#* / Small nod to Al there haha

[lunarmango]

Flickering Lights

Demon Alastor x Human reader fic? ON IT. I'm so siked to make this a series and I hope who reads this enjoys this as much as I do. I wanna get into writing. (I don't write, I draw) and I was thinking of making a longer fic, the details were so hard to piece together. I really enjoy the concept of demon Al with human reader. So here we go!

Word Count: 2k

TW: None for now? Pretty mild stuff haha.

Chapter One: Moving in

New Orleans, Louisiana

1946

Where wandering spirits were said to roam, walk and explore more frequently, being an area where people would find it easier to communicate with them, or so you were told. You were convinced it's utter nonsense to be completely honest. The whole notion of spirits was so far fetched you just couldn't bring yourself to even fathom them. Though not opposed to being proved wrong.

It's been years, saving for a house. Your apartment was small, cheap and far too crowded with furniture and items you just can't let go of. From a suffocating apartment to a house. You were practically buzzing from excitement. Like, literally almost shaking.

A new chapter in your life.

When you walked in, you suck air through your teeth in anticipation, the cool air hitting your teeth invigorating you, fingers fumbling with the old metallic keys that jingled in response, finally able to slot the correct one in the door and push open the dark wood hastily, the hinges swinging and the door practically flying.

You winced at the loud thud when it slammed on the white painted brick wall. Taking a few deep breaths, you decided it was best if you didn't wreck your new house on the first day. You think you would actually cry if you did, and you were not willing to test that theory. Checking the wall where the door hit with a small grimace of anticipation, you close the door behind you, relieved to see the wall is fine, your face relaxing again as you take yet another deep breath through your nose.

House tour!

Kicking off your shoes at the entrance, you begin wandering from room to room, you take in the spacious kitchen and living room. Though it lacked a certain homey touch. But you were aware why. There was no furniture after all. You had a vision for the house. Just had to wait 3 days before you could make it happen and the furniture would arrive. You had big plans, that did not pair well with your lack of patience. You already had multiple shitty sketches of how you roughly wanted each room to look. The furniture is all you need, it'll arrive soon enough. Hopefully.

You're going to need to find a way to pass the time.

First things first, you still haven't explored the upstairs! Running your hand gingerly along the wooden railing as you hop upstairs, the hard floor creaking occasionally under your feet every few steps, you take a sharp left and step into the master bedroom. It was massive. You feel a grin etch at your face as you peek your head inside. You're definitely getting a king sized bed. With a nod you left the room, confident you were going to be a pro napper at least a month within getting your new bed.

You open the door to the bathroom. Spacious enough, room for a decent sized tub and shower. Although you never really saw the point in baths if you wanted to get clean. You step out and look into the spare bedroom. Maybe a potential study? That or the attic. You always were sure that the environment can heavily affect the quality of ones work.

Was such a big house going to make you feel small? Possibly alone? You scoffed to yourself. Who cares when you have such a house?! Expensive too. Ho ho you were going to have fun "subtly" showing off this house to your friends.

With a quick, dismissive peek to the spare room you turn on your heels, going up the stairs to the attic with cautious steps, the worn wooden panels making such loud noises in retaliation to your steps that you were afraid that they would give in. Your hand gently opens the rattly metallic doorknob and open the door, squinting only to see a small switch on the side of the door. You flick it on and hear the buzz of a weak warm light turning on above you, fully illuminating the room the best the small warm light can.

First thoughts? Dusty. Very Dusty. Every box, book and the long desk and chair at the end of the room practically black and gray from the abundance of dust. A sigh escaping your lips, realising just how long you were going to be cleaning for, a task you were not mentally prepared for yet. Making your way to the desk, you approached a large wooden desk, most of the surface blocked by a large panel with knobs, switches, dials and little doodads that slide up and down. The sliding doodads having small, mini light bulbs at the top of each. You look at the corners and edges of the panel, looking for an on switch or something.

Nothing.

It was probably unplugged?

Nevertheless, as foreign as the panel seemed to you, a surge of determination drives through you to figure it out. It seemed expensive. Whoever used this probably cared deeply for it, the text of the brand faded, showing the love and use the panel had been provided with. If it was so well used, you had to figure out just why it was loved so much.

To begin, you had to figure out just what it is. Turning it on seemed like the obvious option.

Crouching under the table to look to where the cables lead, you notice a microphone on the floor. Wrapping your hand just above the flat base of the microphone, feeling the coolness of the metal and the sandy texture of the dust between your skin and the metal, you try to lift it. You were suprised to find your hand faltering slightly at the sheer weight of the microphone, dropping forward onto your knees to provide a better position to pick it up in, using both hands to stand up and set it in front of the panel with more ease. It wasn't that heavy. But you didn't want to drop it. Wasn't this supposed to have headphones...?

Once more, you go down on all fours, looking under the desk, when no sign of somewhere to turn on the panel or headphones appears, you circle round to the back of the desk, finding a wire and an unplugged plug. With a small huff that caused far too much dust to fly in the air, triggering a cough from you. Slotting the plug in the panel above you hums to life and flickers on once more. A small hushed yes emerges from you as you slowly stand up, brushing the dust from your knees, then your hands.

You walk back in front of the desk, flipping some random switches for the hell of it, satisfying metallic clicks and clanks as a result of your tampering. Then proceeding to tap the microphone, you blow on it to rid it of the pesky dust, stepping back to let the dust fall.

You took a moment to appreciate just how expensive this radio setup must have been, so big and complicated it made your mind whirl just trying to decipher what each control did. You brush away some more of the dust from the panel, running your finger between the buttons, trying to look for labels, or some sort of guidance, only to find them worn out, white writing so etched and scratched at on the metallic reddish-brown surface that it was unreadable. A soft smile tugging at your lips in realisation of just how loved this equipment really was.

You’ve seen the basics of what a radio setup should look like, without having to remember the separate into bitty details of the control. Panels, a microphone. Where were the headphones? You look below the desk, bending at an uncomfortable angle to the shelves situated under the left of the desk.

Nothing.

Not like you could broadcast anything even if you wanted to. Why do they use the headphones? To listen to the sound of their own voice? How proud and snobby must one be to love their voice that much? An audible scoff from you. You know you wouldn’t be able to put up with anyone of the sort.

Using both hands, stabilising the microphone properly, you pick it up, with a smart smirk, looking at the empty wall you begin speaking to your imaginary viewers, mocking the accent radio people had to use to the best of your ability. “Hello my dear viewers! Welcome back to my boring ass show, talking about shit that probably serves as background noise” A snicker escapes your lips as your smirks stretches wider in amusement, gently putting the microphone back down.

Eager to make your made up show more believable, you move away from the desk, eyes scanning the worn wooden panels of the floor. Remembering you looking earlier you let out a hefty sigh. Were you really going to spend hard earned money for a few minutes of make-believe mucking about like a child?

Oh definitely.

Lost in thought, still staring at the floor, chuckling in thought a distinct noise snaps you out of the haze of your mind.

Click

You look over your shoulder to the direction of the noise, the desk, trying to place the exact location.

Another click

It was from the panel? You turn back to the panel, looking down on the panel as the clicks increase in frequency, switches being flicked, dials turned. A particular pattern caught your eye being the fact that during the abundance of alterations to the controls of the panel, no knob or slide was altered twice, almost if it was altering itself the clicking now a steady rhythm. What a ridiculous idea, as clueless as you were about the technology you were almost certain it wasn’t that advanced.

The clicks slowly come to a stop, one last slider slowly going upwards to a certain line before it stops completely.

“Eager to hear my voice?” You mutter under your breath, a dial slowly turning, one of your eyebrows quirking up in response. Spirits and ghosts don’t exist.

There’s always a what if.

What if they do exist?

What if you’re the first to fully realise this?

What if you’re living a ghost story?

After all, things moving on their own in the dusty attic of an old house was never a good sign.

Yeah no who were you kidding.

But just to make sure.

You bend at the waist, your lips as inch away from the crosshatched metal of the top of the microphone.

“Can you hear me?” You say in a teasing low purr, holding back a laugh in your lungs, helping to alleviate the tension you’re beginning to feel rising up in you, pressing in on the sides of your head. Jokes always help. Well. Not always. However you can’t exactly help it either.

A flicker of the small light bulbs, emitting a warm light above the sliding controls. You couldn’t help but still be sceptical. Your voice now has a newfound edge, the whole situation making you uncomfortable.

“You- can?”

Another flicker from the same small light bulbs.

A nervous laugh rumbling from your chest.

You had to figure this out, because you wouldn’t put going insane past you. Maybe a break from the attic would be good. Probably buy some headphones. As unsettling as the panel is, having the set incomplete irks you unnecessarily, and it was an enigma you couldn’t help but feel determined to figure out.

[faeriichaii]

hiii! Hope you're doing well <3 if it's not much trouble could I request Legolas x reader where the ring fellowship one night stopped at some kind of inn to rest, and reader happens to be a musician that performed there that night and catches the interest of Legolas??you can make up the rest of the plot !Thank you 🫶🫶

Music to My Ears ~ Legolas x Reader

A/N: Hii thank you for asking I'm doing fine atm <33 I hope you're doing all right as well! Thank you so much for requesting!! I love the idea and I really hope you love the story :) Ngl I even listened to like some tavern ambience stuff to really get into the groove haha

⇢ ˗ˏˋ Warnings: fluff, mention of alcohol (Just a bit cause Gimli) ࿐ྂ ⇢ ˗ˏˋ Words: 1.3k ࿐ྂ ⇢ ˗ˏˋ Request: Yes (Thank you <33) ࿐ྂ ⇢ ˗ˏˋ A'maelamin ~ My Beloved ࿐ྂ

Summary: A trip to the tavern results in you not just winning new fans over with your music, but also winning the heart of a certain elven prince.

Rain was pouring down as you walked through the busy streets, trying to find your destination. Stopping in front of a wooden building, you look up towards the sign that read ‘The King’s Head’. Entering through the door, you were greeted by loud laughter and chatter from various customers, who sat at their tables to take a relaxing break after their hard days. You have been working as a musician for quite a while and moved from one place to another, making a name for yourself on the way. “Welcome to ‘The King’s Head’. What can I get ya?” A woman asked you, as she mustered you from head to toe with a smile. Realization dawned upon her as she started to recognize you. “Hello, I am here for the performance of the night. Do you maybe know where my room is, so I can leave my baggage there and prepare myself?” Nodding brightly, the woman walked behind the bar counter, got a set of keys and signed you to follow her up the stairs.

“(Y/N) it is an honour to have you play for us tonight!” You smile at her, before she started to open the door for you. “I am happy for the invitation to play my song in this lovely tavern.” At that the woman grins, handing you the keys and leaving you alone in the room. It was a small room with a small wooden bed on the right side and a bedside table. You put your bag on the bed, before taking out your violin, strumming it and playing a few notes before leaving the room. While walking out the door you bump into the back of someone. “Oh- Excuse me I didn’t watch where I was going.” You say, before continuing to walk down to start your performance, not noticing the gaze of a certain elven prince linger on your disappearing figure.

Taking your place on the small makeshift stage, the waitress from before appeared again. Clapping twice into her hands, she silences the tavern. Now that the attention was set on the both of you, she stepped aside a little to introduce you warmly. “Dear guests, please welcome the star of the night, (Y/N)!” Claps and cheers filled the space, as you put your violine in its right place and began with your most known song. People started to stand up, taking others hands and began to dance around happily while laughing and chatting with glee. Some even started to sing with you, almost as if they knew your songs by heart like you did.

Letting your gaze wander across the tavern, you notice an intriguing party at one of the tables. Four hobbits were dancing around the table, while a dwarf laughed loudly with a pint of ale in his hand. Beside him sat two men, one who you knew as the strider. You two once met in a tavern a few months ago and conversed for a bit, sharing stories of your adventures, leading you two to become somewhat acquaintances. However, the other man is unknown to you. His long white hair was braided at the sides, making him reveal his pointy ears. A smile spreads on your lips as you catch his eyes staring at you, making him quickly turn his attention towards his smaller companion.

