#( i don't know their colours so it's just black and white this time sorry! )

[sskk-manifesto]

!

[imaginaryf1shots]

Soulmate | Max Verstappen Ver.

WC: 4.1K

Max x journalist!reader

Summery: you live in a world where soulmates exist, and until you find yourself, you only see in black and white.

Warnings: none?

Masterlist

Max Masterlist

Lewis Ver. , Oscar Ver. , Charles Ver.

In a world where everyone is born seeing black and white, the promise of seeing colour is on everyone's mind. The key to unlocking the colours is your soulmate. Meeting their eyes will make you be able to see all the hues and shades of the world. Those who see colours describe it so beautifully. People usually discover their soulmates between the age of 18 and 25, some earlier and some later. However, some people start to lose hope when year after year passes and no colour is introduced into their lives.

You have lived your life hoping and believing that one day, a single glance will change your world. But as you've hit your adult years and not a single colour, you've lost hope, all your friends and family see colour already, even your 13 year old cousin. So you just came to terms with seeing life in monochrome. You just focused on your career, building it up and making something of yourself.

You've worked in a few sports before, football, tennis before you moved to motorsport, starting with NASCAR then Formula 2 and here you are now after two months in Formula 2 you've been promoted to Formula 1. The world of formula 1 is very fast-paced, and you find yourself deep in it, watching old races and interviews and races. The sport intrigued you, the races, the adrenaline, the drama.

Due to your easy going nature, and how you can get people comfortable, you've been made to interview the drivers for a new segment for F1TV, a room was giving to you on track and each week you sit down for a long interview with two drivers.

“I just don't understand. Why won't you try it?” You heard your mum's voice through your phone's speaker. Rolling your eyes at her words as you got ready for the day. “Don't roll your eyes at me.”

You sigh and wonder how she always knows when you do that. “Mum, I told you, I don't want to.”

“I just don't get why, I've heard of so many stories of people being happy after they try it.”

“Mum, please, I'm busy with work, I don't have time for any of this.” You exasperated.

“That excuse died a long time ago.” Your mum fought back.

“Mum, I love you, but you just don't get it, so please just leave me be.” 

“I only say this because I care about-”

“You don't understand, and you never well, okay, you found dad when you were 19, you've found him and you never had to go on dates for people who lost or gave up, and yes I kind of lost hope, I'm not getting my hopes up anymore, but it kills me, why do I not have a soulmate, everyone I know already found theirs and I hear about it all the time, I'm lonely, I'm extremely lonely, even when I'm out with friends when we have family gatherings I'm lonely, and I heat about colours and shades and all I see is grey, so don't try to enterfer anymore please, just let me be.”

There was a long moment of silence.

“I'm sorry, love.” Was all she could say in the end. “I didn't realise.”

“I know you didn't.” Your voice sounded defeated. “I have a to go, I'll talk to you later.”

“Okay, honey, talk to you later.”

Your conversation with your mother left you feeling down and unmotivated.

This weekend, you'd be interviewing Alex Albon and Max Verstappen. Alex came first, and you sat down in front of the cameras for the lengthy interview. The set was cozy, and Alex was a blast to interview. You talked about racing to his pets, to golf, to his dreams, and so on. Alex is funny and easy to talk to you, so the interview went smoothly, and he didn't stop talking, and it all just flowed easy between the two of you. Even with your bad mood, you still enjoyed your time, and your mood got better.

After Alex left with a quick hug, you were told that Verstappen would be coming a bit later than anticipated, so you'd have 45 minutes between the interviews. That time, you and the crew took a break and ate some food before you had to be ready once more for the reigning world champion. And right before he came in, one of the crew rushed in and went straight to you and the producer.

"Max is apparently in a very bad mood. The media panel today was a disaster." He told the two of you, your eyes met the producers in worry. You've seen interviews of angry Max, and you weren't looking forward to interviewing him, not after the morning you had.

"I thought we only had drivers without the panel for the week?" You asked, confused.

"I did, too. There must've been a mix-up either with us or his schedule." The producer told you. "What was he asked?"

"Uh, they asked about him not finding his soulmate, and if it's maybe a sign that he's meant to be alone." You and the producer gasped at the rude question, of course his mood was soured, you don't ask or speak about people who haven't found their soulmates like that, you knew the pain of not finding your other half very well, and it's always painful to constantly asked about if you found them. "They even asked if he thinks his mood will get better once he does and if he'll calm down."

"Wow, that's just, that's so rude." The producer said and looked at you. Everyone knows you haven't found yours as well. The producer gave you a smile and patted your shoulder. "Don't worry and just stay calm. Our questions aren't intrusive or uncatting. We don't have anything about his love life.”

“You're right.” You nod to yourself in encouragement.

Max walks in with his entourage, his press officer walks over to you and the producer, she tells you to just jump into the interview seeing as he ran late to come here and he has other things he needs to do after.

You glance at the driver as he gets mic-ed up. Max's presence was imposing, his haw was set, and his eyes were hard. You could feel his mood even from a distance. The producer hurried you along.

You sat on the comfortable sofa, you try out the sofas each week to make sure it's comfortable for the drivers, as the sport light was on you. You introduced yourself with a fake smile, glancing at Max for a second before looking at your notes.

"Good afternoon, Max." You started calming your racing heart by saying to yourself that this is just an interview. "Thank you for taking the time to speak with us today. How are you feeling about this weekend's race?"

"It's going to be a challenging race, but I'm confident." Max's expression remained guarded, but he responded as calmly as he could. "The team has done a great job, as we're well-prepared."

"That's always good to hear." You replied, keeping your tone light. Maybe this won't be too bad. "This track has a lot of history. Do you have any special memories or moments here that stand out to you?"

"Definitely, this was one of the first tracks I raced in in Formula 1." Max's gaze softened, and yet again, your eyes just looked all over his face not meeting his eyes, even in monochrome you couldn't deny how good looking he is, you wondered what colour his hair is, it looks soft.

"It's a very demanding track, but once you get it right, it's very rewarding."

"That's wonderful." You nodded, feeling the tension ease just a bit. "Now, moving away from racing for a moment, how do you usually unwind during the season? Especially with such a long season, do you have any hobbies or activities that help you relax?"

As you asked the question, you looked up, meeting Max's eyes for the first time. In that split second, and as you blinked, everything changed. The world around you, previously in grayscale blur, just erupted into vibrant, breathtaking colour. Starting from Max's eyes, their shades the first thing you've seen, and moving to the color of his clothes, the sofa and everything around you, everything has come to life in a way you've never experienced before. Max's eyes warm and held an expression mirroring your own.

Max blinked, and in an instant, his stern an slightly annoyed façade/mood broke, a genuine smile that he never had before broke across his face.

"I-uh." He cleared his throat to try and regain some of his composure after the revelation he just had, both your eyes meeting and not straying from each other. "I enjoy spending time with my family and friends." He said, his voice softer, almost as if he was speaking to you alone. "I also spend a lot of time sim racing and gaming with my friends, a bit of FIFA here and there."

Like Max, you could hardly believe what had happened, fighting to maintain your composure, you continue a smile tugging at your lips. "That sounds like a lot of fun. Do you ever play FIFA with other drivers? I imagine it would get pretty competitive."

"Yes, we do, sometimes." Max chuckled, the tension between the two of you completely dissolved to the amazement of everyone behind the cameras. "It's always a good time, and it definitely gets competitive. We take it seriously, even though it's just for fun."

The crew keeps exchanging confused glances unaware of the profound shift that had occurred. You force yourself to focus on the next question, the vibrant colours making everything around you feel surreal.

“Speaking of competition, if you weren’t a Formula 1 driver, what other career path do you think you might have taken?” You asked, genuinely curious.

Max leaned back, considering the question. “I’ve always been passionate about sports, so maybe something related to that, like engineering or coaching. I enjoy working closely with a team and seeing how everything comes together.”

“That’s really interesting.” You said, nodding. “It shows how much you value teamwork and the technical aspects of the sport.”

“What about you?” Max asks, and you look at him confused. “If you weren't a journalist, what would you want to be?”

“Oh, since I choose sports and have been surrounded by it for years, I think I'd be a sportswoman.” You tell him with a smile. “You're lucky, I'm too old to get into karting.”

“Guess, if you were into karting, we would've met years ago.” You knew what he meant. You could've met your soulmate years ago if you'd been in karting. 

“I guess so.” You try not to think about the what ifs as you ask the last question. “One last question that we ask to every driver, what advice would you give to young aspiring drivers who look up to you?”

Max’s eyes met yours again, a spark of connection undeniable between you. “I’d tell them to stay focused and never give up. It’s a tough journey, but if you’re passionate and willing to work hard, you can achieve your dreams. It’s important to stay dedicated, even when things get tough.”

“Great advice, Max. Thank you so much for your time. It’s been a pleasure talking with you.” You concluded, barely able to contain the smile spreading across your face.

Max smiled back, the warmth in his eyes unmistakable. “Thank you. It’s been great speaking with you, too.”

The interview wrapped up, but as the revelation between the two lf you lingered you didn't want to leave, after so many years of guessing who your soulmate be and almost giving up entirely you didn't want to be apart from even for a second.

Max may seem tough to people, strong and determined, but he's spent nights dreaming of when he'd finally meet you. His thoughts lately have been of self doubt, maybe everyone is right, and the reason he hadn't met you yet is that he doesn't deserve you. He's too hot-headed, too aggressive. But here you are, proving him and everyone who doubted him wrong.

The crew, oblivious to the transformation, began packing up the equipment, their chatter and movements a blur in your colourful new world.

Max turned to you, his demeanour noticeably lighter, a subtle smile still playing on his lips. 

“I don’t have my phone with me.” Max managed to find his voice, his voice softer now, almost tentative. “Could I borrow yours for a moment?”

“Of course.” You replied, your voice trembling slightly as you handed him your phone.

He took it with a nod of thanks and quickly entered his number, calling his own phone to ensure that he'll be able to contact you after the day is over. When he handed your phone back, your fingers brushed, and an electric jolt shot through you, confirming the profound connection. As if the colours weren't enough, the electric feeling that went through you is a confirmation. Max left the room with a lingering look at you.

The crew, sensing something unusual but unable to pinpoint it, exchanged puzzled glances. One of your colleagues approached, and his brow furrowed in confusion. 

“What just happened?” He asked, his tone laced with curiosity. “Did you two know each other before?”

You struggled to keep your emotions in check, a smile fighting to break free. “No, we just...connected.” You said, unable to find the right words to describe the whirlwind of emotions and the explosion of colour that had transformed your world.

Max left the room and started to look around, as if he's seeing everything for the first time and in a sense he was. He took in the colours that have been described to him many times before, he looked to the sky and saw the blue everyone described, he saw a few trees and saw the green leaves and the brown trunk. Everything looked so different now.

The rest of the day you both got questions and buzzed looks from those working with you, both your moods are good and it's not wavering, it's not changing. The realisation of what had happened, of finding your soulmate in such an unexpected place, left you reeling.

Later, as the paddock began to empty and the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the vibrant landscape, as you stood and watched your first colourful sunset, you received a message from Max.

Meet me after you finish work. We need to talk.

Time could couldn’t go by fast enough, you kept looking at your phone waiting for Max to tell you where you'd meet  you had finished your work for the day, but work for F1 drivers take kuchen longer than yours. Every moment stretched into eternity as you waited for it to end. As you looked at the sun from the top of the FIA hospitality, you wished Max was with you enjoying your first sunset together. You dont know Max, you know if Max, but you've never met before today, but you feel like you do. It feels like everything is alright, like the world is finally tilted the right way, gravity is finally working.

come to redbull motorhome.

You made the jounry from the FIA building to redbull, right as you reached through building Max came out and gestured for you to come in, trying not to be seen by fans or cameras. He made you walk in front of him, his hand on your back as he guided you. You feel the heat, and even the electricity was evident through the layers of your clothes, you relaxed instantly to his toutch, leaning back into it. Max sighed. It felt like he could toutch you skin to skin, the feeling vibrated through him filling him up.

Max led you to his room. From the tours you've seen other teams do, Max's room looked the best. You both sat on the sofa facing each other. Your eyes were just taking the other in, Max's hair was ruffled, as if he ran his hand through it a lot. You took in his eyes, which you now know are blue, his nose the shape of his jaw, yhe frekle on his lips, you're trying to memorise him. Tattoo him into your mind.

Max took your hand in his, and you wonder if the feeling of electricity will remain forever or will it fade with time. You both close your eyes for a moment. 

“Did you have a good day?” You asked softly after you opened your eyes.

“It didn't start ikay, but there's something that made my day, my week, my life.” Max replied, his voice gentle. You couldn't fight the smile that took over your face. There was a moment of silence, each of you searching for the right words to express the whirlwind of emotions you were feeling.

“I can’t believe what happened earlier.” You began, your voice filled with wonder and disbelief. “I never thought... I had almost given up on finding my soulmate.”

Max nodded, his expression thoughtful. “Me too. I’ve been so focused on racing, I started to think that maybe it wasn’t going to happen for me. But then I saw you, and everything changed.”

You leaned closer, it wasn't a conscious decision, but you were feeling the warmth of his presence. “I’ve been living in black and white for so long, I forgot what it felt like to hope. And now, it’s like... like everything has come alive.”

Max squeezed your hand, sending a familiar electric thrill through you, a reminder of the bond you had discovered. “I know exactly what you mean. I’ve been so caught up in my career, I stopped looking for anything else. But today, meeting you... it’s like the world has finally made sense.” You smiled, your heart swelling with a mixture of relief and joy. “It’s amazing, isn’t it? How we can go from feeling like we’re missing something, to finding everything in a single moment.”

“I’m so glad we found each other. It’s like a dream come true, one I never thought I’d get to experience.” Max’s gaze softened, his eyes reflecting the same vibrant colors that now filled your world.

You squeezed his hand, feeling the connection deepening with each passing second. “I’m happy too. I was beginning to think that maybe it wasn’t meant for me, that maybe I’d never see the world in colour. But now, being here with you... it feels like everything was leading up to this.”

Max’s smile widened, and he leaned closer, his hand still holding yours. “I know we’ve just met, but I feel like I’ve known you forever. It’s like... like we were always meant to find each other, no matter what.”

You nodded, tears of happiness welling up in your eyes. “I feel the same way. It’s like all the waiting. All the wondering was worth it because it brought me to you.”

He gently wiped away a tear that had escaped down your cheek, his touch tender and reassuring. “We have a lot to look forward to.” he said softly. “And I can’t wait to experience everything in colour, either you.” 

You leaned into his touch, your heart filled with a warmth you had never known before. “Me too, Max. I’m so grateful we found each other, even if it took a bit longer than we expected. It was worth the wait.”

He pulled you into a gentle embrace, the world around you fading into a blur of colour and emotion. For the first time in your life, you felt complete, the missing piece of your heart finally found.

As you sat there in his room, the noise from outside faddws away and a that mattered was that you found each other.

Later that week on Sunday, you find yourself in the media pen, Max wasn't on the podium after contact with another driver on track, Max wasn't amused, he hated losing, he was clearly not satisfied. The frustration was evident in his clenched jaw and the tense set of his shoulders as he made his way through the sea of microphones and cameras, his responses curt and tinged with irritation. The incident with another driver had cost him the win, and you could already sense the frustration simmering in the air.

Finally, it was your turn. As he approached, you could see the tension in his posture, the anger still simmering just below the surface. You offered a gentle smile, hoping to soften his mood.

“Hi, Max. Tough race today.” You began, keeping your voice calm and understanding. “Can you walk us through what happened out there?”

Max sighed, his expression strained but slightly less harsh as he met your gaze. “Yeah, it wasn’t great. We were doing well, but then there was contact with another car, and that threw everything off. It’s frustrating because we had a good chance of winning.”

You nodded, listening intently. “I can understand how disappointing that must be. Can you tell us more about the incident? What exactly happened?”

He glanced around, his irritation still evident but less intense than before. “He was going for an overtake, and I thought I had enough room, but we ended up colliding. It cost us a lot of time and positions. It’s just... frustrating.”

