck #promptober #indrid cold/duck newton #Demon AU #monster boyfriend

[ask-purpled-and-blued]

Crimsoned

Honestly? This could’ve turned out a whole lot worse.

Really, it all started with the invitation. He knew Dream decently well and they had mutual respect. Why would Purpled not check out his server? Especially when people were making content and making connections there.

Personal and some business. Win-win.

—

He accepted the invite to the SMP and intended to make an impact. Built a super cool base, got decently stacked, tamed some dogs. He even got to make some friends.

So what if he was a bit out of the loop sometimes. He’d show up to back up his friends when they needed it. He’d stand up to anyone trying to trick him or make him the butt of their joke. He’d be a good samaritan and help people out from time to time. He didn’t need much more than a thank you and some iron.

It’s also just easier to “borrow” things if he doesn’t come to mind easily.

—

Sure, missing huge events sucks.

He leaves the server for one (1) day to have lunch with some friends and his communicator is blowing up with the SMP’s open chat and VCs.

By the time he makes it back, the fighting’s being settled with a duel before anyone even tells him what the stakes are. It’s frustrating to have his dms and voice call attempts ignored in the aftermath, but he gets it. It’s fine.

It’s also fine when he finds out about the new country and they don’t let him join. Being neutral’s suited him so far and even if the thought was nice, he’s only on speaking terms with like three people there. It’d be awkward and he’d rather not insist on that.

So he flies solo for a bit. Just his dogs, sometimes Ponk, and his bedwars squad.

He builds, he mines, he breaks beds. Life goes on.

Then he gets another invitation. Hand-written by Tubbo.

There’s a festival. And honestly he wasn’t expecting to even be invited. Things were sort of tense between everyone else at the moment, he wasn’t sure if he should even show up to a large event in unfamiliar territory.

...

Fuck it, he has pearls. Tubbo’s giving a speech and it’s been forever since they’ve talked. Maybe they’ll have some time to catch up before spats inevitably break out and emotions boil over. Then he can pearl out and check off his monthly human interaction quota.

A safe plan that goes not at all to plan.

Tubbo walls off to talk to someone away from everyone else. Schlatt pulls the twist of a lifetime. Technoblade was apparently on this server and killed Tubbo in front of everyone.

At least the speech was nice. He’d tell Tubbo that if he hadn’t just gone into auto pilot and killed Tommy because someone yelled to.

He, he should probably get home. Dogchamp was still waiting for him.

Yeah, he’ll do that.

—

It’s odd.

After this long doing mindless busy work on the server and grinding bedwars, he’s almost in shock when someone turns up on his cabin doorstep.

Karl, apparently. He’s asking if Purpled would like to help Dream and Schlatt defend Manberg. Offers up a shield.

And Purpled’s indecisive about it.

He takes the shield, accepts and promises he’ll be ready. But then turns around and starts wondering who he should be loyal to.

He’s been neutral this whole time. It would’ve been so easy to just turn Karl down and bite back if they tried to force him to help them.

But he hasn’t seen anyone on this server in ages. Hasn’t sat down and had a chat for even longer. What did Manberg stand for? Why was it being attacked? Who did he just ally with? Who would he be fighting?

He has no details and Karl and Schlatt have offered him none. Dream’s dm to stay away from Manberg is pretty pointless now, considering he’s already signed up for whatever this is.

It takes him until after the first shots are fired, but he’s made his choice.

He sides with L’Manberg’s people and hopes it doesn’t bite him.

It’s a win until it isn’t. He’s glad his pearl reflexes are still up to snuff, otherwise he would’ve been done for for sure.

He witnesses a murder and says nothing about it. Kills a wither and pockets its star. Watched Technoblade threaten some children.

Maybe it’d be best to stay away from anything government-related for the time being.

—

New era, new home!

He’s got a really cool base idea in mind and he’s tested out the basics of the redstone on a pocket single-player world.

He terraforms, builds, and adjusts things until the sun goes down. And even then he keeps busy.

Farming, building, bedwars. He hasn’t seen anyone in a while-

There’s a dirt platform.

There’s an ugly fucking dirt platform that’s right over his cove. And apparently it’s a whole other country right over his home.

He wonders if it’d be worth calling up those anarchists in the woods about it.

He decides to just leave and hope it goes away.

—

He spends a lot of time away after that. Recharges in the company of friends and even takes a break from the grind too. It’s just him in Hypixel Housing with his dogs having a little vacation.

—

He comes back to the server with a lot of energy and a need to use it.

Calls up Ponk about a new business venture.

Real estate.

During his time away he had plenty of time to think about the server and distance himself from it to do so.

People value their stuff so much.

Their pets, their disks, their builds. They well and truly care about them all.

One thing they don’t really care about is the land.

It gets blown up by creepers and burnt out ex-politicians. It’s fought over, sure, but so was a goddamn cow. People will take any excuse for violence on this server.

But the point is that land claims are very valuable and very subjective. No one’s writing up deeds by the coordinate, and he and Ponk will take advantage of that.

—

It could’ve gone worse.

They technically won that duel. Antfrost owes them iron now. Scam successful.

But it raised a lot of issues.

How are they going to handle people who they can’t overpower? Can they use the law angle without getting targeted by Technoblade? How big do they want this scheme to get? How are they going to sustain it?

There are so many complications he didn’t think about before going into it. He doesn’t regret any of it, but damn he wishes he’d planned for contingencies.

Like what to do when Ant’s ally, BadBoyHalo, comes walking up to him and asks if he’d like to see something cool.

He wants to say no. He is probably going to be lured into a room and spawn trapped by the Badlands until he agrees that Ant doesn’t owe anything.

Or maybe he watches too many movies.

Regardless, Bad is over a foot taller than him and hunts Dream down on the side for fun and the content. Purpled is not in a position to resist, PvP experience means jack shit right now.

So he follows Bad to the spawner and down some more stairs.

—

Alright, he’d take the spawn trapping over whatever this situation is. This is actual horror movie shit.

There’s an egg and apparently it’s the source of all the shit that’s growing on the surface right now and Purpled does not want to be this close to it. He’s seen the alien horror movies he knows that thing has bad vibes and it’s totally gonna-

...

It’s gonna make a terrifying amount of sense.

No, no no no no. No!

He is not about to get mentally and emotionally and morally dissected by a fucking egg. He wants no part in this. He doesn’t wanna be here. This is all crazy and this egg can’t do any of those things!

He doesn’t care that Badboyhalo would probably yeet him across the room. He’s struggling and trying not to hyperventilate because the air in here is fucking disgusting and he doesn’t want that shit in his lungs.

He tells Bad he hates this and that he’s weird and crazy and that the egg’s going to ruin everything and leave nothing behind.

...

Yeah, fat fucking chance of that. The egg just wants to take over everything and spread all over the place, it doesn’t actually care about any of them. Bad is being played like a fool and whatever it offered him it won’t give him.

...

It can’t give it to him. It is a fucking egg.

That’s not even what Purpled wants! No amount of wealth is gonna make him ever tolerate this mess.

...

No.

If Bad or any of the egg’s other puppets even look at Dogchamp, Purpled will TNT Machine every chunk on this goddamn server to bedrock.

L’Manberg will look like a creeper hole in comparison.

...

Bet. Think it’s a bluff, Purpled has a surplus of sand already. He just needs to cut a deal with someone for the gunpowder and he’ll be set.

...

This is getting no one anywhere. Purpled refuses to be a part of this fucking cult and the egg can’t make him.

Why not just let him go and try again elsewhere?

...

That wasn’t a challenge. It was a statement. A fact, if you would.

...

He’s not trembling, it’s just hot in here. He has no reason to be scared of an egg.

This is a waste of time and they should just all pretend it didn’t happen.

...

He’s not scared- he just-

It’s hard to breathe, how can Bad stand it? It’s so hot and humid and miserable.

It’s not hyperventilating, it’s Purpled trying to regulate his breathing.

The egg’s seeing things. This isn’t working. It’s a waste of time. They might as well just let him go.

He’s never going to bend to the will of an egg.

...

How is it not bending to it’s will if it demands obedience and compliance? Is the egg stupid? Is that why it still insists on keeping him here?

Purpled’s not going to help an egg cover the server in its gross ass vines. Not now, not ever.

...

Obsidian walls won’t make this work any better.

...

It really won’t.

...

It’s not- Are they even still there?

The egg can’t move, but Bad is definitely not here. He’d be all loud and annoying about it.

...

Purpled does not miss Bad. Not when he’s being a creepy cult member.

He’s hardly better at conversation than the egg itself. It makes no difference whether he’s left or not.

...

That’s just fucking rude. Purpled’s not even gonna humor that one.

“Does it matter if you’re gone?” What a fucking joke.

...

This is just his life now, isn’t it? Stuck in this hole because an egg’s being a stubborn loser about having a shitty pitch.

...