After a few more songs you take a quick break, to hydrate yourself and grab some food that the waitress prepared for you. Looking around the full tavern, you spot an empty seat beside Aragorn and decide to approach the table. “Is this seat taken?” You ask him with your plate in one hand and the drink in the other. “Long time no see (Y/N). I see you have really made yourself a name.” He smiles at you, before pulling out the chair. “What brings you here on this stormy night Strider?” “We are on an important journey, however I can’t really tell you more.” You look around the table, stopping at the ethereal looking elf beside him.

“Let me introduce you to the company. The hobbits dancing around are Merry and Pippin. Big fans of yours apparently. And these two are Sam and Frodo.” The both opposite of you give you a small wave, before continuing to eat, meanwhile the two dancing around stand beside you with pleading eyes. “Are you going to perform ‘The Elfin Knight’? It’s one of our favourites!” “How can I say no, now that you have asked me so nicely.” You smile at them, before they skip away. “My half-drunk friend is called Gimli and this,” Aragorn stops a moment to scoot back with his chair, so you can clearly see the man beside him. “This is Legolas.” You smile at him softly. “Pleased to make your acquaintance (Y/N).” “The pleasure is all mine.” Staring into his brown eyes you notice a golden swirl around them, making them look like the purest form of jewels. “Legolas just told me how much he enjoyed the songs you played so far.” You giggle at the confession and see a gentle smile grace the elven princes beautiful face, making him look almost like an actual angel.

“I will grab something from the bar.” Aragorn says, before disappearing into the crowd of people. Taking the now empty spot beside you, Legolas leans towards you. “Your music is very capturing. Can you maybe even play a song from the elven realms?” “I’m sure I will be able to play a song just for you.” He chuckles at that, making your heart melt on the spot at the soft sound. “I hold you to that promise.” His hand delicately brushes against yours for a split second, making you feel just a little bit warmer. Focusing your gaze on his eyes once more, you gasp softly at the warmth that radiates from them. “You have really beautiful eyes.” You remark, melting at the way they crinkle when he lets out a light laugh. “I think your eyes might shine more like mine. They look like they could rival against any star in the dark night sky.” A pink tinge accompanies your face at his heartfelt compliment.

After you finished your dinner, as well as your lovely chat with the elf, you fulfilled the wishes of Merry, Pippin and Legolas with the last few songs of the night. Grabbing the money for your performance from the waitress, you prepare to go back to your room for the night. However, before you get a chance to leave, the elven prince approaches you once more. “I really loved your performance.” “Thank you very much. Does this mean I can count you as one of my admirers now?” You ask him teasingly. “I think I might actually now be your number one admirer.” He responses while taking your hand in his. “It is quite sad that your performance is already over and the chances are slim that you might want to join our company, right?” “Even if I wish to join you and your friends on the journey, I sadly can’t. I am not really good with weapons and won’t be of good use to you.” A slight sadness washes over his face, however it dissipates as quickly as it came. Suddenly he gently pulls your hand towards his lips, giving it a kiss. Heat floods your cheeks at the sweet gesture. “I hope to meet you again sometime A’maelamin.” With these last words, he leaves your side and takes a part of your heart with him.

Weeks pass and you are once again playing your songs in a small tavern in a new village. The newest edition of your songs called ‘A lovely pool of honey’ Your eyes travel across the various dancing people until they spot a very familiar company at the table. Setting for a familiar set of honey kissed brown eyes, you smile brightly while your heart once again flows with warmth and love for the song you wrote for your one ethereal elven muse.

[artzybumpkin]

Would P/im ask A/llan If he can feel the baby's movement?

"She started kicking?!"

"Mm hm," Al/lan mumbled as he finished a long sip of his tea. "First time I've clearly felt it, yeah," he paused and flinched, bringing his free hand up to rest atop the small mound of his belly, "She hasn't really stopped since this morning."

"Wow! That's amazing!" P/im smiled widely, wonder evident in his tone. He was quiet a moment as the rest of what the red critter said processed. "Hold on, so you mean she's moving right NOW?? As we speak??"

Al/lan was mid shiver before he answered. "Eugh.... Yep. Feels super fucking weird if I'm honest." He leaned back against the breakroom counter and took another swig of tea. His hand circled his bump before he felt her swat him back. He smirked. "Not a bad weird, though.... Just different."

"Huh..." P/im sat there at the table, twiddling his fingers sheepishly as his eyes wandered down to his friend's midsection. His studious gaze suggested he wanted to ask something but was refraining from doing so.

Al/lan recognized immediately what his question was going to be. Being a not so "touchy feely" person, his default answer to just anybody would be a bold "Hell No. NO. Hands off." But c'mon, it's P/IM. Not only have they've known each other for years at this point, but even he couldn't bring himself to be so cold to the little guy. He sighed softly and set his empty mug on the counter.

"You, uh... Wanna feel?"

P/im's eyes lit up before he quickly skittered to his buddy's side. (mildly startling the taller critter in the process lol) "MAY I??"

His cheeks slightly reddened as he nodded his consent. He gently took the smaller critter's hand and pressed his palm to the spot he'd felt her last. "Might take her a minute. She kinda freezes up when you poke her back."

P/im chuckled. "She must get stage fright, haha- HUH?!" He stopped short when a faint sensation brushed against his fingers.

Al/lan wasn't quite sure how to react to the sudden attention (the sensory overload was hard to ignore) but he still found the sentiment sweet enough to allow his friend to indulge in feeling the baby's movements.

P/im made sure not to over stay his welcome but this just fueled his excitement TENFOLD💕

[skimberwood04]

Tcf 2 spoiler chapter 197

When Cale met God of Hope :

When he lifted his head, what he saw was darkness with countless tiny lights like grains of sand scattered in it. 'They're not stars.' It was a light different from that of stars. The larger ones were like sand, and the small ones were as tiny as dust. And the size of the light was very faint. No matter how bright it was, it was incomparably dimmer than a star. Therefore, Cale was sure that what he was seeing at that moment was not the night sky. "You're really an interesting kid." The God of Hope called Cale a "kid." "As expected, you can see those lights." Cale opened his mouth without realizing it. For some reason, he felt like he could speak comfortably with this God. "What is that light?"

And of course, since the other person spoke informally, Cale also spoke informally. He spoke in the same way with the God of Death, and there was no reason to treat the God of Hope with respect. The God of Hope responded. "That light is the hope you created." ... What? "The hopes you've created so far have created light in your darkness." "... The hopes I created? Is there such a thing?" "Haha-." The God of Hope laughed as if he were happy. "I thought you'd react that way." The God continued speaking with a voice mixed with laughter. "Kid, it seems like the God of Balance probably wants you to become a God and join her under her command." Cale's expression stiffened. "What does that mean?"

"Well. Since you're a kid who likes to hear the essentials, let me explain it simply." Oh, does this God like him a bit? Cale thought that this God knew a bit about him. "At this moment, the possibility of you becoming a God is being created. Moreover, you're progressing in a direction that would make you a high-level God. Therefore, the God of Balance wants to get ahead, have you under her command, and observe you." Cale furrowed his brow. "Because there's a possibility that you'll inherit my position." In a moment of hesitation, the God of Hope asked. "Do you know about the Ancient Gods?" He had heard about them before. "There are five Ancient Gods, including me, the God of Balance, the God of Chaos, etc. Until now, none of us has yielded this position to any other entity, and we've been maintaining it. Yes, they're all greedy. They also crave power." True. Cale unconsciously nodded, but then stopped.

~ Cough ~ The God of Hope continued speaking while fake-coughing. "Anyway, the God of Balance has always been in conflict with the God of Chaos." "Just hearing the name, it seems likely." "Right? But there's an entity that the God of Balance hates more than any other." "Is it you?" "Yes, it's me. She hates me more than anyone else." "Why?" "Hope sometimes creates an enormous flow that ignores all balance and chaos."

Mmm. Cale crossed his arms and listened to the God's words in silence. "Hope is the being that creates a new destiny." Creates a new destiny. "That's why the God of Balance wants to subdue you because you have the qualifications to succeed me." Cale opened his mouth, thinking that the God of Balance might be right. "If I become the God of Hope, could I control her from below?" "Well, there's no need to answer that." Although the God of Hope avoided answering, Cale asked. "So, did you come to prevent me from joining the God of Balance?" "No, that's not important." As if the question were wrong, the God of Hope asked indifferently. "Kid, isn't there something that must come before everything else?" The God also threw another question as if it were something obvious. "Kid, you don't have the desire to become a God, do you?"

~Ha~ A brief laugh burst out from Cale's mouth. He nodded without hesitation. "Yes, I don't want to become a God." The God told him immediately. "But you're concerned about the weight of the imbalance that the God of Balance spoke of, aren't you?" "...You know a lot about me." "Because I did." At the casual question, Cale paused. The God of Hope spoke indifferently. "I also didn't want to become a God. But it was a situation where I had no choice but to do so. Because someone had to take care of it. But I want to support your dreams instead of the lonely position of God or the qualification to exist forever without knowing the end."

My dreams? Cale uttered what he remembered as soon as he thought of his dreams without realizing it. "...Becoming a slacker?" "Yes. That's a really good dream." The voice of the God of Hope was serious, as if he truly believed that. Cale opened his mouth, pretending not to hear that. "… It's said that hope creates an enormous flow. So, are you going to step forward and create a flow that will eliminate karma?" "No. Not exactly. Didn't I tell you? It's not me; it's only hope that sometimes creates that tendency. Instead, I came to tell you a little story." It was when... ~Blink~ Cale could see the lights floating above, extinguishing one by one. ~Swoosh~

An unknown wind was blowing from somewhere. He looked towards where the wind was coming from. It was also dark there. But there was a very faint and small light. Cale instinctively knew. That light was the God of Hope. 'Mmm?' Cale saw something shining beyond that small light. It looked like a human face. But it seemed like it was an illusion, and soon he couldn't see anything. At that moment, the voice of the God of Hope was heard again. "Apoitu is a place where the World Tree lost its will, and the Dragons abandoned their duty." A strange look appeared in Cale's eyes. As soon as he knew that the story the God of Hope was trying to tell him was the story of Apoitu, the world he had to go to in the future, he realized that it was a 'clue' or 'information' that was useful to him. The useful information for Cale now would be how to bear the weight of the discord mentioned by the God of Balance. "The global capital, purpose, and the world itself are not properly established, so there is no one there to handle the enormous flow. But in this world, when something disappears, something else always comes to replace it. It's a law." The surroundings became brighter and brighter. "Cale." The God called Cale's name for the first time. "Find the Blue Wolf." At that moment, Cale thought of one of his comrades. Lock. Member of the Blue Wolf Clan and successor to the Wolf King. "Before antiquity. Countless living creatures that have existed since before Humans created history. Among them, there was one that was both fierce and merciful."

A being that can handle the numerous discrepancies and variables that occurred in Apoitu, and resist the changes in trends and destiny. "The ruler of beasts and the king of beasts. Find the Blue Wolf, who has lost his status and is being forgotten." Cale's mouth opened. But before he could speak, the God was faster. "There's not much time." At that moment, Cale could see that the darkness was fading away faster than before. But the small light in front of him didn't show the slightest tremor. "Take the Blue Wolf and the Black Dragon with you. When the two choose their own paths, the flow will change." The God was talking about Lock and Raon. "And there's something I want to tell you." Suddenly, the darkness disappeared. In the bright room, the shape of the God of Hope could barely be seen. The faint and small light was not visible under the bright light. Even in the darkness, that was the only light. The voice of the God of Hope became faint. "Being a God is not easy." Ha! Cale let out a laugh without realizing it. But he made a promise seriously. 'I don't want to be a God.' First of all, he wasn't interested at all. Gods were unbearable. Cale didn't like the idea of living obsessed with work, like the God of Death. 'I'd rather work under the Crown Prince!' Cale shook his head and blinked. Naturally, he thought he would be in the Blood Demon's room... "...?" But when he opened his eyes, the view was different.

Is it just me God of Hope feels like Cale?

[ohgodimafraud]

panic! at the drugstore (j/jk, nanami)

hiiiii @ezynse merry xmas, happy new year, happy day. <3

im ur secret santa. <33 i hope u like this fic. ily. i want u to know the j key on my keyboard is challenged so i wrote "Goo" by accident sm ToT

(sorry for the title i dont even rlly listen to them i- )

please keep this to sneeze kink blogs only! 18+ only!