Your heart went out to him. You wanted to offer some comfort, to show him that you understood his frustration. Max was leaning his hands on the barrier so you subtly reached out and touched his hand, a gentle, reassuring gesture. He glanced down, surprised, and when he looked back up at you, his eyes had softened.

“I’m really sorry to hear that, Max.” You said, your voice filled with genuine concern. “It must be tough to end the race this way after all the hard work you and the team put in.”

He took a deep breath, his expression relaxing a bit more. “Yeah, it’s not the result we wanted, but that’s racing. We’ll learn from this and come back stronger. Thanks for understanding.”

You offered a supportive smile, your hand still resting lightly on his. “I’m sure you will. You’ve always shown great resilience. What’s the plan moving forward from here?”

Max’s mood seemed to lighten further, the tension visibly easing from his shoulders. “We’ll go back, analyze what happened, and make sure we’re better prepared for the next race. It’s important to keep looking forward.”

“Absolutely.” You agreed, your voice encouraging. “One setback doesn’t define you or the team. You’ve got a lot of races ahead, and I’m sure we’ll see you back on the top soon.”

He smiled, a genuine warmth in his eyes. “Thanks. It means a lot to hear that.”

As the interview wrapped up, Max’s demeanor was noticeably calmer. The frustration from earlier had dulled, replaced by a quiet determination. He glanced at you, a hint of gratitude in his expression.

“Thanks for the interview.” He said, his voice softer once the mic was out of his face. “And for... you know, understanding.”

You smiled back, your heart lifting. “Anytime, Max. I’m sure the next race will be better.”

He nodded, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer before he turned to leave. Max will always be grateful for you. He's known you for a couple days, and you both spent all of your free time together and texting whenever you could. He felt like you understood the highs and lows of racing making him bind with you more. You understood sport and how everything can change in a second.

For now, the disappointment of the day was behind him, and the promise of future victories lay ahead. And in that brief, quiet moment, you had been able to offer a bit of comfort, a reminder that even in the toughest times, there’s always a reason to look forward.

Max accidently said he sees colour in one of the interviews a few months later, and so the hunt for his soulmate has begun. Thankfully, since you work in F1, you weren't suspected, and so you were able to keep your privacy. For a while.

During winter break, photos of you were released to the public, and the fans have gone wild. Every single interaction you've had was cut and edited. And the moment your eyes met went viral all over social media, in the F1 sphere and outside of it.

For you and Max, you're both just glad you finally found your other half. That you don't have to go through this world alone.

Vote for the next one

Maintaglist

@gnatthefly . @mochimommy2002 . @llando4norris . @mrswolffs-blog . @barcelonaloverf1life . @c-losur3 . @xoscar03

[arc-misadventures]

I don't know why, but I'm enjoying the thought of Coco and Jaune being bros.

99% Lesbian

Blake: Coco!

Yang: Hey, Coco!

Coco: Yes?

Blake: We need your help

Coco: My help? Well, first off: Stop wearing all black. Add more colour to you apparel; I recommend purples, golds, and perhaps some deep blues. I think those colours would really make you 'pop!' Otherwise you look like a poorly dressed goth girl hipster. And no, you do not look like a goth girl the way you are dressed, and most certainly a sexy goth girl.

Blake: That's not 1hat...

Yang: No. No, take notes you could use a make over.

Blake: Hey!

Yang: But, no this isn't fashion related!

Coco: It isn't? Then what the hell do you two want help with me, you utter fashion slobs!

Blake: Hey!

Yang: I know it's true that, Blake dresses like a slob!

Blake: Hey?!

Yang: But, does that include me too?

Coco: Only two people in this entire school have any sense of woman's fashion, and neither of them are you.

Yang: Who?!

Blake: Yeah, who?!

Coco: Jaune Arc.

Blake: Jaune?

Yang: Him, really?

Coco: He has seven sisters, he knows plenty about woman's fashion.

Blake: So you say...

Yang: Who's the other person?

Coco: Glynda Goodwitch.

BY: ...

Blake: I'm not going to argue against that.

Yang: She's drop dead gorgeous, what else do we need to say?

Coco: So, what do you need help with?

Yang: We need to help settle a bet.

Coco: A bet?

Yang: Yeah, Ruby said you weren't gay, and that you were in fact, bisexual. We called bullshit, she said it was true, so we made a bet on whether or, not you are actually gay.

Blake: So, are you bisexual?

Coco: No I'm not bisexual.

Blake: Ha!

Yang: I knew it!

Coco: But, I'm not... 100% a lesbian.

Blake: Eh?

Yang: Beg pardon?

Coco: I'm 99% lesbian, but I am 1%... straight...

Blake: You're 1% straight...?

Yang: So... you are bisexual?

Coco: No... I love woman 99% of the time. But, 1% of the time... I'm straight... exclusively for, Jaune...

BY: For, Jaune?!

Coco: For, Jaune.

Yang: How are you attracted to, Jaune? He's... he's...

Blake: He's, Jaune!

Yang: I was going to say a guy, but that's true.

Coco: Gods, does everyone have to pick on my, 'If I had to pick a dude?' He's a great guy, a bit of a goofball sure, and a dunce. But, he is a really nice guy once you get to know him.

Blake: And, because you know, Jaune so well he becomes the 1%?

Coco: Well, there's also the fact that he is the only person I can discuss fashion with; he has great taste, and has even convinced me to wear a helmet as part of my fashion assemble. I just started to enjoy being around with him. So the intrusive thought of us... 'mingling' just popped up. So, I'm 99% a lesbian, and 1% straight for, Jaune.

Blake: Oh, that makes sense. Somehow...?

Yang: So... did we win the bet?

Blake: We didn't bet anything, so we could call it a draw if we wanted to. Right?

Coco: I'd call it a dra...

Jaune: Coco!

Coco: Hey, Bunny Boy, what's up?

Blake: Bunny boy?

Jaune: I found another helmet you could wear! Only this time if completely covers your head, which of course would make it that it doesn't go with your current outfits design. But, that does mean you have to choreograph an entire wardrobe to fit the helmet. Of which, honestly sounds fun to do on it's on.

Coco: Oh-ho-ho~! Really now? Okay, show me this helmet you're so confident about?

Jaune: Tada~!

Coco: ...

Coco: Holy shit...

Jaune: You like it?

Coco: This is a old helmet, so I would have a more detailed lion head, and mane. The colours would definitely involve more gold, maroon, and crimsons.

Jaune: Red, and caramel browns, with complementary cream whites?

Coco: Oh that sounds perfect! Colours aside, what would this outfit entail?

Jaune: Boot's that are at least knee height...

Coco: High heels?

Jaune: Oh, but of course. Next should... Hmmm... Oh no...

Coco: What is it?

Jaune: Nora pulled a, Nora again. I'm sorry I gotta go. Shall we continued this discussion later?

Coco: No problem, Love. Have fun~!

Jaune: See you later, Mocha!

Coco: Hmmm... Should the face mask be a copy of my face, or should it be a generic face?

BY: ...

Coco: ...

Coco: What?

Yang: 'No problem, Love?'

Blake: You sure it's just 1%?

Coco: ...

Coco: Maybe... 10%...?

Yang: Coco's bisexual, but only for, Jaune.

Blake: Agreed.

Coco: ...

Coco: That's fair...

[iwrite-sinsandtragedies]

Day 1 — Soulmates ₊˚✧ ﾟ

Submission for @goldengroovy's @olnfweek2024

MC: Micha

Long ass ramble under the cut 😂

Okayokayokay SO-

I love soulmate au's. I cannot tell you how many fics I've read or how many prompts I've played with or media I've consumed or how many bullshit ideas I've come up with in my own head for them, I CANNOT.

It's just - hhhhhhhhhhhh- Soulmate au's and Time Travel au's are just the shit that gets me out of bed some days 😩💖my world weary soul drinks that shit like medicine, okay?

That all being said, it's probably a little ambiguous which au I picked to some, so let me explain: There are two au's I'm mashing up here really, both are from fics I've read back in the day. One being a Clack fic and the other a Thilbo one 🤷‍♂️kind of calling myself out here but w/e, they were good fics.

The Thilbo one is easier to explain - the concept is "Heartsong" which is, literally what it says on the tin. You find out who your soulmate is the first time you hear them sing (and no, that does not mean everyone is just a naturally good singer - they can be ass at music but, the point is, when you hear them their song is the perfect song for you and your heart knows that). There's a lot of little nuances to this one - things like you hearing your heartsong when you dream so you always know the moment you find them. Also people who have quiet dreams because their heartsong died, sometimes before ever even meeting them. etc etc. The heartsong also seems to expand, in some respect, to instruments (as Thorin plays his harp one night and Bilbo starts to hum without thinking about it because it sounds wonderful to him and that's how Thorin finds out).

Overall, it's a very soft and sweet concept to me and as someone who has a deep love of music, it's also one of my very favourites.

The Clack one is a little less easy to explain? I think. Maybe because it's nuances are so round about but I'll do my best. The concept for this one is "I Only See Colour When I'm With You" - anyone who knows how Clack fics usually go knows where this is probably headed 😂 and I am sorry to have hurt you but, overall, the idea is: You live in a noir-esqu world where everything is black and white. This only changes when you find your soulmate, of course, who brings the world into full saturation and lets you see colour for - possibly - the first time in your life (I say possibly because I genuinely can't remember if you start out colourblind or if it's an age cap thing).

Unfortunately, for as much as I adore this concept, it's been a long damn time since I read the fic and I don't even know if it still exists somewhere. So I can't actually recall if it was a 'you have to touch them' or 'you have to hear them' thing but the fic takes place with Zack on the cliff right before Midgar where he holds Cloud and looks at the sky - so I'm willing to bet it's a touch thing.

I also really loved this fic because it was the first one I'd read that brought in the concept of multiple soulmates to me - As Cloud later sits with Aerith and sees the colour he couldn't see with Zack, meanwhile Aerith only sees black and white, because she was only able to see colour with Zack (who was never able to see colour with her, because he needed Cloud for that).

Essentially, they all needed each other to see the world in colour. As a polyam person who didn't quite realise I was poly back then, it was a very comforting (and now dearly cherished) fic.

Anyways! Now that you have the background on the two concepts, you can kind of get what I'm going for with this piece.

Tamarack, Micha and Qiu are all soulmates in a fuzzy, desaturated world (I'm sorry, I'm not cruel enough to but them in complete greyscale LOL) and the way you find your soulmate is by hearing them sing and, when they do, your world is suddenly vivid and bright and beautiful. Suddenly, you can see things as they were meant to be seen and it's a permanent change (unlike the Clack fic) but things are always clearest and brightest when your soulmate speaks or sings 💖

I get a real kick out of the idea that Micha's known for fucking months that Tamarack is his soulmate (if not years) because he's always listening to her play but never says jack shit about it because he's emotionally constipated that way 😂Though genuinely, it's probably because he just doesn't think he's her soulmate and he's a bit against finding out he's right honestly.

Joke is on him, he's Qiu's and Tamaracks soulmate! And he couldn't have picked a better moment to grow a pair an take the risk 🥰

[always-just-red]

@irandial and @micasosa34 requested a Rafayel version of this fic, so here it is!! This is a loose sequel, but mostly a spin-off? Also an emotional rollercoaster, sorry! (I fear I put too much of myself in this one, guys... there will be no beating the 'oh you are ACTUALLY in love with this man' allegations after this.....)

Fourth Wall (Rafayel Ver.)

Rafayel x Player!Reader 🔥

(Previous part/Sylus version here!)

Summary: You didn't think Rafayel would let you walk around an art gallery all by yourself, did you?

Genre: Angst! This is my revenge for the claw machine debacle (Checkmate, Rafayel!!! But also I'm sorry and I love you)

Warnings/Additional tags: player!reader, gender neutral, fourth-wall breaking, non-canon, one instance of swearing

| Word count: 2.4k | Masterlist | Opt-in to my taglist here!

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Love and Deepspace. All work is my own, so please don't repost or plagiarise!

You made it through about two rooms of the gallery before thinking about Rafayel.

You stand in front of a dark seascape: a night sky and a symmetrically black ocean framing the plight of a small fishing boat, adrift in the centre. The moon casts a pale, faraway light, and an orange lantern glows, drawing colour from the oppressive darkness— deep blues, and rich, shimmering turquoise, crested with white.

It should evoke some feeling of smallness, some respect for the vast indifference of the natural world, but no— your mind is set on the fictional artist who lives in your phone.

What would he think about it? What would he have to say?

At the moment, you suspect it would be some remark about how you should get your own opinion, rather than piggybacking his.

Still, it gives you an idea. You glance around self-consciously as you draw out your phone and earphones— tucking the latter into your ears as you offer a curt smile to the nearby gallery attendant. You’re not breaking any rules by loading up Love and Deepspace, but it feels slightly ridiculous in a place like this: full of real and honest things where you’re somehow lonely.

You log-in with a tap. “Let’s go to the beach,” Rafayel greets, his voice as warm as sunshine that melts a cold morning haze. “I never get tired of seeing the sunset there.”

You smile more sincerely, tousling his hair, but then it’s straight to business. You drag him into the AR Photobooth, directing him through a few poses until you find one you like: a duo pose. His fingers are meant to be around your chin, but without you, he seems to be pointing. Perfect, you shift— tilting your phone until the painting sits behind him.

He’s winking at you as he gestures to it, his face and body as still as marble.

You’re about to take the picture when a not-so-distant conversation strikes up, making you glance backwards. Another visitor is asking the attendant about a painting, and you lower your phone’s volume a notch so you can eavesdrop on them.

“This is one of Turner’s earliest paintings, y’know? He was young when he painted it. Like, super young.”

You freeze. The attendant and the visitor aren’t standing by a Turner painting; you are. Your gaze snaps back to your phone, drawn by the familiarity of the voice.

Rafayel’s turned away from you. He’s staring at the painting, one hand on his hip and the other up by his face, stroking his chin. He’s swaying on his feet gently, his head tilting as he takes in different parts of the seascape.

“You gonna take the picture, cutie?” he asks, glancing back at you with a knowing grin.

Your lips have parted slightly in surprise, but your finger manages to find the photo button. Rafayel returns to his candid observations just in time for your screen to flicker, mimicking a camera flash. 

“Ok, one more.” He turns around and settles into a new pose. You take another photo. “Nice,” he beams, “you’ll send those to me later, yeah?”

But you can’t—

“Relax, ok? I’m kidding. Now come on,” he pokes at the edge of your screen like a mime trapped by an invisible box. “Move this thing! I wanna see what else they’ve got here.”

You do move, but not to show him around. He gets a blurry view of the floor as you hurry over to a nearby bench, sinking down with a sigh because you can’t believe this is happening— again. With a few taps of your finger, you draw the curtains on Rafayel’s view to your world and return him to his.

“No, no, no! What?” he groans in disbelief, suddenly back in the Destiny Café. He throws himself into the armchair with reckless abandon— limbs sprawled— one hand over his face as though it would pain him to look on anything at all. “You find out I’m self-aware and the first thing you do is drag me back here? Where’s your heart? Your empathy? Your soul?”

You poke at his hand and he swats at the air like you’re bothering him.

“Leave me alone. Can’t you see I’m busy, like, contemplating the futility of my existence?”

So dramatic! You consider closing the app out of spite, but this is Rafayel. You know Rafayel; look past the theatrics. It’s been, what— just over a month since Sylus first told you he’d seen through all of this? He said the others were lagging behind, but maybe…

Maybe they weren’t.

Shit. Maybe they weren’t.

You watch Rafayel, sunken down in one of two places you’ve seen him inhabit every day, every night, for almost a year. This café isn’t different from the old in any way that matters. Sylus is new but Rafayel has been here from the very beginning. So many more days. So many more nights.

How long has he known?

He lifts his hand, just enough to peer in your direction. You’ve not closed the app. You’re not poking at him anymore. He sits up straighter in the chair, both hands in his lap, and he looks at them pensively. Maybe even remorsefully.

“You’re thinking about what it all means, huh? Don’t.” It’s a command, but it’s soft. Then softer, a: “Please?”

Your breath catches— oh— he’s known for a long time, hasn’t he? You lean back against the gallery wall, grounding yourself as you text him an emoji: a chick bursting out of its shell with question marks over its head.

