#oops i got a little to sentimental | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

papiliotao · 9 months

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꒰ 𝒔𝒂𝒚 𝒊𝒕 𝒃𝒂𝒄𝒌 !! ✩࿐

pairings: albedo, alhaitham, childe, cyno, heizou, kazuha, scaramouche, and xiao x gn!reader (separate)

content: fluff, very light angst in xiao’s and childe’s (they still ends with fluff though), kissing, established relationship

summary: in which your boyfriend tells you that he loves you, but instead of returning his sentiments, you decide to mess with him by not saying it back.

a/n: i said that i’d post soon like two weeks ago... oops. nonetheless, i hope you have fun reading this!

₊˚ପ ALBEDO

“What’s the matter?” Albedo asks, tilting his head slightly as the words fall from the tip of his tongue. Vivid teal eyes fill with hints of concern that dance through his irises loftily in a flurry of iridescent petals.

Albedo is worried, but he doesn’t want to make a big deal out of nothing. For now, he’ll test the waters of an unexplored ocean and scope out the situation, hoping that he’s just reading too much into things.

“Nothing,” you answer, tilting your head innocently as if you don’t have a clue what Albedo’s talking about.

Your boyfriend is perplexed, but he’s not an idiot. He’s often been regarded as a genius, and he’s spent almost as much time reading the sentimental words engraved into your heart as he has conducting his experiments. Albedo is absolutely captivated by you because you never fail to leave him fascinated and awe-struck. So naturally, he’s managed to pick up on all your subtle habits and all your strange quirks.

And right now, the expression on your face tells him that something is off. A missing brushstroke on a panoramic painting. A sour note in an otherwise enchanting composition. A sparkling daydream where you feel just a little too lucid.

You know exactly what he’s talking about. You’re just feigning ignorance.

Now all Albedo has to do is figure out why.

“I see,” he whispers under his breath in a tone so soft that even a light breeze would whisk his words off to neverland.

Albedo’s gaze remains fixated on you, his eyebrows scrunched and eyes narrowed.

Then a barely-audible chuckle leaves your lips. You stifle it in an instant, but Albedo has committed the melodic sound of your laugh to memory.

And suddenly everything makes sense.

You’re trying to get a reaction out of him, but sadly for you, you seem to have forgotten one key detail. Albedo is used to solving issues in a calm manner, his temperament akin to aquatic drafts that gently caress the surface of a crystal ocean. Cool and controlled.

“Ah, I understand now,” he says, and your eyes widen. The expression on your face rivals the beauty of a night sky dotted with various asterisms. You’re utterly ethereal. The corners of Albedo’s lips turn up, graced with a smile that shines with the light of a million stars. “You thought you could fool me, but unfortunately, you just gave yourself away.”

A pause. The tension within the air thaws, and the atmosphere becomes light-hearted once more.

“I’m not mad,” he clarifies, staring you dead in the eye, “but I would, however, appreciate it if you could make it up to me.”

₊˚ପ ALHAITHAM

Alhaitham is unfazed.

He sees right through you. You didn’t seriously think this was going to work on him, right? It didn’t take him long to get used to your antics when you first got together, and although you haven’t tried to play as many pranks on him as of late, it’s difficult to erase the devious grin you don whenever you’re up to something from his mind. Nor has the sly look in your eyes slipped from his memory.

Your boyfriend’s ability to read you is almost prophetic — a prediction of the future, yet no stars are read and no omens are required. He makes his predictions based on logic and logic alone.

And unfortunately for you, you don’t possess the same capabilities.

When you ignore Alhaitham’s honeyed words, turning your back to walk away with a coldness reminiscent of the farthest outreaches of the galaxy, he simply shrugs it off and heads to your living room to read a book. He sinks comfortably into a plush armchair, knowing full well that you’ll be back in no time.

Just four pages in, and Alhaitham hears the sound of footsteps echoing down the hallways, filling your shared home with a familiar sort of music. It’s only a few more seconds before he feels a tap on his shoulder — a touch that brings him back to reality entirely, away from the realm of scholarly pursuits.

“Is there anything you need?” Alhaitham asks, meeting your gaze with eyes tinted a turquoise found only in the most pristine of diamond waters. He remains as stoic as ever, not allowing so much as a single hint of emotion to show through his front.

You stare at him, dumbfound, for a few moments. Alhaitham knows what you’re thinking. He’s normally so observant — nothing ever slips past him, and yet this time, he failed to acknowledge the fact that you didn’t respond to his ‘I love you’. Besides that, it’s rather rare for Alhaitham to allow those words to leave his lips in the first place. He prefers to reserve them for tender moments, times where it feels like the only beings present in the vast universe are the two of you. You expected him to be more alert, and yet, Alhaitham has subverted all your expectations.

And it’s all part of his plan.

But then your eyes widen, filling with a light signaling that you’ve just experienced an epiphany. Alhaitham can tell that you’ve realized what he’s up to, and that your little scheme has backfired entirely.

“About earlier,” you start, assuming that Alhaitham already knows what you’re referring to.

Alhaitham smiles.

“What about it?” he questions you, acting oblivious even though both of you know Alhaitham would never be that clueless.

“You acted like you didn’t notice on purpose, didn’t you?” You’re pouting, but your irritation is clearly feigned. Alhaitham knows you like the back of his hand, and although messing with you produces some entertaining results, he would never go so far as to hurt you.

A rare smile graces Alhaitham’s face, as stunning as vivid ribbons of celestial light that compose an illustrious aurora. He’s not typically one to express emotion, but he can’t help himself. You’re just far too irresistible, and if there’s one thing he has a soft spot for, it’s you.

“My apologies,” he speaks in his usual calm tone. “I just couldn’t help myself — not when I knew I’d be able to bear witness to such an adorable display of anger.”

₊˚ପ CHILDE

The silence that hangs in the air is tangible — a thick veil of unspoken words, all consolidated into glacial fractals that cause the atmosphere to glaze over. An icy sort of tension permeates the moment, crystallizing the ambience and morphing it into something fragile.

And everything shatters when your boyfriend speaks.

“[Name],” he frowns, gazing at you with periwinkle hues devoid of illumination. He sighs, swallowing his pride. “Say it back. Please.”

A blank look fills your eyes, morphing once-lively galaxies into monochromatic jumbles of nonsense. For once, Childe can’t tell what you’re thinking, and that scares him. Either you’re messing with him, and you’re an exceptionally good actor, or you’re being serious.

“Say what back?” you say, cluelessness filling your tone filling your tone.

Childe is dumbfounded. It’s true that he tells you he loves you quite often, but he didn’t think that you’d become so accustomed to it that his words would no longer hold any weight. Although he finds it slightly odd, he supposes that even the most precious of glittering gemstones becomes mundane when fortune is the norm. But that doesn’t mean he’s any less disappointed.

“You really can’t tell?” he sighs yet again. He averts his gaze, looking anywhere but at you.

You shake your heart, and yet as you do, he catches a subtle flash of gilded lightning flash through your irises, setting your expression ablaze with hints of mischief. It vanishes as quickly as it appeared, but Childe knows what he saw. The initial melancholy that gripped his heart with cold fingers borne of frost dissipates, and in its place, amusement arises.

Silence. Shock. Disbelief.

And then he bursts out in a fit of sonorous laughter, the sheer volume of each chuckle rivalling that of an intense tempest.

Your eyes widen. It seems that you didn’t expect to be found out, but Childe has known you for long enough to be able to read your emotions. He’s spent an eternity exploring every nuance of your personality — every subtlety and every quirk, the good, the bad, and the ugly. And he loves every part of you.

That’s why he never fails to express his adoration whenever the opportunity is presented in evanescent moments like these. Although times like these sound like they’d be rare, they’re not when he’s by your side. Every second is filled with bliss, and despite the instances where azure skies are painted a dull grey and sapphire oceans turn tumultuous, he always knows that everything will be alright.

“I should have known,” he says. “You were just teasing me.”

Busted.

In less than a minute, your boyfriend has exposed all your plans, and you have no choice but to admit defeat.

“I was,” you admit, hanging your head.

Childe laughs, but once he settles down, he cups your chin in one hand and lifts your head to meet his gaze. With a surprising amount of tenderness, he closes the distance between your lips. Inch by inch.

You lean in as well. Time slows, and he forgets how to breathe. Even though he was the one who initiated the kiss, he finds you utterly enchanting. The beating of his heart speeds up, becoming erratic, desperate for the sensation of your soft lips pressed against his.

And then it happens. Although Childe had been looking for a verbal affirmation of love, this is even better. Fireworks seem to burst in the edges of his vision, painting the world in vivid shades of phosphorescent crimson and rose.

₊˚ପ CYNO

“Say it back. There’s no need to continue on with this prank of yours because cy-no you’re only joking,” he says. His voice is as monotone as ever, as tranquil as cerulean seas beneath a sky dotted with snowy white clouds.

His words provoke no response from you. You simply stare at him, too shocked to speak.

“Do you get it? Because Cyno is my name, and ‘cy’ sounds a little bit like ‘I’ while ‘no’ sounds like ‘know’.”

Cyno watches as your features scrunch in a twist of disbelief, embarrassment, and fear. He internally chuckles, secretly delighting in the adorable expression adorning your face.

Your reactions are always priceless, worth more than the most precious of gold and the most luxurious of diamonds. Because basking in the splendor of your smile is true opulence.

“Okay, okay,” you giggle, the embers of mischief within your eyes flickering, “you win. Please stop with the puns. I can’t take it anymore.” Your tone is playful, light.

The corners of Cyno’s lips turn up slightly as a smile graces his features. He’s well aware that your exasperation is feigned — nothing more than an exaggeration fabricated in order to tease him a little. Besides, if you didn’t like his sense of humour, you wouldn’t even be dating him right now.

“Victory is mine,” Cyno speaks triumphantly in a tone full of a hyperbolic sort of grandeur.

He feels light-hearted for the first time in a while, and it’s in that moment, that fraction of a second, that Cyno realizes something.

Your presence is liberating.

When he’s with you, he’s free from the troubles of daily life. With you, the responsibilities that go hand-in-hand with his status are put on hold, allowing him some time to truly experience what it’s like to be unburdened. With you, he’s not the General Mahamatra, one of the most renowned figures within Sumeru.

He’s just Cyno.

He feels his grin widen as he opens his mouth to speak once more.

“I love you,” he repeats his words from earlier, his tone one of pure adoration and bliss. The beating of his heart picks up, setting a new tempo that seems just right for the moment, a perfect backing for a myriad of silent declarations.

That seems to do the trick because you admit defeat without hesitation and utter the same words back with an extra one following in tandem.

“I love you too.”

₊˚ପ HEIZOU

“Oh? Do you not love me anymore?” Heizou confronts the problem head-on, feigning sadness. A smirk spreads across his face when he sees your confused expression, but he manages to erase it in an instant, deceiving even the eyes of his partner.

You should have known better than to play a prank of this sort on him. After all, Heizou’s always been one to turn your tricks against you.

As soon as your eyes widen and your jaw drops, Heizou knows that he’s won. To his relief, you don’t notice the way his verdant pools of peridot sparkle with mischief. You’re too absorbed in your panic to sense that anything is off.

He has to continuously stifle bouts of laughter. Heizou finds your reactions slightly too cute.

“N-No! I didn’t mean it like that!” you blurt out in a tone laced with desperation. “I’m sorry. I should have known that you would have noticed something was off. You’re always so perceptive,” you speak sheepishly, averting your gaze. “I just wanted to see how you’d react if I didn’t say it back…”

Heizou chuckles.

“You’re too cute, darling,” he muses, staring you straight in the eyes. “Fortunately for you, my intuition told me that you were just messing with me.”

You groan.

“Of course you figured it out,” you sigh.

Heizou can’t help but mentally agree. He’s already used to solving mysteries, and the fact that the two of you are so close doesn’t quite work to your advantage. Your boyfriend knows you like the back of his hand, and unfortunately for you, he enjoys the thrill of piecing together the puzzles you craft in an attempt to elicit reactions from him.

“I think I deserve a reward for cracking this case,” he says, pointing a finger at his lips.

When Heizou sees your eyes light up, glowing with the opalescent radiance of a nebula, he knows he’s about to get what he wants.