That pitch was absolutely shitty.

Not in any way persuasive. Purpled’s honestly surprised the egg even has Bad with how terrible its tactics are.

...

Oh haha. Asking the captive for tips on how to better indoctrinate captives. Yeah, sure!

...

That’s not even his area of expertise. All he knows is math, bedwars, and now a bunch of loopholes.

...

It wants to talk real estate? Why on God’s green earth should Purpled open himself to conversation with this thing?

...

It did work. It totally worked.

...

The egg’s approach was worse! And no Purpled will not explain why!

...

Why does the egg even want this SMP? The land’s all gone to shit anyways and it’s constantly getting wrecked.

...

It’s serious? It is 100% serious about this right now?

...

Fuck. That’s-

...

Purpled still doesn’t want a part in this. He just wants hang out with his friends and not deal with this server’s bullshit anymore.

...

That’s fair but also the egg makes people lamer. Having egg friends is worse than not having friends.

...

That’s. Well, he could do that. Have the egg and also not have friends. Have a part in taking all that land and be able to make the most of it. Be able to-

Nope, pump the breaks. Nuh uh.

...

Shouldn’t have given it that much shit about its approach then. Purpled has to concede that much at this point.

...

Even if it seems inevitable at this point, the egg shouldn’t get ahead of itself.

There’s always the chance that someone busts in right now and pulls Purpled out before he loses the rest of his sanity down here choking on humid, tainted air. That someone will notice he’s missing without having left the server and they’ll go looking.

...

Yeah, it was a weak hope.

—

It could’ve been so much worse.

But there’s still time to make it even worse.

He’s got a base no one ever checks that has sewer access. It’d be the most use he ever got out of Area 51 and it’d be hella ironic.

They can plant more vines in there or even move the egg itself in there to keep it safe. It doesn’t seem like a very good idea to have it where people with ill intent can fuck with it.

There are places on the server where no one goes or walks by. They can plant more there and let it run as wild as it pleases.

If they’re strategic about their placement, they can take over so much of the land. The people in it can be converted after.

He didn’t want to be here and on some level he probably still doesn’t.

But he’s not one to half ass things.

He didn’t want to be here and neither will anyone else they’re going to convert.

He can’t bring himself to care anymore.

The egg’s easier. As much as he hates giving up, why was he even really trying? What was worth resisting for?

He remembers, but it doesn’t seem all that worth it anymore.

Maybe it never was.

#ask purpled and blued #text post #lore post #crimsoned!purpled #purpled #purpled bedwars #dream smp #eggpire #mcyt #badboyhalo #ask to tag #long post

[cheeriecherry]

Space Between [Aizawa Shouta x F!Reader x Yamada Hizashi] [2/9]

EraserMic x Reader

Part 2/8

Warnings: depictions of PTSD, one (1) mention of vomiting (nothing graphic), very brief mention of violence (also nothing graphic), your friends being concerned about you, hugs

You wake up the next morning with a very sore, very stiff neck. You appreciate your friends putting you up for a while, but between the two of them they had terrible taste in furniture. In fact, you’re pretty certain their couch is the same couch you three shared when you first got your own place together…

You sit up on the lumpy cushions, wincing when your spine crackles. When you move to stand you find that you can’t, held in place by previously unnoticed twin weights on your blanketed legs. Your heart rate speeds up for a moment, before you realize it’s just a pair of cats sleeping on you.

You carefully finagle your way out from under them, taking extra care not to rouse or wake them. One of them chirps and stretches, and you pause, but she quickly falls back to sleep, tucked up against her companion.

Once you’re free, you wander towards the kitchen to find something to eat. Hizashi had offered to order takeout last night, but you were nearly dead on your feet by the time you walked into the house. You’d gone straight to bed, and now you had to deal with the stomach cramps.

You search around in the pantry and fridge for a while, finding few things more than rice, bread, condiments, and a couple canned goods. It made sense, considering how busy your friends were, but it was also a little ridiculous.

“You’d think two grown men could handle some grocery shopping,” you mumble, and settle on some rice, eggs, and toast. Not your ideal breakfast, but it was better than nothing.

You prepare the rice and set a pan on the stove in a haze, still muddled with sleep. Once both are sufficiently rinsed and warming, you set the rice off to cook and plop down at the kitchen table, where you notice a folded paper sitting. With your name on it.

Curious, you flip it open, instantly recognizing Hizashi’s messy writing.

‘Sho and I had to head out early, but we didn’t want to wake you. You were tossing a lot in your sleep.’

You think briefly back to the dreams you’d had, if you’d even had any. You usually had nightmares, but oftentimes you didn’t remember them, only waking with a hollow and sinking feeling in your chest.

‘You’ve got free run of the place, so use and eat what you want. Be warned, there’s not a lot in the fridge…we don’t really eat at home much. If you need the internet, Sho’s laptop is in the office across from the bedroom. See you tonight around ten!

-H’

You smile at the note, the signature consisting of a single letter, with a poor rendition of a cockatiel and a cat beside it.

You’re glad they have each other, you decide, and glad they’ve gotten together. It shouldn’t have been so much of a surprise to you, Hizashi was always more interested in Shouta than he was you. Sure, he doted on you when you were kids, but when Shouta came into the picture his attention shifted. You admit you had been a little jealous in the beginning, but now…

Maybe you’d just supposed it would always be the three of you together. You’d never bothered with dating or relationships, aside from the feelings you harboured for your best friends. You never saw the point, always content and happy to be with the two of them, even if it wasn’t romantic. They had been your rocks, your safe place, in years past.

You hadn’t comprehended that your interests could be so drastically different.

“C’mon, shake it off, stupid. They’re happy together, don’t ruin it with your feelings.” You run your hands down your face, sighing deeply. The rice would be ready soon, so you might as well get started on the eggs.

You butter a piece of bread and cut a hole out of the center, dropping it in the frying pan and cracking an egg into it. 

Egg In A Hole, one of the first things you’d ever learned to cook. You were seven when you’d first tried it, and Hizashi had been there as well. You’d been at your house after school and he’d claimed to be hungry, and you -ever wanting to impress him- had set a stool in front of the stove and made him the fanciest meal you could think of.

Looking back, you’re amazed you didn’t burn or undercook anything. He had claimed it was the most amazing thing he’d ever tasted, and for years it was a staple whenever you hung out… he’d hopped off that train by the time you were twelve, but every so often you’d still made him Eggs In A Hole.

Now it’s more of a comfort, more of you holding on to a time long passed. Things were different now, you were different, your friends were different-

“Shit!” you hiss, as the toast starts to burn in one corner, smoking up the kitchen. You turn the fan on and flip it over to cook the other side, sighing in relief when the egg doesn’t splatter everywhere.

You’re glad you weren’t sent undercover as a cook on your mission. Your skills in the kitchen are sub par at best, and where you’d been, nothing less than perfection was accepted. Anything burnt or under-seasoned would have been air for punishment; fingernails ripped off, palms cut up, thumbs broken. Anything that would further hinder work…and result in more punishment.

That was just the kind of person your target was. A rich american woman with a taste for torture, and a quirk that allowed her to feast on and destroy the hope in others. She had ‘hired’ you as a silent killer, despite the fact that she could easily kill people herself…or make them kill themselves.

You squeeze your eyes shut and take a deep breath, willing the thoughts away. You weren’t there anymore. You were here, with Hizashi, with Shouta. Safe. Safe.

You scoop the eggs and toast onto a plate, but your stomach has already turned. Memories didn’t pair well with breakfast, it seemed.

Once the rice is finished cooking, you wrap everything up and set it in the fridge for later, and continue going about your day.

—-

Ten PM rolls around before you know it, and your friends walk through the front door. You’ve stolen Shouta’s laptop from the office and moved it to the couch, where you now sit staring intensely at the screen.

The two of them watch you for a moment. If your stillness, posture, and bloodshot eyes are anything to go by, you’ve been like that for a while.

“You’re gonna hurt your back sitting like that,” Shouta says, kicking his boots off and wandering further into the house.

“In a second,” you reply, waving him off.

Hizashi sighs dramatically, crossing his arms. “She’s not even paying attention, Sho. We could be making out right now, and she wouldn’t even notice. Hey, watch this-”

“Hizashi,” you threaten, not looking away from the screen, “if you pull your pants down, I’ll shave your head while you sleep.”

“No fun.” But he removes his hands from his jeans anyways.

Shouta meanders up behind you, leaning over the back of the couch to see what you’re so intent on. “What’s got you so focused?” he asks, scanning the page you’re reading, “You were never like this in school.”

You remain stoic, missing the joke completely. “Conviction trials,” you explain, “I want to make sure every single one of those rich pricks I outed gets put behind bars. I’ve been scrounging news outlets since five.”

“And?”

“Nothing.” You sit up straighter, stretching your back and rubbing at your eyes. “I gave the commission enough information to put these people in prison for life! Why haven’t they been brought in yet!”