He pulls out his phone. Sees it. “Why?” he translates with a melancholic chuckle.

Yeah. You tickle his head. Why?

He runs a hand through his hair. “I guess… I didn’t want you to feel bad?”

You text another emoji and he glances down at it, then laughs more loudly: “I’m a dummy? Check a mirror, cutie— isn’t it you who’s been walking around thinking Mister Wannabe Vampire is the only one smart enough to figure this all out? Puh-lease.”

He laughs even more at his own joke— maybe to fill the quiet and the fact that he can’t hear you laughing with him. It peters out like it inevitably must, and like it always does. He goes still.

“Can’t you show me around, even a little?” he asks.

No.

You feel bad, you do, but you can’t start living for him. This is your world; if you invite him in now, when does it stop? You already spend too much time with your head down, lost in your phone. You were walking through a gallery and thinking about him, remember? Art is supposed to make you think about something real.

No, you text him: a crow holding a sign with a big, red cross. It’s too abrupt, but there’s not an emoji for “I can’t. You know I can’t.”

Rafayel’s face falls further as he checks his phone, his eyes like the ocean in the painting across the room: lit by a weak, failing little light. He looks to you, even though he can’t see you. “Please?”

You don’t move.

“Please,” he tries again, “just this once— this once. Is that so much to ask?”

You’ve used up your three means of answering him.

He scoffs in dismay, alone in the silence of everything you can’t say— you couldn’t say— even if you were really with him and the distance between you was merely invented. How could you go to him, hold his face in your hands and tell him the truth: that you care, but not enough?

Here, now: the quiet confesses it for you.

Rafayel stands from his seat, taking a step closer, his gaze dark. You can see his eyes more clearly; that lantern is at the bottom of the sea, with the rest of the ship and everyone on board. “Do you know what my life is?” he asks, and the silence has become his ally, punctuating his every word so it can cut more deeply. “My life’s an empty café, a book with blank pages and a phone that won’t ring.”

The curtains behind him move softly with a superficial breeze, lit by a superficial sun.

“The only thing that’s real,” he says, “is you.”

You feel like the breath’s been knocked from your lungs.

You can’t resent him for it. He could have drowned you from the start, could have dragged you under a weight of responsibility, but he didn’t, and that’s Rafayel: always tempering himself into something less lethal. He’s been so still for you. So silent for you.

Your mind is wrapped in a vow you made him— one you’ve been unconsciously breaking— and you’re going to break it again, knowingly, wilfully this time, because you want him like this: angry.

You promised, didn’t you? I will never make Rafayel wait for me.

He’s always been waiting, and you want him to stop.

You close the app, muting your phone when notifications start coming through: a squall of frustration, pleading, and frantic apologies. You tuck all of it into your pocket and stand, wandering back to the painting that started it all so you can look at it differently.

Something real to think about. Something real.

You stare at a black ocean and think about him.

…

Rafayel isn’t talking to you.

It’s been a week since your ‘breakup’— dubbed gleefully as such by Sylus— and you load up the game to find your artist slumped back in his armchair, his book over his face. A week of him sitting down, cross-legged and armed, during the Deepspace Trials you’d set out to clear with him. A week of him hogging the Claw Machine, and missing every rare plushie with a sarcastic ‘oops’.

The worst part is that you’ve missed him. You’d tried replaying the kindled moments from his five-star memories, but he’d made you regret it. In Sparkling Traces, he’d summed up his feelings in a very… colourful drawing. Omnipotent Perception: he’d slipped deeper into the bathwater, a blush on his face as he avoided your gaze and murmured something about you ‘having some nerve.’

Now, you can’t even call him over to you. You poke at the book on his face, once, twice, then repeatedly until it slips, but his hands shoot up to catch it. He holds it in place.

Ugh. If he would just—

You drum away at the book more vivaciously, but his grip is solid. Plan B, then: you open your in-game messages and send an emoji instead. Rafayel stirs, one hand moving to his pocket and the other lifting the book so he can peek down at his phone. “What— you tryna bribe me now?”

He’s looking at grumpy crow holding out a present: a bundle of shiny, red gems. His translation is spot-on, as per usual, and you reward it by poking at his chest. He frowns down at the contact, then sits up, rolling his eyes as he tosses the book over his shoulder.

“This better be good,” he yawns, standing up and stretching with a listlessness that could only be described as cat-like, however much he’d whine about the comparison.

Having won his attention— and begrudging consent— you navigate your way to the AR Photobooth. Rafayel stares at you from within the frame: an unwitting subject of a portrait he doesn’t yet understand, but he soon will. You smile as he turns cautiously to regard his backdrop.

Behind him, the ocean laps at a shore of pale sand and stretches into the horizon, where the sun lazily dips. There’s about half of it left, turning the sky a blurred palette of orange and pink that’s spilled over the water. Clouds are few and dark purple, their linings aglow.

Rafayel’s folded arms have dropped to his sides. After a few, long seconds, he gazes back in your direction, eyes wide with surprise before they soften with a radiant smile.

“You—” he starts, and it could be something as light as a joke or as deep as a soliloquy. You’ll never know, because he doesn’t put it to words. He glances at the ocean again. Then at you. “Thanks,” he settles for.

You chuckle. There’s not many ways you can answer without tearing him away from the sunset and trapping him back in the café, so you stay sitting still. It’s a different silence than a week ago. There are things unsaid, but that’s ok— they’re the sort you don’t need to speak aloud, anyway.

Your shoes are set aside by your feet so you can feel the sand, still warm beneath your toes. You wiggle them into it, gazing out over the ocean as the evening breeze catches and plays with your hair, and the last of the sun trails over your skin. You stare out at where it’s sinking.

Rafayel moves, and your focus meanders back to your phone. He’s walking away from you, gradually— retreating further into the composition you’ve created, just for him. He looks as though he’s nearing the shore, but it’s cosmetic: there are no footprints in the sand. His hair isn’t moved by the same breeze, and his face isn’t gilded by the same light.

He stops by the ocean’s edge and crouches gently, mesmerised by the push and pull of the tide. Slowly, humbly, he reaches out a hand and lowers his fingers towards the water; they never slip beneath the surface, and they don’t stir a ripple.  

Rafayel laughs, masking an undertow of sadness, but not disappointment. “It’s funny,” he says, still sketching invisible, ineffectual shapes. “Loving the ocean as much as I do, and knowing… knowing I’ll never touch it.”

He’s all the way over there, but his voice is in your ears, so intimately close. You swallow an ache.

He looks up at you. Smiles: “Y’know what I mean?”

You’re using memories to complete the picture: His hair, mussed by the summer breeze that day you stood amongst the cherry blossoms. His face, painted by the sunset of a different life, where you’d roamed a desert together. In each and every moment, his eyes are the same, just as they are now: kindled by a tender, tentative fire.

“Yeah, Raf,” you say to yourself— just yourself. “I know what you mean.”

[dunmeshistash]

Fav detail about elves I didn't fully register until I saw that one summer colour page - elves look rosy when they're light-skinned, but get slightly greyer as their skin darkens.

It looks like a creative decision that was made a little later, though, around the time of introducing the black-skinned elves, which makes sense - in order for them to be pure black, something other than melanin had to be happening there.

Idk if that's really an active choice or just bad coloring on Kui's part ngl.... unfortunately making darker skin ashy is a common mistake by artists, especially if they tend to draw light skinned characters more often, they might pick a light skin tone and just make it darker which turns them ashy. Dark skin is often neglected when people study painting skin color (you know how it is with racism and colorism being ingrained in society and the reflections of it showing up where you wouldn't expect)

Kui also wildly changes the colors she uses so it's hard to take any of it meaningfully in small details, If you look at art of Thistle or Kabru you can see their skin colors change both hue and darkness between art. Even his hair keeps changing how intense the yellow is and sometimes is fully white.

In this case there's also the scan differences but you can see how much Cithis skin changes art to art too

It really doesn't have much consistency in undertones, I imagine some of it might be traditional art (copic markers or watercolor?) but even between her digital art the undertones keep changing, sometimes she's greyish sometimes yellowish sometimes more redish and in the swimsuit one she even looks kinda purple to me

Kui is a great artist but based on how she has also painted Kabru and the twins greyish (the worst one under this paragraph) I can't say the greyish tone of the darker elves is any sort of intentional choice but rather mistakes.

She does it to some extent to her lighter skinned characters too, but I think it's especially obvious in the darker skinned ones (here's Senshi getting slightly paler/grayer between different art)

At least now we have the anime with more set on stone colors/darkness, and I'm overall happy that the dark skinned characters got officially darker overall (although some of the skin tones still look a little off to me)

Anyway, other than the obsidian skin elves I don't think there's any indication the greyish tone was intentional.

Sorry for the long winded response, it's just something I wanted to acknowledge since sometimes I see people discussing skin colors in my notes

[19burstraat]

Random SOC Trivia I Gathered On My Reread

I'll be using this for fics, but it's fun just to read!

Jesper does not hold alcohol well (though this is according to Kaz, who is not exactly impartial)

Wijnstraat, Nemstraat, Havenstraat, Ammberstraat are all street names if you want em

Van Eck has been involved in trying to clean up the Barrel; pious. (Allegedly pious, I doubt he really is)

1/5 Van Eck (or general Kerch trading?) vessels are lost at sea

Kaz arrested three times at ten, twice at eleven, once at fourteen. Does stints in jail but it does not say prison (ppl assume he's been to Hellgate / another prison but I don't think so. He'd never have shut the fuck up about it if he had; I assume the Stadhall Jail)

Kaz's cane is lead-lined. I wasn't sure if this was canon or fanon

Kaz runs book on prize fights, horses, and chance games. Floor boss at crow club since fifteen-ish. Youngest to run a betting shop and has doubled the profits.

Gambling halls: Treasure Chest, Golden Bend, Weddell's Riverboat, Silver Garter

West Stave brothels: The Blue Iris, The Forge, The Obscura, the Willow Switch, the House of Snow

Van Aakster is the widow mercher who sees Nina to ease his grief

Inej likes orange cakes in white paper

Black Tips tattoo is a hand with first and second fingers cut at the knuckle, Razorgulls is 5 birds in wedge formation

Nina Jesper and Kaz definitely all have the crow and cup; the others don't

Jordie seems to like books

ridderspel and spijker are arcade games

Bilge, clams, and wet stone smell in the Barrel (per Retvenko)

Kaz definitely is partial to dogs; Smeet's hounds and the grey dog the Hertzoon household had, the windup dogs, the metaphors. He loves a dog metaphor sorry ur not real babycakes you'd have loved thematic web weaving posts

Geldspin is the cotton mill in Zierfoort, Firma Allerbest is a cannery. Both in Alys' name

Wylan was 8 when Marya 'died'

the black veil tomb is carved like an ancient cargo ship

3 flying fish on a grave: government. Palm trees and snakes: spices.

Inej's mother braids her hair with orange ribbons (colour of persimmons)

University a series of buildings built around the Boekcanal and joined by Speaker's Bridge (where people debate and/or drink). Boeksplein four libraries built around a central courtyard and the Scholar's Fountain

Shipping container at third harbour is a Liddie hideout; Jam Tart House is an old hotel near the slat that the Razorgulls use

Long scar across Kaz's right knuckle

Violating contracts and interfering with the market can get you hanged in Kerch; same sentences as for murder (this is. Insane)

Haskell holds court with his mates at the Fair Weather Inn every week

Belendt is the second oldest Kerch city and sits on the Droombeld River

Jesper was 7 when Aditi died

Inej has an uncle (who seems to have some sort of ringmaster role) and cousins; Hanzi and Asha

Kaz convinced a locksmith in Klokstraat that he was the son of a wealthy merchant who highly valued his collection of priceless snuffboxes, and that's how he knows what locks the rich are using

Hubrecht Mohren, Master Thief of Pijl, who Kaz doesn't appear to think much of; one of Haskell's old cronies

Martin Van Eck, Wylan's great great grandfather, was a ship's captain, brought back a big shipment of spices from Eames Chin and started the Van Eck fortune

Kaz and Jesper (+ other Dregs boys) taught Inej to fight

Kaz and Jordie are from a town near Lij, as per the 'Johannus Rietveld' exposition, but Lij is seemingly the closest major city/county so it's easier to just say they're from Lij lol

The last time the Council of Tides appeared in public was 25 years prior to CK

Kaz found Filip running a monte game on Kelstraat; he also got the clerks who turned over fake info, the fake attorney, the man who gave them free hot chocolate

The spelling of Zentzbridge lapses to Zentsbridge, not sure which is right or if they're actually separate bridges or if there's a lot of wrong quotes floating around lol

Dryden house symbol is the golden wheat sheaf bound with a blue ribbon; Van Eck is the red laurel but we knew that

Kaz taught himself finance and gambling hall rules

Church of Barter roof is copper and long has turned green

Church of Barter built around the First Forge / The Mortar, which is a flat lump of rock that's supposedly Ghezen's altar

Ghezendaal Hospital is. Idk. a hospital. Just thought ppl might want the name

[the-kr8tor]

I'm doing it! I'm writing a request! :D

(Ik you're suuuuppperrr busy I'm so sorry you can take as long as you want I'm in no rush you're so sweeet and literally a lifesaver cause every time I read your posts, I get infused with the energy of 2 million Suns)

So I was thinking about a oneshot where r is waiting for Hobie to come backstage after one of his performances and this know it all groupie type guy is like, really giving her a hard time and he won't listen to anything she says he just sucks or wtv. Then Hobie comes out like, total golden retriever all giddy and happy to see r and the other guy is just baffled. Dunno it's kinda silly and based off of a post I saw a while back presenting the idea of it.

Thank you for requesting! Sorry for the wait, I hope you still like it ❤️

Pairing: Hobie Brown x fem! Reader/ Spider-Punk x fem! Reader

Word count: 1.2k

Tags: No use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader, cw food mentions, FLUFF

ʕ⁠·⁠ᴥ⁠·⁠ʔ

As the band closes their last song, the crowd cheers and hollers at them. Hobie, all pumped up and sweaty, bows to the audience. The colourful stage light illuminates his features well, lighting up all of his perfection; from how sweat clings to his cheeks, sliding down to his chiseled clavicle. His piercings shine brightly under the warm light, the cherry red guitar in his ringed hand acts as a beacon to the rowdy crowd. Yuri goads them on, arms riling up the crowd for an encore. Turning the clapping and screaming to thunderous applause and screeches.

You're situated along the side of the stage, and on the other side of the bannister where the crowd is currently starting the largest mosh pit you've ever seen. You crane your neck up to the stage, unintentionally meeting with Hobie's hazel eyes that were already turned towards you.

He confidently winks in your direction, a few people behind you screeches like a wild banshee. They don't know the wink was for you and for you only. You wink back, more bashful than the one he threw at you. It's your little signal, a signal that you and Hobie made when he's about to finish his set so you could wait for him backstage where he always runs towards you with his arms wide, grinning triumphantly and embracing you until you're breathless. You're familiar with his affectionate winks, but that doesn't mean you're used to them. He always catches you off guard with them, loving the way your eyes widen with your hand flying to your chest as if he just jumpscared you. Truthfully, you wouldn't have it any other way.

“Fine,” Hobie reluctantly cuts off your little staring contest with the silent promise of being by your side the moment the band finishes this one song. His lips press on the mic, eyes roaming around the packed stadium. “you lot better be fuckin' ready.” An immediate wave of whistles and yells echo around.

With his guitar riff starting back again, lights turning red and acting as the band's spotlight, you walk towards the event bouncers. Once they see your v.i.p ID they let you through the doors and into backstage.

Passing by the snack table placed by the event organizers, you stumble back to it. You then take an armful of water bottles for the entire band, and then you take a single black and white cookie just for Yuri and her sweet tooth.

Arms full, you wait by the side with the perfect view of the band playing with their whole heart. Hobie jumps on an amplifier and backflips off it. Your heart almost fell into your stomach when you thought he couldn't land on his feet. But of course he did, Hobie practically backflips off the bed every morning (not really he’s a grumpy riser) so it's only natural that he lands on his feet like an experienced gymnast.