With one quick movement, you lean in nervously to place a shy kiss on Heizou’s lips, clearly still embarrassed by your failure. When you pull away, you take a few steps backwards before gazing deep into your boyfriend’s eyes. In that moment, Heizou realizes that the sentiments swirling through your irises — feelings embodied by the warm hues of a dying sunset — are nothing but sincere.

₊˚ପ KAZUHA

Kazuha knows you’re teasing him. From the subtle grin you’re trying to hide to the mischievous light dancing within your star-flecked irises, it’s not difficult to discern that you’re teasing him.

But despite everything, he decides to play along.

“I love you,” he repeats, gently taking your hand in his. He plants a gentle kiss on the back of your hand, a charming habit more than a calculated measure.

Kazuha glances up at you and smiles — a gentle expression that lights up your day with rays of golden sunshine. In a single flash, your cheekiness vanishes, and instead, an awestruck gaze paints itself across your face.

Kazuha suppresses a giggle. Far too often, he finds himself enamoured with you, especially when you’re flustered. He attempts to memorize the sight before him, engraving every dip and curve of your facial features into his memories.

You’re just far too endearing for him to resist, and besides, you’re his muse. Kazuha isn’t exactly sure how he knows it, but somehow, he’s certain that someday this moment will undergo a metamorphosis within a hall of crystallized memories, transforming from a fond recollection of the past to strings of eloquently phrased words — a haiku.

You look absolutely captivated by him, and although he didn’t intentionally try to send your heart into a frenzy of vivid daydreams and rose-tinted adoration, he’s glad you find him so attractive. A few seconds pass before you give in.

“I love you too,” you whisper breathlessly, grinning at Kazuha before leaving for the day. As soon as you’re out the door, Kazuha chuckles, eyes containing the essence of autumn mingling with a bright moonglow, swirling with amusement.

“I love you more.”

₊˚ପ SCARAMOUCHE

Scaramouche is confused, but he tries his best not to show it. He’s fairly certain that the two of you haven’t argued recently, so why is it that you’re not reciprocating his affections?

Although Scaramouche acts like he doesn’t care sometimes, he knows all your small habits. And as your lover, he finds it odd that you aren’t uttering those three powerful words back. That coupled with the fact that it’s rather difficult for him to express his feelings makes him desperate for a response.

“Are you forgetting something?” he grumbles, not wanting to seem too desperate. Deep down, his emotions cause whirlwinds of conflicting thoughts to swirl in his mind.

He watches as you blink — slowly, gradually as if you want to stretch seconds into eons. A frown etches itself into his forehead, and he feels irritation begin to overtake his heart. Storm clouds, tinted an ominous grey, overwhelm the ambience.

Finally, after what feels like forever, you shake your head.

“I don’t think so,” you tell him.

Scaramouche’s features twist into a pout, and he crosses his arms in front of his chest. Yet at the same time, your boyfriend is embarrassed beyond measure. He feels his cheeks heating up, and he’s absolutely sure that shades of pink reminiscent of a sunrise have begun to dust his pale cheeks.

“Fine,” he breathes out, rolling his eyes and turning away. “Forget it. I’ll see you tonight.” Scaramouche tries to brush it off casually, attempting to erase the odd experience from memory.

He want nothing more than to hear you say those three words back, but he’s far too proud to admit it.

He nearly walks away before he feels a firm grip on his shoulder.

“Wait,” you say. “I was just kidding.”

Scaramouche groans. He turns around in order to face you.

“How irritating,” he sighs. He brushes his hair, silken strands spun of midnight, away from in front of his eyes. Scaramouche can’t believe you were able to sense his vulnerability.

You giggle upon seeing Scaramouche’s grumpy face.

“You owe me for this,” he states.

“I know,” you whisper, stepping closer to him and leaning in.

Scaramouche feels his breath hitch, and before he knows what’s happening, the sensation of your warm lips against his overwhelms his senses. Sparks fly in the edges of his vision, and soon enough, a passionate fire is set ablaze in a grand display of crimson elation.

Although you didn’t say anything in response when he told you he loved you, your wordless exchange of adoration speaks volumes.

I love you.

₊˚ପ XIAO

Xiao sucks in a quiet breath as you turn away from him. It’s not often that he expresses his affection verbally, and the fact that you’re barely responding to his declaration of love is unnerving.

He looks down, strands of seafoam obscuring his gaze, blocking eyes of honeyed amber from your line of sight. However, he raises his head after only a few seconds, attempting to ignore the feeling of unease creeping up on him, freezing his very being with a subtle chill. It’s barely there — a pain nowhere near the sting of a frostbite — yet it still eats away at him, reminding him again and again that something is wrong.

But although Xiao wants to ask you if anything’s bothering you or if he did something to upset you, he can’t. Translating his emotions into words feels far too difficult, especially because in all honestly, this situation is probably no big deal — or so he tells himself. Your nonchalance contrasts with his overthinking, causing doubt to well up within his mind.

In the end, he allows you to leave, wallowing within an aquamarine sea of thoughts. The world has been painted a watercolour blue. Although he refuses to admit it, melancholy overtakes Xiao’s heart, as he’s now both confused and lost.

Did he upset you?

The idea doesn’t seem too outlandish. Xiao’s never been good at interpreting emotions or expressing them, and it’s one of his greatest insecurities as your boyfriend. He’s gotten better over time, but there are times where he still worries about being too oblivious to your feelings.

Unfortunately for Xiao, you’re out for the day, so there’s plenty of time for negative thoughts to ruminate in his mind, festering until they reach the point of becoming a soulless black hole, draining every bit of confidence from him.

As the skies outside the glass windows of your shared home begin to tint with a rosy blush, and a golden light paints the world in shades of ephemeral warmth, Xiao becomes restless. You’ll be back any moment, and then, he’ll have to face you. Anticipation causes his heart to beat in a frenzy as the minute of your arrival approaches.

And sure enough, you return at the exact time you always do.

As soon as you walk through the door, Xiao walks over to greet you, gauging your reactions. When you see him, the corners of your lips turn up in an ethereal smile, and the rest of your face lights up.

Your delighted expression takes Xiao aback. He didn’t expect such a pleasant greeting after the events of this morning, but he brushes it off, allowing a grin to dance across his features in tandem, reciprocating your look of absolute adoration.

“I missed you,” he whispers, stepping closer to you in order to gently take your hand in his.

To assure himself that you’re here in the moment. That nothing’s wrong.

He sighs contently when you don’t pull away. The solace of your intertwined fingers is akin to the tidings of a viridescent spring after countless days of pure white dusting a panoramic landscape. It’s a breath of fresh air after eons spent hyperventilating in the frigidness of a crystallized wasteland, silently fading away amongst seas of sparkling snow.

Xiao can finally breathe again.

And when he laters asks why you didn’t return the three precious words he uttered under his breath earlier that day, as the sun had just begun bathing the world in aureate light, your answer causes his face to heat up.

It was nothing more than a prank.

disappearing back into my gremlin cave for another fifty years now!! thank you so much for reading!

#r.archives *ೃ༄#favoniuslibrary #alhaitham x reader #childe x reader #cyno x reader #scaramouche x reader #kazuha x reader #xiao x reader #heizou x reader #albedo x reader #wanderer x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin fanfic #genshin imagines #genshin headcanons #genshin x you #genshin fluff

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msjaeger · 6 months

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That Wasn't In The Script (Actor AU)

//// Btw this contains hints to spoilers from the last episode/ chapter 139 so if for some reason you haven't watched it, DO NOT READ!!!!///

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"So tell me, guys. How do you guys feel knowing that the Attack on Titan is officially over? Like, that show will forever go down in history!"

Allen, the host of the official Attack on Titan talkshow Attack the Talk, asked your castmates and yourself. You were currently sitting on the stage in between Eren Jaeger and Jean Kirschtein, with the rest of your cast, Mikasa Ackermann, Armin Arlert, Connie Springer, Levi Ackermann, Reiner Braun and Annie Leonhart. You could see a few of your old castmates, those who were killed off in meaning, behind the stage watching with smiles on their faces.

"Let's start with you Ms. L/n, shall we?" The audience clapped as you bashfully smiled at Allen. Sure, you were a main character in one of the best fictional TV shows of the century. But you sucked at public speaking. At least acting was really only your castmates and wonderful team watching at the moment.

You cleared your throat before speaking, feeling your friends' eyes on you and giving you supportive looks.

"Well, Allen, this franchise has been part of my entire life. Literally. I started this show when I was about 9 and now I'm 19. So it ending is almost like the end of my childhood, which may seem kind of sad but it was fun while it lasted and I got to meet these wonderful people that I can joyfully call my family." You feel Eren lift his long legs onto your lap and you stop talking and stare at him.

"Get your nasty ass feet off of my dress."

Eren shook his head playfully and gave you a charming smile. "Nah. You said we're family and family lets their family rest their feet on them." You knock his feet off of you.

"Yeah but not when they're wearing a thousand-dollar dress. Let me finish my little speech, Jaeger." Eren held his hands up defensibly, causing the crowd to burst out laughing from the scene of the dynamic between you two.

"As I was saying before bird-boy over here interrupted. It's easy to say that I'll talk to these people outside of the show and end up never speaking to them again like other casts do but it's different. I grew up with these people so throwing them away would be like throwing my childhood away as well."

The crowd clapped at your little speech, along with your castmates. Expect Eren was literally clapping in your ear. "You're so childish, Eren." You chuckle.

"Only for you, L/n." He grins.

"How about... Connie! How do you feel about the show ending?" Allen moves on to hear other, hopefully just as sentimental, speeches.

Connie ponders for a moment, trying to figure how to answer the question as truthfully as possible. He fiddles with his expensive tie before seemingly having his words together.

"At least we won't be drug tested every three months. I'm gonna be fried every day!"

"No fucking way he just said that." You whisper.

The crowd falls into an awkward silence at Connie's... revelation. You watch as Jean smacks the back of his head. "Shut your bald ass up, Springer. We're 19 and 20 so smoking gas is still illegal, dumbfuck." Jean whispers harshly. Connie's face falls.

"Oops."

"Um... I'll just... can we edit this out?" Allen asks nervously. The cameraman shakes his head. "We're live, remember?" Levi lets his face fall into his hands, mumbling profanities to himself.

"Time for Audience Q & A!" Allen changes the subject quickly. That seemed to distract everyone watching in the crowd as people began to raise their hands, hoping to be picked.

Allen hopes down into the crowd and makes his first decision. "You! With the... Y/n x Smiling Titan shirt?" You hear Eren cackle beside you as you elbow him. "Shut it, you howling witch."

A man who looks like he hasn't showered since the premiere of the show and seemed a bit too old to be fixated on a show involving younger kids was chosen. Not to mention he had shipped you with the smiling Titan.

"He looks like a Discord mod," Jean mutters in your ear.

"Jean, that's mean. It may be true but it's mean." Jean rolls his eyes and gives you a cocky grin.

"It's only mean if it's not true."

"This question is for Y/n." The man announced into the microphone. He had a lisp and not the cute and barely noticeable sort that Armin had. Jean and Eren slightly stiffen.

"Let him ask you some weird shit, Y/n. I'll beat his ass on camera." Eren mutters. Jean watched warily as you waited patiently for the man's question.

"Who is your favourite character from the entire show? And why as well." The man's spit sprays into the mic due to how severe his lisp was and Allen visibly winced.

You think for a moment.

"Probably Eren's character." Eren jumps out of his seat and starts acting like a child.

"Boom, she said I'm her favourite. You all can suck my di-" You grab Eren's sleeve and yank him back into his place next to you.

"Sit your grown ass down."

"Sorry."

"Someone please take the boy into his seat." Levi pleads quietly while rubbing his temples. He had dealt with Eren for the past ten years and still couldn't handle his... personality.

"As I was saying. Eren is probably my favourite character because of how tragic he is and what he represents. He wanted freedom so badly that he never realized that he was a slave to it, which is such a great parallel if you think about it. He purposely hurt his friends in order to protect them too, knowing that they'd be the ones to kill him. I could go on for hours about this but we're on a time crunch so I can't." You chuckle nervously. You feel Eren smiling at you widely from your analysis of his character.

The man seemed content with your response and sat down. "Alright, who's next?" A girl raises her hand and Allen seems to think she's normal enough and hands her the mic.

"Hi, my name is Amelia and just want to say that Jean is so fine and that he doesn't look like a horse most days." Eren, Connie and yourself had to stifle laughter as you watched Jean pursed his lips, contemplating how to take that comment. Allen sighs and raises the mic to his lips.