“You’ve only been out for a little while. These things take time.” His tone is gentle and concerned, but to your addled brain it feels more patronizing.

You fist your hair in your hands and tug. “I gave them hideouts, names, faces, addresses, bank numbers, concrete evidence against these people! A few days should be enough time to find them! They’re top priority criminals! They should be caught by now!”

A warm hand rests on your shoulder, jarring you violently out of your thoughts. You tense beneath the touch, electricity prickling down your arm, and you look up at him with wide eyes.

“Breathe,” he says.

You breathe.

He squeezes your shoulder slightly, comfortingly. “It’ll happen. Give the media time to catch up.”

You look away from him, finding a spot on the floor to stare at, and slump forward in defeat. “If it gets out that I was the snitch, too…”

The room is quiet for a couple beats as your words register, and the hand on your shoulder rubs soft circles into your skin. “Your partner…they were killed, weren’t they.” It’s not a question, merely an observation.

You nod.

“I can’t let them find me, Shouta. The way these people kill their targets-”

“You’re safe here, Y/N. Always. The chances of these criminals getting into the country undetected is between slim and none. Their faces will be plastered on every single no-fly list, every district wanted list.”

“They can do whatever they want, as long as they have the money.” You turn back to the laptop, continuing to scroll around various news outlets. “Even once they’re in prison, they’ll have outside connections. If they find out it was me who outed their whole operation, I’ll have a target on my back for the rest of my life.”

Shouta lets go of your shoulder, and walks around the couch to take a seat beside you, knees bumping against yours.

“There are…resources,” he begins, choosing his words carefully, “for heroes who’ve been undercover. To help them readjust to everyday life-”

“I don’t need a therapist,” you hiss, scowling. “I need…I need-”

A pair of hands scoops the laptop out of your grip, flipping it closed and setting it aside. But before you can complain, your now-warmed-up plate of food from that morning is set in your lap, and Hizashi takes a seat on your other side.

“If you don’t want a therapist, then at least take care of yourself, okay? Eat.”

Your scowl persists as you chew.

—-

You jolt awake on the couch at an unbeknownst hour of the morning, covered head to toe in a thin sheen of sweat. Your head is spinning and your ears are ringing, and you barely make it to the bathroom before you’re dry heaving into the sink. Nothing comes up, save for bitter bile, but you’re exhausted once the short wave of nausea passes.

You rinse your mouth and the sink out, and splash some water on your face. With any luck, you won’t have woken anyone, but when you exit the bathroom you nearly walk face first into Shouta, who’s leaning beside the door.

“It sounded like you were getting sick.” His tone isn’t accusing, but his posture puts your guard up.

“Nothing came out, so it’s fine.”

You wander back to the living room, hoping to leave the conversation, but he only follows.

“Why were you getting sick in the first place?”

“I dunno,” you grumble tensely, “adrenaline reaction maybe? Who’s to say why people puke.”

He’s quiet for several moments, observing you, your fidgeting, your agitation. You feel like you’re under a microscope, with the way he’s looking at you.

“What happened to you out there?” he asks.

“Stuff,” you mutter.

I got people killed.

“Stuff that gives you nightmares every time you sleep?”

“I don’t need a therapist.”

I don’t deserve to come back from this.

“Your sleep-yelling woke me up. You’re lucky Hizashi wears earplugs.”

You turn away from him and grab your water bottle off the coffee table, plopping grumpily onto the couch. Shouta hesitates for a moment before finding a seat beside you again. Warmth radiates off his body, which is pressed comfortingly against your side. You can feel the tension easing out of your shoulders in his presence.

“What’s so bad about therapists, anyways?” he asks, genuinely curious. “Lots of people need them. Hizashi and I have both seen a couple over the years.”

“I don’t need someone to tell me there’s something wrong with me.”

Shouta sighs. “That’s not what they do, and you know it. What’s the real reason?”

You silently curse his ability to read you like a book, to always somehow know when you’re lying. But…you’re not sure you could tell him the truth.

“I just…don’t like the idea, okay? Leave it at that.”

He watches you silently, searching in your averted gaze for any willingness to open up, but he finds only sadness…and shame. “I should head back to bed, then. Early morning, and whatnot. Try and get some more sleep.”

He rises off the couch, and without thinking you follow suit, and quickly envelope him in a hug.

“I’m sorry,” you sniffle, burying your face in his chest. He’s surprised for a moment, but is quick to wrap his arms around you, holding you tight while you tremble against him. 

He pats small circles into you back, keeping you close until your breathing begins to even out. “Just…don’t let this go on for too long, okay?” It’s the closest you’ve ever heard him to begging, “I don’t know what happened to you out there, but you’re obviously suffering.”

You pull away slightly, tired and defeated, and nod. “I’ll look into it. Those resources you mentioned. Okay?”

You release each other fully, and he gives you one last pat to the head.

“Okay. Now, really, try and get some more sleep.”

#aizawa x reader #aizawa shouta x reader #yamada hizashi x reader #yamada x reader #erasermic x reader #reader insert #bnha x reader #mha x reader #Space Between #it will get happy soon i promise #eraserhead x reader #present mic x reader

[official-weasley]

The Irreplaceable Charlie Weasley: Pt. 8, Ch. 9

PART 8: WHERE IT ALL ENDS

Chapter 9 - The Invitation

Charlie

1 year later...

“Easy there, boy!” I held up my hand at the Swedish Short-Snout, my wand ready in the other one. “We talked about this, Thor. One day without breathing fire at me and we'll call it progress.”

I started working with Thor again last month. I have to admit I needed quite some time to even go and see him. He was the one that burnt Nova and even though I knew it wasn't his fault and he was in pain, I made the mistake of blaming him.

—

After more than a year of her being gone, I think it's safe to say I am getting back on my feet. As much as I can, anyway. I am regularly corresponding with all my family as I promised Bill on his last visit. Nobody talks about my feelings or how am I feeling anymore and I am grateful for that. Things are back to normal.

That doesn't mean that I forgot about her. That I don't miss her. That I don't think about her because I do. Every. Single. Day. But it's easier than it was, I have to admit. It's bearable now. And between how busy we are in the Sanctuary, me working for the Order and recruiting new Wizards, and listening to the Wireless about people going missing every day, I think it's safe to say I am doing okay.

I got used to coming home to an empty house. Pip is in a better mood as well and he is keeping me company when he's not out delivering letters. I started talking to my co-workers again and I have to say that it has been one of the best decisions. They make me feel less lonely.

I am also sleeping better. There are still nights when I wake up to Nova screaming or from a nightmare, reliving what happened but it's getting rarer and I am so happy about that.

It might sound harsh but Bill was right when he said that the tragedy that happened here that night made so many Wizards wanting to join. We get new letters and recruits daily.

So many who I've known have died or been murdered that I have to say I am getting used to it, no matter how it sounds. Everything is getting more serious with every new day and we have to be prepared for the worst. I am just happy to hear my family and friends are okay. That's all I can ask for after what happened over a year ago.

I try to think of the whole thing from a positive note. Nova was such a loved person and when I try to get someone to fight for our cause they mostly join because of her. She had so many connections but nothing we did ever worked when we tried getting people on our side while she was alive.

Death does bring people closer together and if they needed a reason to see that this is everyone's fight, I have come to terms with it that the attack needed to happen.

I am not going to deny that I would leave everything behind if it meant she could come back but no matter how I beat myself about it or how guilty I feel, it won't bring her back. I can be as content with what happened as I possibly can be. I promised her I will continue doing what I love and I came so far, even with Thor.

I also promised her to be happy but as much as I am trying, I still feel the burden of her death on my shoulders. I still think it should have been me and I will never be as happy as I was with her no matter how much I laugh at my co-worker’s stupid jokes. It's simply not the same and I know it never will be but I don't mind.

I came to the conclusion that I was lucky to get to experience what I had with her. Not many people do and some search their entire life for it. I had it, even though it was cut short, I can't complain. Before I met her, I knew what I wanted to do with my life and if I can't be with her, I can at least do what I love and that counts for something.

It helps if I try to stay as positive as I can. So many things remind me of her that it's hard to keep my mind off her. But instead of being miserable about it, I try to look on the bright side.

Just yesterday, I was having dinner with Andrei and some of the others and we started debating whether Norbet is a he or a she.

He has been acting strange for years now and Nova was the first to bet that he is actually Norberta. We can't do a gender check-up on him because he is too vicious which only proves that she was right. When Andrei asked what we are going to name him I said that we should call him Norberta as Nova called him the first time she observed that he might be a female.

It used to pain me thinking of things she liked and did and I couldn't even imagine doing something like that a year ago but I am pushing myself to try harder. I promised her I will be happy and I am trying to do my best to make her proud.