Yuri and the others jam together in harmony, Ned belts out while James looks like he wants to crowd surf from the look in his eye. You hope he doesn't, not after what happened last time.

“Cool t-shirt.” A voice suddenly says next to you.

“Thanks.” You glance at the tall stranger while you adjust your hold on the water bottles and cookie.

“It's vintage isn't it? I know from the crude design.” You furrow your brows at the comment, especially that you and the entire band stayed up late to finish an entire sack full of the handmade shirts. “It's from their first album, right?” The man raises a brow, like he's questioning your knowledge.

You flick your eyes down to his own shirt, it's a recent one, definitely better than what you have on but it doesn't share the same amount of sentimentality. “Yeah, I know, I was there.”

“Right.” He scoffs, you take a step away from him, turning your attention back to Hobie, who's still not done with the last song. “Of course you were there.” Your jaw tightens, annoyed at best but you're not willing to leave backstage just because of him. “If you were there, you'd know that the shirt was technically designed for their second album. Not the first.”

You turn your head sharply, “you're right, it was.” Smiling, your eyes tell otherwise. “But it was made for the first album because the band couldn't be arsed to make another design for the second one so the second release of the shirts were in a bigger quantity. Hence the misunderstanding that it was for the second album instead.” You finish off your sentence with a smirk.

“Yeah, sure, lady.” He scoffs, unconvinced. “You probably can't name a single song from that album.” He makes another annoying entitled scoff “As if you were actually there—”

“There's our girl!” Yuri appears behind you while you basically throw daggers at the man with your stare. She clasps your shoulder, nudging you happily. “Ooh, cookie! Thanks, babe!” Yanking the snack from your hand, pecking your cheek, she spares the fan a glance then quickly makes her way to the green room to rest before the meet and greet.

“Where's our cookie?” James pouts, feigning a frown.

“I've got some water for you, Jamesy.” You almost forget about the fan gawking and aweing next to you.

“It's not the same though!” And yet, James still takes the bottle from your hand, patting your shoulder as thanks.

Ned clicks his tongue and shakes his head, following James, he takes his share, walking backwards and still teasing you with a disapproving face. “The sheer favoritism!” To add to his so-called discontent, he slams the doors of the greenroom. You're sure that you even heard a muffled, “give me that fucking cookie!” from him.

Before you come looking for your favourite guitarist, Hobie appears from behind you, arms snaking along your middle to wrap you in his anticipated hug. “How's our number one fan?” You lean back, smiling up at him, not minding how his sweat now sticks to your back. You meet with his eyes as he pecks your temple with a resounding smack of his lips. You can see the adrenaline waning off him in waves as he carefully puts more of his weight on you without making you fall from the increased weight. You find yourself giggling more and more, already forgetting about the intrusion.

“I'm good. Hi.” He expects that reply from you, not from the man across from you. “I'm your biggest fan, Hobie!” Holding up a trembling hand to shake Hobie's hand, you seethe in place.

“Thanks, mate.” Hobie, being polite, shakes his hand. “But if you were the biggest fan, you'd know that this shirt…” he pats your stomach, hand lingering there. “was lovingly made by my girl for the first album.”

He's had his fair share of people like him, he takes their words in stride, but the moment someone does it to you, he'll be sure to fight back. He's convinced that if you weren't interrupted you'd be wiping the floor with the rude fan’s face by proving him wrong. Or literally wiping his face down on the ground if need be.

You grin wider as you see colour drain from the fan's face. “I ordered shawarma for everyone.” You provide the biggest slap to the rude fan by ignoring him. “I hid the biggest portion for you.”

Hobie chuckles into your shoulder before taking your hand and leading you away without another word to the strange fan. “And everyone says Yuri's your favourite.”

[pnsteblnme]

a slight headache ✿ k.m.

pairing: katie mccabe x reader

summary: katie's corner kick leads to a dramatic turn of events.

warning: injuries, blood, cursing, me trying to write angst

word count: 2.1k

a/n: this was a request from ages ago and i'm so sorry that it took so long! i don't really know how to write angst so i hope it's not that bad

It was the 89th minute, the score read 1:1, and Katie was ready to take the corner kick. 

Even though it was tied right now, Arsenal clearly had the upper hand. It was a one-sided game from the beginning of the second half, with the gunners constantly creating opportunities and taking numerous shots at the goal.

Katie raised her hands, signalling to everyone that she was about to shoot. 

You stood a few metres in front of the goal, waiting for the ball to come flying towards you. When you finally spotted it sailing through the air and barreling in your direction, you immediately moved forward before jumping as high as you could. 

Feeling the ball connect with your forehead, you held your breath and saw it nestling into the back of the net. 

Then, your head flew to the side. A sharp ringing filled your ears. Thousands of black spots clouded your vision. Everything went silent. 

Katie let out an elated shout, running to the penalty box to celebrate with her teammates. Seeing you still on the ground, she thought you were just too exhausted to stand up. 

Though when Lia leaned down to check up on you and yelled for the medics in distraught, the Irish woman felt her heart drop and rushed to your side. 

The sight before her made a chill run down her spine, breath catching in her throat. Your head propped up on Lia’s thighs as gushing waves of red emerged from the side of your head and painted her shorts the same colour as her crimson jersey.

The brunette fell to her knees next to your still body, hand reaching for yours, praying that you would open her favourite pair of eyes and tell her you were just playing with her. 

While the Swiss woman pressed her hand to your wound to minimise the blood that was still flowing out of your head at an agonisingly fast pace, Katie’s right hand cupped your cheek as she whispered, “Please wake up, Y/N/N.”

After the medics came rushing and ushered your teammates away, your girlfriend having to be pulled away by Leah, fury roared within her.

Noticing Zecira, whose fists had smashed into your head, standing a few metres ahead of her, the brunette’s hands clenched, knuckles turning white, as she bridged the gap between them with tramping steps.

“Are you sick in the fuckin’ head?” Katie spat, pushing the goalkeeper with such force that, despite the immense height difference between the two, the taller girl stumbled. 

Nostrils flaring and jaw clenching, she continued to shove her with the vigour of a thousand flames until she tumbled to the ground, Katie’s finger prodding at her chest as she spewed more insults her way.

Before the altercation could escalate any further, a turmoil of Chelsea and Arsenal players separated them and tried to calm the hot-headed left back down.

When Katie’s breathing had slowed down, she cautiously let her gaze travel back to you, afraid of the sight she’d have to face. You were just being put onto the stretcher, the white bandage wrapped around your head tainted red as the referee called the brunette’s name. 

Turning around with tears on the brink of cascading down her cheeks, she faced the woman who held up a yellow card - the second time it was directed towards her this game, consequently meaning she’d be sent off and banned from the next match. 

Not caring about that in the slightest, Katie whirled around and quickly jogged to where you were being carried to the ambulance, her vision blurring with unshed tears as she could feel her heart break, the sight of your still unresponsive body making her stomach drop.

After she was allowed to ride to the hospital with you, the brunette sat next to you, one hand tightly gripping your cold one as the other was pressed against her mouth to stifle the sobs that so desperately wanted to come out. 

Thoughts were running through her head at a thousand miles per hour, her shoulders slumped and her teeth digging into her bottom lip, nearly drawing blood. She didn’t know what to do, didn’t know how she could help you, how she could tell you that everything was going to be fine when you couldn’t even hear her. 

Feeling the teeniest squeeze on her hand, she picked her head up so fast, that she was surprised she didn’t get whiplash. Heart bursting with relief when you let out a quiet groan, Katie cupped your cheek, softly tracing her thumb over your skin as she soothed, “Everythin’s gonna be fine, love.”

“You’re gonna be alright, I promise,” she continued, pressing a feather-light kiss on the back of your hand as a few tears that had gathered at her chin dropped to her thighs. 

When they arrived at the hospital shortly after, the doctor told her to stay in the waiting room until they informed her about the next steps. 

After ten minutes of nervous pacing and anxiously chewing on her nails in the dull room, which reeked of antiseptics and had excruciatingly bright lights, the brunette was joined by a few of her teammates, only a handful of girls having come in order to not disturb you. 

They had sat there for another ten minutes before the door was opened by a doctor, “Y/N Y/L/N?” he questioned as he looked at the clipboard in his hands. 

Chair scraping against the ground and almost tipping over, Katie stood up in the blink of an eye and rushed to the door, “Is she alright?”

Flipping a page on his board, he looked up with a comforting smile and nodded, “She suffered a grade 4 concussion and we had to stitch up the cut on her temple. She may have a few complaints like nausea, headaches and sensitivity to light and noise but in a couple of weeks she should be perfectly fine again.”

The Irish woman let out a huge sigh of relief at hearing the doctor’s words, a weight being lifted off her shoulders. 

“Okay, so there is a very big chance that this is not the case, but because it’s not a hundred percent impossible, I need to inform you that she could suffer from post-traumatic amnesia,” noticing the woman’s face fall again, the doctor added, “I’m certain though, that if that should happen, it’d only be temporary.”

Nodding her head, Katie took a few breaths and tried to take all of the information in, “Can I see her?” He hummed in agreement before advising, “I think it’d be good if only one or two people went in because she’ll probably feel a little dazed and sensitive to noise et cetera.”

“Okay, thank you so much,” she exclaimed, sending him a grateful smile as she made her way to her teammates and told them everything he had just explained to her. Knowing that you’d be absolutely exhausted and thankful for the tranquillity, the others decided to visit some other time, leaving just Katie to enter your room.

When she closed the door behind her and turned around to face you, the brunette let out a huge breath, corners of her mouth tentatively turning upwards as she sat down on the edge of the chair next to the bed you were sleeping on. 

Reaching for your hand, her smile brightened, finally relishing in the feeling of your warm skin against hers. The urge to kiss you became too strong to resist and she leaned over you to gently press a kiss against your forehead. 

The sound of rustling bedsheets filled the room as you groaned, eyes fluttering open, Katie’s face twisting into a grimace, “Sorry love, I didn’t mean to wake ya.”

It took you a moment to answer, having to get used to the brightness of the room and the ache throbbing in your head. When you finally locked eyes with your girlfriend, your eyebrows furrowed, “And you are..?”

Suddenly, Katie’s whole body went rigid, a shiver colder than the worst winter storms in her hometown spreading from within her, looking at you with eyes that held more heartache than anything else you’d ever seen.

“I- uh… god, I-,” she tried to get words to come out of her mouth, but the thought of the love of her life not knowing who she was, filled her whole being with an all-encompassing heaviness.

Noticing how affected the brunette was, you hastily grabbed her hand, “No, I’m just kidding, Katie!”

“This isn’t fuckin’ funny,” she grumbled, slapping your arm, a glare stretching across her face, “I was worried about you, dickhead!”

“Ow! How dare you hit an injured woman?”

When the sound of your laughter filled her ears, all of the previous darkness inside of her vanished, warmth spreading through her chest as the sight of your bright smile ignited one of her own. 

“Shut up,” Katie groaned, face pressed into the mattress next to your thigh. Your gaze travelled to her hunched-over form, eyes twinkling even under these horrible hospital lights as your hand tangled in her hair, gently scratching at her scalp. 

The Irish woman’s breath evened out, the first time since that godforsaken corner kick that she felt something akin to peace. 

“Come here,” you cooed after she lifted her head and you patted the space next to you.

Crawling under the blanket with you, Katie wrapped her arms around your waist, tightly squeezing your body against hers as if she were afraid you’d slip right through her fingers. 

Head laying on your shoulder, she leaned back a bit to look into your eyes, breath fanning across your face as she softly questioned, “Does it still hurt?”

You brushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear, leaving your hand on her cheek and gently tracing her skin, “I do have a bit of a headache but other than that it’s like nothing happened,” you assured your girlfriend with a grin. 

Katie visibly relaxed at your answer, her tense shoulders relaxing as she pressed her lips to your cheek, the simple action being enough to get your stomach doing somersaults.

“Except,” you winced, dragging out the word at the end, “what happened exactly? I only remember you being about to shoot that corner but after that, it’s like-,” you gestured with your hands.

“Ya headed the ball into the goal and then that daft cow punched you,” your girlfriend grumbled as her face scrunched in anger.

Your fingers drew random shapes on her hips, where her hoodie had revealed a tiny bit of her tanned skin, “I’m sure that was just an accident.”

“An accident?! She should get her arms cut off for that and-”

“Please tell me you didn’t do anything stupid,” you sighed, squeezing your eyes shut in hopes of your little devil having controlled herself. When Katie unintelligibly mumbled something under her breath and avoided your gaze, you knew you were wrong. 

“What did you do?”

Still not meeting your eyes, the Irish woman conceded with a small voice, “I may have pushed her,” eyes now scanning the ceiling as if it was the most interesting thing in the world, she added, “and I may have gotten another yellow card.”

“Katie!” you exclaimed, smacking her head as you sat up and glared at her, “Why would you do that? Now you’re banned from our next game!”

Turning to you with a smirk and a shrug of her shoulders, “She deserved it.”

Being met with an onslaught of your hands, she quickly grabbed your wrists and gently pinned them to the bed. When you continued to struggle in her hold, the brunette straddled you - carefully as to not hurt you any further, “Maybe it was wrong but I was just so mad at her and seeing you losing so much blood, it just- I couldn’t contro-”

You leaned up and pressed your lips against hers, a sigh escaping your mouth when her hands wandered to your face and gently cupped your cheeks. 

Katie instantly relaxed, tingles running through her whole body with just a brush of your lips. 

The brunette couldn’t put into words how relieved she was that you were here in her arms, out of harm’s way, with just a concussion and on your way to recovery. 

She knew that you didn’t like the way she handled a lot of things, but she also knew that you accepted her the way she was, because you loved her just the way she was - as you made sure to tell her daily.

[kookies2000]

A Smile Behind the Crown Chapter 1

Wonderland Au

Au by @endomentendo

Sorry this took so long. It started off as a one shot and kinda turned into a story with over 15 to 20 chapters........... so I hope I make you proud!!!!

…….…….…….…….…….…….…….…….…….

Tik Tok and tok tik

The sounds likes to haunt

Smiling when the time is down

Work with the needs of the royal crown

Hands on the clock move round and round

Wipe wipe wipe, clean windows, clear vision

Chop chop chop, all the way in the kitchen

Sweep sweep sweep, across the halls

Brush brush brush the walls

Cut cut cut the green grass

Tap tap tap the glass

Keep my head

Rest in bed

Repeat

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

Day and night

Go to the left and right

Plant the roses in their beds

All of this so I don't lose my head

Do as I'm told so I don't end up dead

Work in the heat and breaking a sweat

Hello and goodbye to the queen and king

Clean through autumn and through the spring

The bounds around my ankles cause pain

They clink and clang as I walk with chains

Voice so loud with screams it's strained

Tears on my cheeks left me with stains

Throat so dry I can't even complain

My emotions are a big hurricane

Family and friends are in vain

I have no one to blame

Started with a flame

Pain hit like a train

Tik tok, tik tok!

LET ME

OUT!

…….…….…….…….…….…….…….…….…….

Oh, it didn't use to be like this. No, it used to be magical. A world full of colour and laughter. I would jump from tree to tree, and run on water, all as long as I never let go of his hand. I was always safe and sound throughout my childhood. Running so fast I was lifted into the air. Running on air, stepping on clouds, and falling in the air at record speeds. I didn't care if the ground got closer. I embraced the feeling of the air running through my skin and dress. Arms out as if to hug something that wasn't there. Only to disappear before the ground can hurt me. It was all….. so………. pulchritudinous! And to imagine it used to be all so blurry. Hidden away in my brain with other memories I couldn't remember. Like they were just whisked away into a field of forgotten. Begging to be found.

As happy as I am to finally remember my family and friends, I wish it didn't come at this cost. But I would rather be locked up with my loved ones and rot in here with them, no regrets and in the arms of everyone I love.

Almost everyone. I wonder where he is. Did he escape? I hope he did, he doesn't deserve to be locked in this inky blackness and consumed by sadness. Even if he was a thorn in the side. What I wouldn't give to see his glowing smile again.