Summary stuff:

Fandom: J/JK

Characters: Nan//ami, Go/jo, Ijic/hi, Yu/ji,

Pairings: slight nana/go. in the way la croix has flavor

Good future AU (no bad stuff, everyones an adult. set in 2023)

As soon as Nanami detected Gojo’s presence, he should have turned on his heel and left. Instead, he’d gone into the drugstore, reasoning that the necessity of his trip outweighed the aggravation it’d cause. He wasn’t naive enough to hope he’d get out of here without any additional psychic damage but maybe he’d luck out and Gojo would— 

“Nanami!” Gojo sang from a few aisles over. This was starting to play out like one of his nightmares. Verbatim. “Wow, you shop here too?!” 

“Not anymore.” 

Gojo laughed easily and brushed off the obvious rejection with a wave of his hand. “Oh, don’t act like you’re not happy to see your best buddy!”

“I have no such thing.” Nanami sighed and drew out a cough in the process which he managed to muffle into the sleeve of his jacket. Anyone else would have read the room and left him alone, but Gojo continued to chatter on at a volume unfit for the public space they were in. If only he’d move back a few centimeters so Nanami could escape without having to push past him and potentially causing a bigger scene than they’re already causing. He’d already used up his energy—both cursed and otherwise—at work today and he was quickly fading. 

 For the first time, he wished he could focus on the bubblegum pop blasting through the speakers with its sentiments of Sakura blossoms and old times; it would beat trying to follow the embellished story Gojo was telling. He pinched the bridge of his nose. To make matters worse, the temperature change had caused the congestion that had mostly settled by the end of the train ride over here to return with a vengeance. His nose threatened to drip and he risked a small sniffle. Immediately, he recognized it as a mistake when the lingering prickle sharpened and traveled deeper into his nose.

As if he hadn’t sneezed enough today. 

“And after all that I got some wagashi at this great place near the hospital, Great Luck right? And haha it was! Anyway, the point is… I got some stuff for Yuji, but then I got hungry waiting for the car so I figured I’d better make up for it.”

Nanami made a point of checking his watch as a last ditch effort for a polite departure, less for Gojo’s sake and more for the sake of everyone else in this godforsaken store. But most of all for his own sake, considering he’s quickly losing the battle against the pertinent tickle up his right nostril. “I don’t have time to talk,” he said evenly, breath only wavering once he’s gotten the last word out. 

Unfortunately, Gojo clasped his shoulder, refusing to let him leave. “Did you take the train here? We could carpool instead, Ijichi is—”

“ht’KKxt!” Nanami interrupted with a poorly restrained sneeze directed into the sleeve of his jacket. 

“Bless you!” Gojo’s head lolled to the side; he had the decency to release him, but otherwise didn’t move out of his personal space. Nanami nodded and turned away. “Wow, that sounded painful. You okay?”

It was. “hGNXt’ch! h’kKt…chh.” Damnit. “Hh- kmpht’Chhh!” He might not have been able to see Gojo’s eyes, but he sure could feel them on him. This tickle just wasn’t going to quit until he let it out, and he’d rather end this as soon as possible. “h’eSCHh!” 

“Oh bless you.” Gojo, ever uncaring of displaying any decorum, took zero steps away from him. He examined him from a few different angles, tapping his chin as he hovered. “Bet I can guess why you’re here today!”

“Excuse me.” He pinched the bridge of his nose and rubbed small circles all the way into the inner corners of his eyes and tried to ignore the heat that had risen to his ears. His head pounded even harder than it had before. 

“Always so formal, huh?”

Always so inappropriately casual, huh? Nanami glanced at Gojo’s basket and its contents: strawberry shampoo, bags of candy, winter apple body wash, face masks, moisturizer, cotton candy flavored lip gloss, and more items he couldn’t quite make out, but surely none of them were essential enough to inconvenience Ijichi in the way Gojo was. Everything he’s learned about Satoru Gojo has been against his will, and now he’s horrified that his brain was wasting the time wondering if he’s one of those people who can’t go to the store and truly buy one item.

“So, how was your—”

“I don’t have time to talk. Excuse me.” Risking a shoulder check, Nanami walked towards the aisles. He tried not to sniffle more than strictly necessary and tried to ignore the extra set of footsteps behind him. Key word was tried.

“Oh wow, you really sound terrible.” Gojo said sympathetically, continuing to haunt Nanami all the way to the cold and flu aisle. “How long have you had that cold?”

Why did it have to be Gojo?

“Stop following me.”

“You forgot your basket, though.” 

So he did. “I don’dt need that much.” It was true, but Nanami accepted the basket anyway from the pouting man. 

“Mm, really? You kinda sound like you’re dying, y’know.” Gojo wandered around the aisle and picked up a box of medicine that he held up to his blindfolded eyes. “No offense.” A man started walking in their direction, took one look at Gojo, and immediately turned around. Nanami released a small forlorn sigh through gritted teeth.

“I’ll be finde.” he said, clearing his throat. He could curb the hoarse quality his voice had taken on, but the congestion was something he’d have to live with for now. “You mentionded Ijichi is waiting?”

“Yeah, so hurry up, Nanami!”

“I will n’dot be ri-ridi’hhgg wih—” He’d gotten distracted and hadn’t noticed that the itch from before had been slowly respawning. Gojo gave a questioning hum as Nanami his knuckle to his nose, sniffled sharply, and cleared his throat again. “I will not be riding with you.”

 “Aw, not with me?” 

Nanami shot him a glare. All of his efforts were in vain because the urge to sneeze returned with a vengeance and demanded his attention in a way that put Gojo’s efforts to shame. The prickle spread like wildfire through his sinuses, and in spite of his efforts in snuffing it out, he’d allowed himself to get distracted enough to give the enemy the advantage. “Hh-!” He inhaled sharply before shoving the back of his wrist up to his nose. “nGhthsCH! hh’NGXTCHh’ueh!” That last one had been particularly loud but had been just as unrelieving as its predecessors. “hehH’TSChhiuh!”

 Gojo patted his back. There was a warmth to his palm that Nanami could feel even through the layers of fabric acting as a buffer between them. “Bless you.” Using only his free hand, he easily broke the seal of a travel pack of tissues on the shelf and nudged a few tissues into Nanami’s palm.

“You’re supposed to pay first.” In spite of the protest, he fixed his glasses that were in danger of falling off his face and accepted the tissues; by noon, his handkerchief had become unusable and he’d already gone through the tissues he’d accepted at the train station this morning, so his options were limited. He turned away for a moment to blow his nose. While his efforts were productive, they did little to kill the taunting buzzing in the back of his nose. He pinched his nostrils shut from behind the tissue and willed the tickle to recede.

“Not yet! Hey if I buy your stuff will you ride with me? Wouldn’t you get back sooner that way? Oh, bless—”

“hh’MPHtchh!”

“—you again!”

He took a moment to massage the bridge of his nose in a silent apology to himself for the poor attempt at stifling before clearing his throat and bringing up sodden tissue to wipe the lingering moisture from the red rims of his nostrils. 

No amount of free cold medicine would make spending his free time with this absolute menace in a small enclosed space worth it, but at the same time it’d be less aggravating for him to just go along with it in the long run. Gojo’s already made it clear he has no intention of leaving him alone. He gave half a nod and picked up the first bottle of cold medicine that he saw and a bag of face masks and took a few steps in the direction of the check out. 

“That’s all you’re buying?” Gojo asked. His lips formed an exaggerated frown and his forehead wrinkled as if he was bewildered by Nanami’s shopping habits.

Nanami was too busy fighting a losing battle against the threat of another sneeze to tell Gojo to stop adding more items to the basket, but he managed to shoot him a pointed glare before his expression crumpled. “Hh- hehhH- …mPHTtshhiuh! Pardon,” he said more out of habit than anything and wiped his nose again, “I have more than enough now.” 

“So frugal.”

He supposed the cough drops, vicks, lotion tissues, vitamins, and nasal spray wouldn’t hurt, especially if accepting them will get Nanami out of here faster. Since he’d already opened the tissues, he figured he might as well put on one of the masks in the pack. His glasses immediately fogged and he tucked them into his inner coat pocket.

After they’d approached the register Gojo told the cashier they would be paying together and nuzzled his cheek against Nanami’s shoulder in an intimate way. He’d smack him later. 

The cold pierced through Nanami’s coat as soon as they opened the door. As annoying as this situation is, he can’t say he’s upset that he won’t have to walk back to the train station. They turned a corner and Gojo pointed out the car. 

“I know, I know.” Gojo opened the door to the passenger side and abruptly wrapped an arm around Nanami’s shoulder, yanking him into the field of vision as if he’d run away. “That took a little longer than I said, but look who I ran into!”

“Nanamin!” Itadori called out from the back seat with a cheery wave. Nanami is just as surprised to see him, though he’d mostly tuned out Gojo’s story. “No way, what a coincidence!”

Nanami shot Gojo a withering look and gave a slight bow to Itadori. “Itadori-kun…” 

“Think fast!” Gojo called out and threw a bag of candy at Itadori. 

He caught it easily. “Wow, thank you, Gojo-sensei!” 

“Gojo-san, we were meant to be back over a half hour ago—“

“Ijichiiii, you need to relax. Seriously, you’re already getting frown lines, that’s no good. Look, I even got something for you. Tadaaa~” He dropped a pack of instant udon into his lap and a face mask and made himself comfortable in the passenger seat. “Can you drop Nanami Kento-kun off first?”

“Don’t call me that.”

Ijichi sighed and took a moment before he half-heartedly thanked Gojo for the gifts. Then he turns to look at the backseat. “Of course, Nanami-san.” He and Nanami shared a quick glance as the cause of their stress tore into his own pack of candy and ate it noisily. 

“Oh, why are you wearing a mask, Nanamin?” Itadori asked as Nanami sat next to him and put on his seatbelt. “Do you have a cold?”

“It’s alright,” Nanami assured him and cleared his throat, “just a mild one.”

“I dunno if mild is the right word there, Nanamin.” Gojo interjected as Ijichi finally started driving.  

Itadori’s face fell and Nanami sincerely considered kicking the back of Gojo’s chair, though he was too busy pinching his nose shut over the fabric of the mask to stifle a sneeze that had nearly escaped his detection. “hGXxt’chshh!- excuse me.”

“Bless you. I hope you feel better soon.” Itadori frowned and offered him a piece of candy. Nanami shook his head and Itadori shrugged and ate it himself. 

“You’re gonna pop an eardrum like that,” Gojo chastised, clicking his tongue.

All of this was past the point of the nightmare he’d thought he was having earlier and was starting to veer into the fever dream category. Perhaps in more ways than one. Gojo flicked through the radio stations until he found what he was looking for and started singing along with a pop song. Itadori joined him and they pointed at each other while Nanami reflected on his life choices and folded his arms more tightly over his chest.  

Nanami glanced at Ijichi’s GPS. Twenty minutes of this felt like a death sentence. His limbs had started aching a few hours ago and now that the adrenaline was long dead and he was sitting again, he felt it in full force. The sudden urge to lean his temple against the foggy window arose and he indulged in it, ever so slowly pressing his forehead to the window. 

While Gojo was especially pitchy, the noise at least took the focus off of Nanami as he muffled a series of throat-tearing coughs against the crook of his arm. His lungs gave a slight whine as he regained his breath and he could feel the silent attention the other three men were giving him. 

“Can you breathe okay, Nanamin?” Itadori asked, patting his shoulder. If it were anyone else, Nanami would have batted the hand away, but doing that to Itadori would feel like kicking a puppy and it's not like he was heartless. While most people become hardened and jaded after living the life of a jujutsu sorcerer, Itadori remained as kind and genuine as ever over the years. 

Instead he nodded. “Yes. Don’t worry.” 

Itadori gave him a thumbs up. The singing continued and he pitied Ijichi for how long he’s had to put up with Satoru Gojo today. 

To Gojo’s credit, he toned down the singing, but Nanami almost wished he’d go back to his caterwauling, because his nose had chosen that moment to betray him yet again. It itched like mad and putting pressure on the tip of his nose did nothing to chase the feeling away. He did his best to muffle it into his sleeve anyway, hoping the extra layers would do anything to make it less intrusive than he knew it would be. “Hh- hgzt’SChhiuh! heHMPHhshh’ieuh!- pardon me.”