—

“There you go!” I beamed as I levitated a steak in front of him and he didn't try to kill me before eating it. Thor has been hurt more than any other Dragon in the Sanctuary when the Death Eaters attacked us and he has been having trust issues ever since. Who could blame him really, I was just glad he was okay. It took the Healers months before they mended all his wounds and his left leg is still not completely healed and perhaps it never will be.

“You're a good boy, Thor!” He breathed smoke out of his nostrils and I knew he was proud of himself even though he probably wanted to eat me for dinner.

“Steaks taste good, Charlie tastes bad.” I laughed at my joke, knowing full well I was talking to a Dragon.

“Charlie, there you are!” I stepped backward, carefully, and turned around to see Andrei panting. “We have been looking all over for you! I thought you were with Arto today.” He tried his best to catch his breath.

“I decided to give Thor another chance at keeping me alive.” I smiled.

“At least you're wearing your protective gear this time.” I looked behind Andrei and saw my brother step cautiously from behind a boulder.

“Bill!” I walked to him and gave him a hug. “What a surprise! What are you doing here? Is everything okay?” I frowned, suddenly remembering that we are at war.

“Everything's fine.” He grinned, showing his white teeth. “I was just in the neighborhood and decided to visit you.”

“In the neighborhood, huh?” I crossed my arms on my chest and lifted my eyebrows in disbelief. He was a bad liar and even worst at making jokes.

“I'll tell you everything when you're done.” He beamed at me. He looked like he couldn't wait to talk to me about something and he looked so happy. Well, he looked like that most of the time since he met this girl Fleur at work.

Bill, Andrei, and I made our way down to the village and we said goodbye to my boss.

“Want to grab something to eat or want me to cook for you?” I winked at him.

“What put you in a good enough mood to cook?” He asked surprised. I rarely did. It's not the same if you have to cook only for one person. The only time I ever really put the effort in was when it was my day off and I made pancakes for myself.

Nova and I ate pancakes for breakfast every time we had a free day. It became our tradition and it was the one thing that I could keep going.

“Thor, the Dragon you just saw, didn't try to eat me today instead of his steak for the first time since we were attacked.” I said proudly.

“Wow, what an achievement.” Bill laughed, trying to understand my situation.

“And he didn't try to burn me alive, another first!” I continued. I knew he couldn't understand how big this was as I never understood what all the treasure he kept describing in his letters was worth.

“I'm glad you're alive, brother.” He tapped my back as we stopped in front of my cottage, me unlocking the door.

“So what delicious meal will I be served today?” He mocked.

“Steak or meat pie?” I scanned my fridge for ingredients.

“Steak!” I laughed at his enthusiasm.

“I was hoping you would say that. It's easier to make.” I grinned.

“How are you, Charlie?” I winced at his question. I was doing okay but I still didn't like it because I never knew what the question was going to lead to. Bill was the only one I talked and wrote about Nova. I was happy when he came to visit me last year when I completely shut myself away from everybody. I might be corresponding with all my family and friends again, but I only share my feelings and thoughts with Bill.

“I'm fine. Pretty busy this time of year.” I took a frying pan out of one of my counters and a pot to cook the vegetables. “We're getting another Welsh Green tomorrow and our Chinese Fireball's eggs are hatching any day now!” I heard Bill chuckle at my excitement. He was the only one I could talk to about this, besides Tonks. They were the ones who didn't look at me like I was mental when I talked about Dragons as if they were baby Crups.

“I wish I could stay.” Bill said while pouring some Firewhiskey in the glass I gave him. “I would love to see baby Dragons hatch.”

“If you're prepared to stay awake day and night and keep your eyes on 3 crimson eggs for 8 hours straight, be my guest.” I laughed and poured myself a glass as well while waiting for the pan to heat up. There was something about Muggle cooking that I found soothing and I burnt fewer things than if I were to use magic.

“On the second thought, just send me a picture, will you.” We both laughed.

“How are you, Bill? How is Fleur?” I teased him. Nothing made me happier than seeing him blush whenever I mentioned her name.

“I'm good. Great actually.” He cleared his throat. “She's the reason I'm here today.” He looked like he was going to explode from excitement any moment now.

“Oh, Bill. You didn't come here for love advice, did you?” I frowned. “Because I am the last person to give you advice on that.”

“No.” He grinned. “But I am here to ask you something.” His smile grew even larger.

“Well spit it out, will you!” I quickly put the steak in the saucepan and sat back next to him. My head leaning on my hands, staring at him. At this point, I reminded myself of Penny who used to stare at us whenever one of us was about to tell the others a secret.

“I asked Fleur to marry me.” He said, shyly.

“I think my heart just skipped a beat!” I said and stood up. “This is the best news I have heard in a while!” I pulled him into a hug. Nova was right, he was going to find someone just right for him.

“At least someone's excited.” He sighed. “Mum's reaction wasn't even close to yours.”

“She'll warm up to her.” I tapped his shoulder in reassurance and then went to check on the steak and turned off the boiling water with vegetables.

“Yeah. She thinks we are rushing it with everything that's going on.” He rolled his eyes.

“Bill, I think you're old enough to make your own decisions.” I turned the steak around.

“Tell that to her.” He laughed. “I know she's the right one for me, Charlie. I have never felt this way about anyone.” I glanced at him and seeing his cheeks match his hair was simply adorable. Nova would've loved teasing him.

“She will see how happy you two are and she'll come around.” I brought the plate with food to him. “And besides...” I put the second one into the pan. “When did mum ever stop you from doing something?” He laughed at my question.

“Whatever do you mean, Charlie?” He looked amused.

“Piercing your ear, letting your hair grow out, becoming a Curse Breaker, wearing nothing but leather...” I looked down at his boots.

“Don't give me that judgemental look, get over the fact that I have Dragonhide boots!” He rolled his eyes playfully at me.

“I don't judge your look.” I lifted my hands in my defense. “But those...” I shook my head, looking at his feet again. If I was close enough he would've punched me in my arm.

“So what did you come here to ask me?” I said when I finally sat down, placing my plate in front of me. I cut my steak, waiting for him to stop chewing so he could speak.

“I want you to be my best man.” He said so quickly that I needed a second to realize what he just asked me. I looked at him and he looked nervous. I hated the fact that he did, I knew exactly what was going through his mind.

“I don't know how you feel about this, giving the fact that you asked me first and then...you know...” He started blabbering. “But I can't imagine anyone else standing by my side on my wedding day and if it wouldn't be too much for...”

“Oh, shut it, Bill.” I stood up and hugged him so tightly that he couldn't continue speaking. “I would be honored.” I tapped him twice on the back and pulled away.

“Are you sure?” He asked, looking a bit less worried.

“Yes. Just because I didn't have a happy ending doesn't mean I am going to be bitter about someone else's. Especially yours!” I pointed my fork at him. “So stop blabbering like a baboon and eat your steak!”

“You sound just like mum.” He laughed and couldn't help but join him.

It was great having him here. I missed my family and now more than ever it wasn't safe for me to go home and visit. I was glad I will be able to see everyone at his wedding and I was nothing but excited for them to get married.

I already met Fleur. I visited Bill a few months after they started dating and when she came into his office, he introduced us. She was so polite and as nice as I remembered her from the first Triwizard Tournament task. I thought they looked fantastic together and seeing Bill happy and looking at her, being so in love, how could I not be excited for them.

I didn't care what mum thought about them getting married so soon. I just wanted him to be happy and in these uncertain times, who wouldn't want to celebrate love. Seeing him exchange vows with Fleur and seeing all my other siblings be happy and in love was my purpose now. I can be the fun uncle in the family, everyone knows I have the best sense of humor anyway.

Sometimes, I surprised myself how okay I was with everything after such a short amount of time. But I have made my peace with what happened to me and knowing I can't do anything about it, I can at least be supportive of others. I know how it feels to be loved unconditionally and I hope all my siblings get to experience that.

Just because I don't have it anymore, doesn't mean I have to be angry about it. I would never try to ruin that for anybody else. It's beautiful and I am grateful I have the memories of it and I am trying as hard as I can to keep them alive. It's all I have and all I will ever need. I have amazing family and friends and my dream job and that's enough for me now.

#harry potter hogwarts mystery #harry potter fanfiction #hphm charlie #charlie weasley #charlie weasley fanfiction #hphm #hogwarts mystery mc #the weasleys #hphm au #hphm characters #hphm fanfiction #weasley family #hp imagine #charlie weasley x oc #hogwarts mystery imagine #hphm imagine #charlie weasley imagine #the burrow #harry potter imagine #weasley fanfiction

[thehierophage]

Holy Day Meditation for 4/10/21 e.v. - The Feast for the Third Day of the Writing of the Book of the Law

April 10, 2021 æ.v. Dies Saturnii, 

☉︎ 20° ♈︎ : ☽︎ 4° ♈︎ : ♄ : Ⅴⅴⅰⅰ 

Do what thou wilt shall be the whole of the Law. 