24 years ago

Tossing and turning in her bed, she was so excited for today. She couldn't help but smile throughout her sleep, just waiting for the sun to rise. The very second the golden rays rose, she kicked the blankets off her bed and didn't even bother putting on shoes. Her little bare feet created tiny stepping sounds that echoed on the empty halls. She couldn't wait any longer! She had to see if everything was set up. Her head didn't even reach the windows for her to look out. So with every step she would leap into the air to look out the windows. Her heart skipped when she saw a glimpse of silver and white decorations.

Filled with glee, she sprinted across the halls as fast as she could. So fast her feet barely touched the ground and she could feel herself get lifted into the air.

“Where are you going?” Literally lifted into the air. She felt a pair of warm arms wrap around her and lift her up. She smiled knowing who's beautiful voice this belonged to.

“The coronation is today!” She chimed as she flapped her arms and kicked her feet. The woman held her closer and planted a gentle kiss on her forehead.

“Yes, it is. But it doesn't start until sunset. There's still lots to do before the princess is crowned.” The lady walked the little girl back into her room.

“But mama!” The little girl groaned in disappointment. Her mom placed her back in bed and went to her closet. Her hands brushing against every piece of clothing as if examining each one.

“No buts Ann, the castle must be neat and tighty.” The mother pulled out a maids dress that was the size of her daughters. Ann groaned again and fell back into her bed, throwing the blanket over her head.

“Mama!” her voice was muffled by the blanket.

“Oh Ann, we don't want our future queen to be crowned in a mess, now do we?” her mother placed the cleaning dress onto the bed and gently tugged at the blanket. She heard her daughter sigh before popping back out of the blanket. Her face had a slight pout and her button eye was covered by her dark hair.

Her eye looked down at the dress before her, blue and white, her favourite colours.

“Ok mama.” she gave in and pulled her dress closer. Her mom smiled warmly at the sight of her little one. So small, so innocent and clean. She ran her plushed hand through her daughter's head full of yarn, pulling it away from her face. She sighed at the sight of her pink button eye, a trait she shared with her aunt.

Once dressed, she held her mother's hand and out of her room they went. She felt her mother's doll-like hand place itself on her back and straightened her out.

“Stand up straight dear, no slouching.” She said in her usual warm voice. Ann nodded and kept her posture straight as they walked the halls. The red carpet below them nudged them along as if it was also in a hurry.

“Yes, yes, we are going.” The mother giggled as the carpet below them kept bending and moving to make them move faster. Curtains to every window moved aside to let in the new sunlight. Blinding Ann for a moment before she was given a sponge to start cleaning the glass. The curtains lifted the young Ann off the floor and higher so she could clean the upper windows.

“Thank you.” Ann smiled politely.

Everyday was the same. Bed at seven, wake up at five eleven. Clean the windows and brush the curtains. Once done, dust the dust bunnies away from the armoured knights. She always felt bad doing this though. The dust bunnies always ran for their lives.

“Dust off the lint from your bow.” Her aunt patted her head as she vacuumed the halls. Sucking up any dust bunnies that tried to make a run for it. The red carpet had to be free of dirt, and so did Ann apparently. That never made sense to the young girl.

The garden was beautiful. Flowers dancing in their pots and singing a beautiful morning song. Bushes and trees ran to their place as gardeners prepared a new hole for them to rest in.

“Arms firm.” Her father helped her hold the shovel. They dug and dug for what seemed like forever. Leaving holes for the new white roses that were impatiently tapping their leaves.

“Snobs.” Ann whispered under her breath, letting her father receive a slap to the face.

“I didn't say anything!” Her father looked at the roses confused.

Then it was lunch time, at long last. She can sit for a while and relax.

“Pinky out.” Her mother whispered gently as they had their lunch break. Maybe not relax. Even in her free time she had to be prim and proper. Even walking across the garden with her aunt was a chore.

“What did we talk about slouching?” Her aunt fixed Ann’s back again and placed her arms behind her back, “No twiddling your fingers dear!”

Ann nodded yes and did as told.

“Open your mouth wide!” Her aunt commanded. Ann did as told and opened as wide as she could, “Now, with proper articulation, what will we say when her majesty speaks to you?”

“Yes your majesty!” She bowed the best a 6 year old can. Her stubby legs felt a little unsteady as she did. Her aunt took notice of her niece having trouble and held her steady.

“Practice, dear, practice.” Her aunt assured her. Ann nodded and kept her balance.

Practice, they told her. Practice everyday. She had to learn how to dance, how to read, how to garden, how to eat like a lady, and how to do everything with grace and elegance. It was repetitive, boring even. But it was peaceful. No risks, no danger, no worries. Just a steady life. And Ann was expected to follow this steady life until the end.

She felt a yawn come as she dusted the library. Quiet, with not a single sound interrupting it. The little girl sighed but a little smile remained. She dusted all the desks from the library, making sure not a single dust bunny remained. She sighed once more as she hopped on her toes to dust the shelves, she could barely reach the second row of books.

“Need help?” Her brother's voice spoke up. He was no taller than her but definitely took more risks. He dragged a chair behind him and slammed it next to her. He took the duster from her doll hands and dusted the second and third row of books.

“Thanks Randy.” Ann smiled her usual sweet smile. He gave a confident thumbs up and climbed the shelf some more to get the rows above.

As she watched her brother help, she looked around the library to see all the books organised and neat. The setting sun shined a radiant red onto them making them look like they glowed. Her eye landed on all the fairytale books she read. Books about magic, witches, dragons, curses, nothing wonderland hasn't seen. Princesses, queens, kings, and of course a prince. She adored these books to death. The excitement they created, the world's they shared, and the beautiful moments of love they told. She consumed every last word her 6 year old mind can process. How she wished she could experience these moments. Run to the mountains, see the world from above, climb every tree in sight and defeat enemies! And find a charming prince on the way that can rescue her from danger.

“It's almost time kids!” They heard their aunt come in. Ann's day dream came to an end and left her in reality. Unlike the books she read, she wasn't destined for a great adventure or even a prince. She was destined to clean and be a maid. Destined to wake up, get dressed, clean the halls, clean the restrooms, clean the windows, vacuumed the carpets, fix the garden, sleep and repeat. All while looking proper. It was near to impossible to do all this but it was more than possible in Wonderland.

But she can't complain, her family loved her.

They loved her so much they finished their chores early so Ann can get ready and wear her best dress to the coronation. A dress her father requested the Chatter family to create for her. She loved that family. They were always so colourful and made her laugh like chimes in the wind.

After she put on her dress, she looked at herself in the mirror to see it consumed her entire body. Forget me not flowers decorated her waist and hair. The dress was blue and white to match everyone else. It puffed out so much she had to raise her arms to not wrinkle the smooth silk. It was time.

She happily arrived at the castle's garden, listening to the trees hum a tune as the birds chirped along. The flowers sang along and swayed back and forth as they awaited the princess. She couldn't wait to see her. Their future queen! Ann kicked her feet and clapped her hands in excitement, she swore she would explode.

Seconds felt like hours to her until finally the horns sounded. She gasped and looked down the altar with everyone else. There she was, the princess soon to be queen. Dressed in a sparkling white and blue dress that outshines the stars themselves. Ann clapped excitedly as the princess walked down the garden with all eyes on her. Graceful, beautiful, magnificent, and elegant. Everything this kingdom needed. Once at the end of the aisle, the princess bowed to her family and the Chatter family. Everyone had proud smiles on as the king began his speech.

“Today is a special day for my daughter!” The king announced. As he spoke, Ann looked over at the Chatter family. An odd bunch, in fact they were considered the oddest of the odd. Their heads were nothing but a pair of dentures while other family members had a deck of cards for a head. But that was the beauty of the Chatter family, they were a colourful and wondrous sight to behold. And mist if all, her friend was there!

A little boy around her age was holding the golden crown. His hat too large for his head, or jaw in this case. The poor thing only had one eye to see with as the other was covered by the ribbon of his hat. His blue eye scanned the guests and he gasped in delight when he saw the doll.

“Hi!” Ann whispered loudly and waved. The young pair of teeth waved back, dropping the crown for a split second.

“Careful Chatter.” His mom caught the crown before it could hit the ground. The young boy could only chuckle nervously as he held still for the ceremony.

“ Please rise!” The king announced. Ann hopped out of her seat just like everyone else. All eyes locked on the scene before them, “Bring me the crown!”

The moment the king announced this, little boy Chatter scurried across the stage and held up the crown high and proudly. The ribbon of his hat covered both his eyes in the process. The king and queen chuckled at the adorable sight.

“Thank you my dear.” The queen smiled and took the crown from the little Chatter. Chatter gleefully clapped his hands and ran back to his family as the king hovered the crown over his daughters head.

“I hereby present my daughter this crown. Which will symbolise power, generosity, kindness, bravery and intelligence. Qualities she worked hard everyday to perfect so she can rule this land! And today, she will be known as the new queen of Wonderland!” The king announced. The very second the crown rested upon the new queen's head, the garden was filled with cheers and claps. People welcomed the new leader with open arms and congratulated her as she and her family walked down the aisle.

As everyone began to move to the ballroom for the celebratory dinner, Ann ran through the crowd to find her friend. Her only friend in this castle really. The castle kids usually had a busy schedule like her so they didn't spend much time together. Or they were higher ups like the kids of the ladies in waiting or the royal family. She never crossed paths with them much.

But the little Chatter lived in the servants quarters with her and her family. He was the son of a simple hat maker and a dress designer. While wacky and colourful, Chatter liked to stay put in the castle.

“We have all we need here!” He exclaimed as he and Ann walked in the garden with other children playing around. The Chatter hopped onto a leaf and tapped his foot. The leaf raised the little boy into the air as he waved his hands in the air like a showman.

“Why, and I do mean why, would anyone want to leave this magical castle?” He chimed. He looked down at a smiling Ann with a smile of his own.

“It was just a thought Chatter.” Ann twiddled with her fingers and looked around the garden. Her eye scan all the smiling faces of every child. Everyone was so happy and content with their lives inside the walls and sometimes she questioned why.

They lived in a world of wonder and magic. A world where normality didn't exist and anything can happen. Yet everyone seemed content in this box they were in. It was almost as if everyone was hiding from something, maybe from someone.

“You know what they say my dear Ann!” Chatter hopped off the leaf and glided his way next to her. His arms out like a proud little boy as he chimed like the cleanest of wind pipes, “A single drop of thought can cause the biggest splash of ideas!”

“Oh?” Ann tilted her head in curiosity, “What does that mean?”

“I have no idea!” Chatter chimed again in glee, “But my mom tells me that every night. If it's important enough to be said by her, it must be true!”

A soft giggle escaped the doll's mouth. She loved her friend to death but she still wished he would see things like her. Oh well, she can be the only dreamer in this castle and she'll still be happy.

“Look out!!!” She heard a kids voice call out. Ann turned around and ducked just in time when an apple flew past her head.

“Ow!” Chatter shouted when he felt the fruit slam against his eye. Ann gave a gasp of concern and ran to her friend.

“You ok?” She helped him sit up. His eyes rolled around like googly eyes, not being able to look at her in the eyes straight.

“Chipper as a sing-song bird!” Chatter chimed happily, giving her a dizzy smile. Ann giggled at the silly sight of her friend. Always so happy, so full of life and never had a dark day in his life. He always wore his best bright red suite and a hat too big for him……… where's his hat?

“Your hat!” Ann patted his empty head. Chatter could only respond with a “huh” and pat his head. He shook his head, finally fixing his spinning eyes, but they were clearly still trying to focus. Ann saw the hat flying away into the woods nearby and looked back at her friend. One pupil was bigger than the other, indicating he still couldn't see well.

“I'll get it for you!” Ann lifted the dress of her skirt and ran off to get the runaway hat. The hat flew into the dark woods and the little doll followed. Her little mind not even thinking twice about what she was running into.

In fact, her little mind didn't even realise she had some eyes following her every move.

[dengswei]

your gifsets are perfect, I'm always in awe of what you can do and you're creativity!!! Could you please explain how you made the broken glass gif with different gif in it on photopea? https://www.tumblr.com/dengswei/754916132337729536/userdramas-creator-bingo-green-asiandramanet?source=share and would it be possible to do something similar with other shapes? Thank you for your lovely creations <33

heyy thanks so much!! and of course! i have to admit the way i do it might be a little bit tedious compared to like everyone else (though i don't know how photoshop users or other photopea users might do it 🤣) okay this is gonna end up being so long because of the way i do it so i'm sorry about that and i hope it makes sense 😭

okay i have to admit i couldn't find the texture i've seen people use for the shattered glass effect so i actually used a photopea default brush from this pack

to download the brush set go to window -> plugins -> brush and then search for wall cracks brush (it's literally the only wall related brush set in photopea so it'll show up the moment you download it)

so for the gif i did above i did my giffing the usual way of creating & colouring for different gifs seperatly and then adding them all to one project (it doesn't have to be 4 gifs i just chose 4 because that's what i wanted to show in this gif)

i've done this twice once for this set and another time for this the blood of youth set and i have to say the most important part of this is keep multiple versions of the brush in the position you want as you can so once you've used it to test it out and you like that version keep it because unless you can manage to position the brush in the exact same place every time you're gonna need to reference those (or even use the magic wand tool for it later) and also you need to keep at least a white on black background version for the outline

in the brush pack the one i used was this one: (3564, crack b 9)

for this part i just say play around with both positioning and sizing of the brush, it automatically opens with the size 3000+ which is fine i think with the tushan jing one (the green gif above) i stuck with that size and just kept clicking around until i got the positioning i wanted (this is another reason why i said what i said in the paragraph above because if the brush size is bigger than 1000 it's doesn't come out in the exact positioning as you expect it too

i decide the positioning of the gifs on the way i like the brick brush looking rather than the other way around, this is the positioning i went with if you're curious & would like to use it if that's easier 🤣

you'll need to keep this as a seperate layer at the top, i had it set to screen and then added a colour fill layer clipped on later so that i had the outline for when i was masking

so to start off i have the base gif which i do nothing to, that stays as it is, with the brush layer above set to screen

next is where you want to position your other gifs it may benefit to figure this out all at first before doing any of the masking so you know which parts you want to erase and which parts you want to keep

so this is what i decided with my positioning looking at where each of the cracks are

now comes the tedious part, in some ways the way i do this is a lot similar to how i do grid but it's not as easy (for grid photopea automatically locks onto the squares making it easier to mask, here you have to do it all manually)

first put a raster mask on all of the other gifs except for the base gif & use the magic wand tool on the brush layer so you get the outline of the brush and you mask that away from your gif (so if you turned off the brush layer it should look a little something like this: (it's not perfect but it won't matter that much because you should have the original turned on at the end anyway) (you don't have to do this step tbh i just did it because i thought it looked better)

so with the brush layer turned on you can use that as a template to which parts of the cracks you want to erase, you can either use the magic wand or the paint brush tool it really depends on how much of a perfectionist you are and whether or not the sharp edges bother you (plus some of the cracks have small openings so it might erase another part you don't want if you use the magic wand tool so it really is another instance of playing around and seeing what you like, and it might also change once you add the other gifs too)

so this is how it looks after i've done that (notice in the middle you can still see the edge of the gif? that won't matter because one of the other 2 gifs i still have yet to mask will cover that) & just repeat the same thing for the other gifs you want to add

this is how my masking folders look if you're curious

& last but not least i added a green colour fill layer clipped to the brush layer and set that to darken to get the green effect (make sure that the brush layer is still set to screen)

& once you've merged all of the gifs together you should get your desired outcome like the gif above (make sure that all the gifs have the same amount of frames too)

when it comes to other shapes i'm sure you can! like i did a tutorial with the grid version here, i guess it'll just be a lot of trial and error & finding a texture or brush with different shapes to try it out with kinda like how i did with both versions of this (i definitely did it a lot better this time around compared to the first version i did of this)

hopefully this wasn't too long or too confusing, if anything is please feel free to ask me again and i'll try and explain it a little better 🤣

[luveline]

𝐚 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬 | 𝐣𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐩𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫

two | chapter list

Finding out you're a princess isn't half as intimidating as suddenly acquiring a full-time bodyguard. Especially when that bodyguard is disarmingly handsome, charming, and can't seem to stop flirting with you.

bodyguard!james, fem!reader, shy!reader, princess diaries au (sort of), all characters in their 20s or older, star-crossed lovers/ forbidden romance james isn't flirty this chapter i lied but he will be <3

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

Sirius Black smells like winter. The deep fragrance of cranberries, pomegranate, maybe cinnamon. You aren't certain, and if he weren't currently an inch from your face, you'd ask him what it is. 