“Aw, bless you,” Gojo chimed in, stretching out his seatbelt as he turned his body around to face him. “Do you want my jacket, Nanamin?” He puckered his lips.

This time he let his shoe dig into the bag of Gojo’s chair. “No.”

Ijichi quietly turned up the heat. “Give him a break, Gojo-san,” he said tiredly. 

The rest of the ride quite literally blurred together as Nanami fought to keep his eyes open. With the heat on, his chills were kept at bay, and it was easy to drift off to sleep. He jolted and shook himself awake at least three times before the familiar building came into view, and the third time, it’d been because Itadori was saying his name to get his attention. Ijichi pulled up closer and stopped the car. Nanami thanked him for the ride and held up a hand to stop Itadori from offering a side hug. 

“Get well soon, Nana—”

Nanami shut the car door and ignored the rest of Gojo’s sentence. Getting into the apartment was a blur, but it wouldn’t be the first time he’d come home in rough shape, relying on autopilot. He immediately hung his jacket and loosened his tie, and then he removed his face mask, cringing as he pinched away the lingering moisture from his nostrils. He’d done his best to avoid rubbing his nose all day, but his efforts seemed to be in vain considering how sore it still was. 

As much as he wanted to just collapse into the couch, his discipline won out and he managed to undress. Though, not without challenge. “huhh…HGSCHh’uh!” He sneezed all over his chest, too slow to cover in his exhausted state. Undeniably, it was a relief to be able to sneeze freely in the privacy of his bedroom. “hh-...hDJtSchh’euh! hhaH’DTzSHhh’ih!” 

He found the tissues from the bag and blew his nose, letting out a slight hum of relief as some of the congestion came free. His eyes still ached and with a quick dose of medicine, he was ready to close them. He laid in bed with the extra throw blanket atop the comforter and waited for the chills to die down so he could sleep.

It  was restful for the first few hours. As he’d anticipated, he woke up in the early hours of the morning coughing, hair clinging to his forehead with sweat, and his mouth bone dry. 

3 AM. 

It was too early for this. He forces himself into the kitchen to fill a tall glass with water and to find a few more items from the bag. He took the cough drops out and put one in his mouth and placed the rest of the bag on the bedside table. 

Somehow knowing that he needed as much sleep as possible hindered him from doing so. He drifted in and out of sleeping for the entire morning, occasionally walking up mumbling something incomprehensible. 

He was finally asleep until his phone went off a few minutes past 6 AM. It wasn’t his alarm, but an obnoxious ding.

Gojo: 

heyyy nanamin~ 

… Nanami clenched his jaw as he watched the animated ellipses bubble and waited to see what could possibly be so important to disturb him.

Gojo:

good morning! 🌞hope u get some rest today hahaha :D you sounded awful 🤒dont go dying </3

Typically jujutsu sorcerers have about as much paid sick leave as he would’ve had at his former company: basically none. What kind of fucked up—

Nanami frowned, realizing he’d missed some other notifications, including the ones canceling his mission for the day. It’s easy to put the pieces together. He had to put the phone down to sneeze a few times, and it continued to ding throughout his fit.

Gojo:

we’ll have to go out when youre better!! next friday?? theres a new barcade i wanna try and then KARAOKE!!!!!! :DDD

Gojo:

Nanamiiiiii D: 

Gojo:

don’t leave me on read

Gojo:

bless youuuuu :3

Gojo:

no i cant hear u im just guessing

Gojo:

was i right?? o.O 

Nanami silenced his phone and went back to sleep, deciding to address the new situation, along with the strange feelings that’d started coming up, later. For now, at least he could relax. 

Nanami:

Thank you.

[mywritingonlyfans]

Hey, can you do one about Alex supporting Reader Athlete in the Olympics?Like how it was in Red Carped ❤️

I made a winning and losing version... I thought it was pretty cute to think about haha 🩷 it's around 2K words

Oympics Reader // Alex Turner X Reader

Alex tried not to stand out too much among the people. He wore an Olympic cap, a light button-down shirt, and comfortable tailored pants. As soon as you appeared from the locker room in your fitted leotard and short skirt, he smiled and stood up. You tended to be quieter when nervous, and he understood that but hated when your rigidity was more about anxiety than concentration. To anyone looking, you exuded confidence, and you certainly wore it well, but it wasn’t easy, and Alex knew that.

He touched your shoulders, his hand gliding down your arm until he reached your cold hands. "I'm excited," you said, your voice enthusiastic, followed by a few small jumps. Your outfit had glitter, and when you hugged him, Alex laughed at how some of it transferred onto his shirt sleeve. "You look stunning." He was used to your tennis outfits and loved how they looked on you but never tired of seeing you in them. "I love this one. I wish I could take it home, Al." Your cheek rested on his shoulder, and his large hands roamed your back, squeezing your waist a little.

Years of watching had taught Alex from a physiotherapist once that touching or stimulating other parts of the body could shift focus away from pain (such information would also apply well in other areas). This worked for physical injuries, but Alex believed it also helped your emotional state. He bent down a bit, giving your shoulder a soft kiss. You closed your eyes, and he gently nibbled at the spot, making you laugh, followed by some camera flashes. Since you didn't mind, he didn't either.

The important thing was that it worked; your posture was still confident, but you were visibly more relaxed. "We can have one made just like it when we get home, tiny one." You laughed softly, making him feel relieved to see you less tense. You certainly didn't have the money for that, but Alex wouldn't hesitate to fulfill your wish for something so simple for him to get. Under different circumstances, you might resist, but for the moment, you went along: "If I qualify, I'll hold you to that, love." He nodded, his big almond eyes bright. You thought he sometimes believed in you more than you did. "I can make sure it's yours by next week." You buried your face in his neck, hugging him tighter, not knowing what to say. He laughed, keeping his arms around you, holding you firmly until your moment arrived.

Until then, your fingers intertwined with the crumpled folds of his shirt hem, occasionally pinching the skin of his hands, tracing the prominent veins, and wrapping your fingers around his while he tried to keep you relaxed.

He understood the dynamics of the game well, thanks to you, of course. He followed the little ball with his eyes, as well as the precise movements of your body. Whenever you took a leap, your skirt flew freely, and he found it adorable; you look like proper doll. When your perfect posture flexed to hit the ball with skill, your ponytail moved gracefully. Deep down, he knew the sport was made for you, both for your talent and for how it enhanced your natural grace. "Go, pumpkin, you can do it," he whispered to himself, anxious as you handled everything like a perfectly choreographed dance.

The ball hit the ground, followed by cheers. Alex couldn't help but remember the previous Olympics, with photos in tabloids showing you with stern fingers on his chest and raised eyebrows, teaching him not to wish for opponents' mistakes; specifically not errors of chance (like wishing for a ball to fall just for your own benefit). You didn’t need that; you could win fairly. Alex didn’t fully understand, but your dedication warmed his heart.

Your breathing was heavy, eyes wide with excitement. You let out a loud cheer, filling the air around the court. The ball had fallen, but not due to any unfair advantage. You showed empathy to your opponent, who reciprocated. Alex beamed with pride, watching your glowing face as you placed your racket on the table and ran to him.

You jumped over the barrier, and Alex caught you in mid-air, your legs wrapping around his torso and your arms around his neck. You felt tears of joy streaming down your face. "I knew you could do it, I told you, tiny one." He filled you with praise, always there to boost your ego, while keeping a hand on your skirt, aware of the crowd around you; not wanting to share any further piece of your soft skin.

You nestled into him, clutching his shirt, and Alex laughed, holding you firmly even though he knew you were stronger. Your training routine left him with no doubts about such confirmations; a d he was proud of that too. You placed your feet on the ground, eyes swollen with tears, looking at him. You loved how he was always there for you. The Olympics were spaced out, and this was his second year there with you, always finding a way to avoid tours or shows for you. Everyone around you expected the best from you, but Alex was there just for you. He didn’t care about the spectacle, only about you as his fav person.

"I'm so proud of you," he repeated, eyes brimming with tears like yours. He stroked your hair, kissing your forehead multiple times, making you smile with a contagious sigh before you had to return to your athletic peers. "Now you can get ready for the medals and new sparkly outfits."

...

Alex sat in a seat that offered a perfect view of your coach, his restlessness, and the anxiety about what lay ahead. He found it unfair that artistic gymnastics had such little performance time, considering your years of rigorous training.

While he didn't expect the worst, Alex couldn't feel at ease knowing you were nervous and doubtful of your abilities. Despite being distant from you, whenever your eyes met his, he tried to reassure you with a smile, blowing kisses, or making heart shapes. You found it endearing because he typically didn't express himself that way unless it was for you.

Your heart was racing, and your hands were cold, making it hard to focus on him for long. This worried Alex, not because of the competition, but for your well-being. Ignoring protocol but not acting recklessly, he moved closer to where you were standing, waiting for your turn. You were puzzled, but since no one objected, you didn't mind. He felt closer to you, held your hand, traced his fingers along your wrist and palm. Having something else to focus on helped, and you looked at him with a light smile of gratitude. He added, "You are amazing, tiny one. You'll do great, and I'll be 'ere for you no matter what happens." Alex's presence was immensely helpful. You appreciated that he was there not for your professional development but because you were important to him as a person. Just the physical touch and his sweet words boosted your confidence.

Unfortunately, it wasn't enough, and rationally, you knew it wasn't your fault. But in the moment, it felt dreadful, as if all your invested time was wasted. You had prepared for this, and even though you failed, shouldn't you be emotionally prepared? The scene replayed in your mind seconds after it happened.

Everything had gone well—the beginning, all the aerial acrobatics—but your knees couldn't handle the landing. The sound was harsh, your head hurt, and even though it wasn't a fall, your stumble and attempt to recover to avoid injuries would come at a cost. You tried to keep a smile, but your face crumbled as you realized what had happened. It was not a good day.

After the acknowledgments, your tearful eyes searched for Alex. In tense moments like these, he would nibble on his nails—not severely, but it was different (a good kind of different) to know he got nervous watching you do something important to you, as it impacted your life as a couple. You liked how he cared. "I thought it was great," he whispered, opening his arms for you to nestle into. The phrases varied, but they always carried the same meaning. "It was terrible this time, Alex." You pronounced his full name as if in pain and buried your face in him.

He hugged you tightly, wanting to lift all that weight off your shoulders. He couldn't imagine it, but he knew you well enough to understand your thoughts were burdened with wasted time and how your team was affected. "It's not your fault, my luv. No one thinks it is, 'kay?" he said, feeling the urge to cry seeing you were in tears but holding it back. He knelt in front of you as you sat on the bench, still wrapped in his arms. He lifted your head, caressing your cheek and holding your waist.

"You still have more chances; it was just a bad day." He saw more tears falling, his chest heavy, and then you broke down. And he was there for you, holding your face to his shoulder while he stroked your hair and back. It was heartbreaking, but he hoped you felt lighter afterward. "I'm right 'ere; everything'ill be okay from now on, you'll see, huh?" It was uncertain, but his voice calmed you.

At that moment, a few reporters appeared, and Alex reflexively thought to shoo them away, but remembered that in sports, they were more respectful, so he just lifted your face before they got close. "You're one of the strongest people I know; I know you'll do well." You didn't hesitate, not wanting to but knowing it was expected whether you did well or not. You gave a brief interview, even through tears, explaining yourself as best as you could.

Alex avoided appearing when it was your moment, not wanting to draw attention to himself and not answering questions about him when asked, respecting the significance of your day. But as soon as it was over, there he was, holding your Olympic jacket to put over you, knowing it made you more comfortable because walking around in public in a leotard wasn't your cup of tea.

You needed to watch the rest before the scores were announced. And so you did, even with some doses of tears and lament, but Alex did everything to make it comfortable and bearable for you. He would rather you talk or cry with him there than keep all the weight to yourself.

He sat by your side, your body lying against his chest, in a somewhat hidden spot in the audience, not forcing an impractical good mood on you. He took off his cap and put it on your head while you curled up next to him. "I'm happy for them," you said, watching your fellow teammates and friends. Alex nodded, "I know," he said in a somewhat proud tone.

He understood you were upset with yourself, a common reaction, and that it had nothing to do with your relationship with the other professionals.