The Feast for the Third Day of the Writing of the Book of the Law, The Greater Feast of Saint Swinburne, The Day of Aleph, The Day of the Fool 

Hebrew Letter: Aleph 

Numerical Value as Letter: 1 

Numerical Value as Word: 111/831 (Aleph+Lamed+Peh / Aleph+Lamed+Peh [fin.]) or 117/837 (Aleph+Lamed+Vav+Peh / Aleph+Lamed+Vav+Peh [fin.]) 

Meaning: Ox. 

Thoth Card: The Fool (Atu 0) 

Alternate Title: The Spirit of Aethyr. 

Image: 

Correspondences: 

Tree of Life Path Association: Key 11 - Chokmah to Kether (from Sephira 2-1) 

Astrological Sign: - 

Element: Air 

Egyptian Godforms: Hoor-pa-kraat, Mout, Shu, Tefnut 

Geomantic Figure: Those of Airy Triplicity 

Gemstones: Topaz, Chalcedony 

Perfumes: Galbanum, Pinus, Gum Arabic, Mastic, Anise and all fresh odors. 

Plants: Aspen, Peppermint, Lime, Linden, Pennyroyal 

Animals: Eagle, Man (Cherub of Air), Ox 

Colors: 

King Scale – Bright pale yellow 

Queen Scale – Sky blue 

Prince Scale – Blue emerald green 

Princess Scale – Emerald, flecked gold 

The Secret Instruction of the Master:

Know Naught! All ways are lawful to Innocence. Pure folly is the Key to Initiation. Silence breaks into Rapture. Be neither man nor woman, but both in one. Be silent, Babe in the Egg of Blue, that thou mayest grow to bear the Lance and Graal! Wander alone, and sing! In the King's Palace his daughter awaits thee.

Mnemonic:

Truth, laughter, lust: Wine's Holy Fool! Veil rent, Lewd madness is sublime enlightenment.

Recommended Text for Meditation:

Liber AL vel Legis sub figura CCXX, Cap. 3

The Book of the Law Liber AL vel Legis sub figura CCXX

as delivered by XCIII = 418 to DCLXVI

III

1. Abrahadabra; the reward of Ra Hoor Khut.

2. There is division hither homeward; there is a word not known. Spelling is defunct; all is not aught. Beware! Hold! Raise the spell of Ra-Hoor-Khuit!

3. Now let it be first understood that I am a god of War and of Vengeance. I shall deal hardly with them.

4. Choose ye an island!

5. Fortify it!

6. Dung it about with enginery of war!

7. I will give you a war-engine.

8. With it ye shall smite the peoples; and none shall stand before you.

9. Lurk! Withdraw! Upon them! this is the Law of the Battle of Conquest: thus shall my worship be about my secret house.

10. Get the stele of revealing itself; set it in thy secret temple -- and that temple is already aright disposed -- & it shall be your Kiblah for ever. It shall not fade, but miraculous colour shall come back to it day after day. Close it in locked glass for a proof to the world.

11. This shall be your only proof. I forbid argument. Conquer! That is enough. I will make easy to you the abstruction from the ill-ordered house in the Victorious City. Thou shalt thyself convey it with worship, o prophet, though thou likest it not. Thou shalt have danger & trouble. Ra-Hoor-Khu is with thee. Worship me with fire & blood; worship me with swords & with spears. Let the woman be girt with a sword before me: let blood flow to my name. Trample down the Heathen; be upon them, o warrior, I will give you of their flesh to eat!

12. Sacrifice cattle, little and big: after a child.

13. But not now.

14. Ye shall see that hour, o blessed Beast, and thou the Scarlet Concubine of his desire!

15. Ye shall be sad thereof.

16. Deem not too eagerly to catch the promises; fear not to undergo the curses. Ye, even ye, know not this meaning all.

17. Fear not at all; fear neither men nor Fates, nor gods, nor anything. Money fear not, nor laughter of the folk folly, nor any other power in heaven or upon the earth or under the earth. Nu is your refuge as Hadit your light; and I am the strength, force, vigour, of your arms.

18. Mercy let be off; damn them who pity! Kill and torture; spare not; be upon them!

19. That stele they shall call the Abomination of Desolation; count well its name, & it shall be to you as 718.

20. Why? Because of the fall of Because, that he is not there again.

21. Set up my image in the East: thou shalt buy thee an image which I will show thee, especial, not unlike the one thou knowest. And it shall be suddenly easy for thee to do this.

22. The other images group around me to support me: let all be worshipped, for they shall cluster to exalt me. I am the visible object of worship; the others are secret; for the Beast & his Bride are they: and for the winners of the Ordeal x. What is this? Thou shalt know.

23. For perfume mix meal & honey & thick leavings of red wine: then oil of Abramelin and olive oil, and afterward soften & smooth down with rich fresh blood.

24. The best blood is of the moon, monthly: then the fresh blood of a child, or dropping from the host of heaven: then of enemies; then of the priest or of the worshippers: last of some beast, no matter what.

25. This burn: of this make cakes & eat unto me. This hath also another use; let it be laid before me, and kept thick with perfumes of your orison: it shall become full of beetles as it were and creeping things sacred unto me.

26. These slay, naming your enemies; & they shall fall before you.

27. Also these shall breed lust & power of lust in you at the eating thereof.

28. Also ye shall be strong in war.

29. Moreover, be they long kept, it is better; for they swell with my force. All before me.

30. My altar is of open brass work: burn thereon in silver or gold!

31. There cometh a rich man from the West who shall pour his gold upon thee.

32. From gold forge steel!

33. Be ready to fly or to smite!

34. But your holy place shall be untouched throughout the centuries: though with fire and sword it be burnt down & shattered, yet an invisible house there standeth, and shall stand until the fall of the Great Equinox; when Hrumachis shall arise and the double-wanded one assume my throne and place. Another prophet shall arise, and bring fresh fever from the skies; another woman shall awakethe lust & worship of the Snake; another soul of God and beast shall mingle in the globed priest; another sacrifice shall stain the tomb; another king shall reign; and blessing no longer be poured To the Hawk-headed mystical Lord!

35. The half of the word of Heru-ra-ha, called Hoor-pa-kraat and Ra-Hoor-Khut.

36. Then said the prophet unto the God:

37. I adore thee in the song -- I am the Lord of Thebes, and I The inspired forth-speaker of Mentu; For me unveils the veiled sky, The self-slain Ankh-af-na-khonsu Whose words are truth. I invoke, I greet Thy presence, O Ra-Hoor-Khuit!

Unity uttermost showed! I adore the might of Thy breath, Supreme and terrible God, Who makest the gods and death To tremble before Thee: -- I, I adore thee!

Appear on the throne of Ra! Open the ways of the Khu! Lighten the ways of the Ka! The ways of the Khabs run through To stir me or still me! Aum! let it fill me!

38. So that thy light is in me; & its red flame is as a sword in my hand to push thy order. There is a secret door that I shall make to establish thy way in all the quarters, (these are the adorations, as thou hast written), as it is said:

The light is mine; its rays consume Me: I have made a secret door Into the House of Ra and Tum, Of Khephra and of Ahathoor. I am thy Theban, O Mentu, The prophet Ankh-af-na-khonsu!

By Bes-na-Maut my breast I beat; By wise Ta-Nech I weave my spell. Show thy star-splendour, O Nuit! Bid me within thine House to dwell, O winged snake of light, Hadit! Abide with me, Ra-Hoor-Khuit!

39. All this and a book to say how thou didst come hither and a reproduction of this ink and paper for ever -- for in it is the word secret & not only in the English -- and thy comment upon this the Book of the Law shall be printed beautifully in red ink and black upon beautiful paper made by hand; and to each man and woman that thou meetest, were it but to dine or to drink at them, it is the Law to give. Then they shall chance to abide in this bliss or no; it is no odds. Do this quickly!

40. But the work of the comment? That is easy; and Hadit burning in thy heart shall make swift and secure thy pen.

41. Establish at thy Kaaba a clerk-house: all must be done well and with business way.

42. The ordeals thou shalt oversee thyself, save only the blind ones. Refuse none, but thou shalt know & destroy the traitors. I am Ra-Hoor-Khuit; and I am powerful to protect my servant. Success is thy proof: argue not; convert not; talk not over much! Them that seek to entrap thee, to overthrow thee, them attack without pity or quarter; & destroy them utterly. Swift as a trodden serpent turn and strike! Be thou yet deadlier than he! Drag down their souls to awful torment: laugh at their fear: spit upon them!

43. Let the Scarlet Woman beware! If pity and compassion and tenderness visit her heart; if she leave my work to toy with old sweetnesses; then shall my vengeance be known. I will slay me her child: I will alienate her heart: I will cast her out from men: as a shrinking and despised harlot shall she crawl through dusk wet streets, and die cold and an-hungered.