"You poor thing," he murmurs, dabbing very, very gently against the bruised skin of your cheek.

"It's not–" You hiss at sudden pressure. He immediately recedes. "It's not so bad,” you say weakly.

"I've half a mind to rag him around and take up the mantle myself." 

"I'd love to see that," Remus says.  

"I'd look good in the uniform, right?" 

James doesn't look happy at their joking but he's been nothing less than a grovelling puppy since last night, and he breaks his silence to say, "You don't have to wear any make-up if it's going to hurt." 

"Uh, yes she does. Imagine the headlines otherwise: Lost Princess Bruised Under the Imbecilic Watch of New Bodyguard," Sirius announces, sharing a not-so-private smile with Remus across the coffee table. 

"It doesn't hurt," you say to James. 

You're lying. Being smacked in the face with a door isn't just embarrassing, it really fucking hurts. James' biceps aren't for show, that's for sure. He'd swung open the door and you, having tripped seconds beforehand over the cord of your lamp, had been at the perfect height for it to bounce off the highest point of your cheek. 

"Princess," he says now, as he'd said last night, "I'm so sorry. I can’t believe I made such a huge mistake.”  

You think of his hands under your arms pulling you up into a standing position, and the way he'd tilted your head back. The barking order he'd given Frank to grab something to use as an ice pack, and the warmth of the pad of his thumb as it stroked the soft line of your jaw before you’d squirmed away. Crying all over your handsome bodyguard’s nice hands hadn't been something you'd pictured doing, not 12 hours after meeting him.

"It was a freak accident." You smile, careful not to push up your cheeks lest you invite another round of shooting pains. "Please don't feel bad. It's my fault for being up in the first place. I just couldn't sleep." 

"If you want anything for the pain, let me know," Remus says. 

"He has his own personal, extensive pharmacy," Sirius says. "You should take him up on it. I beg him every time we fly for some of the strong stuff and he never says yes. This is a once in a lifetime opportunity." 

"Let's not start on the co-codamols," James says. 

"I have ibuprofen," Remus placates. 

"I don't need anything, I promise." 

Some ibuprofen would be awesome, but you really don't want James to feel guilty. You want to forget it ever happened, embarrassed by both your idiocy and your tears, but the pain pangs white hot in your cheek.

"You want me to do your lips?" Sirius asks. 

"How do you mean?" 

Sirius pulls a metal palette of lip colours out of his small make up bag and shows them to you. He circles two with a disposable brush. "These would suit you. I wasn't sure about your complexion. Now I know, I'll get you more options when we're back in Genovia." 

"Oh, um…" You shake your head at him apologetically. "I don't know. You should do what you think is best." 

He puts the palette away. "You don't need anything you're unsure of. You don't need any makeup at all, darling, it only enhances what's already there." 

"Decide quickly. We have ten minutes before we leave," James says. "Princess, are you sure this is everything you want to take?" 

He taps your suitcase with the side of his shoe. You nod. 

"You can bring whatever you want. All of your things, if you like." He gestures to your bedroom. "Though we can get you anything you need, and we will, you're welcome to pack everything." 

"In a day, you'll know I'm not your princess. Less stuff to carry," you say. 

"You're so sure," Remus says. 

He speaks without timidity, laid back in your chair with an air of relaxation you wish you could master. He has a small mass market paperback tucked into one pocket of his jacket, the yellowed pages peeking over the hem, and his hand stuffed into the other. His pose doesn't speak of any arrogance. He looks happy to be here, and it puts you at ease. 

"Do I look like a princess?" you ask. You don't mean to put anyone on the spot —you aren't fishing for compliments— so you steamroll your own question. "I just find it strange. Surely I'd know. I would've known before, I mean." 

"Like a princess beacon?" Sirius asks. 

"No, but… I don't know. I think I'd feel it." 

Remus straightens a touch, grinning. "You look like him. The Prince. You have the same nose." 

Remus stands up before you can ask him to explain. James offers to take his bag and he shrugs away from James’ hand with an annoyed huff. 

To your surprise, James only smiles, cooing after him, "You know you love me, Moony." 

"Well," Sirius says, zipping his bag closed and clasping his hands on top of it. "You can always have your things sent for once we're home." 

Home for them. 

Truthfully, deep down, you want to be a princess. Something in you is aching, is ringing, a string plucked, a tuner reverberating. Finally, something is happening to you, even if that something is unbelievable.

You're not used to having people around and this entire process has been hard. Getting hit in the face had sucked. But, to have company? This single hour has been one of the best you've had in a really long time. Sirius is sweeter than you'd thought, sarcastic but kind-handed, and Remus' dry humour has caught you off guard enough to laugh aloud. Even James' grovelling niceties have been shamefully enjoyable. You can't remember the last time you had someone around who wanted to comfort you.

And that's exactly why you're afraid to admit what seems true. You can't be a princess, because if you are, you get to have this for a little while longer, and that would be too good to be true. 

Much, much too good. 

"Alright, let's go. Sirius, you have the keys?" 

Sirius swings his bag into James’ arms. “Am I driving?”

“That’s a stupid question.”

Another member of James’ security team meets you at your front door to help carry the bags downstairs and into the back of an SUV. You’ve never seen one in person. James won’t allow you to help and getting inside while they’re still packing the boot feels spoiled, so you stand at the corner with too many eyes on you. James stands beside you, one hand hovering at your shoulders to shield you, ridiculously, from the hedges, the other held aloft in level with his mouth, his fingers curled around a small radio. He’s enunciating clear, short instructions. He doesn’t sound as severe as you’d pictured someone in his occupation would sound. 

“What’s traffic like?” he asks. The answer buzzes down the line, inaudible to you but obviously understood by James. “Alright, brilliant. We should be on schedule, then. Is everyone on team three ready for action?”

You can make the next answer out. “Yep, they’re waiting. You want them at the front?”

“Please. I want everyone we have, ideally.”

“Isn’t that overkill?” Sirius shouts from the passenger seat of the car, bent over the handbrake to be heard. “All three teams? That’s twelve men. None of my sources hint at any leaks.”

“I’m being over cautious.” James smiles at you, so suddenly you smile back on instinct. “Security on call get paid either way. Might as well make them work for it.”

He ushers you into the back seat, a cushy leather bench fit for three people. Sirius is quick to pop a section behind his chair for you to unveil a drinks fridge. 

“Oh,” you breathe, legs lit and cooled by the light and the chilled air, “cool.”

“You’ll want to drink one before James assesses that they’re poisoned.”

You wince back. “Are they poisoned?”

“Probably not, darling girl. Why don’t we try them and find out?”

Sirius is a mixture of flirtatious and genuine that you can’t wrap your head around. He’s awfully handsome, too, which makes it worse: he’s tanned, his curls soft but shining, and he has the most perfect Roman nose you’ve ever seen. He’s almost as handsome as James. 

“Let me be very clear,” he says, turning in his seat to face you, “I’m not an intelligence agent. I don’t know nearly as much as sweet Jamie about security, but I have a lot of friends in high places and, as far as I’m aware, nobody outside of the British or Genovian government knows what we’re doing here. And nobody has reason to hurt you just yet.” He grins. “It’s James’ job to be paranoid, but that’s all it is.” 

You waver, and his cheerful smile fades. 

He lowers his voice, tone sympathetic. “I can really try one first if you’re worried.”

The driver’s door opens and James climbs in. “Try what?” he asks. He moves through a routine quickly of safety checks like a learning driver would. He rolls up the open window and turns in his seat, gaze flitting between you and Sirius suspiciously. “Everything okay?”

“I think the Princess is a little anxious about leaving the country,” Sirius says. 

“Yeah?” James asks, eyes back to the windshield. He turns the key, and the car warms to life with a low roar. 

“A little.” You nudge the fridge closed with your foot. 

“What was that?” James asks. “Is that a fridge? Do me a favour, don’t drink any of that. I'll get you whatever you want at the airport.”

“She can’t have a bottle of water from the fancy four by four but airport drinks are fine?” Sirius laughs. 

“Spike one fridge’s worth or the entire supply chain?” James asks. 

“What if this assassin is inefficient?”

“Assassin?” you ask. 

James glares at Sirius, their joking suddenly culled. "There are no assassins, Princess. He's being ridiculous." He looks to you with a smile. "You have everything?" 

Your sickly grimace has him giving pause. All fake smiles and dramatics fall away, and in its place is the genuineness you'd been met with last night. 

"Hypothetically," he says, "there are assassins. In reality, there absolutely are not. You're not in any danger, alright? Sirius is the master of badly timed jokes." 

"Okay," you say meekly. 

James nods and you buckle in, sitting back in the comfiest car seat you've ever been privy to as you turn your face to the window. You look up at your building, shrinking as the car starts to move. You drive further and further away, until you turn a corner, and your life is out of view. 

—

James is worried about you. As an acquaintance, he's starting to think you're a worrying person. There isn't a whole lot of spark behind your eyes —you rival Remus for number of tired smiles. 

He wonders why you hadn't packed any of your art supplies. Your room is teeming with them. Even if you're correct and you aren't a Genovian princess after all, there's still a day or more before they can actually confirm it. Factoring in travel time, you won't be home for at least a week. A week without your sketchbooks and paints and pencils. 

As your bodyguard, as a bodyguard, James has always taken concern in his charge's overall health, mental and physical. You don't seem ill, but you do seem unhappy. 

"Are you afraid of flying?" he asks, hoping that will explain your distance. He stands less than half a foot from you. He'll allow you some more space just as soon as you're not in an airport. 

"I'm not sure," you answer. 

Another peculiarity, you're a pathological liar. 

Okay, that's unfair. You aren't pathological. James is an excellent judge of character as his job requires. He's gotten good at profiling a person's motivations. Your motivation is to become the smallest version of yourself that you can be, any possible imposition set aside, such as your plain refusal of painkillers when your cheek can't not hurt.

"Is there something I can do? To help you feel better?" 

"Is that your job?" you ask, voice lilting upward with self-consciousness. 

"Kind of. You know, as soon as your paternity test is recognised, you could ask for just about anything. An assistant, as many assistants and attendants as you want. Your security will most certainly increase, especially when the Palace makes a statement." He notes your widening eyes and backtracks. "It's not really my job, but I wouldn't mind. If you think of anything, let me know." 

You hide your hands in the pockets of your hoodie. You're dressed as he advised, comfortably and nondescript. 

"Do you need anything from me?" you ask. 

He hides his surprise, his eyes doing another lap of the semi-private waiting room he's ushered you into. He takes in business men, officials, and diplomats for the tenth time in half an hour. 

"I don't need anything from you, Princess. Thank you." 

"I don't want to make your job any harder than it is." 

"You haven't." 

"That's not true," you murmur, bruised cheek angled toward the floor and away from view. 

"That was my fault, not yours," James says.

He remembers the heat of your tears running down his index finger. 

"That was my mistake," he reaffirms. 

You don't answer, but James knows it isn't an agreeable silence. Which is fine, he isn't trying to dominate your opinion, would never assume he had the right to police what you're feeling. He wants to reassure you more than he strictly should. 

This might be harder than I thought, he thinks. 

"The flight is near enough three hours. You're sure you don't want anything to take with you? If you're worried about dietary restrictions, there's a salad bar in the Mastercard lounge. I'm sure we can get someone to make you something up." 

"I'm fine… Will you be hungry?" 

He laughs. "You really don't understand the employee-employer dynamic, do you?" he asks, not unkindly. "You don't have to worry about me." 

He's teasing you. He knows he's done a good job when you lift your head. 

"I don't think you can talk about employee-employer dynamics," you say, flicking your eyes down to your cheek's bruise.

“Oh, nice! That was a quick one. We'll make a Genovian of you yet, they're all sarcastic." 

"They? You aren't Genovian?" 

"Do I look Genovian?" he asks, gesturing to his face. You splutter. "I'm messing with you. No, I'm not originally from Genovia, but my heart is hers." 

"You've always lived there?" 

"Since I was two." 

Your expression dims. It takes James a second to connect the dots. 

"There are plenty of people living in Genovia who aren't native. Remus is Welsh, can you tell? His accent hasn't quite survived it." 

"James, you and Remus, and Sirius, you've met before? You all seem familiar." 

"We went to the same boarding school. Well, we actually shared a room. We–" He feels heat washing across his face at his unprofessional phrasing. "We're best mates." 

"And you all get to be together," you say. 

"Yeah, we do. We're lucky. Before this, Remus was working as a royal tutor for the young elites, and Sirius was trying to micromanage Julianna. That's your cousin." 

"The Princess' cousin," you correct. 

"You brought us back together," he says without arguing. "You'll have to forgive me for hoping you are who they say you are." 

"Lily never really explained, how I- I mean, why they think it's me." 

"Well," he says, stepping closer to you still, and lowering his voice, "my assumption is that, because the Prince's passing was a freak accident, they hadn't really planned for a different successor."

"Well, what were they going to do? He'd pass on eventually." 

"I believe there were hopes he'd marry a Duchess." 

"And have a legitimate child." 

"Yes. You are, to the majority, a secret. The Prince would have been seventeen at the time of your conception, which is a royal scandal if I've ever heard one." 

"Seventeen?" you ask. 

"Lily didn't tell you any of this?" 

"Honestly, uh, she might have. I wasn't–” You clear your throat. "Wasn't really listening? I had a pretty bad migraine at the time, and I was tired?”

"You were overwhelmed with finding out that you're a princess." 

"That I might be a princess." 

"Sure. When they told me I might be Prince of Italy, I had the same reaction." 

You wrinkle your nose at him, the most forceful thing you've done in his presence. He laughs a storm, only tamping it down when he remembers he's a  professional. 

Soon, the boys return from their airport traipsing. Remus makes a comment on James' little smile, and he pretends to zip his lips closed when they both spot Sirius' probing glances. James moves your entourage to the aircraft then, not private but almost, and you board into first class seats, two per each side of the aisle and partitioned by a sheet of frosted plexiglass. 

You and James sit together. 

He doesn't subject you to conversation. He's technically working, and so while he relaxes into his seat and stretches out his tired legs, he doesn't completely forgo vigilance. 

You look around in awe for some time. Eyes widened just slightly, lips parted, you sit up and sneak glances at everything you can.

James knocks on the partition. “You want the fan? The heater?" 

"The fan, please,” you say, and he supposes you do look a bit warm around the collar.

He doesn't bother saying of course, or no worries, or no problem. He's a problem solver. If you're going to be under his watch, he's going to make it as easy on you as he can. That means letting you be thankful without shrugging it off. 

Your eyes close quickly. Your eyelashes flutter imperceptibly in the fans slow breeze, and your lips part as you fall into sleep. Last night's disruption had been hard on you no doubt.

James stands and eases sideways down the aisle to check on Remus and Sirius. Remus sits reading, while Sirius leans into his space, a magazine open but unread on his thighs.

"Anything for me to read?" James asks Remus. 

Remus knows exactly what James is up to. If he appreciates or abhors the extra attention is anyone's guess, until he digs through the bag at his feet and pulls out one of his Russian philosophy novels with a smirk. "This or the newspaper." 

James takes the worn paperback with a wry look of defeat and reaches over and across to Sirius head of curls, tugging one cruelly. 

Sirius looks up, but is only irritable when he notices that it had been James, and not his seatmate. 

"What?" Sirius demands. 

"Do you need anything?" 

"No. Quit mothering. And maybe get some rest?" 

"I can't."

"You most certainly can. Swap out with Frank, or Mickey or someone." 

James swaps out with Mickey. Mikkelson, please keep an eye on the entryway. Yes, boss. He returns, finding you weren’t as asleep as he'd thought. You look at him through lashes. You've gone soft, in little regard for your appearance, and he's glad for it. Watching you is like watching a spring stretched tall, and now you've finally snapped into yourself and deflated. 