"Please refrain from... whatever that was."

More people asked questions that were surpringly normal and everyone on stage at least answered five times. A little boy, around the age of 9, eventually got the mic and he looked extremely nervous to talk. His mom gave him encouraging words and he took a deep breath.

"H-Hi my name is Jackson. I-I was wondering if I could take a picture with everyone to show everyone at show-and-tell." He asked poliety. Your heart melted at how adorable the little boy was. You wave up him up on stage.

"Of course! Come up here, little man." Jackson broke out into a toothy grin and ran up to the stage as fast as his little legs could carry him. Armin helped him up onto the stage and Jackson's mom came closer to the stage to take the picture.

Jackson stood in front of you and you placed two hands on his shoulder. You smiled and felt someone wrap an arm around your shoulder before the picture was taken. It was Eren.

Jackson, after the picture was taken, turned around and wrapped his arms around your waist. "Thank you so much!" He exclaims. You wrap his arms around him as well, "Of course Jackson. If it's alright with your mom, I would love it if she sent the picture to me.". Jackson's eyes widened.

"Mommy, please send her the picture!".

. • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊° .☆. . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊° .☆. . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊° .☆. . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊° .☆. . • ☆ . ° .• °:.

As the end of the talk show neared, Allen had returned to his seat and faced the camera.

"As the end of the last Attack the Talk episode nears, I wanted to do something special for the cast. I've gathered everyone going back all the way to season 1 right now and we are going to play a special video we've prepared for today. Everyone, if you could come out."

You watched as people you hadn't seen for years entered the stage. People such as Petra, Carla, Marco, Moblit. Everyone. You saw Sasha and Historia, who you hung out with just as much as the rest of the cast but you were still excited to see them.

Everyone gathers in front of the big screen, waiting to see what the crew has prepared for a final goodbye.

"You guys all worked hard, whether you were killed off in the first episode or survived until the very end. You all played a vital role in the story that is Attack on Titan and we all thank you. So we decided to put together a montage, if you will, to share your behind-the-scenes experiences one more time. I really hope you enjoy it."

You turn your attention to the big screen as it begins to play. The first scene was of you, Eren, Mikasa, and Armin as little kids. It was a scene from the very beginning of season 1. You guys were running around the town until you tripped over a loose rock and flew through the air. You still had the scar from the rough landing. You heard the director yell a stammered, "C-Cut! Someone gets the medic!".

The scene cut to the next, where Eren was yelling at Hannes for being a lazy drunk before he stumbled over his words, causing Hannes to burst out laughing. "Cut!"

Blooper after blooper, you watched yourself grow up. And it felt really weird. Nostolgic but extremely weird. There was a scene where Connie and Jean were supposed to be arguing about plans to kill Eren during Season 4 but things turned... odd.

"Bro if you don't watch what you're saying, I might have to dick you down!" Connie screams passionately. Jean scoffs. "You wish you could dick me down the way I dicked your dad down!" Jean screams back.

"Jokes on you, my dad got turned into a Titan!" You stare at Jean, who looks like he is about to run into oncoming traffic. He makes eye contact with you and begins to stammer quietly.

"We were joking, I swear!" He whispers harshly. You pat his bicep. "It's okay, Jean. I support you."

"Go to hell."

The scene shifted into a picture where Jean and Connie were about to be turned into titans in the last episode but instead of having their arms around each other's shoulders, like scripted, their hands rested on each other's asses.

You lean into Jean's shoulder and let out a muffled laugh. "Shut up before I make you bald as Connie." He threatened lowly. "And how would you do that, mate?"

"I'll shave your head in your sleep."

Your eyes widen in horror at his statement. "Please don't! I love my hair." You frown. Jean shrugged and stretched an arm around you and rested his arm. "I'm not an armrest, horsey."

"Fuck off."

The very last scene was when everyone had visited Eren's grave, a sentimental moment in the show.

Okay, not really.

"Bro really had to wipe out 80 percent of the population, huh." Mikasa scoffs beside you. You shake your head. "Right? Like if you're gonna wipe out humanity, do it right. He really let us stop him with only 20 percent left. Weak!" You look down at the grave.

A fork can be seen flying across the camera and hitting you in the head. "What the fuck?!" You screech, searching around for the culprit.

"Stop insulting my character!" Eren yells as he runs into the frame and tackles you. Before you could hit your head on the ground, Eren placed his hand behind your head to make sure you didn't injure your head. But he still had to get payback.

You could hear the director sigh from behind the camera and mumbling about taking a smoke break. Suddenly, Sasha had run into the frame as well and jumped on Mikasa and Connie and you watched as everyone began running around like children, tackling each other and laughing.

The video faded into black and remained blank until two words in white cursive faded into view.

Thank You.

_________-____________--______________---_______________----

Idk how I feel abt this because I've been dead on Tumblr for like a year or smth. But I forced myself to resurrect because Attack on Titan is over and idk what to do with my life anymore😜 anywho lmk if I should make a part two because this is really iffy for me.

#eren jaeger x reader #shingeki no kyoujin imagine #jean kirschtein x reader #attack on titan season 4 #attack on titan #aot #aot x reader #aot actor au

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wonwooslibrary · 7 months

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svt as boyfriends ♡ jeonghan edition

member: yoon jeonghan genre: fluff, bullet points, established relationship word count: 668 summary: jeonghan's boyfriend things <3 warnings: none! author's note: i totally forgot to write this oops but heeeey it's done and it's jeonghan's turn! school has been a lot so i'm sorry that I haven't been posting as much </3 I'm trying to write more in my free time so we'll see :O

I feel like Jeonghan would be the “silent boyfriend”

Jeonghan gives the perfect college boyfriend vibes and I love that for him idk

Quality Time

Jeonghan slays so hard at quality time

As I said, Jeonghan gives college bf vibes and it’s totally because of his love of quality time!

When you are doing work, he’d totally agree to sit with you somewhere on campus or in a local cafe to study with you and help you memorize terms for your next exam!

If you don’t go to school, he’d totally help you with your work projects too!!!

If you don’t have work projects either, he’d just be there for you if you are having a rough day, just as someone to lean on and to listen to you talk <3

He’s so caring I love him

He would also definitely love to go on night walks with you when it’s late! He would totally find a spot where y’all can see the stars and take you there so you can stargaze and share some snacks

Words of Affirmation

Jeonghan is totally a “sweetie” or “baby” kind of guy and you cannot change my mind about it at all

I can imagine Jeonghan coming home from a long practice or something and finding you in the living room. He’d sit next to you on the couch and lean against you and be all like, “Hi baby, how was your day?”

(I’d actually scream pls)

He would always say sweet things to you like “I missed you, baby” or “I love spending time with you” aaaaaa

Jeonghan is a compliment machine so never think he would keep his thoughts to himself

“Sweetie, I love the outfit you wore the other day! It looked perfect on you”

(sobbing)

Physical Touch

Jeonghan obsessed with little or light touches

Loves holding hands when you’re waiting in line for something, or resting his hand on your knee when you’re sitting together on public transport

And of course don’t forget about the back hugs when you’re doing something like dishes, brushing your teeth or literally just standing and texting your friend back

Head pats !!! Loves just patting your head and combing through your hair slightly

Y’all would be the couple that I strive to be a part of in my dreams

Just imagine Jeonghan being a cuddly bf :(

Acts of Service

Helping you brush and do your hair!!! He definitely knows how to braid so imagine all the cool stuff he could do

And if you have short hair, don’t fear: he’s got the butterfly clips all prepared just to be silly

Definitely helps you with chores when you are busy or need to just take a break from existing

Likes driving you places, even if you are a better driver and also enjoy driving

He just likes making sure you get places safely and also don’t have to stress yourself out from how bad the traffic can be

He also just likes letting you be in control of his radio

Gift Giving

He would totally go to your favorite cafe or bakery in the morning and get your favorite treat and bring it back while you’re still sleeping so when you wake up, you get something amazing from him !!!

Spoils you all the time but instead of it being jewelry or something expensive, he just gets you small trinkets

Totally buys you pins for your bag when he goes literally anywhere

Also loves to get you little decorations for your place: including stuffed animals, one being an extremely soft lamb that you decided to name Mareep, like the Pokemon

Now, for something like holidays and your birthday, he would get something more sentimental, like matching bracelets or something!!!

He would want to get something for the both of you that he can still wear during practice, photoshoots and when he’s filming literally anything

Even if the audience doesn’t know what it symbolizes, he would know and that's very soft boyfriend of him <3

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drama-glob · 6 months

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SPOILERS FOR HELLUVA BOSS SEASON 2 EPISODE 7!!!!

Let me start off by saying F*CK YOU MAMMON!!!! >:( >:( >:(

Okay now, I LOVED THIS EPISODE because as much at it broke my heart with how much of a gut punch it was that Fizz has been putting up with Mammon for years, the fact that he got his freedom at the end with the constant support of Blitz and Ozzie, who genuinely care about him melted my heart as well. ^_^

I knew going in I was going to hate Mammon (because with how he runs his ring, I couldn't see how he could have any redeeming qualities), but he seriously was a bigger abusive d*ck and was way more blatant about than I expected. >:( Poor Fizz right off the bat with his unhealthy work ethic that he's not good enough and that his value is tied into his work, something that many of us (me included) have been guilty of. I blame Cash for being the most likely factor in why Fizz thinks that way, along with his idol worship of Mammon playing into it. >:( Also, that creep getting in Fizz's head was so messed up because we come to see how genuinely nice Fizz is and he sadly let what that guy said get into his head. ;_;

I'm so glad that Ozzie from the start is looking out for Fizz's well being and mental health, which is also really sad because he has no doubt had this conversation many times with Fizz about not needing to please Mammon and that he is good enough, only for Fizz to insist everything's fine when it's not. ;_; I also had a feeling Ozzie wouldn't be a fan of the Robo Fizzes given that he loves Fizz so much and knows what people use them for, so most likely it's part of the whole blackmail deal/Ozzie can't break out of making them so long as Fizz doesn't call it quits. ;_; I'm also happy that Ozzie clearly harbors no ill-will towards Blitz (which we already saw in "Oops," but it's nice that he knows Blitz wouldn't like the state Fizz is in and needs to cut ties with Mammon). :)

Fizz is just so talented with his craft, but the further pressure that he had actual competition from Glitz and Glam just made things so much worse, but of course Mammon don't care. >:( One of the absolute best moments though had to be the sweet little deaf kid signing to Fizz and Fizz signing back as well as sign his picture, so it was sweet and it helped Fizz's mental state temporarily. It was unfortunate that flipping creep came back and messed with Fizz once again, only adding to Fizz's panic attack that goes into overdrive once he sees Glitz and Glam perform. ;_;

My sadness only built as Fizz spiraled and tried to make himself "fine," but my man Ozzie being there as soon as he hears (from Blitz no doubt) that Fizz is not okay and him not leaving until he can get to the bottom of way Fizz is so adamant about doing this while trying to comfort him was wonderful. I legit cried, as I'm sure many of you did, when poor Fizz admits that he feels like practically nothing next to Ozzie and that without his job and the fame, he'd eventually leave Fizz despite how many years they've known each other and how much Ozzie does to remind Fizz that he loves him for who he is. ;_; ;_; ;_; It's sad too that Fizz has put up with the year of abuse because he felt he owed Mammon for leading him Ozzie, even though that's certainly not true. It really brought it in home just how much trauma Fizz has suffered and affected his mental state. I can only imagine how bad it'd be if he really didn't have Ozzie in his life. O_O The sweet, honest words from Ozzie afterward just reinforced my belief that Ozzie is the best boyfriend and their song "Crooked" was so saturated with lovey-dovey sentiment, I went awwww so many times and shows how lucky they are to have each other. ^_^<3<3<3

Fizz's "2-Minutes Notice" was absolutely incredible, (especially considering this was improv ;) ) and the fact Mammon didn't realize it was about him until the end was hilarious! XD But Fizz certainly proved how amazing he is and I'm sure Ozzie was more than happy to provide the magical backup to really stick it to Mammon. ;) ^_^ <3 It was really cool getting to see full demon Mammon and Ozzie, but it was especially amazing that Ozzie announced he loved Fizz to everyone so that he could no longer be blackmailed by Mammon and so Fizz could be free of that asshole; plus, he already seemed tired of hiding it. ^_^<3<3<3 Although Mammon will definitely come back for revenge on this sweet couple, Fizz and Ozzie get to at least have their peace for now and will face the future of their relationship being outed to all of Hell together. Also, those giant nuzzles from Ozzie are everything to me! ^_^<3<3<3<3<3

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cerastes · 9 months

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Does Chongyue rate on the Just Some Guy spectrum at all, considering how much work he’s put into not being Sui-related?