Your eyes filled with tears again, and Alex kissed your head, understanding that it would take time. Your fingers tightened on the edge of his shirt while his hand squeezed your thigh, trying his best to ease all of that and in fact he tried to keep your hands busy with him so that they wouldn't pass incessantly over your swollen eyes. He couldn't imagine himself in your place. He could mess up a show, and there would be many more in the near future. The Olympics weren't like that. "You're an excellent professional, pumpkin. It wasn't your failure; it was just a bad day." And Alex would do anything for you to hear him, especially since he was with you and had been following your routine long enough to know what he was talking about.

...

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[simplepotatofarmer]

the real pig hunt

another mini fic for my 'hey loyal write this' challenge, this time based on this post by @curosart! an alternate take on 'hog hunt' and the butcher army execution.

“What if it doesn’t, uh, work?” Ranboo swallowed, trying to dislodge the lump in their throat and then swallowed again. “Like, what if it goes wrong or something?”

“It’s going to work, Ranboo,” said Quackity in a tone that made it clear there would be no further debate past this point. “Besides, if it goes wrong, that’s just less work for us, yeah?”

Tubbo nodded.

“Exactly, exactly.”

“But it’s going to work.” Quackity grinned. “And Techno is going to learn a lesson he’ll never forget.”

Techno should have known this would happen. Part of him had been waiting for it, ready, and there was no surprise when he received Phil’s message, just a pit in his stomach that the peace he had wanted to build here was about to be shattered.

And now there was blood on the snow (and he had tried, he had begged, but it was no use) and Quackity had an axe to his horse’s throat.

“Get away from them, Techno, or I’ll kill your horse right now.”

Techno stopped, holding his hands up.

“Quackity, you leave that horse alone…”

“Cooperate or I’ll kill Carl,” said Quackity. “Do you understand? I’ll slay this horse. Now drop everything.”

With a deep sigh, Techno’s shoulders sagged. He knew this would happen, he knew it, and began dropping his items on the ground.

“Okay, okay…”

“Your armor too.”

A moment of doubt made Techno hesitate. If he was going to get out of this, he would need his armor. Sunlight glinted off of Quackity’s axe.

“Do it or I’ll kill the horse right fucking now.”

Techno pulled the netherite gauntlets off and dropped them into the snow. The helmet was next and then the chest plate and he was about to ask what they were planning to do when he heard the unmistakable sound of a potion bottle breaking and the feeling of something wet hitting him.

“What the heck—”

And then the world around him was getting much bigger and Techno hit the ground.

_________________________________________________________

“Is this a fucking joke?” asked Punz.

Dream shrugged helplessly, not knowing how to answer the question. He needed it to be a joke, it had to be a joke, and yet—

“What do we do now? I mean, this really messes with the whole rescue plan, right?”

It did and if it was anyone other than Technoblade, Dream might have cut his losses right then and there. He groaned, rocking back on his heels.

“Okay, new plan.”

A beat.

Punz looked at him.

“Which is…?”

“Well, same plan for you, I guess,” Dream said. “You get up there and distract them. I’ll get Techno out.”

“How are you going to do that?”

“Do you have an extra invis potion?”

Raising an eyebrow, Punz dug through their inventory and pulled out a glass bottle, the liquid inside an almost matte grey in color. They handed it to Dream.

“Good luck, buddy.”

Dream nodded; he was going to need it.

_________________________________________________________

Techno had a brief flash of optimism when they tossed him into the small cage that maybe, just maybe, he could squeeze through the iron bars. That maybe whatever Quackity and his goons had done to him could work in his favor. But the bars were too close for him to fit through and his ear caught on the metal, making him let out a squeal.

This was embarrassing.

He got the point – turn the pigman into an actual pig, haha, very funny – but it was really cramping his style. How was he going to get out of this? How was he going to make sure Phil was alright? Techno could barely turn and he didn’t have hands to hold a weapon or that totem Dream had so kindly pointed him to.

There was a flash of white and then shouting and an explosion. Beneath him, something thumped against the wood plank he was standing on, hard. He didn’t have time to think about that. Tubbo’s voice cut across the commotion.

“Pull the lever, Big Q!”

Bruh, Techno thought, not like this. 

The wooden plank beneath his hooves – all four of them – broke and he fell. He expected to hit the ground and then for the anvil to hit him but someone grabbed him awkwardly, hands almost slipping on his haunches as they yanked him back. The anvil slammed into the ground with a rush of air, barely an inch away from Techno’s snout.

__________________________________________________________

If there wasn’t a saying about how hard it was to catch a pig already, Dream thought there should be.

With one hand still on his axe, he scrambled to grab Techno as he pulled him back and out of the way of the anvil at the same time. It had come too close for comfort and Techno was practically upside down. He adjusted his grip but Techno seemed to be panicking.

“Techno—Techno, stop, it’s me.”  There was an indignant sounding squeal and Dream groaned. He was invisible; even if Techno was in a position to look at him, he would’ve seen nothing but a floating axe. “It’s Dream.”

The squealing turned into a series of oinks that could only be described as laughter.

“Yeah, whatever, laugh all you want,” said Dream.

He tucked Techno under his arm. Above the commotion still raged and it was surprisingly easy for Dream to slip away. That ease made paranoia stick in Dream’s chest and it took all his self-control not to look over his shoulder every few seconds and instead made his way to where Quackity and the others had left Carl.

Grabbing the lead, he pulled the horse towards the tunnel, the sound of shouting and explosions fading into the background.

__________________________________________________________

Techno had thought being turned into an actual pig was about as low as he could get and then he had realized they hadn’t even planned on giving him a clean death. There was no honor in being crushed while trapped in a cage and Techno knew that was the whole point.

And now Dream was manhandling him as if he had never once held an animal before and also was afraid Techno would bite him. Techno had certainly considered it, especially when he had mounted Carl and turned the horse away from his home in the arctic.

He had considered wiggling out of Dream’s grip and taking his chances but he knew Dream wanted him alive, even if he didn’t know why. That was enough for him.

“Whoa.”

Carl took a moment to listen to Dream and Techno snorted in amusement.

The invisibility potion had worn off and Dream tilted his head down slightly to look at him. When he spoke, Techno could hear the frown in his voice.

“Your horse sucks, Techno,” he said as he pulled out his communicator with one hand.

And I’m gonna feed him so many golden carrots, thought Techno, oinking.

“Shut up.”

As Dream typed, resting the communicator on his thigh, Techno tried to peer at the screen, see what it was he was saying, who he was talking to you.

Techno oinked, rising in intonation.

“I’m trying to figure out where’s safe,” said Dream in reply.

Flicking his ear, Techno thought, I take back fifty percent of the times I’ve called you stupid, alright, Dream?

“Damn it.”

That didn’t sound good. Squealing, Techno nudged Dream’s arm, dignity forgotten. Dream tightened his grip on him as Carl side-stepped with a whiny. 

“It’s fine,” he muttered and then cleared his throat. “It’s fine—We just need to find somewhere to lay low for a bit.”

We also need to figure out a way to turn me back into a dang person, thought Techno. If something went south, he’d be useless. A pig couldn’t hold a sword and Dream was good but not that good. He oinked.

“What? I don’t speak pig.”

Techno oinked again.

C’mon, Dream, that’s whole problem, man.

He couldn’t see the expression on Dream’s face but the way he looked down at him and then leaned back slightly spoke of a sudden realization.

“Okay, but I don’t know what to do about that so,” Dream said and then nudged Carl lightly with his heels. “We’ll figure it out.”

We better, thought Techno with a soft huff.

_______________________________________________________

Things had spiraled out of control. It was supposed to be a simple rescue mission, just make sure that Techno got out of there alive with his stupid horse, and now Dream’s mind was racing as he tried to plan where to go, what to do next.

How the fuck was he going to turn Techno back to normal?

“Fuck! Milk!” 

In his lap, Techno squealed and the horse shied and Dream had to work to keep him under control without dropping Techno. He pulled the horse to a stop.

“Can pigs drink milk?” he asked, looking down at Techno.

The noise Techno made was somewhere between an oink and a snort and very clearly held the tone of someone who thought they had just been asked a very stupid question. Dream felt his cheeks go hot and he was glad he was wearing the mask.

“Well—Well, to be fair, I don’t know pig biology or whatever.”

Techno snorted again. Dream rolled his eyes.

“Look, we’ll just—We’ll find a cow and fix this.”

__________________________________________________________

It was a good idea.

Techno was actually a little bit disappointed that he hadn’t thought of it himself but it wasn’t as if he could have told Dream anything. Their means of communication was pretty limited though he had to admit that Dream was quick to figure out what he was trying to say.

So when he felt that odd tingle, starting at the tip of his tail, he had a good idea of what was about to happen. He tried to wriggle out of Dream’s grasp, giving a squeal, but Dream held on.

“Techno! What the hell?”

Oh, this is gonna be awkward, thought Techno.

There was a stretching sensation in all his limbs and then a pop, like a bubble bursting, and he was falling and taking Dream with him. Techno landed on top of him, knocking the wind out of them both. Startled, Carl whinnied and danced away before stopping to munch on some grass just a few feet away.

Techno looked down at Dream.

“Hey, good news, Dream, I don’t think we’re gonna need to find that cow,” he said.

Dream lifted his head and then gave up almost immediately with a deep sigh.

“—we’re never fucking talking about this again.”

With a laugh, Techno got to his feet – the two of them, not four – and reached down to offer Dream a hand. He hesitated for just a moment before taking it and letting Techno pull him up.

“Oh yeah, this is stayin’ between us,” he said and then, “For now, I mean, it is kinda funny…”

“Techno!”

[creative-caramel-coffee]

Texts from the Ex

Pairings: Weems x Reader

Word count: 1.1K

Summary: Reader is a fairly new teacher, and you have a panic attack at school luckily not in class.

TW: implied past abuse, stalking, panic attack

A/n Hi guys sorry I disappeared for a hot minute there I just finished the last of my exams and have been very very busy. I’ll be back to posting as per normal (hopefully) now. Thank you all for your support with my exams and to the people who wished me luck with them your all very sweet. Again, sorry about the random ghosting haha.

Also, this fic is Larissa x reader. I know I said this was a platonic fic of oneshots but it was requested (I won't be doing any more romantic pairing for weems or Thornhill in the foreseeable future), this is just a one off so… live with it. (Dw as per usual its SFW)

Your phone screen flashed again as you did your best to hide it under the table and out of sight. The panic swelled in your chest as you pushed the tray of food away.

It had started that morning in your first class. You had been teaching about the renaissance when your phone buzzed in your pocket. As per usual you ignored it, you had a class to teach. The buzzing happened again ten minutes later while the kids were doing some still life sketches. This time you pulled it out, feeling the blood freeze tight in your veins.

How did she get this number. Your ex-girlfriend had managed to track you down, most likely due to your response to the ad for this position a few months back. You had responded with your number like an idiot and now she was onto you again.

She was awful, she ignored you and she had always possessed a special talent to make you feel unwanted and small.

You quickly shoved the phone back into your pocket and drew some deep breathes trying to quell the rising feeling of panic. You had managed to stave it off until the class left. It was only then you had let yourself collapse onto the floor and sob. She was trying to get back into your life to ruin it again.

The messages hadn’t stopped all day. Each one had made you feel closer and closer to the impending panic attack and now you were sat here with Ms Thornhill trying to hold a conversation. However, she was doing about 90% of the talking while you sat there nodding. You were close with the botanist. After all she was close with your girlfriend who happened to be the principle. None other than Larissa Weems herself.

Realising you had zoned out you tried to tune back into what was being said around you. Your phone buzzed under the table again and you began to feel sick. What if Marilyn saw? What if Larissa found out? What if your Ex found you?

Your chest began to feel tight. Constricting slowly and making it harder to take a deep breath. Your head was pounding and your stomach roiling. Your hands were shaking and clasped tight under the desk. Your body was overwhelmed with fear, and it was getting harder to hear Marilyn. It sounded distorted, as if it was under a layer of thick liquid like juice or honey. Things were moving weirdly as well, almost slowly but also too fast.

You thanked God that you had agreed to have lunch with Marilyn in the conservatory away from students. They didn’t need to see the new art teacher having a breakdown over some silly text messages.

“Y/n?” Marilyn asked as she laid a hand on your shoulder. “Honey, are you ok?” She said softly. You recoiled from the touch, and she quickly withdrew her hands into a surrender. “Ok. Ok. Its ok. Im not going to touch you sweetheart. What do you need?” She said and you shook your head, taking shaky breathes which weren’t helping ease the nausea. You curled yourself into a tight ball.