44. But let her raise herself in pride! Let her follow me in my way! Let her work the work of wickedness! Let her kill her heart! Let her be loud and adulterous! Let her be covered with jewels, and rich garments, and let her be shameless before all men!

45. Then will I lift her to pinnacles of power: then will I breed from her a child mightier than all the kings of the earth. I will fill her with joy: with my force shall she see & strike at the worship of Nu: she shall achieve Hadit.

46. I am the warrior Lord of the Forties: the Eighties cower before me, & are abased. I will bring you to victory & joy: I will be at your arms in battle & ye shall delight to slay. Success is your proof; courage is your armour; go on, go on, in my strength; & ye shall turn not back for any!

47. This book shall be translated into all tongues: but always with the original in the writing of the Beast; for in the chance shape of the letters and their position to one another: in these are mysteries that no Beast shall divine. Let him not seek to try: but one cometh after him, whence I say not, who shall discover the Key of it all. Then this line drawn is a key: then this circle squared in its failure is a key also. And Abrahadabra. It shall be his child & that strangely. Let him not seek after this; for thereby alone can he fall from it.

48. Now this mystery of the letters is done, and I want to go on to the holier place.

49. I am in a secret fourfold word, the blasphemy against all gods of men.

50. Curse them! Curse them! Curse them!

51. With my Hawk's head I peck at the eyes of Jesus as he hangs upon the cross.

52. I flap my wings in the face of Mohammed & blind him.

53. With my claws I tear out the flesh of the Indian and the Buddhist, Mongol and Din.

54. Bahlasti! Ompehda! I spit on your crapulous creeds.

55. Let Mary inviolate be torn upon wheels: for her sake let all chaste women be utterly despised among you!

56. Also for beauty's sake and love's!

57. Despise also all cowards; professional soldiers who dare not fight, but play; all fools despise!

58. But the keen and the proud, the royal and the lofty; ye are brothers!

59. As brothers fight ye!

60. There is no law beyond Do what thou wilt.

61. There is an end of the word of the God enthroned in Ra's seat, lightening the girders of the soul.

62. To Me do ye reverence! to me come ye through tribulation of ordeal, which is bliss.

63. The fool readeth this Book of the Law, and its comment; & he understandeth it not.

64. Let him come through the first ordeal, & it will be to him as silver.

65. Through the second, gold.

66. Through the third, stones of precious water.

67. Through the fourth, ultimate sparks of the intimate fire.

68. Yet to all it shall seem beautiful. Its enemies who say not so, are mere liars.

69. There is success.

70. I am the Hawk-Headed Lord of Silence & of Strength; my nemyss shrouds the night-blue sky.

71. Hail! ye twin warriors about the pillars of the world! for your time is nigh at hand.

72. I am the Lord of the Double Wand of Power; the wand of the Force of Coph Nia--but my left hand is empty, for I have crushed an Universe; & nought remains.

73. Paste the sheets from right to left and from top to bottom: then behold!

74. There is a splendour in my name hidden and glorious, as the sun of midnight is ever the son.

75. The ending of the words is the Word Abrahadabra.

The Book of the Law is Written

and Concealed.

Aum. Ha.

Love is the law, love under will.

#Thelema #thelemic holy season #Tarot

[translations-by-aiimee]

Dig a Grave to Dig Out a Ghost - Chapter 34

Original Title: 挖坟挖出鬼

Genres: Drama, Horror, Mystery, Supernatural, Yaoi

This translation is based on multiple MTLs and my own limited knowledge of Chinese characters. If I have made any egregious mistakes, please let me know.

Chapter Index

Chapter 34

The early morning sunlight shone diagonally into the room, casting a bright yellow glare onto the back of his eyelids. Lin Yan ripped off the blanket. He rolled out of bed in a daze, but his legs gave out and he fell. He sat on the bedside, taking deep breaths.

His whole body hurt like it had been run over by a cart. Every muscle was screaming. Lin Yan shook his head in an attempt to get rid of the hangover dizziness, tugging at the blanket that had half-fallen down. The place where Xiao Yu had slept was already empty, and a shallow depression in the bed reminded him of the absurdity of last night's drinking.

Lin Yan roughly tapped his temple. For the first time, he wanted to wipe away his drunken memory but the more he tried to forget, the more sober he became. Even the ghost's watching gaze was still present in his mind. His velvety black eyes looked lost while he whispered his name and slammed into him. It was like his body was still pressed against him, their hearts intertwining as one.

He slept with someone he has to spend 24 hours a day with. How is this going to end?

Idiot, Lin Yan cursed. He put on a long T-shirt meant for playing basketball and walked towards the wall. When he heard Xiao Yu calling him, Lin Yan didn't even have the courage to turn around and answer him. He stumbled into the bathroom with his head down and locked the door behind him.

The person looking back at him in the mirror had red eyes, swollen cheeks, and a series of blue and purple hickeys that stretched from the bottom of his neck to his collarbone. Lin Yan tugged the collar of his T-shirt down. When he saw the miserable state of his chest, he hastily turned his head. He turned on the shower to wash his body. The water rained onto his face. Everything he did, and didn't, want to see blurred. The sensitive parts of his body were stimulated by the hot water, causing the corner of Lin Yan's mouth to twitch in discomfort. Still gritting his teeth, he roughly scrubbed his body.

He couldn't wait for this layer of skin to eventually flake off.

Lin Yan dried his hair and wiped a hand across the foggy mirror. It still showed a beautiful and clean face. The stand-up collar T-shirt just covered the marks on the neck. Lin Yan propped himself up on the sink and smiled miserably at the man in the mirror.

Compared to love, carnal desire is much simpler. A meal, a bottle of wine, and anything can happen. You don’t even need to take off your clothes. Do the deed, forget about it, take a shower and continue on like nothing happened. Who needs to bring up the unpleasantness of last night anyway?

He can't succumb to a paranoid ghost. The street was full of decent people. Who knows what animal opened its thighs last night, and which corner it will live in the next night?

The tinkling sound of cups and plates came from the kitchen and passed through the messy living room. The moment the sliding door opened, Lin Yan was stunned by the sight in front of him, and he didn't move for a long time.

The light golden sunlight fell on the ground. The suave gentleman with messy sideburns and a pair of slender eyebrows carefully rinsed a frozen fish under the tap. Lin Yan bought it a few days ago and threw it in the freezer and forgot to take it out. It was freezer burnt. The fish's eyes were covered with a layer of frost, its mouth wide open, and the head that peeked out from his hands was a bit dull. The saucepan was placed on the burner, and the water was almost at a boil. Several pieces of ginger and green onions were diced into various-sized pieces on the chopping board. He had forgotten to peel the ginger, the clueless blockhead.

Hearing the movement at the door, Xiao Yu turned his head. A smile was hidden in his eyes, and the corners of his mouth were softly curved upwards: "You're awake. You're not going to sleep some more?"

". . . I'm too nauseous to sleep." Lin Yan's face burned. Avoiding his eyes, he walked over to turn off the tap. "What are you doing with this thing? Are you hungry?"

It took everything in him to pretend to stay calm: "I thought you didn't need to eat."

"I wanted to make breakfast for you." Xiao Yu pointed to the fish in the sink. "It's too frozen."

"You need to defrost it in the microwave, so it won't be melted in one day." Lin Yan glanced at the scattered green onion and ginger on the chopping board. "Besides, no one makes fish this early in the morning. It's too heavy."

Xiao Yu stood still in front of the sink, awkwardly holding the fish's tail: ". . . This is all I know how to make."

Lin Yan took out a frying pan and moved the saucepan off the burner: "I can't eat this stuff with an upset stomach. Don't worry about it. I'll just cook something myself to eat."

"What do you want to eat? Let me try." Xiao Yu said as he went to look through the refrigerator. He had just opened it slightly before Lin Yan shut it, his voice unconsciously raised: "I said don't worry about it. Don't act like this is your house. Look at what my living room already looks like. Who knows what might happen to the kitchen later on. Young Master Xiao has probably never had to lift a finger in his life. I don't need your help."

When he spoke, he unconsciously put more emphasis on the 'my', deliberately excluding him, leaving no room for argument.

A one-night stand or something seemed too far-fetched for him, but he couldn't have sex and expect to now be fully devoted to each other. The person opposite him was stunned. His eyes, full of expectation, darkened. He was a bit at a loss holding the fish, as if he had done something wrong, and didn't know what to do.

Lin Yan didn't dare to look at him. He struggled to take out the eggs and milk from the refrigerator. He poured the oil into the frying pan and cracked open the eggs with two clicks. Once he turned around, Xiao Yu was still standing in the same spot, the frozen fish turning his fingers red. He wasn't going to leave or stay. He lowered his eyes and glanced back at him occasionally as if he was afraid of getting in trouble.