Chongyue doesn’t exist in the Just Some Guy spectrum in a way we’ve discussed yet, even though he has some overlap, because ultimately his essence conflicts with Some Guyhood on a fundamental level (of what has been discussed in Just Some Guy academia so far at least).

Just Some Guys all have the desire, and sometimes the expertise, to actually come across as Some Guys. Chongyue is a centuries old famed invincible general, title of Grandmaster, whose upcoming retirement is great news among leaders and figures of the highest authority and caliber. Chongyue is basically a celebrity and national hero. Chongyue is Mister Satan from Dragon Ball Z if Mister Satan had those Goku dukes and was actually able to throw hands with the biggest, meanest threats, and also a whole deal more humble, but the point is, man’s beyond notorious. Chongyue is A Guy, not Just Some Guy.

I understand where this sentiment comes from! He’s sealed the Sui consciousness and his true name into his sword, and this isn’t public knowledge, plus, he insists he only knows a little Kung Fu. The thing is, he is technically not wrong about his statement and he truly means it. He’s not trying to obfuscate, and this is a key part of Some Guyhood, he puts it in very laconic but pristine terms to Ling: He considers himself pretty average comparatively, considering the sheer amount of years he’s had to practice and master the martial arts, and confidently says that, were others to have the same set of tools he had, such as natural power and longevity, then anyone could achieve the level he’s at. He’s truly humble and honest about it in a way that is simply outside the scale of most other creatures in Terra to be able to relate to. Of course, this doesn’t mean he’s any less of a one man triple army able to decimate pretty much any quality or quantity of enemies with his martial prowess, but he’s not really underplaying it as much as he’s saying “no yeah but if you had the amount of time I had to grind out these sick spinkicks, you’d also be able to do this”. He’s the Soul Level 846 Chosen Undead that one-shots Kalameet three times over with one R2, and then doesn’t tell you “Oh, no no, it was an accident, haha! Oops!” the way Mr. Nothing would, Chongyue would instead say “Ok you might have found that impressive, but if YOU were Soul Level 846, you could very much do this as well! :)” and he means it! Just because Chongyue can 1cc Super Monkey Ball 2 doesn’t mean he’s particularly exceptional in his eyes, it simply means that it’s the only game he’s ever had for the last 400 years and, if you also played SMB2 for 400 years, you too could land the selfsame sick bounces into goals.

Now, you might be thinking, “wait, that could make him a Jaye of some sort, right?” Not quite! Jaye is truly convinced he’s unexceptional, hell, being exceptional in any way has not even crossed his mind, Jaye lives day to day acutely unaware that he has direct ties to both men you could consider the leaders of Lungmen. Chongyue is well aware that he’s a Sui fragment, and this, he hides, though less with the sundering desperation of someone who REALLY doesn’t want to be found out (like Nothing), and more like someone who’s got responsibilities to uphold, but if it ends up spilling out that he’s a Sui fragment, simply goes “Oh, it seems you know, alright,” and then take the appropriate action depending on what’s the most sensible road to take. Mr. Nothing and Sesa go out of their way to act like buffoons and charlatans for the express purpose of obfuscating their respective masteries, Chongyue has no qualms publicly showing his immense power and physical abilities to onlookers.

If we had to put Chongyue in the Just Some Guy spectrum, he’d had to be on his own little space as A Guy That Thinks You Too Can Be A Guy. He’s not Just Some Guy, he’s definitely A Guy and makes no secret about it (without revealing ALL that makes him A Guy), but he also believes that you, with enough effort, time, and support, can also become A Guy of his caliber, and that he’s nothing special, he just has 6521 hours in TF2 and that’s why he can rocket surf and land air shots with the Direct Hit with 100% accuracy, not because he’s exceptional necessarily.

#arknights #chongyue

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starythewriter · 10 months

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HIGH- ANALYSIS| VINNIE HACKER

MINORS DNI.

Warnings: mentions of cum, fluff and very little smut M!Receiving. 18+

A/N: This is personally what I think vinnie would act like around his lover, if he were high. Chiii, y’all lucky getting one post early this week, but I couldn’t hold back like- I got carried away… as I should. Y’all rly got me to 20 notes in the shortest amount of time yet I think… so Ty! I hope that my stories can help you in any way. Ty y’all got me to 92 notes, I’m glad y’all enjoyed this. Ily OOP we at 167 notes now tysm

If y’all get this to 200 notes by the end of today. I’ll drop another vinnie hacker story.

•I see vinnie being very horny and needy of you especially when he’s high. he gon beg you at some point for some.

• like if you get ontop of him, slowly humping him with clothe on. let’s be real, he gonna be all over you, begging for you. just needing you ontop of his dick.

• vinnie definitely gonna be open to receiving head, I think this would be a perfect time for you to show your dominance over him by making him beg, for you to allow him to cum.

•I also see vinnie, being so sweet, caring and extra sentimental. whispering things like “ily” or just being so sweeeeeet and really loving you… I think each time y’all get High would be the most ideal time to get closer physically, emotionally and to form a stronger bond. maybe not an everyday bond, but if things were to get heated in a sexual way, then… neither of you could ignore what happened in the night you got high therefore making the sexual tension stronger…

•I think he would be easier to dominate. mostly laughing, making jokes having fun and being lighthearted, just wanting to enjoy his time. I also see him being a little fucked up, maybe reminiscing a bit about his past… but I don’t see him being down in the dumps or dwelling for a long time.

• he will be so clingy literally never wanting to leave you.

•I think that if you are flirty with vinnie he might start flexing in front of you and sort trying to make you horny and wet on purpose.

•he loves that, he wants to enjoy your sweet cunt. vinnie needs it to be dripping with wetness.

• vinnie will get super hard, horny and enticed by any skin to skin contact so be aware of that. It may come in handy chiiii.

•he’s definitely gonna be on a cool chill vibe… he gonna give you a LOT of hugs to be prepared for that.

the end! I hope y’all enjoyed omggg. I’m giving y’all a small blurb, on how I think vinnie would act with his lover if he was high. Also stream moonlight by Kali uchis.

Taglist form

#send in concepts #smutty #smut #vinnie hacker #vinnie hacker concept #vinnie hacker smut #vinnie hacker imagine #vinnie hacker x reader #vinnie hacker 18+#vinnie hacker smutty #vinnie hacker x y/n #vinnie hacker blurb #vinnie hacker high #vinnie hacker x you

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aziraphales-library · 6 months

Note

Hello! got any recommendations for some first kiss fics based on the trailers? sort of like what people think will happen in s2? preferably no smut!

Hi! Here are some first kiss fics published just before series two was released...

The Memories that Show us the Power of Love by eveningdreamer (T)

Cautiously Crowley stepped forward and looked closer. He gasped as he saw himself. But he looked different; with long hair and dark robes. He was grinning and tapping the angel on the shoulder like they were old friends. Crowley felt a wave of strange emotions. He felt… sentiment? For this moment he could not remember? Crowley's memories are taken away by Hell, and he has been sent to retrieve Gabriel from Aziraphale's shop. Can Aziraphale bring them and Crowley back? Perhaps he just has to show Crowley what he is missing.

Not Ever by GhoulishBastard (T)

Crowley is seen living in his Bentley for the following months as he no longer owns the flat he once had. In refusing to move into Aziraphale's bookshop due to the retired demons own self-loathing and embarrassment, we are met with a rather distant and bored Crowley. Upon stopping by the bookshop for his occasional check in, Crowley is led to share a little more about himself with his angel friend, who is once again requesting him to stay.

Bewitched, bothered, and bewildered by grntair3 (NR)

"Isn't this the one about the fish?" came Crowley’s voice. Aziraphale turned, eyes meeting Crowley's through his lenses before moving on to take in the rest of him. He was wearing a suit he'd never seen before–crisp, black on black pinstripe trousers with a matching jacket that was left undone, accompanied by a buttoned mesh black shirt underneath. Through it Aziraphale could see the smooth skin of his slim frame, from just above his navel to his Adam’s apple. Around his neck lay a thin, rope-like black tie, which only brought more attention to his visible clavicle. Aziraphale felt a rush run over him. "Sorry... what was that?" (aka, Aziraphale throws The Ball)

In Other Words (Baby, Kiss Me) by asparkofgoodness (M)

“You’ll stab your eye if you keep on like that.” “I’ll be- oops!” He rubbed at a stray mark with his ring finger, then continued. “I am very out of practice, I’m afraid. Ouch!” “Just,” Crowley huffed as he plucked the pencil from his hand, “let me. C’mere.” Aziraphale did as he was told, turning away from the mirror and watching with widening eyes as Crowley stepped in close. Oh, my. The mirrors’ bulbs bathed half of his angled features in soft light. Always, Crowley was always gorgeous, but something about this suit — the wide plane of the shoulders, perhaps, or the way the vertical stripes led one’s eyes down the length of his body — and the cut of the hat across his brow… Aziraphale could hardly manage a coherent thought. The buzz of the audience reminded him: show. Soon. Right. ----- Crowley pops into the dressing room before Aziraphale's magic show to wish him luck.

1:57AM at A.Z. FELL AND CO. by Lupe1987 (T)

crowley and aziraphale get plastered. they get drunk and make bad decisions. aziraphale turns out to be strikingly poetic when he's drunk.

All i want is nothing more than you Lightofonesoul (G)

It a fanfiction about a scene in the opening and that dinner in '41 (that it's in my head) + an addiction 👀 "He met his eyes and again that small pout made him raise his snake eyes to heaven, and to God who had decided to put in his way a creature so extremely... adorable. Again, he found himself doing what his friend wanted. He lifted his left foot, resting it on the towel, and the angel started to look at it. “Mmmh yes, you seem ok.” He said absorbed and then took to turn his foot, here and there to saw if he was really healed. Crowley had said nothing, tried not to move and not look at him, to not to concentrate on his delicate and pleasant touch. To not wander his mind on that contact and that closeness by the one he had wanted for centuries. "Aziraphale usually interrupted those moments of intimacy, as if he snapped his fingers to raise an invisible barrier between them. Crowley looked away for a moment, turning his head to the side and drinking the wine in silence, to give him time to do what he had always done, to save himself from temptation, but that evening it did not happen."

- Mod D

#good omens #ineffable husbands #first kiss #kissing #good omens s2 #mod d

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kelly-bands · 8 months

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cake day ( CHLOE KELLY × READER )

one shot!

summary: It's wednesday, cake day! But oops, who said these two know how to bake correctly?

note: okay, this fic is according to that one survey (fluffly wins) and according to that request from chloe's pov, but I'm not a fan of writing in the first person and I decided to write in the third person.

Every wednesday of every week, of every month, Chloe Kelly and Reader would bake a cake together. It had no sentimental or significant value, the two simply entered into an agreement to always bake a cake that day, following the same steps and different recipes.

The problem is that the new recipe was more of an interpretation and cognition test for the couple than something simple and practical.

Chloe cracked the eggs in the corner of the basin: one, two, three… four. In theory, everything was supposed to be working since all the ingredients are there on the counter and so is the equipment. While Kelly started the recipe, Reader took care of the whipped cream and frosting.

" Why the fuck am I seeing four gems from afar, Chloe? " Reader complained, snooping behind her girlfriend's shoulder. It was the first sentence Kelly had heard since the two entered the kitchen minutes ago. The english attacker's optical orbs turned over due to the girlfriend's soon complaint.

" Because maybe that's what's in the fucking recipe?! " The blonde argued, leaving the cake spoon on the counter and resting her hands on the front of her white apron, intending to clean her fingers dirty by the egg whites that barely dripped.

" No, of course not. The recipe says there are only three. " A questioning and at the same time confident tone reached Kelly's ears. Reader approached the woman, while supporting the bowl full of egg whites and sugar between her arm and her chest, looking at the bowl with the supposed four egg yolks. " You don't by any chance know how to read, Chloe Kelly?" She mocked the situation.

Damn, Reader could be annoying. But very irritating when she wants to be.

The english slammed her spoon down on the table, placed the digits on her face and drained them, accompanied by a snort. "Why don't you read the recipe in the book before saying that? Maybe you're blind." Her tone rose a little, threatening to complain even more.