"You alright?" he murmurs. 

You nod, and he sits, and when he doesn't get up you fall asleep again, like you'd been waiting for him to get back. You sleep for hours through turbulence, Sirius' roaring laughter, Remus' answering chuckles, and the flight attendant who scolds them. James wishes he could do the same, reading a mind-numbing forty pages of Russian literature densely translated and sipping on a glass of coke, the ache of an oncoming headache pinching behind his eyes. 

The hubbub doesn't wake you. The plane lands and you sleep on. 

James whispers your name quietly, louder when you fail to rouse. Finally, he gives in and squeezes your shoulder. Resting heat radiates through the fabric of your hoodie, your hair frizzy where it's rubbed against the seat behind you. 

You wake with a cough. "James?" 

"We're here, Princess, in Genovia." 

"That was," —you yawn, turning to hide your face so he can't see— "fast." 

You look like you might fall asleep again. His heart does an awful little flip, which he dutifully ignores.

"It was hours. You've slept the whole time. A good thing, huh?" He bends down until you're face to face, close enough to share your breath. "That bruise is getting worse. Remus will give you painkillers, and I'm gonna get you an ice pack as soon as we're off the plane." He squeezes your shoulder again. "Up. Come on." 

You nod and rub your eyes, stretching in your seat. He averts his gaze and stands as tall as he can, shoulders hunched to avoid clipping his head. Remus has made no efforts to move yet and Sirius is in the aisle, pulling their bags into his arms. 

"Are you alright, Moony?" James asks. 

Remus has gone ashen. 

"He has a migraine,” Sirius says quietly.

"Can you see okay?" James asks. 

Remus gets blurry, occluded vision when he gets these sudden migraines. He winces, hand over his eyes, and says, "Not really. Can I have your sunglasses?" 

"Yeah," James says, holding in the, of course you can, I'd genuinely die for you, that he wants to add. 

He slides his rucksack off of his shoulder and takes his sunglasses from the front pocket. He taps them into Remus' hand. 

"You'll have to touch up the Princess' bruise for me," Sirius says. 

James startles. "What?" 

"It's easy–" 

"I'll take Remus," James says. 

"You can both go do your jobs, I'll be fine," Remus mutters, flinching at an invisible, biting pain. 

"No," they both deny. 

Remus doubles over. 

"All you have to do is stipple it," Sirius whispers fervently.

"Sirius, I don't know what stippling is." 

"Dots of makeup. She knows what shade we chose. Here, take my bag. There's a clean brush." 

Remus hasn't always let them take care of him. His disabilities have made him the subject of disdain, pity, and misguided attention, which he has never, ever wanted, and he'd mistaken their friendship for lots of things at first. Nowadays, he accepts the help that he needs, help that his friend's are happy to give, and disregards their smothering overkill otherwise. That being said, Remus has always found it easier to accept help from Sirius than James. They all know it and none of them bother saying why that is aloud. James leaves him to it.

James ushers you back into your seat where you'd been standing tentatively in the aisle and presents the little make up bag. He kneels in front of you. 

"I'll get the painkillers," he says, remembering his earlier promise, "Sirius is preoccupied, so you're stuck with me on touch ups." 

"Is it bad?" 

"No. Does it feel bad?" 

Your slow response is telling. "No," you lie, "it's not that bad." You point at one of the colours through the clear case. "I think it was that one." 

"Thank you," he says, murmurs, opening the case. There's a brush tucked inside, and he picks it up clumsily. He is completely out of his depth, but James Potter doesn’t give up, nor baulk in the face of new things.

"Does he have a mirror? I can do it myself, if you want,” you say.

"If he does, he didn't give it to me. I promise not to mess you up too badly, Princess. Put your trust in me,” he teases.

James presses the brush into your chosen colour and pats. The concealer is harder than he'd thought it would be, tough under the brush. It all looks silly in his hands. 

"Lean your head back for me," he says softly. 

You tip your chin up. Your eyes close as he begins. 

He's too careful. The colour doesn't want to transfer. "Sorry," he murmurs, applying pressure. You wince but say nothing to stop him. "Tell me if it hurts too much." 

"It's only a bruise."

"You're allowed to be hurt. And you should be more angry with me." 

"It was an accident." 

"It was my mistake." He watches the bruise blend away under concealer, but the colour doesn't quite match your skin. He tries his best to blend out the edges. "A professional mistake, which means you're more than allowed to be annoyed." 

"I'm starting to think you want me to be mad," you say. You're trying not to move, and so each word is half a whisper. 

"I do. I want you to be furious. It's ten times harder to keep someone safe when they have no self-preservation. And it’s a little concerning. I’m used to immediate revenge." 

He gives up on the brush and uses his pinky finger to smudge out the blocky colour he's left behind. Your skin is scorching under his touch. 

"So if I'm angry with you, that makes your job easier?" 

He hums. "Mh-hmm. Much easier." 

You hold your breath as he finishes up, a gentle patting motion as he was instructed. 

"How some girls do this every day," he mutters. 

"It gets easier." 

"Yeah?" He drags his pinky down your cheek without thinking. "Hopefully this is my last time. It looks fine. Maybe don't stop in direct sunlight." 

He collects all of his things and pulls the makeup bag into his chest, easing his way out into the aisle again. You follow. Everyone else has de-boarded the plane besides a pearly-smiled flight attendant, whose smile grows impossibly wider as they approach. 

"Everything okay today folks?" he asks. "How was your flight?" 

James offers thank-yous and guides you down the length of the plane to the exit. You're quiet from the plane to the steps, his hand ghosting your shoulder, to the tarmac, where your security entourage awaits. Including James there are eight bodyguards. Two stick close, five form a mock perimeter around you. 

"Unfortunately, you might draw attention from the protection detail alone. It's up to you, Princess, but I can hide your face." 

"Is that… dramatic?" 

"It's completely up to you. I don't think it's dramatic. Just depends on how comfortable you are with your face potentially on TV." 

"Can I– Maybe I'll stay close," you say, pulling your hood up. 

"Just prod me if you're uncomfortable." 

He takes you by the elbow and you walk. There aren't any paparazzi waiting outside, and James thinks maybe the news of your arrival has escaped them, and you won't be exposed to the madness that is paps with a story like this one, until he sees Sirius and Remus waiting at the glass doors into the airport with wringing hands.

A crowd of cameras waits inside.

"Can't we go around?" Sirius asks. 

"They have to check our passports, idiot," Remus says.

"You can’t fucking see around them, mate," Sirius says to James. 

James motions for you to stand where you are and crosses the gap to get a better look. Mickey takes his place by your side. 

"Fuck," he hisses, because the crowd is a herd, a sea of Genovian’s waiting to see their new princess, "what the fuck is that? I thought nobody knew we were coming." 

"Should I be worried?" he hears you ask quietly. 

"Mikkelson, give the Princess your sunglasses,” James orders.

"So yes, then," you say. 

James props open the door with his foot. "Princess, you're going first, behind me. They'll expect you in the middle. Hopefully that'll minimise what they can get, we’re going to be quick." He holds out his arm. 

You slot perfectly underneath it. 

"Ready?" he asks. 

You don't look very ready. You nibble your lip and nod anyhow, tucking your face into his front. James walks you forward, into a storm of white flashes and shouting, the precipice of your new life.

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

thank you so much for reading! I really hope you enjoyed this chapter <3 please consider reblogging if you did, I'd love to know what you thought and what you want to see in the next one! and a happy new year !!!!

[drconstellation]

The Assistant Book Seller

Edit 1 Dec 2023 - added missing information on the "ribbon pattern."

Edit: 3 Dec 2023 - correct information about middle pattern from creator

GABRIEL: Greetings! I'm Jim! It's short for James, but I don't need to keep telling everyone that. I'm an assistant book seller.

I'm sorry. Before I do anything else, I need to apologize for something I need to write further in. I didn't plan to write it, I just kind of bumped into it and, well, I can't ignore it. So...sorry. It's said. Forgive me for what needs to be done.

Although he arrived with nothing but a cardboard box and Rodney the Stunt Fly, Aziraphale made sure Jim was clothed in appropriate raiment while under his protection. We'll forgive him that he took a step back about, oh, fifty years or so to the 1970's, as Jim's overall look is a nod to the famous old sitcom "Open All Hours." So if he looks a little bit out of place, or, a little bit familiar, even, that's why.

While we are used to seeing angels in overcoats, it's Jim's vest that is the particular feature here. But I will take a moment to comment on the overcoat - not just the colour but its lapels. Aziraphale has obviously given him a colour with an earthly connection and one that indicate that he has bought Jim under his protection, but the lapels look quite neutral, with one up and one down. (Muriel is the same in their Inspector uniform, btw) This is the first indication they are between two things at the moment.

Onto the vest.

There is so, so much work and thought put into this vest! It was a one-off commission for the show, and the creator, Sandy Higgins, has said she is not allowed to give away the final design pattern. I have tried to contact her, and I'm waiting for a reply, so in the mean time I thought I would ask my keen knitter of a sister-in-law about one of the patterns I'm not sure about. "Well, that's Fair Isle knitting," she said, but she knew nothing about the individual line pattern I was interested in. Hmm, I kind of know that already, its in the notes that are guiding me for this meta, but hey, why not do a broader search and see what comes up?

So once I got back home I did. "Fair Isle knitting patterns" hmm...Wikipedia page for starters...what on *earth* is that at the bottom of the page...? YOU ARE. FRIKKING. KIDDING ME!!!!!!!

"See also: Gumbys"

oh ffs

I am so sorry that needs must make me mention Monty Python yet again, but here we are. And we must mention them, because this link is just too...unbelievably, deliciously good.

If you aren't familiar with the Monty Python catalogue, and don't recognize the mention of Gumbys, they were a set of characters that dressed and spoke in a certain way but the main points to take away were they wore woolen vests in the Fair Isle knitted style and their catch-phrase was - wait for it - "My brain hurts!"

I think we've heard that somewhere before?

CROWLEY: When you first arrived, you said you were here because they were planning to do 'Something Terrible' to you. So you remembered it then. Remember it now. GABRIEL: It hurts to remember. My head isn't built for that.

Right. Now we've got that out of the way...back to the serious stuff.

The colours used in the vest are not your typical angel colours. There is a base of angelic off-white and there are some bits of purple for his royalty around the shoulder area - sometimes you need to look carefully for it. Otherwise it is dominated by vintage shades of red and green. Well. Who's an agent of change driven by love, then?

The horizontal stripe pattern is partly to remind us of the classic biblical robes with stripes that ran along them, much like the style of Crowley's black and red robe in the Job minisode, but is also part of the traditional Fair Isles pattern work. And each row only has two colours, but up around the shoulder area we do see purple start to sneak in as a third colour.

On to the incorporated symbols! I'm going to go from bottom to top.

On the lowest two we feature Crowley and Aziraphale. We have Crowley's demon satyr tail from the Good Omens logo on the lowest stripe - the double-headed arrow.

The next stripe is Aziraphale, with a variation of the classic OXO pattern ("hugs and kisses.") The X is meant to represent his angel wings, and the O is modified to mimic the "o" with a halo in the Good Omens logo. I've highlighted all three in the image on the right.

The third row up is a Sumerian Star pattern that represents one of the flowers associated with Gabriel, the lily. They are supposed to represent the purity of Mary, mother of Jesus, as he had one in his hand when he visited her during the Annunciation.

The row above that is what I believe to be a Byzantium pattern, and is included to show "an Angel's ability to be timeless."

The next three rows are still under a bit of a question mark as I write this. I plan to come back and edit it in if I find the answer.

The bottom of the three is the Duke of Buccleuch pattern, "to celebrate the long and necessary contribution that the cottage industry of hand knitted items."

The middle one - ? (perhaps you, the reader, know? It looks like a spiralling ribbon if I stand back, but that isn't sparking any connections, either.)

Edit: @noneorother tells me in a reblog (below) that this pattern represents the shoelace from the magic incantation Aziraphale uses "Banana Fish Gorilla Shoelace." So it is ribbon-like! This then points to the Second Coming, as it the shoelace references the end of the book, and the last paragraph of the book references Yeats poem "The Second Coming" as well as the novel 1984. To me it is then also telling us there is a cycle occurring, or a cycle that needs to be renewed. This fits in with some other clues other meta-writers have been picking up.

Edit 2: Turns out none of that was correct - I heard back from the creator herself and it's actually the double-ended satyr tail pattern again! It just seems to make a bit of an illusion of a ribbon or shoelace.

The pattern below is a modified OXO pattern.

The top one looks like two rams horns facing each other. A hollowed out rams horn can be used as a trumpet, and is known as a shofar in Jewish religion. Gabriel was traditionally known to carry a trumpet.

The ancient meander pattern would be recognized by most people, included as another classic timeless pattern found all over the world. For some it symbolizes eternity and endless flow.

The wheels here appear to be Michael's ophanim wheels, that would have eyes around the rims.

The hourglass is to remind us that time is running out. Memento mori - "Remember that you die." It is a major theme in both series.

Right up high, just before we lose the rest of the vest inside the overcoat, we get a glimpse of a large diamond-shaped icon. I wonder if this is another stylized set of angel wings, like we saw in the Job minisode on Aziraphale's golden collar.

To finish off the outfit, he is wearing dark gray trousers with sneakers! I'm sure that's so he could keep sneaking up on Aziraphale in the shop, haha. His shirt seems a little too large for him and the tie is knotted too high and is not settled along his centerline. It's all at odds with his previous neat and sharp appearance as Supreme Archangel Gabriel.

I'd like to say a big thank you to @aduckwithears for helping me with information on the vest and finding the creator's other social media sites. You can see their two posts about it here and here.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Drawn Together 1

Warnings: non/dubcon, obsession, intimidation, and other dark elements.

Character: Steve Rogers

Summary: You get a tattoo on an impulse to break your routine, but you walk away with something else as permanent as the ink.

I saw this and had to

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

You are not a rebel. You are clean cut. You live within very precise boundaries. Minimizing every part of yourself to evade notice. Rules are not meant to be broken, despite that old cliche.

That is until that day. It's foolish, you know it. That voice in the back of your head repeats your foreboding. You know you can't go back. There isn't a magic eraser for this one.

Shut up.

You're over it. Over yourself. Over your boring life. You've never done one fun thing for just yourself. It's always been what has to be done. What must be done. You're thirty years old and you don't even know if you understand the concept of 'fun'.

You sit on the leather bench. Nervous and shaky as hell. There's still time to change your mind. You can take your deposit and go, with clean untainted skin.

No! You're not going to chicken out this time. You want one memory that doesn't end in you tucking tail and running.

"Do you like the sketch?" Sam, your assigned artist asks.

You glance over at him as he pulls on a pair of black gloves, his gun laid out and sterilised. You peek at the open sketchbook, the drawing of a simple red poppy outlined in black with a thick spiraled green stem. Nothing too big or extravagant, easy to hide. If your mother or father ever saw that, you would be excommunicated.

"I love it," your voice quavers and you clear your throat, "I'm sorry, I'm just a little anxious."

"That's fine. First time, right?"

"Uh, yeah, I don't even have piercings," you give a brittle chuckle, "I'm not really the adventurous type."

"I'm sure you are in your own way," he grins, a look that calms you. "So, we still set on ankle?"

"Um, yeah, I think that's good."

"As good a starting place as any. Glad I talked you off the ribs. Those are tender."

"Just an idea," you breathe, "I don't know much about these things."

"Not to worry, you're in good hands," he winks, "you can just relax," he rolls his stool to the foot of the bench, "and pop your leg up here."

"Right," you gulp down another chest full of air and follow his direction, "that's it?"

"And keep still. Tell me if you need a break. The pains a bit much at times so don't be afraid to speak up."

"Okay, sounds good," you try to settle in but your blood feels thick and your vision speckles with silver. Oh god, you're really going to do this.

"Don't hold your breath," he says, "really, I don't like my canvases passing out."

"Sorry."

"It's okay, you want something to drink before we start?"

"No, I'm good."