Lin Yan didn't say anything. He took out a spatula and flipped the fried egg over. The pain in his back was still terrible. Every step he took was torturous. The ghost noticed his unnatural stance. After standing behind him for a while, he hesitantly put down the fish. He wrapped himself around him in an attempt at a comforting hug. He put his chin on Lin Yan's shoulder. He felt like a mass of cold air like he had forgotten to close the refrigerator door.

"Does it hurt a lot?" Xiao Yu's tone was softer than ever before. "I'll be gentler next time."

Lin Yan took a deep breath. Xiao Yu's touch brought back the memories of last night. He had fully submitted himself to the ghost. The uncontrollable debauchery and the sense of shame of being exposed on the spot made him antsy. He interrupted him, expressionless: "There won't be a next time. I was drunk last night. Let's pretend it never happened. What's done is done, okay?"

The person behind him trembled, and the arms around him loosened.

Lin Yan couldn't bear it and concealed it by fiddling with the fried egg in the pan: "You can't help with this. Find me some nausea medicine. It's in the bedroom drawer."

Xiao Yu pondered for a moment, then asked him in a low voice: "What does the nausea medicine . . . look like?"

"You don't know anything." Lin Yan sighed. He put the spatula down. He turned around, suppressing the evil fire in his heart: "Please leave. I'm in a bad mood. I don't have time to say something nice to make you happy."

Xiao Yu was silent and slowly let go of him. He raised a pair of dark eyes to stare at Lin Yan. Something he couldn't understand floated in his eyes, like sadness. He gave him a once-over from head to toe. He turned his head and gently saying: "Lin Yan, don't play with me."

When he turned around, the ghost had already disappeared. Lin Yan slowly put the fried egg on the plate. He pressed through the pain in his stomach and began to eat. The touch of the embrace seemed to linger on his body. He subconsciously shook his shoulders, his face wooden.

Don't play with me? Lin Yan recalled the ghost's words with a look in his eyes. This proud young man had rushed out of the unknown and forcibly occupied his home, his bed, his space, his time and his . . . his thigh muscles twitched. Lin Yan slowly rubbed his hands along his thighs. Finally, he put down his chopsticks and buried his face in the palms of his hands and rubbed hard, unconsciously turning his eyes red. In the end, who was playing with who?

Meat is most delicious with the blood. The more debaucherous the lust, the more enjoyable it'll be. Sex could be dirty, but love couldn't. Love was the purest thing, there was no room for filth. The ridiculous night was over. The unpredictable ghost could be forgotten, but the gentle side of the ghost forced him to remember some feelings that had nothing to do with lust. The softest corner of his heart was gently tugged. Lin took a bit of his egg, his throat choked up with inexplicable sorrow and grief.

Maybe he was disgusted with himself for losing himself last night, but what difference does it make? Lin Yan silently thought. Some things can't be taken back.

After washing the dishes, he called Professor Folder's secretary to confirm the meeting time. The secretary gave him the address of the institute, and, after finalizing the meeting, Lin Yan cleaned up the kitchen. A small pile of chopped green onions and ginger was still on the chopping board. The knifework was clumsy, but he had been serious about it. Lin Yan used a knife to brush them off the board. Just as he was about to throw them away, he suddenly hesitated. He found a small bowl and put it in the refrigerator freezer.

That guy should have found a place to get angry. Lin Yan sighed, limped and held the wall to walk outside. One thing after another left him completely exhausted. He knew it was wrong to take it out on him, but he just couldn't find the energy to comfort the stubborn ghost. It was almost time for his appointment. Lin Yan packed his pen and notebook into his sports bag. When he walked into the living room, he was shocked. Xiao Yu was picking up things on the floor with his back facing him. When he heard Lin Yan come in, he turned around, holding several girl's trinkets, hair clips, dolls, leather coin purses, and a few photos that could barely be seen.

"These can still be used. Take them." Xiao Yu hung his head cautiously: "I can't compensate you for the rest. I don't have the money you use, and you took everything I had."

The sunlight came in from the half-opened curtains. The ghost stood helplessly in the wind-swept living room, bowing his head as a peace offering, lowering his stature and waiting to be forgiven.

Lin Yan couldn't say a word. He stood there for a long time, and when he opened his mouth, his voice became mute: "What are you doing this early in the morning? Are you trying to make me feel bad?" He found a garbage bag to put them in, harshly tying the bag. "I don't even want them anymore."

He dragged Xiao Yu into the bedroom and opened the paper bags that were piled up in the corner. The clothes he bought in Shenjiayuan last time were hung in the closet. He had even kept the auspicious mortuary clothes, carefully ironed out and hung on clothing hangers. The full cabinet was stuffed with two people's things, almost giving a sense of 'home'.

"Satisfied? Come over and I'll help you comb your hair." Lin Yan tugged Xiao Yu's sleeve: "I made an appointment to ask about you at the research institute today. We're going to be late."

All the words in the world couldn’t compare to the warmth of "we". Lin Yan held Xiao Yu's long, silky hair. The two figures were reflected in the mirror. White fabric draped over the top. The pearwood dresser was decorated with gold inlay. The pearly surface was like the white of a flower. A screen behind them covered in peony flowers and birds was complex and magnificent; a dazzling sight

Lin Yan satisfactorily rolled a bun with a bone hairpin. The bangs on his forehead fell down. His features were as sharp as a knife, with sharp eyebrows and starry eyes. He couldn't help but squeeze his face jokingly: "Young Master looks really handsome. How are you going to pay for your manservant?" He muttered: "Without money, you have to sleep with me at night. What a shame."

As he spoke, he put his hand on Xiao Yu's shoulder. Cold fingers moved up to caress the back of his hand, carefully tracing the bones in his fingers, like dealing with a treasure made of jade.

"I know all that. I just can't bear to let you go." Xiao Yu spoke very lightly.

"What?" Lin Yan didn't hear him clearly.

"Nothing." Xiao Yu said softly.

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

The research institute where the professor worked was built inside a large complex. It took a long time to find the side road from the main road. The low bungalows were shaded by the century-old trees. There were round tables and wicker chairs on the open balcony of the building, and occasionally they could see gray-haired foreigners sitting together drinking tea.

After greeting the entrance guard, Lin Yan drove his car into the back parking lot with ease and stopped in front of a modest gray bungalow. The 90s-style office didn't have a separate door, two steps leading into the dark and dreary building. Standing in the yard was a middle-aged man in work clothes, holding a small piece of paper to double-check if it matched Lin Yan's car license plate. When he saw that everything matched, he smiled honestly and greeted Lin Yan and opened the door very courteously.

"Lin, welcome. My name is Chen." The middle-aged man shook enthusiastically shook Lin Yan's hand. "The professor has arranged everything."

"Brother Chen." Lin Yan said respectfully.

"Come, come. It's bright outside. Come inside and see. Two days ago, I was on a business trip. Hey, comrade, you know, we have to travel every day in this line of work. We started going through the files as soon as we got back. Come in and find out if we have what you need."

The middle-aged man said as he took Lin Yan into the building. He was actually very young when he looked at him up close. He had a rugged look because he worked in areas with harsh UV rays. His eyes were plain and his skin was tanned and blistered. A mouthful of white teeth was revealed when he spoke. This comrade reminded Lin Yan of the old leader with a ceramic vase in front of him in the "Reform and Opening*" poster. The person in front of him's appearance suddenly started to warp in his mind. His shirt was tucked in his black pants and a Zhongshan suit was draped over him. He was gesticulating towards the door. A pair of large hands with prominent knuckles and bones was a common characteristic of the working people.

*(T/N: "Reform and Opening" policy is the Chinese economic reforms that went into place after Mao Zedong's death in China and pursued by Deng Xiaoping)

#dig a grave to dig out a ghost translation #dig a grave to dig out a ghost #danmei novel #danmei #english translation #chinese bl #chinese novel #bl novel #yaoi novel #yaoi

[invisibleinorange]

Swelter Weather

Chapters: 1/? Fandom: Bridgerton Rating: M Warnings: None at this point. Relationships: Colin Bridgerton/Penelope Featherington,  Eloise Bridgerton/Penelope Featherington(besties),  Bridgerton Family Dynamics, Eloise Bridgerton/Phillip Crane Characters: Colin Bridgerton,  Penelope Featherington, Eloise Bridgerton, Anthony Featherington,  Benedict Bridgerton,  Portia Featherington, Violet Bridgerton, Genevieve Delacroix Additional Tags:  Bridgerton, Polin

Summary: Colin Bridgerton is weary from travel and decides to spend the summer at the Aubrey Hall. While his initial plans were to avoid his perfect family, he ends up sharing the house with Eloise and Penelope. This is a Modern AU!

Additional Notes:  I still have plenty to write for my other series  but this is the first chapter in the Modern! AU which demanded release today.

There was something about the sweet freedom of being away from the crowded streets of London that Colin loved.  While he wasn’t quite ready for another adventure around the world, he did didn’t particularly care to spend the summer in his bachelor flat alone or at the family home surrounded by his perfect and over achieving siblings with their perfect marriages and lives.  Instead he opted to head to the family summer home in the countryside and it was everything he wanted.