That was why all of Kelly's friends claimed that the two deserve each other. There were no differences, both personalities and tastes (maybe a little).

Chloe Kelly is a bit of an impatient woman, Reader too.

Chloe Kelly hates complaints, and so does Reader.

And that's exactly what the two of them were doing in the kitchen. The big problem is that perhaps it would be crossing the line, but that was the most common thing for this couple.

Reader glanced at the recipe written in the book, Kelly right after it too, but mostly pointing with her index finger where it said 'eggs'.

But the number was smudged and soiled with something dodgy.

" How do you expect me to read it if you got it dirty? " Reader complained once more, but this time with a mocking tone, aware that she would be irritating the woman more and more. Thus, she blamed Chloe for the mess that who knows who had made it.

Kelly frowned. She was praying she didn't explode in front of her girlfriend, though. This was one of the strengths of the english: even though she was impatient, she did everything not to lose Reader's company, because she adored him.

" Honey, love of my life, my princess, my love. I don't know." That was the most mocking tone Chloe could manage, since at this point, even if she was the most competitive woman in the world, she had already given up. And Reader could tell by her tone becoming calmer and lower afterwards.

Reader patted Kelly on the shoulder when she noticed her sulking, signaling that the player could continue the work that was almost going downhill, but being proud of her attempt to collaborate.

Chloe continued the recipe step by step, this time paying even more attention to each letter on that paper. At the same time, Reader was preparing the icing for the cake, mixing for a long time all the necessary ingredients.

The attacker slid the cake batter into the buttered pan, ready to be placed. Her fingers were smeared with sticky dough, grains of flour all over the front of her apron, almost as if she'd been dropped in the snow.

Baking wasn't Kelly's strong point, especially when it came to not making a mess in the kitchen.

But on the other hand, the blonde had Reader by her side. Mainly to clean up all this mess that the two made.

" That's it. " Chloe finished her part by placing the cake in the oven. Slowly she went to the faucet, intending to clean the dirty digits.

" Apparently everything worked out. " Reader dictated in a hopeful tone, after what happened. Her hands were still busy mixing the frosting, but this time, mixing the various dyes in an attempt to get the color correct (not so correct.)

After drying her fingers, Kelly's first move was to approach Reader, who was at the other counter. Chloe realized that her girlfriend would be scattered, focused on the cake, so she was opportunistic, wrapping her arms around the other's chest.

The english noticed how her girlfriend's body contracted, probably due to the fright and sudden touch. A giggle came from between those short, thick lips, close to Reader's ear. The lips descended to the shoulder, depositing a peck on the exposed skin of the Reader, in which she would promptly finish mixing the cream.

Chloe Kelly loved that, loved to always complain and argue about any micro movement of her girlfriend and then hug Reader as best she could. Be it kisses, hugs, caresses or whatever, it always soothed the blonde. Almost as if Reader was her safe haven, the only place the english could rest and take her thoughts miles from earth.

The blonde continued, her nostrils resting on the crook of Reader's neck, the sweet scent of frosting and the scent of, possibly watermelon, mingled and lingered there. This was another point Kelly loved about Reader, about how her scent was so strong (mainly because it was ALWAYS on Chloe's clothes).

" Try this, I also followed the recipe in the book. " Reader's index finger stopped backwards, even though she couldn't see Chloe properly. Covered in icing, it was an invitation for the player to put her lips there, to taste the frosting.

And that's what Chloe Kelly did. Her face, previously pressed against her girlfriend's shoulder, rose enough so that her lips could reach Reader's finger. Slowly wet lips supplied cream to index finger, ending with a small fragile bite. Reader laughed, probably because of the tickle the english gave.

" It's great. Much better than those bakery ones. " Honest and proud of Reader's talent, Chloe always distributes praise for everything her girlfriend does, and this time was no different.

The english felt Reader's body move, twisting and turning between Kelly's long arms, which released as soon as she noticed a change in her girlfriend's direction. When she realized it, Reader was literally in front of Chloe, inches away from the attacker's face. Reader's fingers slowly intertwined around the player's neck, pressing her body even closer to Kelly's.

Reader's back rested against the edge of the counter, while Chloe Kelly's frontal pressed even more, intentionally. The player's hands rested on Reader's forearms, which were pendulous and resting on Chloe's shoulder .

" What did you think of this new experience of making a cake? " Reader asked.

" Awful. " Chloe replied with no regrets. " But doing it with you was a little less work. " She completed.

" Other than the fact that you probably thought about throwing the cake at me… " Reader scoffed and chuckled, referencing the player's earlier irritation.

" Of course, you blamed me for something I didn't do. " Kelly also joined in the joke, adding a tearful tone to her speech.

"Pftt. I'm sorry then." Reader rolled her eyes, slowly dropping her head into the crook of Chloe's neck.

Again, Kelly's heart warmed as fast as a fireplace.

Even though she was a pretty closed off woman when it came to touching and silly emotions like that, she loved, adored, appreciated so much. Chloe Kelly would do anything so that every day she could feel that same touch, in every way possible.

The attacker's cerulean eyes landed fixedly on Reader's face, which in seconds rose. Moments like that where she could appreciate the beautiful face of her girlfriend were incredible, moments that the only thing that could remain was the physiognomy that always, always touched the lips in any region. These moments made her fall even more in love with the person Reader was. Moments that—

Oh shit.

The cake.

Fuck, Chloe Kelly. The damn cake.

"Shit."

Chloe broke Reader's embrace as quickly as if she were running away from her, heading straight for the oven; hot as fuck. Kelly reached for the first cloth she saw, with her other hand free, grabbed the metal handle and opened the oven.

At least something about this cake worked, which was not burning.

The digits gripping the cloth held the cake pan, which was clearly almost overcooked. The english quickly but carefully placed the cake on top of the counter. Finally able to breathe, the warm cloth was thrown over her shoulder and her hands to her waist.

“Please, let's change the cake day to something easier and more practical, Y/N” Chloe complained amidst the worrisome giggles, where she rested her fingerprints on the counter.

" If you say. “ Reader returned close to the player, at the same time, analyzing the cake inside the round mold. It wasn't ugly, or even looking like something bad, it was just… something.

The couple waited for the cake to cool, dispersing amid gossip and conversations that, in their view, would be interesting ( Discussing about species of dogs is certainly an interesting subject, Chloe Kelly.) After the necessary time, the blonde tried, carefully, remove the cake from the mold.

But it was not expected.

Even though the cake pan was buttered and Reader was there to facilitate Chloe Kelly's magnificent and crazy cuts, it didn't help one bit.

“Hand me the knife, let me do it for you. “ Reader was polite this time. She held out his hand hoping his girlfriend would give up the knife.

And this time Chloe didn't argue, discuss or even complain about Reader's attitude. Even her cheeks began to burn, perhaps from the embarrassment of not being able to cut the edges of a round cake. To help her girlfriend, Kelly fetched the bowl of icing, with mixed colors.

What the fuck?

How difficult is it for both of you to get something right?

“Ahm… Y/N. “ The english called out to Reader, who would be focused on finishing cutting this shitty cake that would be causing chaos in the kitchen. The frosting colors turned out terribly, TERRIBLY UGLY.

Something like gray mixed with brown, something like a five-year-old putting all the colors on the chromatic wheel and mixing. Chloe tried in every way to keep a small smile at least fake, so as not to cause any uncomfortable or uncomfortable feelings in her girlfriend.

“ Apparently I'm not the only one who has problems with cakes. “ Kelly finally said something after seconds of silence. And it was only after this speech that Reader turned her face, at the same time that she removed the cake from the mold with her hands, she also saw the shit she had caused in the color of the icing.

"What the fuck—" Chloe just stared at the woman who would be complaining in front of her, nothing new. " How did that happen?" Reader completed her sentence, with a forlorn tone.

" Nice question. " The english quickly tried to come up with some response that wasn't totally her own girlfriend's fault.

" Right. Let's take it easy, let's not give up now. " Oh, done. Now Reader was trying to come up with some solution to all this shit. " Let's use that, and as for the cake, it's okay to be almost breaking. " No, it's not okay. A cake breaking apart is not a cake, Reader.

Chloe rubbed her right eye with her index finger, this whole situation was making her tired. She went for a spoon and spatula, already intending to cover the cake.

Kelly immediately began icing the unfortunately gray frosting, while Reader just watched, not wanting to create any more intrigue.

And apparently, that was the only thing that had worked out of the whole recipe.

Slowly the cake would be taking a beautiful shape and its color, in the end, maybe it wouldn't be so ugly after all. Maybe something rustic, maybe something fashionable among wealthy elderly people.

Chloe focused on spreading that cream on the outside of the cake without saying a word. Little by little, her fingers began to get dirty, gooey, as a result of trying to turn the cake on the turntable. But it was her way, and in the end, the important thing would be the result.

Mainly the taste.

Reader looked down at her girlfriend, working hard to finish the cake. Days like these, even if they were disastrous, were the best days for both of them. Chloe Kelly's biggest hobby ever was spending time with her family, even on the few days she was able to travel there.

However, her problem of being away from her family was solved from the moment she began to consider Reader part of his family. So Chloe always gave her maximum effort in situations like these, even if she never even did it, even if they argued, even if unforeseen things happened.

Even if everything went wrong, it would be okay, because she is doing with the best person in her own family, Reader would always be on her side.

Deep down, Chloe Kelly loved spending time with her wife; your girlfriend, your family.

" What about? Kelly murmured, finishing off one last spatula on the cake. She immediately brought her wrist to her forehead, wiping the little sweat that was almost accumulating.

Surely if Chloe Kelly and Reader were on a cake competition show, they would be the first ones eliminated.

" Enough with opinions for today. Let's eat it now. " Reader's tone only confirmed that the cake was not in the best, not even aesthetically.

"Yeah, it's better."

Chloe selected a random plate from the cupboard that she could place the cake on top of, and said she did. The english took advantage of the situation to immediately cut it in a triangular shape.

She placed the piece on an individual glass plate and handed it over, accompanied by a fork.

" Moment of truth! " Kelly started her bad imitation of drums.

Reader allowed herself a smile as she slowly popped a piece of the beautiful cake into her own mouth.

Let's face it, Reader would have made the ugliest face in the world if the cake had tasted bad.

" It's not bad, but it's not the best thing in the world either! " She stated, licking her lips while letting out the cutest laugh possible. "Try it too."

Kelly picked up another fork, eating the same piece of cake.

It was true, it wasn't a bad thing. To be honest, in their opinion, it was better than some low-income bakeries.

" Don't doubt my baking skills. " The player, inwardly, felt quite proud of being able to bake a cake without exploding the gas.

" Right! Next wednesday, roulade? " Reader questioned and presented a new recipe.

Damn? This feels like a game of levels, each time you go up, the difficulty increases even more.

" And that talk about making something easier?"

" Forget it, it's always good to challenge yourself. "

" Okay. With you, anything. " There's a first time for everything.

And Chloe Kelly always wants to have the first turn of things with her girlfriend.

#chloe kelly #chloe kelly imagine #woso #woso community #woso imagine #woso x reader #chloe kelly x reader #woso soccer #woso couples #chloe kelly enthusiast #fanfic #fic #fluff #chloe kelly fluff #woso fluffly #woso fluff #fanfic fluff

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apparitionism · 3 months

Text

Bonus 2

Here’s the second part of a holiday story, begun in part 1, about how Myka and Helena, in a vaguely season 4 world in which nobody’s going to go to Boone but through which they have thus far been separated, are reunited for a day-before-Christmas-eve retrieval in Cleveland. Helena has been summoned by Claudia to serve as Myka’s backup, for Pete is spending some holiday time with his family... but as it turns out, the retrieval is necessary because—plot-semi-twist!—Pete Christmas-gifted his cousin, who is a bigwig at an accounting firm, with an artifact, a pen that apparently has something to do with Santa’s naughty/nice list. Which said cousin used to confer end-of-year bonuses—and penalties. As this part opens, Myka is just beginning to process the fact that the whole situation is Pete’s fault...

(And no, I didn’t manage to bring this thing in for a landing in this part. Nobody faint from the surprise.)

Bonus 2

“Okay,” Myka acknowledges, because what else can she do? The fact is that in any Warehouse-related context, “coincidence” is a non sequitur, and she begins formulating a plan to Christmas-gift Claudia with a T-shirt featuring that sentiment. How fast can she get a custom T-shirt made?