"Awesome," he says and grabs his gun, double checking the tip before moving back to your ankle. "Alright, I'll count down so you're not too surprised."

"Thanks," you fold your hands over your stomach as he positions your leg and bends forward.

He counts from three and you focus on not moving at the first stab of pain. Don't be a weak bitch. You grit your teeth and let out your breath as the gun buzzes loudly. The pain keeps a steady sear in your skin but you slowly get used to the sensation.

As he works, your eyes wander along the dark red walls and the artwork hanging all around. Tattoos in colour and black and white. The schematics of a tattoo gun. A falcon crest wrought in brass.

You hear the door open and the smoky voice of the other artist, Nat greets the newcomer you can't see past the pillar. The response is a deep, rocky timbre. You can only imagine the inked up brute behind it.

"Always with the notes," you hear a paper crinkle, "I'm the artist here, Rogers."

"Hey, I'm an artist too," the man counters lightly.

You peek over as the redhead woman appears on the other side of the pillar and guides her client through to her open workspace. An open curtain drapes against the wall at the other end of the shop. She sets down the page and tuts as she looks it over.

The man slides off a pair of dark sunglasses, black lenses with golden frames. He slips them into the pocket of his denim jacket and tugs at the sleeves. Their actions seem to be routine and you can see why. His arms are covered from wrist to shoulder in ink, a few smaller tattoos on his knuckles. Now you really feel out of place. 

"Sam, what's up?" The other client calls over as he hangs the denim on the coat rack.

"What's it look like, Steve?" Sam says, his eyes not leaving your ankle.

You take in the interaction silently. You're a stranger among the usuals. The poser getting their taste of artificial danger. Your ankle tweaks and you smother a grunt between your teeth. The noise catches the blue eyes of the man, Steve.

You quickly avert your eyes back to Sam and knot your fingers together. Steve's shadow moves away. The artist at your bench hardly seems bothered but gives a shake of his head.

"You want the curtain?" Natasha asks as she approaches the black drapes.

"Nah, you know I don't care."

Your eyes flick up as the man peels off his tank top. Wow. You blink rapidly and make yourself act normal. 

He lowers himself onto the leather seat as Natasha takes out her tools and starts sterilising. You once more force your attention back to Sam's careful work. It's going to take a while.

"You good?" He asks as he glances over, lifting the gun from your skin.

"Great," you murmur in an airy voice.

"Still nervous?"

"No, actually, kinda excited," you try not to speak too loud, overly mindful of the other client in the shop.

"Good," he hunches again and you suck in as he put the needle back to your skin. "So, what do you do? When you're not getting sick tats, that is?"

"Um, I, er, I teach. Music lessons."

"Music, huh? You seem like… the drummer type."

"Piano," you correct him, "I can carry a beat–" you pause to check the pain in your voice, "but I mostly teach piano."

"Classy," he remarks, "so, a poppy, any particular meaning to that?"

"Er, no, uh," you rub your neck nervously but make yourself quit moving, "it's my favourite flower."

"Pretty sombre fave but I get it," he remarks.

"Yeah, I guess…"

Your attention is drawn at the soft slap of skin and the rattle of metal. You look up as Steve retracts his hand and Natasha points at him with a sharp nail, "this is a sterile workspace."

He chuckles at her irritation and shows his palms before he sits back. He rolls his shoulders as he leans casually and twiddle his fingers against his jeans. Once more, your eyes meet and his mouth slants slightly. You gulp and look down again.

"So, any ideas for a second piece?" Sam asks.

"I think I'm gonna stick with one."

"Not gonna get a full bouquet?" He wonders.

"Not yet."

"Better get cozy, Rogers," Natasha says.

You look up as she sprays shaving foam onto his chest.

"You know this is my second home," he teases as he relaxes and she spreads the cream.

"Don't remind me," she grumbles as she takes a razor.

You tear away from your distraction once more. Gosh, it is painful. You don't know how people end up like him. Your tiny little flower will be more than enough for you.

You close your eyes and groan. Sam rests his hand on your calf. He squeezes as he pauses again.

"Need a break."

"No, keep going," you puff out.

You grip the side of the leather bench and bite down. You've always been a big baby. You bat away the gloss of tears threatening to confirm that and take another breath.

The subtle creak of leather pulls your gaze back across the room. Steve leans slightly around to see you past Nat as she shaves one side of his chest. You grimace and hide beneath your lashes.

Why is he looking at you like that? It must be amusing, someone like you in a place like that. Now you know this is definitely a mistake.

[wrestletotheground]

gingerbread house - matty healy x reader

christmas prompt courtesy of @abiiors ♡

festive dad!matty

cw: fluff, f!reader, slight nsfw at the start, pregnancy announcement, just wholesome dad matty <3

wc: 1.6k

- december 12th 2021 -

matty dips his finger in the bowl of icing, smearing a dot of it on your nose with a giggle before you can protest. 'fuck off,' you laugh, pulling away and grabbing ahold of his wrists before he can do it again. 'oh, sorry, you have someth-' he reaches towards your face again playfully, before giving up and throwing his hands up in surrender as you duck away from him, wiping the white blob off your nose. both of you are in fits of giggles again, buzzing with pure love for each other.

'don't let me distract you darling, this gingerbread house isn't gonna make itself,' he adds, turning his attention back towards the slabs of biscuit on the counter.

he then realises his finger is still coated in icing. he stands there looking down at his hand, contemplating his next move for barely a second before you reach over and take it in yours, wrapping your lips around his index finger and swirling your tongue around the sugar coated tip. his jaw hangs open as you stare at him with siren eyes the whole time, sucking on the digit that's pressing down on your tongue. he lets out a low groan, biting his lip when you release it with a pop and go back to work as if nothing happened. 'fucking christ,' he mutters to himself, smiling and shaking his head in disbelief as he tries to focus on the biscuits again. 

you can see him out of the corner of your eye busying himself with something else aside from the house; alternating between different coloured icing tubes and guarding his mini creation away from your view. he looks focused, the same concentrated expression he has when he's writing down lyrics or guitar melodies in his studio. 'what are you doing? looks like there's more dilly dallying and less construction work going on over there, healy,' you grin, never taking your eyes off the little sugary jellies that you're placing ever so carefully along the top of the slanted roof.

'oneee second.... bam'. the colourful tubes clatter onto the table and he spins around to face you holding two little decorated gingerbread men. one of them has peaks of black icing on its head for hair, along with thick stripes of white and black vaguely representing a shirt and trousers. the other is in a messy black dress, three curved stripes on either side for your hair and bright dots that match your eye colour surprisingly well.

'us!!' you exclaim, instantly forgetting the task at hand and clapping your hands together in excitement. 'us!!' he repeats, his face breaking out into a grin at your reaction. 'i'll put them right here outside the door, look! it's like they're holding hands,' he says, gesturing excitedly towards his creations.

an idea springs to mind and you put it to action before you have time to think. it's daunting, and you'd be lying if you said you weren't a little terrified of his potential reaction, but it has to be done. you pick up a red jelly tot and place it on the plate between the two figures. your heart races as you do it, knowing what's about to come of the seemingly insignificant act. you'd only been keeping this secret from him for a few days, but waiting for the perfect moment to tell him felt excruciating.

'that's our little baby,' you say in a half-joking tone, looking up at him tentatively. 'pff, yeah, some day,' he replies obliviously, wrapping his arms around you from behind and resting his chin in the crook of your neck. 'matty...' your voice comes out as little more than a whisper, trailing off into nothing. he pulls away and you turn to look at him. he looks confused but grips onto your arms reassuringly nonetheless. 'what's wrong darling?' he asks, voice laced with concern. 'what if i said... that some day is coming soon...' you can nearly see the cogs turning in his head as he stares at you blankly, trying to figure out what you mean. his eyes widen as you take his hands and cautiously place them on either side of your belly. 'really!?' he whisper-shouts, leaning down to you. you shakily nod your head, biting your lip and smiling nervously.

'i'm pregnant, matty' you reply. 

- december 12th 2023 -

bing crosby's white christmas floats through the air from the radio as you sit at the kitchen table with matty and your 18 month old daughter, harper. you'd been having a bad day earlier until matty went out with harper, returning an hour later with a gingerbread house kit and a bottle of wine to cheer you up.

your heart melted at the gesture, especially at the fact he remembered and pointed out that it was two years to the day since you were sat in the same place and you'd told him the most important thing you'd ever had to tell him. from that day onwards he'd been nothing but supportive and loving, always there to help in any way he could and you were so eternally grateful.

'last time we made one of these i was only finding out harper was in mummy's belly wasn't i?' he says, bouncing her up and down on his leg. 'you were, and mummy was bricking it over what daddy was gonna say!' you reply, both of you laughing. casual conversations usually turn out like this nowadays, with you and matty talking to each other but directing every sentence at your daughter, as if she'll suddenly be able to answer. 

she reaches up and makes grabby hands at the gingerbread biscuits spread out on the table. 'you wanna get up and help?' she lets out a little happy scream and starts wiggling as you pick her up from matty's lap and put her sitting on the table in front of you, moving up against her back so she doesn't fall. she's instantly drawn to the bright colours of the sweets and icing, smacking her tiny hands on whatever she can reach.

she's fascinated, scooching around on the table and bouncing excitedly when you reach around her to open the bag of powdered icing. you pour it into the bowl of water that matty had set down earlier and she immediately grabs at the powder, making it erupt in a white cloud that covers herself and the table. 'woah, easy on the icing there baby,' you say. her big brown eyes sparkle in the reflection of the christmas lights as she falls down with laughter, making the two of you melt.

~

the festive playlist drones on in the background mainly unnoticed, but as soon as jingle bell rock plays you and matty's eyes light up. it's your favourite song this time of year, especially now you get to share it with harper. you take hold of her arms and dance with her, making her giggle as you move them around to the beat. matty laughs, taking his phone out to take pictures of the two of you, covered in icing sugar and having the time of your lives.

~

the decorated gingerbread house sits in the middle of the table like a trophy, but the three of you are exhausted after spending all evening on it. 'would you mind putting her to bed while i clean up?' you ask, wrapping your arms around the back of his neck. 'course, love' he replies, placing a chaste kiss to your lips before making his way over to where she's now sitting in her high chair.

he unclips the chair and picks her up, cooing at her softly. 'time for bed munchkin,' he says, kissing her head and getting her settled in his arms, her sleepy head lulling over his shoulder. you smile to yourself as he disappears upstairs, footsteps barely audible as he does his best not to disturb her. 

after what feels like ages, you finish up the dishes, throw the towel back over the cupboard handle and make your way upstairs to the bathroom. as you reach the top of the stairs, you hear a gentle voice coming from harper's bedroom. the door is wide open, the only light being the warm yellow of the lamp on the landing flooding through the doorway and the soft pink glow of her flower shaped night light. you peek your head into the room to see matty perched on the little stool by the open side of her cot, book in hand. '..and then, a magical cloud appeared over the snowman..'

harper is lying tucked in under her favourite blanky and surrounded by plushies as he reads to her. her eyes are gently fluttering shut, although she's clearly trying to stay awake, gazing up at her dad in awe through yawns. you tiptoe over as quietly as possible. matty's eyes flick up towards you and he smiles before returning to the story. you stand listening to him, wondering how you got so lucky.

after a few moments you lean down over her and gently place a kiss on the top of her head. 'goodnight angel' you whisper, rubbing her soft cheek with the back of your hand before stepping back and letting matty finish the book. she's fully asleep by now, so he mutters a little 'blablabla, the end. goodnight munchkin'. he leans down and places a tiny kiss on the tip of her nose, making sure she's fully tucked in and covered before making his way back to you. 'fancy a bit of that wine?' he asks, closing the door over and stepping into the landing. 'ugh, you know me too well', you reply, kissing him before moving towards the stairs.

if you could have it your way you'd exist forever in that room, where you finally feel safe and truly comfortable. you and matty's little safe haven, forever <3

~

[tell-me-a-tale-that-tells]

TATTOOS

┏━━━━ ☙ ☪ ☙ ━━━━┓

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Reader

Summary: Eddie is your friend and your crush since childhood. On a hot summer day, you couldn't take away your eyes from his tattoos.

WARNINGS: none, no spoilers, no explicit sexual content, and no vulgar language, just mild nudity I guess?

┗━━━━ ☙ ☪ ☙ ━━━━┛

Chapter 1

It was a very cliche summer day in Hawkings, too hot to do anything and go somewhere.

You and your friend since kindergarten, Eddie Munson, were at your little yellow house in Lover's Lake.

Sitting under the shadow of the porch, you were reading a poetry book while he was on the pier, throwing stones on the flat surface of the lake, making them bounce.

It's better to say that you were pretending to read, a hard task since Eddie, due to the heat, has discarded his black t-shirt, remaining only in his torn jeans.

You couldn't help yourself to watch his pale back, the expanse of white skin in contrast with his dark curls and his muscles shifting and contracting with each throw.

If only you believed in God you would have thanked him for making Eddie Munson that way, you loved him since third grade but It was a secret only you knew, no whispered confessions at pajama parties or to the pages of your diary.

Your book was long forgotten as you tried to take a peek at your best friend's tattoos, sure, you saw them before, but closely only the ones on his right arm.

After a lucky throw, Eddie called you.

"Y/N! Did you see that? It bounced about seven times before sinking! Damn, I'm learning how to do this, sweetheart!" he said turning around.

You thanked your reflexes because, by the time he was fully turned, your volume was in front of your face.

"Oh, sorry Eddie! I was reading a poem" you responded trying to be believable and apologetic.

He melted in a kind smile, and ran a hand between his hair, combing some strands that were sticking to his forehead.

"I hate to ask you, Y/N-" he commenced "but there's a possibility that I could steal one of your father's beers? I'm dying of thirst and he made his best puppy eyes.

The truth is that he doesn't even have to try hard.

"If you're thirsty, drink some water," you said playfully, not raising your gaze from the pages.

"You know? you're no fun Y/L/N" Eddie said laughing.

You closed your book and stood up from the wooden stairs and gestured to him to follow you inside.

He entered your kitchen and leaned against the counter, arms crossed while you opened the fridge looking for a beer.

You couldn't see him, but he was peering at you, the way your tank top raised on your back when you leaned down, the curve of your waist, how those shorts were fitting you well.

Twisting around you found Eddie staring back at you, but your eyes were glued to the tattoos below his collarbone.

A sly smirk appeared on your friend's features.

"You just have to ask, if you want to see them" he teased you.

"I-I just... Sorry, it's that I don't know many people with tattoos and I was curious about yours since the day you got them" you blurted out, embarrassment colouring your cheeks.

"Hey, no need to apologize, come here" Eddie reached out for your free hand, took the beer from the other, and pulled you close to him, the heat of his metal rings made you gasp a little.

You had to restrain yourself from running your fingerprints on the inked skin, wanting to follow the black lines.

"The spider is beautiful" you confessed and it was his turn to blush a bit.

He could almost feel your breath on his heated face and decided he wanted more.

"It's a black widow, one of the most dangerous spiders in the world" he told you, lifting your hand to touch the arachnid legs, to you It was like being electrocuted by a loose wire.

"And this," he said moving your fingers lower "it's a demons head"

"Creepy' you commented, leaving out a chuckle and he followed.

You were about to step away when a question crawled into your mind, so you lifted your head, watching shyly Eddie in the eyes.

"Do you...have any others?" you wanted to know so badly.

You saw his face reddens and his pupils dilate, while a sly grin played on his face.

Still guiding your hand, he trailed down his chest and abdomen, stopping right at his belt.

"Yeah, but only pretty girls get to see 'em" he whispered placing your chin between his fingers.

"Oh" you said almost disappointed.

"So I guess it's your birthright to see them" he grinned before letting you go and taking a big gulp from the beer bottle, locking I'm his eyes with yours.

You remained frozen to the spot as he passed by you, heading from the stairs to the first floor.

"So? Are you coming or what, isn't your room upstairs?' he called.

"Hell, yes" you murmured before sprinting to him.

──────⊱⁜⊰──────

Comments and constructive criticism are always appreciated. If you have a request for a fic just drop me a private message and I'll write it for you.