He had fond memories of his childhood here.  Life was far less complicated when he and his siblings had been on fairly even footing.  There was nothing to worry about how they were going to spend their afternoons – hikes, swimming or even the occasional croquet battle.   No one had the same leisure between careers, families or school.

He had spent the last several weeks savoring his solitude and the quiet of Aubrey Hall. There were no schedules, no commitments and most importantly not a single person to bother her outside of the occasion phone call or text from a member of his family. If they were being especially annoying, he would turn it to silence and send them to voicemail until he would inevitable cave and respond because he did actually care about what was going on in their lives.

After a late night of eating takeout and watching a movie on Netflix, he had decided to simply not set an alarm clock for the next day. No one was going to complain about him sleeping in, so he did so. By the time he decided to move from his bed, the sun was already up the sky.  He wouldn’t have forced himself up then if it weren’t for the persistent growl of his stomach demanding his attention.  That was nothing new though. He was always hungry.

He pushed himself up from the comfort of his bed, padding his way down to the kitchen.   If his family had been there, he would have had to make some effort at making himself presentable but by having the house to himself, he could do as he pleased and that included going straight from bed to the kitchen.

He grabbed a frying pan and put on a couple of eggs before popping some bread in a toaster.  He hummed absently to himself as he moved back to the pan, working on properly scrambling his eggs.  He couldn’t quite remember the song but it was probably something he’d heard during his last stint in London at some social engagement or another.

“Colin,”  a voice came from behind, making him nearly jump in surprise at the sudden invasion of privacy.  He spun prepared to fight off the offender with a specula despite the fact he knew the voice belonged to Eloise.

He very quickly remembered his state of undress when he caught sight of not only his younger sister but also Penelope.  His eyes widened slightly and he froze, his face growing red with embarrassment. 

Penelope wasn’t any less pink. Their eyes met and then quirkly averted.  While he quite enjoyed the company of his sister’s best friend this was probably not something that would be on their topics of conversation.  He mentally cursed as his mind processed that over the years, he’d randomly had less than innocent dreams about the girl and a few of them started with happenstance just like this but Eloise was never part of them.  Now was not the time to let his mind linger to far there.  He decided to focus on the Eloise part.  His sister was a safe person to focus on.

Speaking of which, Eloise seemed to be the only person capable of taking action. She covered her own eyes, making a face that made it known that the whole situation was the stuff of terrors before blindly reaching for an apron that hung unused, extending it to her brother.

“Christ,” she muttered. “Cover yourself.”

Colin for his part did use it to cover his front not that the damage wasn’t already done. There was literally no way to escape the situation unscathed and he had no doubt his entire family would know about it by the end of the day. He really needed to go put on some actual clothing but first, well he felt like throwing an absolute hissy fit about the fact Eloise thought she could just show up unannounced.

“Did you think to maybe call before just showing up?

“It’s the family home. I don’t need your permission to show up. Besides, what kind of deviant runs around in the nude?  We need to sanitize the entire house now.”

“People who think they have the place to themselves,” he gruffed.

It was Penelope who came out of her shellshock enough to point toward the forgotten frying pan. “Uh, I think your eggs are burning,” she managed, though honestly it was any wonder the words came out in order.

“Shit,”  Colin murmured starting to turn back to the stove but it was Eloise who stopped him mid-spin.

“No,” Eloise said, reaching for the spatula and taking over the egg prep.  “We’ll finish this. You go find some pants for fuck’s sake. Penelope doesn’t want to see your ass. Right, Pen?”

Penelope was noticeably quiet for a long moment but to her credit she did nod at what Eloise was suggesting. It was probably for the best if he did find clothing. Colin decided to save Penelope (and his sister) from further embarrassment.  He moved past, trying to get to the door. He paused and did a little spin trying to keep some modesty not that there were any mysteries to be had at this point.

“Yes, wouldn’t want to traumatize her like that,” he said toward his sister before nodding, smiling cheekily toward her counterpart.  “Honestly, you can stay but  Eloise is ruining the fun. Try and ditch her before I come back, yeah?”

“I resent that,” he heard Eloise complaining after he left the room.

--

Penelope hadn’t been able to bear the thought of another summer locked away with her miserable family so when Eloise had offered the concept of a girl trip to the Aubrey Hall she’d eagerly accepted. It was only half way through the drive that the other girl had mentioned that they’d have to share the house with her brother.

The mere mention of Colin was enough to make Penelope’s heart skip a beat. She had a crush on him for more years than she could count anymore but he’d never given her any indication that he considered her more than a friend.  He was quite charming though and he was always kind.  When he would come home from jet setting around the world, he always made time to chat or dance with her.

It did very little to discourage the crush.

She had thought that with time and distance it would fade but all it took was a mention or a sighting for the whole dreadful thing to come racing back.  How Eloise wasn’t aware of the crush at this point was beyond her but since it was a relatively mute point he didn’t push it. She and Colin were friends but that was all they would ever be.

The last thing she’d expected upon arrival was for her eyes to be assaulted by full-frontal Colin. It wasn’t something she’d be forgetting anytime soon either.

“I’m sorry about that, Pen!” Eloise told her after a moment as she trashed the now slightly burnt eggs and decisively started over making enough to where they could all eat. It had been a long trip after all. “This stuff happens when you have brothers. At least he was alone not that it makes it any less gross.”

Penelope didn’t want to even think about that him having someone else there.  She nodded though. Eloise did have a point that she could only assume was accurate. She’d never had brothers of her own but she’d heard enough complaints about the Bridgerton Boys that she felt as if the mental picture was accurate.

“It wasn’t that gross,” Pen said after a long minute. “I mean, objectively Colin isn’t hard on the eyes.”

“Well he’s not your brother,” Eloise said making a face that made it pretty clear that she wasn’t interested in hearing how objectively not unattractive her best friend thought her brother was.  Maybe she didn’t know how far back it went and she wasn’t really aiming to ask questions about it but she was aware that Penelope had been into him at points.  She was also fairly sure at points her brother had probably been into her friend as well.  Nothing had come of it though and she definitely wasn’t going to try and encourage it lest it all go horribly bad.

Penelope didn’t push it for her part.

They began to work in silence creating a veritable breakfast feast for three and by the time Colin rejoined them wearing shorts a t-shirt they already had the plates made and juice poured.

“Well you might have invaded my very intimate breakfast this morning but I suppose I can forgive you for being angels who cook,” he said as she moved to take a seat at the table that was far too big for just three.  He did pause long enough to ruffle Eloise’s hair to mess with her before sitting in the end spot between the two girls.

“Someone has to be angelic when you’re clearly Satan incarnate,” Eloise responded stabbing a fork into her eggs and taking a bite.

“Only some of the time,” Colin confessed, laughing as he began to pick away at his plate. He offered a light smile toward their guest.  “Let’s be real, Pen is the only angel at this table. Us Bridgerton come from a long line of demons.”

Eloise made a fake gagging noise at that.

“That actually explains a lot,”  Penelope said after a long moment.

That managed to grab both of their attention, waiting to hear what she might have to say about demons and Bridgerton family members.

“I honestly believe you could be an incubus,” she said after a long moment, eyes directed toward Colin.

Colin nearly choked on a sausage at that, he recovered quickly though and fell into a fit on laughter.  Penelope always had been witty and the fact that she thought that he could be the incubus of the family was laughable. He wasn’t the person that most people thought him to be.  Of course, he was charming and could flirt with anyone but that didn’t mean he actually got anywhere. He couldn’t very well have his older brothers judging him for that though so he let people believe what they wanted to and didn’t go out of his way to correct them.

“You can’t just go around telling people that I’m a sex demon, Pen,” he said conspiratorially barely able to keep a straight face. “I mean, what I do in your dreams is between me and you.  Not everyone gets to survive with their soul intact.”

“You better not be doing anything to her in her dreams or your own,” Eloise said, kicking him in the shin. “My friend is off-limits.”

Colin frowned, reaching down to rub his shin.  He wanted to tell Eloise to mind her own business but before he could Penelope seemed to take it upon herself to handle that.

“Little late for that,” Penelope said knowing that by saying so she was declaring sides in this sibling battle.  Colin couldn’t be more smug about it either. Eloise looked as if she could kill them both.

“I’ll try to behave moving forward but I do hope it was as good for you as it was good for me,”  he said, though from the shit-eating grin on his face it was pretty clear that he wasn’t sorry at all.  Especially when his gaze moved from Penelope back to Eloise.  “Sorry El, I couldn’t help myself.”

“Of course not,”  Eloise said, shaking her head.

If this was how the summer was going to go, it was going to be a long one.

#polin #⚜ writings — polin #penelope featherington #colin bridgerton #eloise bridgerton #bridgerton