The irony is that Claudia would know.

“Yeah,” says Pete’s cousin—Pete’s cousin! She might be affirming the Claudia-irony in Myka’s head, or the situational irony Myka is now stuck in, or any of the vast array of ironies that make up the Warehousian unfolding of time itself. Myka would not have expected Pete’s cousin’s words to contain multitudes. And yet.

“He told me it was the kind of thing he thought I’d like,” that cousin continues, “and he was right. Effects aside, it’s a gorgeous implement. Perfectly balanced... which I guess works on an existential level too, doesn’t it? Naughty, nice.” She shifts the pen to rest a delicate crosswise on an extended index finger, testing its equilibrium as a chef might a knife.

The pen—or is it merely a different species of knife?—basks in Nancy Sullivan’s regard. “Resonant little instrument,” she says, with clear affection. “Anyway, we were talking about Pete.” A different sort of affection now colors her voice. “He went into this big production-number apology about it being sort of secondhand.”

“Oh?” Myka says, distracted by pens, knives, resonances... but, right, secondhand. Of course it’s secondhand. No new item could be an artifact. Or could it? This seems like a Steve-conversation topic.... and it certainly beats “H.G. is god knows where” for philosophy.

“Not because it’s not new,” Pete’s cousin says, apparently reading Myka’s mind, “but because he initially was thinking he’d give it to somebody else.”

Myka repeats her interrogative “oh?”, but she’s getting a feeling again.

“Yeah,” says Nancy Sullivan, and Myka really has to applaud her talent for broadly applicable affirmation. “He said he wanted to give it to his partner because, and I quote, ‘she likes the old-fashioned stuff,’ but then he realized he shouldn’t because, and I also quote, ‘she’s got this whole family feathery-pen dealy-thingy and I don’t want to upset her.’” She waves the pen again, this time directly at Myka, like a conductor imploring the oboes to pick up the pace. “And he told me his partner’s name,” she concludes.

“I’m sure there are lots of Myka Berings in the world?” Myka tries, weakly, raising her hands as if to offer Nancy Sullivan all those other Myka Berings. The last vestige of defensibility... then her hands drop, because really. She looks at Helena in apology, with only an indistinct, tangled sense of what she’s apologizing for. I’m sorry I occasioned this is part of it, yet there’s a deeper fault she feels but can’t quite ideate, one more consequential than an anodyne “oops.”

“Listen, he’s a really good guy,” Nancy Sullivan says.

“I agree completely,” Myka assures her. But in the interest of full disclosure, she adds, “Mostly completely. I mean, I’m going to kill him for this.”

Helena says, “Are you.” Her tone brings Myka up short: it’s impossibly knowing, suggesting insight into everything Myka has been thinking, about someday and talking and things.

Again with the reading so right.

Myka would love to have the panache to do more than glance furtively at Helena, to pull off a playful, similarly knowing response, like “that depends on my backup” (or something actually clever that will doubtless occur to her during some post-holiday post-mortem). Instead she goes with a not at all interrogative “Oh.”

Nancy Sullivan looks from Myka to Helena. Then she says, “Okay, revision: A really good guy who might be hanging onto some unreasonable hope.”

Myka wishes she could keep from glancing yet again, now, at Helena—now as she grasps the fullness of her underlying error, now as she formulates a hopeful plan regarding someday saying out loud “I’m sorry I didn’t recognize that he had any such hope and that I didn’t make completely clear that any such hope would never have been anything but unreasonable”—but the wish doesn’t work. She glances... thus proving Nancy Sullivan’s point.

“He didn’t mention you,” Pete’s cousin tells Helena. “I think I see why.”

“I’m both offended and pleased,” Helena says, with her customary little thank-you head-bow.

Rather than luxuriating in the familiarity of that head-bow, Myka tries to head off a more detailed discussion of Helena’s role in it all (and what a nondescriptively limp phrase that is) by observing, “The sixth-sense thing is quite the family trait.”

“Ah. Sure. You’ve had experience,” Nancy Sullivan says, a little droop in her voice.

Has she taken Myka’s words as criticism? Myka hurries to reassure, “Sometimes it’s very helpful.”

“But. Other times.” This is heavier, and now she must be referencing her own vibe-related experiences.

“Your family get-togethers must be really... charged?” Myka tries.

Nancy Sullivan offers another all-encompassing “Yeah.” Then she laughs. “But at least we don’t have a feathery-pen dealy-thingy like your family does.”

Helena clears her throat, an attention-garnering ah-ha-hem, as if it’s in the stage directions preceding her next line in some farce. She inclines her head: more stage-direction drama. Finally, “You do now,” she says in benediction.

Nancy Sullivan’s jaw drops. “Wow,” she says, and “wow,” she repeats. Then she laughs again and says, “He really should’ve mentioned you.”

Myka might laugh too, but she is preoccupied by the way in which Helena’s well-chosen articulation has persuaded her body to remind her that it and she have reached no mutually satisfactory agreement about appropriate reactions.

And that in turn sparks Myka to a realization: once the retrieval is accomplished, there may be a nonzero chance that she and Helena could enjoy a bit more of that liminal together-presence...

Myka’s body makes its best effort to crash through the gauzy ideating her brain would prefer to do about what such time could entail, and after no small amount of nethers-vs.-cerebrum struggle, she manages to propose, truce-wise, a simple Let’s just hope it exists.

Surprisingly, body and mind are willing to shake on that, giving Myka leave to slip on a glove and pronounce, “Just give us the pen. Then it’s over. Mostly. The money will probably revert... so you’ll most likely have to redo the bonuses the old-fashioned way.” Hearing herself, she amends, “Well. The regular way.”

“I don’t mind redoing. But reverting...” Pete’s cousin tightens her fingers around the artifact, pulling it near to her body as if she might be considering, for one last “maybe,” the idea of punching her way out.

Myka tenses, and she doesn’t need to cast a glance to know that Helena is doing the same.

She glances anyway... and indeed, Helena alive with wiry readiness is a sight worth the seeing. So worth it, in fact, that Myka is genuinely, if improperly, disappointed that said sight doesn’t cause the truce to collapse.

After a moment, however, color returns to Nancy Sullivan’s knuckles, and Myka removes the pen from her slackened grip.

But then Nancy Sullivan cocks her head. “Is it really over though? I feel like something else might be happening.”

No. No. Absolutely not. “Something else is always happening,” Myka says, affecting nonchalance as she slides the feathery foolishness into a static bag, ignoring its yipping sparks of protest. “Don’t worry about it.”

Nancy Sullivan casts a skeptical look at the barky little bag. “If you say so. Anyway seeing Pete’s face when I tell him you and I –and he and I!—are fellows in family feathery-pen dealy-thingies now? Might end up being the second-best end-of-year bonus of all, given everything.” There’s a little mockery in her voice, echoing the cousin Myka knows so well.

“And the best such bonus?” Helena inquires.

“Docking Bob’s pay,” Nancy Sullivan says instantly.

Myka snorts, and Nancy Sullivan turns back to her and says, “Are you okay with me being glad we met?” Like she’s mostly but not entirely sure of the response she’ll get, and that’s another echo.

“Only if you’re okay with me being glad too,” Myka says, her own voice sounding a familiar note—one she’s pretty sure Pete would recognize.

After a nod, Nancy Sullivan turns to Helena. “I’d say it to you, but I feel like there’s something extra going on with you, like—”

Myka steps in: “Honestly, always,” and then she’s hustling Helena out of the office even as Helena chirps, “I’m both offended and pleased by that as well!”

Back in the elevator, Helena speaks first. “I did not expect that,” she says, sounding entertained by—practically bubbly about—the entire scenario.

“I should have,” Myka grumbles.

“You’re too hard on yourself.”

“Oh god no,” Myka says, involuntarily. “Too easy if anything.”

Helena’s eyebrows rise, and her eyes accuse. “I’ve known you for no small amount of time,” she says.

Myka’s previous review fights that statement, but she doesn’t speak of it.

Her lack of response prompts a heavy I-am-no-longer-entertained sigh. “Must I return to the phrase ‘your truth’?”

“Please don’t,” Myka says. That’s also nearly involuntary, but it sounds too harsh, like she’s dismissing as unimportant that bookstore interaction, as well as the entirety of those in-extremis manifestations of herself and Helena. Rather than apologizing for that, for surely it would prove far too entangling, she tries to draw Helena’s attention back to the entertainment. “I like Nancy Sullivan. She reminds me of Pete and his mom.”

“Pete’s mother? I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure.”

That’s a bit more jousty, backed by curiosity. Good. “She’s a Regent,” Myka says, for it’s the most salient piece of information she has about Jane Lattimer.

Helena stills. Her jaw hardens. “Then perhaps I have indeed had the... pleasure.” Cold. Cold. Cold.

You idiot, Myka scourges herself. Why couldn’t she have done the normal thing and left Pete’s mom as “Pete’s mom”? But now, but now: now she’s seen this wound, down there under the ice, and she wants to test that ice, but she can’t, regardless of her wish and want to know know know, to know everything Helena has been put through, so as to know whom to hate (and she hopes that doesn’t include Pete’s mom) and whom to someday thank (and she double-hopes that does include Pete’s mom). “Anyway I think the cousin had the right idea,” she says, pushing back to the now, to what just happened. “Using an artifact to do what are really decent things, even if they were judgmental.”

“Rather Old Testament,” Helena says. “Strangely inappropriate for this holiday, no?” She asks that like she’s really thinking—wondering—about it.

Myka congratulates herself on having provided a distraction, however minimal, from whatever Regent-pain her unthinking reveal caused to surface. “I hadn’t thought about Santa being more Yahweh than Jesus,” she says, to enhance it, “and I’m not sure what it says about my position on salvation that I genuinely wish we could have let her keep that pen. Or even better, if we could maybe ferry it around to deserving arbiters... wouldn’t that contribute to the greater good, even if it’s in a judgy Old-Testament way?”

Helena’s face moves as if she’s about to answer, but before she can, a rupturing screech of metal-on-metal complication resounds decisively through the space, and their ear-popping descent slows, slows, slows...

...and stops.

After an appropriately irony-bearing pause, Helena says, “This elevator seems to disapprove of your suggestion. Or perhaps it’s your theological indecision that displeases?”

All Myka can manage is an extremely resigned “I am not surprised.”

Efforts to summon help strengthen the “disapproval” interpretation: they’re fruitless. No one answers the emergency line, and this mirrored box is, according to both their phones, the place where cell service goes to die. Or where that service is interfered with by a theologically offended pulley-based mechanism.

“I genuinely cannot believe we’re stuck in an elevator,” Myka says. It may be the most true statement to which she’s ever given voice.

After a beat, however, she concedes, “But of course I can.”

Helena casts her gaze around. Once again, exaggeratedly stage-direction-y. “At least it’s reasonably well-appointed. For an elevator in which to be... stuck.” She seems to relish articulating “stuck,” so she’s back to being entertained. Not quite bubbly, but definitely entertained.

Myka can’t get past her annoyance with the elevator’s disapproval, so she says a peevish, “I don’t like mirrors.” She’s painfully aware now that they cover not only the walls, but also the ceiling. She can’t even look heavenward in supplication, sarcastic or otherwise, without regarding herself. It really is too much.

Given that no other communication technology is working, she resorts to the Farnsworth. She gives thanks for Warehouse mojo, or whatever enables it to elude the elevator’s wrath, when Claudia answers with, “No info on ‘lists, making them’ yet.”

“We dealt with that,” Myka tells her. “New problem.”

“Another artifact?”

“Who knows? Maybe Pete’s in an elevator somewhere else in this town making bad decisions, and they’re redounding to our detriment.” She’s vamping. Stuck in an elevator with Helena, she’s vamping. Instead of simply basking in such fantasy-made-fact, she’s vamping.

She doesn’t bother wondering whether Helena knows she’s doing that; if this little adventure has done nothing else, it’s reminded Myka that Helena always knows. It’s both wonderful and terrible to be so legible, particularly to someone Myka so often finds frustratingly illegible.

“I’m not following,” Claudia says.

Speaking of illegible: Myka, heal thyself. “We’re stuck. In an elevator,” she clarifies.

Claudia makes a noise that, impressively, marries a gasp and a snicker. “Are you really? Or did you push the stop button, like people do?”

“Like people... what?”