“L-leave me al-lone pl-lease.” You begged. You couldn’t see past the haze of tears and your head hurt so bad.

Marilyn stood back for a second, seeing she was getting nowhere. Suddenly she had an idea and whipped out her own phone.

“Honey? Do you want me to call larissa?” She asked softly. You hesitated and then gave a small nod. “Good. Good. Ok? Take some deep breathes. You're doing great Y/n.” She encouraged and began to dial your girlfriend.

The whole time she was on the phone she studied you closely to make sure you were still breathing and not at risk of passing out. After a few seconds she nodded and said something you didn’t hear before hanging up.

“She’ll be here in a second. Come on Y/n. You can do it. You're doing such a good job sweetheart. That’s it.” She gushed and you let out a shaky sob as you saw a pair of heels enter your vision.

Looking up at her with a tear-stained face Larissa’s heart broke for you. She quickly sat on the floor beside you, uncaring about her expensive suit and pulled you into her arms. She pulled you into her chest and tucked your head under her chin, her arms wrapped around your back. One of your legs either-side of her as you straddled her waist. She rocked the two of you side to side as she brushed her hands through your hair.

She exaggerated her breathing as you listened to her heartbeat and slowed your own. After a bit of just sitting there you took a deep breath of her perfume and released a shaky sigh.

“Hello darling.” She said cooly and with a tender tone.

“Hi.” You said almost shyly. She chuckled.

“Oh, my sweet girl.” She pressed a kiss to the crown of your head and rested her cheek thereafter. “Your safe baby. Your safe. Ok. Im here.” She said still rocking the two of you. After another brief silence she shifted slightly, and you let out a whine.

“Hush. I’m not going anywhere sweets.” She said and you let one last tear fall onto her blazer before playing with her broach and starting to speak.

“She texted again.”

“Who texted?”

“My ex.” You said and you felt her stiffen. You had told Larissa of your time with your Ex and she more than disapproved of her.

“How many times sweetheart.” She said softly.

“Seven.” Larissa sucked in a breath.

“Im buying you a new phone.” She said and you gave a half snort half laugh which made her heart warm.

There was another short pause before you let out a content sigh. “I love you Issa.” You said and closed your eyes and nuzzled into her neck, you were emotionally and physically drained and in desperate need of a nap. Right here would do, you decided as you began to drift off.

“I love you too my darling girl.” She said and kissed your cheek, smiling at the small snores you were making into her neck. She wondered what the students were going to think when she carried you through the hall on her hip like a toddler, fast asleep. Maybe a little bit of a distraction from the students would be good for you she decided.

[twstinginthewind]

Joker Carder: Pop Music Club Audition

"Kaliiiiim, can you pass me a juice?" Cater reached lazily across the club room table, scrolling through his Magicam feed on his phone with his other hand. "Anything but the apple, that's too sweet for me."

His bright-eyed underclassman nodded, and started going through the cans that were stacked up on his end of the table. "Sure thing, Cater! Lilia, do you want one too? I don't have any tomato, but there's cherry lemonade, and that's red, too."

"It's not the color that's important, dear boy," laughed Lilia. "But I'll take whatever, the cookies that Cater brought seem to go with just about everything. In fact—"

He was cut off by the club room door swinging open, banging against the wall. In the doorway was a girl. She wore checkered slip-on shoes, uneven knee socks beneath her uniform skirt, and her long brown curls were tied up into a ponytail with a red ribbon. In one hand, she carried what looked like a suitcase, and the other had a bright yellow flyer. She breathed heavily, as if she had run all the way there. "Is... is this the... hah... sorry. Is this the right room for the Pop Music Club?" she panted, holding the flyer up in front of her.

"Red vest," murmured Lilia. "This is one of yours, Cater." He turned a brilliant, wide smile towards the newcomer. "This is the place, young lady. Welcome!"

Cater looked up, his cheerful face on. "Mmhm! This is one of our freshies. Guys, this is Joker Carder, who just started over in Heartslabyul~. Jojo, this is Lilia Vanrouge," he intoned as he waved a hand towards the small fae, whose face crinkled into a grin, "and Kalim al-Asim!" He gestured towards the white-haired boy, who hopped to his feet.

"Hi Joker! Or can I call you Jojo? Jojo sounds really cute! I think it suits you, haha! Do you want a juice? I think we have enough. I wasn't expecting company today but I always make sure that Jamil packs me some extras before I go. Did you bring a change of clothes or something? That's a big suitcase!" An enthusiastic Kalim stepped over to the girl. “You found our flyer!”

“Hi, yes I did! Cater, I wish I had known you were part of this before, I could have asked you stuff back at the dorm.” The girl, Joker, stuffed the flyer into her jacket pocket and put the case onto a desk. “And it’s not a suitcase, it’s a case for my instrument.”

“I didn’t know if you’d be into this,” Cater shrugged. “I thought you were more of a, um. A bit more of a traditional, old-fashioned girly.”

“Oh, not at all. Well, okay. Maybe a little. But I am into modern stuff even more. So, um.” Joker looked around the room, resting her hand on the case. “Where is everyone? I was thinking I was gonna walk into a rehearsal in full swing…”

“This is everyone,” Lilia replied, taking another cookie from the box on the table, while Cater laughed behind his hand. “It’s just us three.”

“Just us three, and this is what we do,” Cater echoed. “I mean, yeah, we do make some music. Sometimes. Not every day.”

“We usually just have snacks and hang out!” Kalim beamed.

“I…. see.” Joker pouted. “And here I was thinking I’d get to work on playing with other musicians, work on my live skills, that kinda thing.” Her fingers drummed against the outside of the case. “Guess that’s gonna be just a daydream…”

“Hey, hey. No one said we didn’t play, Jojo.” Cater sat up straight, a little defensive. “I know we def recorded a couple things for the ‘cam, some stitches on someone singing and stuff like that.”

“So you weren’t lying on the flyer, you really are looking for musicians?” Joker raised an eyebrow.

“The more the merrier! It’s like a party!” Kalim nodded. “But what do you play, Jojo? What kind of an instrument do you have in that suitcase?”

“I am intrigued, as well.” Lilia also got up, and picked up a large bass guitar, adjusting the strap. “You seem to be quite serious about your music, miss. But that is a little small for a guitar, and the wrong shape for most brass, so my interest is piqued.”

Cater chuckled to himself. He knew; in fact, Joker had spent an afternoon collared for a noise violation according to the Queen’s rules recently, and he had been the one to pack the instrument away until the Odd-Numbered Thursday Quiet Time Hours had passed. “Why don’t you show the boys, Jojo? I’ll get my guitar set up. And we’ll see how well you fit in.”

“Sure thing, Cater!” Reassured that he was taking this seriously after all, Joker flipped open the latches on the case and raised the lid. She took off her jacket, cracked her knuckles, and lifted out a bright red accordion. She shrugged her way into the shoulder straps, and gave it a few preliminary squeezes in and out nervously. “How about if I start a song, and if you start feeling it, you can play along? I guess it’s a weird proposal for an audition but it’d definitely tell us if I’m on the same page as everyone else, right?”

“It’s non-standard, to be sure,” laughed Lilia. “Kalim, to your drums. Let’s hear what this young lady can do.”

Joker waited until the boys were in position, and took a deep breath. She placed her hands on the keys and began to play.

Lilia recognized the tune first, coming in with his bass just as the music began to speed up. Kalim was quick to follow, falling in with the beat and laughing. Even though he didn’t know the song, he was still able to follow along with the rhythm easily.

Cater was the last to join in, shaking his head and smiling. “Modern, she says. I forgot. Queendom modern is Shaftlands’ retro, om7.” His guitar began to fill in the sound on the chorus, bright and full.

The four of them reached the end of the song in glorious synchronicity, and Joker gave her three upperclassmen a hopeful look. “So, um. Did I do it? Am I in?”

Cater looked at Lilia, who looked at Kalim, who looked at Cater. The three boys nodded.

“Welcome aboard, Joker,” Lilia said with a smile.

“Yeah, Jojo! Welcome to the Pop Music Club!” Kalim tapped out an enthusiastic rhythm on his drum.

“Looks like we’re all in agreement! #AllIn! We got a new club member.” Cater adjusted his guitar strap. “Now, while we’re still set up, what should we play next?”

[mikaya-hi]

Piercings (Eijiro Kirishima)

Eijiro had been wanting to get a piercing for so long but for some reason every time the needle gets too close to him, he freaks out and activates his quirk. He had been feeling kind of jealous, Bakugo had already gotten five piercings, he had also gotten his six and seventh piercings, they were snake bites. "Hey Bakubro nice new bites." Bakugo merely looked up at his red-haired classmate. "Yeah, what about it shitty hear." it had been three full years and Eijiro still hadn't been able to get rid of the nick name. "Nothing I think it looks cool, been wanting to get some two but I guess I'm afraid of needles." "Shitty loser." Was all Eijiro got before Bakugo went off to make a phone call.

Eijiro was awaken by Bakugo the next morning only getting a quick. "Get up loser we're leaving." Eijiro had no idea of what was going on but followed his friend anyway. "So where are we heading." Eijiro got no answer but still followed. Bakugo soon turned down a driveway to a small yet cozy looking house. Bakugo knocked on and a beautiful girl almost Bakugo's height opened the door she had a septum and an eyebrow piercing. Bakugo gave her a quick kiss before introducing her, "This is Lia my girlfriend and this is Shitty hair my friend." Eijiro was a bit stunned at the word friend but soon recovered when he heard another sweet voice from inside. "Li, who was it?" Lia turned around holding the door opened for the two to enter. "No, It's Blast pack and he brought a cute red head. "

Once inside Bakugo and Lia headed to the living room where another yet smaller female sat on the couch only to give Bakugo a fist bump before her eyes caught the gaze of the red head. "Well, hey there cutie what brings you?" she asked, but before Eijiro could answer he was interrupted by Bakugo. "Shitty hair wants a piercing but he's too much of a wimp thought you could do it. Also, this is Lia's roommate Y/N." The girl on the couch merely nodded before getting up and walking over to a door not too far away. "So, cutie you said you wanted a piercing which one." Y/N came back with a small bag and placing it on the dining table. "I guess to start an earlobe piercing." Eijiro said looking at the girl taking out piercing set. "O, uhm that's not a good idea." Y/N looked at Eijiro before motioning for him to come closer. "Yeah, and why do you say that." "W-Well my quirk is hardening so whenever I try to get my ears pierced it activates and I break the piercing needles." Y/N nodded taking in what he said before she pushed him down on the seat. "I think I know what to do." Is al she said before she grabbed the tools she needed, before quickly making herself comfortable on his lap. "Okay ready to start." she asked earning a sputtering from Eijiro. Before he could properly comprehend the beautiful girl straddling him, he felt lips on his.

Kirishima was pulled out of his haze by a burning sensation in his ear. "Haha, you could have just used your quirk to cancel out his, you know." Eijiro hear Bakugo yell from his place on the couch and Lia laughing at his redden face. "I know but this is a way more fun method plus he's like super cute." Answered the girl on his lap before turning her attention back to him. "So, you want to do the other ear two." Stunned Eijiro stared at her for a second before managing a simple nod.

It had started getting dark when they finally left the girls house. "So, happy you got your holes?" Bakugo asked not looking up from his phone. Eijiro's face redden at the thought of how he had gotten them, before he started smiling and gave Bakugo a nod. He knew he was definitely coming back for more.

[suguwuus]

HI AL! Having connor date a fem!shy!reader, you can choose the cabin, would be so so cute if you could write that! Like, him being absurdedly clingy and sending her kisses or making as if they were strangers to flirt with her bc she's adorable and the whole camp being kind of like, "We get it connor- you love her, can we eat in peace/practice now" and reader being a tomato half the time but smiling at his antics. it would be amazing if you could!!

grips table this is the first time i'll write in this format so tell me if it's okay or wtv 😁☝ also the reader is a child of hephaestus !! happy (late) valentine's babes also this is so fucking LONG i hope this makes up for the inactivity and tardiness

— clingy connor is the only correct connor sorry guys i just know he likes you just being around or vice versa. even if you're doing something else that he's not involved in, as long as he's in your presence he's happy.

"what do you think, y/n?" "it looks good! although i think you missed a part of the formula here. not that i memorized it exactly, it just looks...less than what i feel it usually is."

"you feel? haha, alright, let me—what's he doing here?" your half-sibling raised a brow at connor who stood behind you as you scanned some notes and formulas scribbled across blueprints that your half-sibling laid out for you.

connor waved. you shrugged and said, "he wanted to come with me, is it okay if he stays?"

your sibling gave him a skeptical look, but eventually agreed. for the next 15 minutes he just stood there while you worked, asking questions like "what does this part do" and "what's this symbol" to occasionally break the silence.

when you talked technical with your siblings, he nodded like he understood, when he actually didn't. he was satisfied with just hearing you speak confidently about something you were passionate about—your machines.

when you were done, you walked out of the cabin and he bid your half-sibling goodbye, leaving a few candies on her work desk to be nice. "that was fun! i love you, you're so cool." practically bouncing on his feet as you walked, he kissed your head and you felt your face burn up, feeling the eyes of your half-sibling on you.

— he follows you around like a puppy sometimes, it's really cute. he provides moral support too, if that helps. it's like having a cheerleader.

"go on," he murmured as he nudged the small of your back. the little present in your hands, a device that you yourself crafted for clarisse la rue, rested on a bed of straw inside a wooden case. it was multipurpose, serving as a pen, a swiss army knife, a lighter, a comb, a grappling hook, and a double-ended dagger of sorts. you didn't even know you had the abilities to make something like that, but in the end it was worth it. beautiful with designs around the handle with celestial bronze and leather, you hoped she'd at least appreciate it.

a few years ago clarisse had saved you in a monster attack while in the mortal world, and only now did you discover that it was her who took action. just in time, because she had gotten you on her team for capture the flag tonight and it gave you the perfect opportunity to approach her.

you squeezed the box with your fingers and went down to the training grounds, where clarisse was fighting with a practice dummy. she hacked away at its limbs and dislocated its jaw, showing off how much of a fighter she was. you swallowed and got closer.

you looked back to see connor, watching from a distance, and he made another gesture to get a little closer. you cleared your throat. "excuse me...clarisse? i wanted to, uh, give you something for that little accident at an amusement park a few years ago..."

it ended up going smoothly, with her even loving your gift so much she offered to give you extra dessert privileges that night in exchange for hers. every once in a while you'd see connor some distance behind her, giving you thumbs-ups and nodding.

when you were done, you walked back to connor slightly shaking, but with a smile on your face.

he pumped his fist in the air as soon as you were out of clarisse's line of sight. "good! that's my girl. told you she'd love it!" he clapped.

you chuckled softly. "i did it...!"

"YOU DID IT!" he repeated, louder this time, throwing his arms up and celebrating with you. "let's go swim, hm? you deserve a good cool-off." knowing how much you loved refreshing yourself in the lake, you smiled and nodded as he took your hand, already undoing the cargo vest you had over your camp shirt to prepare you for your dip in the lake.

— connor being the type to speak up for you for little things as well!! what a gentleman. he likes doing things for you, watching you get all warm and averting people's eyes. it's all lighthearted, he just likes to show off how much he loves you by doing things for you.

your eyes kept darting to the pillow next to some camper's legs. lou ellen was telling a story at the campfire—and she was damn good at it. she had everyone's attention, including the camper who had the old pillow you wanted so badly to hug.

"holy hades," connor whispered in awe as lou ellen continued to narrate. you weren't paying attention, so you hummed in inquiry. "she said she almost got jumped by the international police! man, i should ask for some tips—" he was shushed by the person sitting in front of him and he rolled his eyes, scrunching up his face. "what's the matter, baby?" he asked you.

"it's nothing," you murmured, tearing your eyes off the pillow, no matter how desperately you wanted to sit more comfortably. it wasn't worth bothering another person.

he nudged you. "hey."

"it's nothing!"

but he caught how your eyes flit to the camper's legs. he pointed at it and looked at you as if asking a question, and you mumbled something in affirmation. before you could stop him, he was reaching over and shaking the camper's shoulder. "mind if i take this? thanks." it was easy for him; all the camper did was nod and the pillow was placed in your lap.

"thanks," you mumbled as connor put his arm around you, now that you were both comfortable enough to listen to lou ellen. you held the pillow, rough with age and not even fluffy but a soft surface nonetheless, snuggling up to him.

"anything for you. 'excuse me, she asked for no pickles!'"

— he's sooooo corny sometimes ew !! blowing you kisses and holding your hand and playing with your hair etc, he loves seeing your reactions so much.

"y'did great today, sweetie. the forges are well-loved." he kissed the tip of your nose as he held your tired hands in his. you two were curled up on your bunk while your other siblings either napped or were busy with their own things.

you scrunched up your nose, feeling a sneeze coming on, and he laughed, the sound rumbling through his chest that pressed aainst your shoulder. he continued to massage your hands, but you pulled away to sneeze. "bless you, y/n." he handed you a tissue.

you sighed as he continued to knead the tired joints in your hands, reliving the tension. without realizing it, you started to get used to the feeling of his own calloused fingers on your skin. you stared, mesmerized as he continued to do you a favor.

"psst." you looked up to lock eyes with him. his face split into a big grin, the one that always made your stomach flutter, and you quickly looked away, biting back a giddy smile. "what?" he asked, almost sounding hurt. "i'm not doing anything?"

"you're making me...you're so flirty!" you whispered, looking around to make sure no one was watching how lovey-dovey he was being. no one was, but you feared if he started tickling you, it would cause an explosion of one of your little machines under your bunk or something.

"and? i'm always flirty," he said proudly. you prodded him to move over to the corner so he would be able to hide out of sight. despite that, he still managed to pull you close, caging you between his arms and resting his head on your shoulder as he continued to massage your hands. one of your siblings passed by and made a gagging motion.

you sat there for a while, savoring the feeling of him against you while you murmured some ideas for your next project. he would nod and reply, half-absentmindedly but you swore you could feel his gaze slowly bore into you and spread like a warm blanket. or maybe that was your blush creeping up your neck.

you only had about three more minutes of this before one of connor's half siblings came storming into your cabin. "you," he snapped his fingers at connor. "mr d. knows what you did." he seemed dead serious and connor's smile dropped. "and you," he pointed at you. "is he glued to you or something? damn."

"i...do a lot of things, what did he find out?"

"he knows, connor."

"oh shit, okay," he stood up, but not before making a big show of giving you a tight hug and a very, very enthusiastic kiss on the mouth. you barely had time to react and when he pulled away you were wide-eyed and hot. "see you around, babe!" shoving his sibling out the door, he blew kisses and waved goodbye.

babe? you felt like sinking into your mattress at the mere thought of it. at the same time, though, you were thrilled, loving his not-so-little gestures. your half siblings grinned from their places. "babe?" "that is so corny!" "have a good day, babe." "did you eat lunch yet, babe?"

you pulled your makeshift curtains closed and hid in your bunk.

— he's all over you. finds it so cute when you're working and you make that focusing face. he loves watching you put things together or disassemble them—doesn't matter, it's you he's looking at anyway.

he found it so cute. your pursed lips, how still your irises stayed still in precision as you worked. it was like you even conditioned your breathing to be a certain way as to not disturb your hands too much. you didn't mind the grime that built on your fingers, and he found you so beautiful whenever the fire cast an orange glow on your face. and he made sure to tell you everything on his mind.

after his 4th comment on how your craftsmanship blew his mind or how impressed he was with how you could even visualize these kinds of things, you could barely focus, feeling like hiding in the nearest crate, away from his teasing eyes. of course, you liked it, loved it, even, but his little remarks were too much!! he's too coy!!

as soon as you went to the table he was sitting by, looking for a certain tool and holding your reference sheet, you caught him smiling at you. when you turned to him he reached over and pushed a stray lock of hair out of your eyes and chuckled.

you slowly turned your head to the side, looking away and muttering a slow but thorough curse, making connor laugh, a voice among the clanging and crackles of the forge.

"you gotta loosen up, you know, baby? it's just me." he didn't take his eyes off you when he rubbed your hands and smiled up at you almost tauntingly.

"no, it's not, but go ahead and make out if you wish," nyssa peeked over from her table and called out to you two.

no words left you, but to match your burning face one of the hearths behind you roared with flames.

— everyone is so fed up and connor just finds it amusing because he's a menace like that. you secretly find it amusing, too, because you find some reactions funny like the kids who find it gross. but connor likes to go and make it worse, just so the kids have something to laugh at. the older campers though? not so much. they'll groan and roll their eyes as connor smothers you with kisses, telling you two to get a room. and you do exactly that.

[cosmicarchivist692]

Radiorose Week Day 1: Alastor's Subconscious Routine

[2/8]

Edit:

I messed up scheduling when I was working on this, so if you read it before 6/8/24 (the proper release date), it's changed! Read it again! (or don't, it's up to you.)

"Rosie, are you home?!" Al yelled as he stood outside the emporium. He had knocked several times and there was no response. This was odd, they had a walk planned at this time every week.

Rosie finally opened the door and came outside. There was a bit of blood on her cheek.

"Sorry about that Al, I was dealing with my now ex-husband." She said cheerfully. Alastor pulled out a handkerchief, reached over, and wiped the blood off her face.

Alastor put it in his pocket and said, "I can tell, you were a tad... messy."

Rosie's cheeks turned a little pink. Embarrassed, she stuck out her arm, "Shall we?"

Alastor linked his arms with Rosie's and they started their afternoon stroll. Alastor was always keen to be on the right of Rosie; he said it was so he could hold his staff in his dominant hand, but Rosie knew better. Deep down, she was certain he was a bit of a softy.

"I see you had a falling out with yet another husband, dinner tomorrow at 7 per usual then?" Rosie sighed and said: "Yes, though I think we'll have leftovers this time round."

They continued their stroll through Cannibal Town. Ever since the incident years ago, Alastor had grown closer to Rosie, she was his only real friend after all; she had been there through it all. He looked forward to their weekly walks. Rosie, on the other hand, while also enjoying their walks, thought doing the same thing week after week was getting a bit stale.

"Hmm, still. I think that was a new record," Rosie chuckled. "I don't know what you saw in him though... or any of your other exes" Alastor told Rosie.

"Yes... I know, deer. You've been quite vocal about that before," she responded slightly annoyed, but a small smile betraying her presentation.

They eventually made it back to the emporium and, per usual, Rosie invited Al inside. He wouldn't come in any other way. He held the door open for Rosie as they walked in.

When they made it inside, Rosie pulled out one of her boxes of chocolate fingers that she kept in stock for after their walks. She put the box on the coffee table and they sat down together on the couch to gossip.

"I hear the queen is planning something big." Good, someone needs to do it, the king is too short to think big." Rosie took a moment before responding, "What, do you think he's... short-sighted?" "Haha Rosie." Alastor said with a smile on his face.

"I like it when you smile deer. It's really something special." Rosie said, putting on the charm.

"Oh thank you Rosie," he touched his spiky teeth, "I like to believe it can be intimidating too." He said, completely ignorant to Rosie's advance.

After 30 minutes or so, they finished their gossip, said goodbye, and Alastor left. Stood right outside the front door, he told his shadow: "Stick with Rosie, it would be quite unfortunate for this one to have friends hellbent on revenge. Make sure she stays safe... but, perhaps don't let her see you." His shadow nodded and slipped inside. Alastor paused before heading off to his radio tower.

Author's Note:

Hey! I'm planning something, and all of the fics I'm writing for this week will be part of the same AU! So in timeline order, this is part 2 of 8. Also, this is probably the shortest one. Other ones will be longer! This is also my first actual fanfic! So do not expect Shakespeare. They will release everyday this week, the links at the bottom is just to read it in timeline order.

Edit after the... scheduling incident:

Also, I have never used Tumblr's queue system, and I still don't quite grasp it, but the other posts seem to be working so... idk? I must've just messed this one up lol.

@radioroseweek

[Previous] [Next] [Masterlist]

[weirdraccoon]

Yay! That’ll be a great way to end my day😁 I’m looking forward to reading it and thank you again so so much!