“When they want to have a little uninterrupted chat,” Claudia says, pedantic, as if now she’s the one who’s “clarifying.”

“Nobody does that in real life,” Steve says from offscreen. Myka is pleased to know he’s around.

“Myka just did,” Claudia insists in his direction. “Didn’t you,” she insists at Myka.

“If I did,” Myka says, “why would I be calling you to get us out of here?”

“Yeah, why would she?” Steve asks, but from farther away.

Don’t leave! Myka wants to exhort. She would never admit to needing backup in a counter-Claudia sense... but she does appreciate when Steve provides it.

“Oooh, because maybe the chat didn’t go so well,” Claudia says with great, and to Myka’s thinking entirely inappropriate, relish.

Trying for calm pragmatism, she says, “Wouldn’t I just... unpush the stop button then?”

“Myka,” Claudia says. It’s the most chiding, disappointment-laden use of her name Myka has ever heard, even when measured against all the times her father has uttered those two designating syllables. “Believe me when I tell you I’m a fan,” Claudia goes on, turning mollifying, “but you really need to lean in when it comes to tropes.” Myka can’t imagine how to respond to that, so she doesn’t. Claudia sighs—seemingly everyone’s preferred go-to when Myka fails to produce words—and says, “Did you try calling maintenance? Pushing the emergency button? Using your cell?”

“Yes, yes, and no service. Do you genuinely think I don’t understand modern communication technology?”

“I think you pretend you don’t understand newfangledness all the time. Particularly when you’re trying to show off how sympatico you are with H.G., who incidentally doesn’t seem to be piping up like I’d expect. Did you knock her unconscious after your terrible chat? Or maybe during it?”

Helena has indeed been very—very surprisingly—quiet while Myka has explained the situation to Claudia. And she doesn’t step in to help Myka out now. So much for any counter-Claudia backup.

“There was not a chat,” Myka says.

Helena is regarding herself in the mirrored ceiling.

“But there could be one now?” Claudia nudges. “Let me see if I can see what’s up. I’ve got cell service.” She disconnects.

Helena abruptly abandons her ceiling self-contemplation, focusing her gaze upon Myka. It’s disconcerting. “Are you attempting to avoid an uninterrupted chat?” she asks.

Myka can’t suss the question’s sincerity. And notwithstanding all her ideas about talking, she suffers a cringing internal “yes.” Externally, however, she says, in what she hopes offers at least a veneer of sincerity of her own, “No.”

She doesn’t follow up by asking “why would I be doing that,” because Helena would probably have a guess. And because that guess would probably be accurate: “You are a coward,” Helena might say, and Myka would regrettably have to either tell the truth and agree, or lie and disclaim any emotional investment in whatever the outcome of such a chat might be.

Silence. Longer than it should be... or is it as long as Myka deserves?

You wanted time together. Don’t bellyache about the form it takes.

“Your objection to mirrors,” Helena eventually says.

“What about it?” Myka asks. Her very soul flinches.

“What is it?”

Myka has never before stated her dislike of mirrors aloud, and she regrets having done so now. To play it off, she says a dismissive, “An artifact.” And yet the truth is that despite the unnerving nature of her interaction with Alice’s mirror and how it continues to prey on her mind, it isn’t really that—or rather, that only intensified her dislike.

But when Helena proposes, “Yet another ‘dealy-thingy’?”, clearly (and preciously) trying the phrase out in her mouth, Myka misleadingly (intentionally misleadingly) nods and says, “They’re all dealy-thingies.”

To that, Helena says, “Interesting.”

Myka would probe that word, but to do so might destabilize the ground, here in an elevator. Instead, for the moment, she tilts her head in the direction of the Christmas muzak, the literal elevator music, being piped in. “Oh, sure, that still works.” She gestures at the speaker, a thin dark stripe between two mirror-panels, from which the sound is emerging. The elevator is nothing if not insistent.

In truth, she doesn’t mind Christmas carols. She does mind the bowdlerization thereof, and isn’t that an attitude the dogmatic elevator really ought to share? O holy night, the stars are brightly... synthesizing? It’s wrong.

Now even her mind is vamping. Great.

Helena tilts her head toward the speaker, however, and Myka appreciates her willingness to be redirected. At least for a moment.

In fact, for all her vamping, mental and otherwise, Myka finds herself absurdly content to simply stand against a mirrored elevator wall and regard Helena... who in that instant of Myka’s acknowledged contentment seems to accept their predicament as unlikely to be resolved in a timely fashion: she sits down, of course elegantly, resting her back against her side of the box and stretching her legs (her legs, Myka’s body notes, just to let her know it’s still paying close attention) out in front of her.

The looking-down perspective is a bit disorienting—although at least this time it has nothing to do with being stuck to a ceiling—but Myka has no time to process it, for Helena’s next salvo, looking up, is, “You’ve been expecting me to remark further on naughtiness, haven’t you.”

Reading, yet again. “I kind of have,” Myka admits. It seems an overly judgmental statement, particularly given that Myka has to deliver it as if from an elevated bench. And yet... she kind of has.

“I’d rather not fulfill that expectation,” Helena says. “If we could speak of other things.”

Myka is a little thrown, but thankful. “That is entirely fine by me. What do you want to talk about?”

“Honestly?”

“Honestly,” Myka says, meaning it as an answer to either interpretation of Helena’s interrogative: Are you asking what I want to talk honestly about? or Are you asking, with honest intent, what I want to talk about? She hopes Helena will respond similarly.

“Something that interests you,” Helena says.

That’s not in any way what she was expecting. “Really?”

“Really.”

It’s a word similar to, yet very different from, “honestly.” What, in a real sense, interests Myka? In this moment, all she can think to say is “you.” And perhaps because her normal inhibitions are disordered, here in this stopped elevator, that’s what she blurts out.

And that seems, incongruously, to take Helena aback. “What about me?” she asks.

Myka can’t say “everything.” It’s the real answer (really), but it’s far too... big. For an unexpected reunion, an unexpected uninterrupted chat—although Claudia or rescuers could at any point interrupt it, which Myka should hope happens (should)—it’s far too big.

So: smaller. What occurs first to Myka is “where have you been”—but that would most likely seem accusatory. She needs something else. Something something something...

In the aftermath of the Warehouse not being destroyed, she’d felt herself full of hard-earned wisdom and bravery: enough, surely, to stop hesitating. Enough, surely, to act. Or enough, at the very least, to articulate.

“Wisdom” and “bravery” now seem nothing more than labels on empty containers, and so “faintheartedness” is the fullness with which Myka here initially accuses her today self. But as Helena breathes and waits for an answer, Myka revises that, gentling it to “caution.” And she adds “care.” Because she is trying to attend to, to appreciate, that breathing. And that waiting.

These might be nothing more than self-indulgently comforting shifts in vocabulary... but then again they might be akin to the shift from “Christmas” to “end-of-year.” Gentle. Inclusionary.

The something something something that occurs to her—because in attempting to avoid her own reflection, she is confronted instead with multiple Helenas—concerns a topic she probably should censor but doesn’t: “When you were a hologram... or a projection, or whatever we should call it... did you have a reflection?” She then reflexively backtracks, “It shouldn’t matter? But I don’t know.” That last, she means both ways. She doesn’t know: whether the reflection existed, or whether it matters. But maybe it’s a sneak-up on things, because she shouldn’t ignore things, and because a seemingly inconsequential tangent might tiptoe toward importance.

“I don’t know either,” Helena says. “I suppose I would have?” Her face contracts. “Or perhaps not, as I don’t know how that holographic projection of myself was... projected. But I do intend to look into it.” She says this last as if Myka has caught her in some inattention, a recklessly uncompleted assignment.

“I never even started majoring in physics,” Myka laments, which is true but also, she hopes, reassuring in an I didn’t do the homework either sense, “so I don’t know the optics of it. Projections. Light and mirrors. “ She doesn’t mention that in the wake of Pittsburgh, she had indeed tried researching such things... she’d got as far as some advanced volumetric displays, ones using dust particles as screens onto which lasers projected light, but at a certain point, a tipping point, the idea of Helena existing as—being relegated to—nothing more than light and dust screamed a surpassing insult, a degradation conjuring death, and it was more than she could bear.

For now she puts that away. She shakes her head, shakes it free, and changes tack. “Anyway, that’s probably the wrong approach. This is Warehousey, so thinking outside physics, the laws... okay, all I know about reflections, unphysically, is that vampires don’t have them. So if you didn’t have one, then maybe all holograms are vampires?” Ugh. Ugh ugh ugh. She would have done better to speak of dust, that and light and despair. Going with vampires instead? Talk about vamping...

“Presumably not vice versa,” Helena observes, seemingly taking Myka’s words far too seriously. “Certainly fictionally. Also not overly flattering, in the syllogistic sense of ‘Helena was a hologram, therefore.’”

“They’re very popular though,” Myka temporizes.

“Stoker’s novel was all the rage,” Helena allows.

The chat stalls out. Interrupting itself?

Myka nevertheless feels pressure to fill the silence: it’s her fault. Will a simple truth suffice? “I didn’t expect to be spending the day before Christmas eve with you,” she says. “Or any day with you. In Cleveland.”

A small smile from Helena marks this as a more welcome fill than a question about reflection. As do her next words: “Nor I with you. In Cleveland, or any place. Equally, I didn’t expect to be sent on a mission with you.”

“That part of it went well.” Myka gestures at her bag that contains the artifact.

“We did—and now do once again—make a good team.”

“I’m glad we got the chance to do it again. Glad, but also... relieved.”

“Relieved,” Helena echoes.

That wasn’t a question, but Myka answers anyway, “Well, obviously, first,” she says, feeling herself launching into an explanatory babble that she fears she’ll be powerless to stop, “because you didn’t have to talk anybody out of using Joshua’s Trumpet, so that really makes a difference in terms of how we—”

“‘First’,” Helena quotes, interrupting (stopping), conveying her full knowledge that that too is a vamp. “And second?”

“That we still are.” This, Myka says simple and frank.

“A good team?”

That is a question. Myka knows “yes” is the only sensical answer, so she tries to say it. But the depth and weight of the ways in which she and Helena “still are” choke her: they “still are” in the basic sense of existing, which was never a certainty; and even better, higher, these hours they’ve spent together today have made clear, to Myka at least, that they “still are”... well. She’d like to finish that with something like “in love,” but instead she tries to leave it, even in her head, at “still are,” with their time-crossed, maybe-destined predicate undefined.

“A good team” should be good enough—true enough—for now.

So after a stretch of time during which Myka knows she’s been focusing her gaze far too intently on Helena, she manages that “yes.”

Helena waits to speak.... are her eyes glistening more brightly than usual, or is Myka hallucinating? “I’m relieved as well,” she says, and Myka chooses to simply delight in whatever prompted such a saturated sparkle.

It draws her closer.

She crosses the small-yet-large elevator-width that separates them. “I need to either sit down beside you or help you up,” she says. “Do you have a preference?”

“For?” Helena’s eyes continue to glow.

That shine... Myka has hopes. They may not be realized, but she has them, the product of relief, “still are,” and an unknown predicate. “Whatever’s next,” she says.

A bit of time passes, with Helena now being the one focused most intently. “I’ll stand,” is her verdict.

Myka reaches down with both—both—hands, offering, and Helena reaches up, accepting. Their fingers meet and clasp, and too cold, Myka thinks, for both of them have a chill in those extremities... but first impressions of temperature promptly fall away as the new reality of the clasp roars into precedence.

Myka has never been so certain of, so certain of and enchanted by, what must and will happen next in her life. Never in her life so certain, as the clasp tightens, as their torsos lean, as Myka’s body begins an at-last congratulation, one that will become a celebration—

A voice from somewhere overhead barks, “Everybody okay in there?”

TBC

#bering and wells #Warehouse 13 #fanfic #holiday (but not Gift Exchange)#Bonus #part 2 #you never can tell what mechanisms might be up to #sneaky ghosts in machines #(sneaky ghosts ARE machines)#anyway like I said in part 1 #I wanted to put a couple of people in a clichéd situation #and the way this part ends was probably obvious from the get-go #but really #was that space the right venue for...#anything?#Claudia's encouragement aside

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silentium-symphony · 8 months

Text

Book Buddies I (Link x Reader)

(a/n) hi! i'm nicole and thank you for checking out this story! i've been HORRENDOUSLY down bad for link and i started this blog just so i can gush about him asdjhfjk i literally love him sm

i haven't written anything creatively in awhile, so i'm rather rusty--sorry if there are any mistakes, and thank you for being patient with me!

as i was approaching an ungodly word count, i decided to split it into two parts. part 2 will be released shortly and will be linked here!

cw: afab!reader, researcher!reader, dusty libraries, link accidentally discovering your kink before even learning your name, started out as fluff then kinda devolved into... well, smth, some swearing oops

wc: 2.4k

♤♢ ~~ ♡♧

Ah, Link--Captain of the Royal Guard, personal bodyguard to the Princess, battle-hardened warrior with dozens of well-fought battles under his belt, giddy little schoolboy head over heels for--wait, what?

This man--who has stared Death down until it flee from him--was tripping over a head-scratching, "aha"-ing, entrancing little Sheikah researcher?

You bet your ass he was.

It started out innocently enough. He had gone to the library to scout out some new battle tactics for the next skirmish he and his soldiers would inevitably be dragged into, and he happened to round a corner just in time to see a flair of (H/C) hair.

Oh Hylia, you were breathtaking.

Maybe it was the way the torches warmly contoured your face's every feature, or maybe how the sun got caught in that beautiful, silky hair of yours that seemed to frame your face in the most angelic way. Or maybe it was the way your brows crinkled and your nose scrunched as you absorbed the contents of the aged scroll balancing delicately between your cautious fingers.

Regardless, you were squarely in his line of sight and he made no effort to move (seemingly unaware of the rest of the library's patrons, who were scooting past him and shooting impatient scowls at the dazed captain).

♤♢ ~~ ♡♧

Your temples pounded a dull ache that sent any semblance of coherent thought out of your head; you let out a deep sigh, feeling your face relax as you do.

Ugh, you gotta stop doing that... Seriously, you look like a pig when you scrunch your nose like that.

The last sentiment was spoken in a thousand scornful voices, all the way from your mother to your fellow researchers. You threw your head back and felt your eyelids droop close, your eyes grateful to be getting a break from their swimming lessons. Your chest heaved slowly, filling the corner of your lungs with the smell of aged books and sun-caught dust.

As you exhaled, your eyes fluttered open and happened to catch a pair of wide, cerulean eyes eyeing you from afar.

You almost snorted your exhale and immediately threw your nose back into the scroll.

Shit shit shit! Oh gods, why Hylia, why of all people did he have to see that stupid expression of yours?! It could have been literally anyone but him!

Cheeks aflame and mind accursing, you slowly look up from your scroll and see the same pair of cerulean staring back at you, softer this time and with a hint of something else... Amusement?

You sent an awkward smile his way and nodded your head in acknowledgment before thickly swallowing the painful lump in your throat. Heart thundering loudly in your ears, you hadn't noticed it perfectly syncing with a pair of hurried metal footsteps barring against stone.

The door to the library creaked open and a pair of glistening silver helmets peeped through.

You heard a flurry of panicked whispers sourcing from the doorway and you couldn't help but peek your eyes just above the yellowed edge of your scroll. A gasp, followed by a barely there "Captain."

Link's eyes shot to the pair and side-eyed their raggedly breathing forms. Drills and exercise regimens aimed at improving one's cardiovascular system are in order. He tilted his head, beckoning for them to wait outside before they divulged possibly very important information to a room full of people without proper clearance. The pair nodded, understanding their silent captain's commands, and slowly closed the loudly creaking door (in which everyone grimaced).

Link let out an imperceptible huff and turned his gaze to you one last time. You both caught each other's eyes, a feeling of enrapturement encasing the both of you--but as quickly as you caught it, it was lost with a swift turn of his heel and the click of the door (which didn't creak this time, much to the relief of everyone).

You felt the cheekiest of smiles play at your lips, and you almost smacked that stupid lil' grin off your face. Boy oh boy did that man have you whipped.

You looked down, your eyes locking with the same paragraph you have been trying to read for the past half hour; you groaned.

You were gonna be here for awhile.

♤♢ ~~ ♡♧

With a belly full of the most mid meal ever warm food the chef cooked up with leftover ingredients, Link found himself aimlessly wandering the halls of Hyrule Castle, absently absorbing the estate's splendor and many banners that riddled its thick stone walls.

Calloused fingers lightly grazed the rough interior, a chill slithering up his arm and down his back. His mind, in an effort to counteract the sudden coolness, immediately flashed to a thought that made him feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

You, of course.

All throughout the walk to the courtyard, during the emergency meeting called by the king himself, throughout dinner with his fellow brothers-in-arms, all he could think about was you.

He hadn't the slightest clue as to why you, specifically, had him absolutely smitten. There were plenty of good-looking researchers and soldiers who've pursued him at one time or another, but he never reciprocated their affections regardless of how flattered he was. Duties to the crown and whatnot occupied every crevice of his mind; he hadn't caught feelings for anyone since... Wait, had he ever caught feelings for anyone?

He clicked his tongue and shook these unproductive thoughts out of his head. In all his time serving Hyrule and her people, he had not once caught a glimpse of you. The palace was teeming with researchers and soldiers, so the chances of seeing you again were pretty low. Coupled with his irregular schedule and lengthy trips away from home, he could practically dash all hopes of fostering any sort of relationship with you.

Gods, if only he had caught your name! Maybe he can ask Zelda or Purah...?

He stopped before a door and stared at it for a long while, strangely unable to open it himself. The library. It felt like his arms were being weighed down by a chain with a heavy ball attached to it.

He glanced towards the window and felt the familiar panic of seeing the moon nearing its peak and him far away from slumber. Sighing, he rested a hand on the brass doorknob and sluggishly turned it.

Oh well. He's already here. Might as well do some light reading or review old battle strategies. Maybe that'll release him from his insomniac torment.

As he lightly pressed the door open, he poked his head through and scanned the room.

Only to be met with groggy, dark-rimmed (E/C) eyes.

His heart lurched in his throat and he almost sent you beaming across the room had his brain not make the last-second announcement that you were a civilian.

You, who was not a solider by any means, let out something between a yelp and a scream and fumbled backwards, unceremoniously landing on your rump and sending all your study things flying in all directions.

"Augh... Geez..."

A sharp pain bloomed from the point of contact and you hissed, rubbing the sore spot and cursing at your carefully organized notes scattered all over the ground.

A resounding clap of wood against stone preluded the Captain rushing through the doorway and immediately attending to you, resting a firm clasp on your shoulder and looking at you with a face that screamed a thousand apologies.

You let out a weak smile and an airy chortle, waving off his concerns.

"I-I'm fine... You gave me quite a scare, Captain! That woke me right up."

You did your best to whip out your most reassuring smile, all the while fighting the prickly feeling of new tears beading at your eyes; of course, this did not go unnoticed by the hyperaware soldier and his eyes widened in alarm, then panic, and finally resolve.

He smoothly laced his fingers with yours and in one smooth motion, gently hoisted you to your feet and into a chair with a thoroughly practiced move. Before you could even utter a 'thanks,' he was back on the floor, scrambling to get your papers and books in order.

During the chaos, a thin, deliciously scandalous-looking book slipped out of the Captain's hastily made bundle of paper and book.

It was your turn to start reeling. Ice coursed through your veins as your cheeks lightened to every shade of crimson under the sun.

Okay, act cool! Maybe he didn't see i--NO STOP WHY ARE YOU REACHING FOR IT

"U-Um--! Wait, that's--!"

Everything was in slow motion.

Link's hand felt the ground for whatever he dropped, picked up the book and absently inspected the scantily clad woman with a... Wait, is he choking her--?

"NOOO!!!"

You felt a void from where you initially felt a chair and saw Link's confused face rapidly approaching your own as you dove straight for the book and onto the Captain himself.

The force of a whole person launching themselves at him knocked the air right out of his lungs; his arms wrapped around your back and pressed you closer to him, bracing for impact.

THUD!

Thank Hylia, a majority of the blow concentrated mostly on his shoulder. He'd take a sore shoulder over a split skull any day. Peering down, he saw trusses of (H/C) messily splayed atop his chest and your smaller body oh so perfectly filling in the empty spaces of his much larger frame.

More base thoughts seeped into his mind and he mentally flogged himself for thinking such things. He cleared his throat, raw from disuse, and groaned out, "you okay?"

You flinched at the deep, husky rumble in his chest and pathetically pushed yourself up.

How could you ever recover from this.

"Y-Yeah... I'm so sorry Captain, I... slipped."

He stared at you steadily, skepticism thinly veiled behind his eyes.

"... Slipped?"

"Y-... Yes."

Oh how you wished that Hylia would just whisk you away to the Demon King himself.

He maintains eye contact with you, several emotions you couldn't pick up on swimming just underneath his seafoam hues. He nodded slowly and sat up even slower, with you still wrapped up in his arms not that you minded but for the sake of decorum.

"Ah... Captain..."

You were practically straddling him now and his arms still remained tight behind your back. A flash of realization shot through him and he immediately released you, scooting back and back and back until he was nowhere near your personal bubble.

"I," he cleared his throat hoarsely, "apologize. I did not mean to make you uncomfortable."

"Oh no, it's okay! It's my fault really, I shouldn't have lunged--er, slipped, like that..."

You dusted the light brown dust that stained your garbs and offered a helping hand to the downed man. He looked up at you gratefully and clasped his hand in yours; it took everything in you to not get pulled down in the process.

As Link rocked back to his feet, The Book--still tightly gripped in the man's hand--flashed in your peripheral and you damn near shat bricks. You did all that and you couldn't even get the fucking book.

As if suddenly made aware of its existence, Link looked down at what he'd been holding this whole time and gazed upon the cover in its full, sultry glory. The tips of his ears began to adopt a shade of red you didn't think was possible and you snatched the book out of his hand.

"T-That's for a friend! She, uh, has been looking for this book for a really long time and I-I was just grabbing it for her! Please do not think that this is for me!"

You bowed your head, hoping that he couldn't see the beads of sweat dotting your brow or hear how fast your heart was racing. Link was silent for a moment, no doubt trying to process everything that went down in the past five minutes, before letting out a low chuckle.

"Well... You can tell your friend that there is no need to be embarrassed. She can pass her time however she pleases."

You strained a laugh and looked up bashfully, more than done with this conversation and itching for a topic change.

"Oh! Right! So, um... What brings you to the library so late at night?"

A vacant visage filled your vision as the soldier looked about the room--has he forgotten why he was here?

"I was... looking for a book to do some light reading. Do you or... your friend have any recommendations?"

He cast a knowing smile your way and you fought the urge to swipe that smug grin off his pretty face. You inhaled sharply, maintaining your composure, and flashed him a bright smile.

"Of course! What genres are you interested in?"

He hummed thoughtfully and drummed a finger on his chin.

"I... am not sure. I have only read strategy books and training manuals and the like. Perhaps something easy for the mind, but engaging enough to be read any time of the day."

"Hm..." While your head was filtering through a lifetime's collection of good reads, your feet shifted from under you and you found yourself weaving through the different aisles. The Captain loosely trailed behind you.

"At first glance, you seem like an action type of guy who'd do nicely with a good war story... But I assume you have enough of that in your life?"

"Yes." He lightly winced.

"Actually Captain," you start, dragging your fingers across a myriad of different book spines, "there's a fair amount of literature centered around you and your exploits."

"What? Really?" It filled his chest with a funny, lighthearted feeling. "Well, I suppose that makes sense..."

It felt rather strange to have whole books dedicated to you and your past accomplishments, but he recognized that not everyone has the privilege of getting their exploits penned down for the enjoyment of future generations. He couldn't help but wonder... Have you read any of them?

"Ah! Here it is!" Your deft hand snapped a book from the shelf, the remaining books gently folding in on each other to account for the sudden absence of their neighbor. The deep purple cover seamlessly blended into the dark corners of the library with only the occasional glint of the book's gold accent outlining its shape.

"This is a classic detective novel called Louis and Sholmes. The novel takes its sweet time building to its climax, but once you get to the good parts it's a real page-turner!"

Huh... Climax...

Link cleared his throat and bowed gratefully to you.

"Thank you for your recommendation, um..."

"Oh!" You placed a hand on your chest and bowed deeply. "(F/N). My name is (F/N)."

#link x reader #link x you #loz #link #legend of zelda #link legend of zelda #legend of zelda x reader #legend of zelda fanfiction #legend of zelda fandom #loz link x reader

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