My two free hours became my boss's free hours (first coaching and gossiping and then more gossiping and scolding haha xd)

Anyway, as promised, a fic ready by the end of the day: crack treated seriously I guess. Fig catching MC and Sebastian in her bed.

Eleazar hummed as he made his way into his flat. It was small and cozy, perfect for him and Miriam while she was alive. They’d planned on moving to a bigger apartment or even a house in a magical community once they had children but, alas, between their different researches and experiments, they never got around to it.

At least not while Miriam was alive. Eleazar was one hundred percent sure she would have loved the little rascal he took in right after she passed on.

That, or she would’ve been able to keep the reckless Gryffindor in check.

Emilia Seabaugh, or Em-Sea for short, was as Gryffindor as they come: stubborn, brave, reckless, and a complete troublemaker. Eleazar didn’t know if he had as many white hairs before meeting her or if she was the reason for most of them.

Even tho, he had to admit he was so very proud of her. Refusing to absorb the power of the repository, claiming she’d tell her friends once she felt everyone was ready and they’d look for a way to destroy it. He had feared, at first, that she had been tempted, however, she only used it to heal him of his most serious injuries before sealing it and calling for help. Good thing the rest of the teachers were nearby, he didn’t know if he could’ve lived with himself if he had died in her arms.

He entered the apartment to be greeted by the clear sounds of intimacy coming from her hallway.

“Maybe I should’ve died after all,” he muttered to himself,

He sent a longing look to his own room before marching down the short hallway to her door.

“Not even a muffling charm,” he tsked, then knocked loudly on the door. “Em-Sea! I hope you used an alohomora ward 'cause I’m about to push this door open!”

“Shit,” Em-Sea’s voice echoed from inside. “Wait!”

Eleazar didn’t wait. He pushed the door open and had to close his eyes for a second to gather his wits. He took a deep breath. They were old enough to know what they were doing and old enough to use the necessary precautions that needed to be used.

“Mr. Sallow,” he greeted, opening his eyes, glad that they had the mind to pull the covers to hide themselves. “Nice to see you survived a week after graduation.”

“Professor Fig,” Sebastian stammered with a high-pitched voice. “Hi.”

“Eli!” Em-Sea exclaimed. “Weren’t you coming back next week? How was Godric’s Hollow?”

Eleazar stared her down. The Gryffindor girl stared back, although she did blush a little.

“I’ll wait in the living room, al right? You have one minute to come out,” he stated and walked out, leaving the door open.

“He’s going to kill me,” he heard Sebastian’s voice say. “Oh my god, I’m dead. I can’t believe I only made it one week out of the castle!”

“Shush, Sebastian,” Em-Sea used the tone she usually used when rolling her eyes. “He’s not going to kill you. Not here at least.”

“Forty seconds!” He called and he could hear them fumbling out of the bed and into some clothes. “So, they can follow instructions.”

Both young adults came out looking sheepish and still a little flushed on the face. Eleazar only smirked. His girl might be a grown-up now but he was still his responsibility and the wizarding world would be exposed before he let her (or the boy currently hiding behind her) fool around without making sure they were prepared for consequences.

Like getting caught by a parental figure and then threatened. He couldn’t wait to show Aesop the memory in a pensive.

"Mr. Sallow, do you know how to brew a contraceptive potion?" Eleazar asked as soon as they were in the living area.

"Yes, sir, of course," Sebastian nodded.

"I know how to brew it, too," Em-Sea rolled her eyes.

"I know you know, cupcake," Eleazar offered a shit-eating grin when he saw her face. Oh, how she hated it when he called her pet names. Was she like that when Sallow called her pet names too? "Anyway, could I have a few words with Mr. Sallow? Go get his backpack, I saw it at the feet of your bed."

Sebastian sent her a puppy-eyed look, begging her to stay, asking to stay, who knew? Eleazar was tired and was in no mood for sleepovers.

"Sebastian, Sebastian," Eleazar paced in front of the young man. "You know I love Em-Sea like my own child, right? We have a bond, Sebastian, one that makes me want to protect her from the world itself," Sebastian only nodded. "However, I know I can't protect her from the world, especially seeing how she looks for trouble in every corner," Sebastian wasn't fast enough to hide the smirk that formed on his face. Eleazar stepped closed, voice lower, and magic crackling around them. "What I can do, though, is protect her from boys like you. If she ends up hurt, injured, or even pregnant before she planned it, I will have your head and the Headless Hunt will gain a new member."

Sebastian gulped, wide-eyed and a little pale.

"I understand, sir," he said. "I swear on my magic I won't ever hurt her on purpose and I will be careful- we will be careful."

Eleazar glared into brown eyes for a second, simply enjoying the thrill of shovel-talking someone. Then he nodded and took a step back.

"See that you do," he said. "And I'm sorry but the flat is not big enough to hold sleepovers. I'm sure you'll find somewhere to stay."

"Will you?" Em-Sea asked worriedly, returning with Sebastian's bag.

"Yeah, I'll just crash with Ominis," he smiled. "Talk later?"

"Yeah," Em-Sea promised and she and Eleazar saw him leave through the front door before apparating away. "You suck."

"From what I saw, you suck," Eleazar chuckled, shaking his head.

"Ugh!" Em-Sea turned on her heel and proceeded to her room.

"If you show me a month's worth of the potion and a good wand work of the spell I promise I won't tease you," Eleazar called, "too much," he added.

"I'm moving out!" She replied dramatically. "You'll never see me again!"

"I certainly hope so!" Eleazar laughed, holding back laughing tears. "I already saw too much of you, Em-Sea! Way more than I expected to see. And of Sallow too. I'm so glad you're not my students anymore. Classes would've been so awkward!"

Em-Sea slammed the door shut, but Eleazar could hear her snort before the door closed behind her. She was not really mad. She was probably finishing business in there.

Still laughing, Eleazar turned to his room. He kinda missed being that age.

[dreams-and-drabbles]

New Anon here again, the one that asked for recent al haitham one, I've love it! let's asked for something wholesome, like a break from reading those Angsty stuff, am I right ? So themes are (Capitano X Bakery reader) Op is like this baker, like somehow one day they were working on a small bakery in snezhnaya they owned, suddenly being assign to be the Harbingers personal baker (because Columbina convinced Knave to make her one). Now here we are, they improvised took out their old recipe book and observed what the Harbingers would like till they figure it out. But one particular Harbinger stuck out to them the most, not only was he hard to read but also rather mysterious thanks to that masked on, hard to read the man's expression if we can't see his face, so their mission is to find what Capitano likes, no matter how rather annoying they can be. Or the amount of times they stood over the side of his bed watching him sleep. Or even follow him around, If they crazy enough to write down notes while watching dottore experiment on something. they'll figure it out! Mwuahaha! That's all. Honestly don't follow every verdict of this just have fun^^!

Oh my, oh my! Welcome back, anon! Such a fun idea, too! I’d be happy to write this! So, it took a bit, haha! I may have gotten a little toooo invested in the plot, but I hope you like it!

Sugar Rush

🍬 FATUI HARBINGERS X GN! READER 🍬

[F/N] sighed, flipping the sign on the door. The tangy smell of orange and cranberry flit through the air, as they made their final rounds inside the building.

The building in question, was a small brick shop. From the outside it didn’t look like anything special, but the shop was one of the most well known, in the small countryside town.

The interior was painted a lovely cream, with small beige flowers zigzagging across in a pattern. Several dark oak tables were spaced out across the front of the shop, a lacy white tablecloth decorating each of them. On the building’s walls hung several paintings, each of them depicting a variety of different flowers.

The front door opened with a chime, and [F/N] scurried out from the back, where they’d been removing a batch of cranberry orange muffins from a small brick stove.

They waved at the person entering with a smile, their curiosity piqued when they noticed the figure wasn’t one they’d seen before.

[F/N] set the tray down, hurrying to greet their customer properly.

“Welcome! Is there anything I can help you with?” They greeted, their tone chipper.

The figure glanced at them, and [F/N] felt as though they’d overlooked something—

The customer was a seemingly young girl of petite stature, her face was rather doll-like, and golden hair fell down her back in waves.

The girl smiled at them, and [F/N] felt chills cross their spine.

“Yes. Are you the owner?”

The girl asked, her tone sweet.

[F/N] shook themselves from those thoughts, offering the girl a small smile.

“Yes, I am. Would you like to order something?”

The girl’s lips curled upwards and she glanced around, before nodding.

“Yes, I think so. Could I get one of those muffins please?”

She asked, her tone soft.

[F/N] nodded, packaging one of the muffins and passing the bag to the girl with a smile.

She glanced at [F/N] a glint in her eyes, as she handed them a few mora.

“A word of advice… You should really pay more attention to your surroundings. You might miss something important and well, that would be just dreadful.”

The girl chirped, leaving [F/N] staring after her in confusion. It was only when they closed shop that night that the reason for their feeling hit them, as they recalled the description of the Harbingers…

That girl had been the Knave…

Oh. Oh dear.

Well, fortunately for them, she’d been tolerant of their ignorance…

She’d even warned them, so that was good…

Right?

After that particular encounter, [F/N] had taken it upon themselves to familiarize themselves with the defining features of each harbinger.

While they doubted they’d ever end up encountering one of them again, they didn’t dare make the same mistake.

Their doubt proved wrong as a week later, the Knave returned, this time dragging along another one of the Harbingers—

The Fair Lady, [F/N]’s mind supplied—

La Signora.

The harbinger in question looked positively bored as she glanced around the bakery, and [F/N] greeted both of them with a polite bow.

The Knave clapped her hands together, a smile spreading out across her face.

“Oh! Look at that!They took my advice! How incredibly sweet!”

The taller of the two women rolled her eyes, scoffing at the girl’s explanation.

Pale blue eyes looked over [F/N]’s figure, before narrowing.

“The cranberry orange muffin the Knave brought back, I’d like one of them, and ah…”

The Harbinger trailed off, her gaze landing on the cake display, before her gaze returned to [F/N].

“And a slice of the opera cake.”

[F/N] nodded, immediately rushing to grab the pastries La Signora had requested.

They packaged them neatly, handing the two small packages to the harbinger with a polite smile.

The Harbinger’s gaze fell on their hands, before she clicked her tongue, and left the bakery with a swoop of her cloak.

[F/N] watched the Harbinger leave, with a carefully schooled expression.

They didn’t dare to let their irritation show.

The Knave cackled, the high pitched laughter eerie, and not at all adding up with her admittedly cute appearance.

“Don’t mind my coworker, [F/N]. It’s typical of her to leave in such a manner. As much as she gets on Tartaglia about his flare for drama, she’s quite dramatic herself. Tsk, tsk… Oh, dear me! You’re not acquainted with my coworkers, are you? Do pardon my rudeness.”

The Knave rambled, her tone equal parts soft and cold.

[F/N] nodded, their brows furrowing slightly.

“Of course, is there anything you’d like to order?”

They ask, their tone slow and cautious.

The Knave grinned, before shaking her head, and skipping out the front door.

When [F/N] was sure both Harbingers were out of earshot, they let out a shaky breath.

They buried their face in their hands, their tone despairing.

“What did I do to deserve this…?”

A deep chuckle broke them from their thoughts, and their gaze quickly snapped to the door.

They resisted the urge to curse, recognizing yet another Harbinger propped against the Bakery’s front door.

“Perhaps, if your baking was not so delectable, they wouldn’t bother you as much. I apologize for the interruption, but I found myself curious. The Knave’s been quite distracted recently, which I assume was your fault. I caught her and Signora slipping in here this morning.”

[F/N]’a mouth went dry as they took in the rather imposing form of Dottore.

The Second of The Fatui Harbingers…

Their entire being begged them to run, to get away, to—

They shook themselves from their thoughts, watching as the Harbinger made his way through the kitchen. He stopped once, picking up an eclair from one of the display cases, and biting into it.

[F/N] once again resists the urge to scowl, watching as the Harbinger wiped the cream from his lips.

“How fascinating… Well, I can certainly see the charm. I’m sure we’ll see cross paths again, [F/N]. Until then.”

He said, waving lazily over his shoulder, and strolling out the door.

[F/N]’s eyes narrowed angrily after he left, and they muttered an angry stream of curses under their breath.

Surprisingly, after this incident, [F/N] doesn’t see any of the Harbingers again.

They’re almost convinced that they’d been forgotten, when around a month or so later, they’re greeted by the sight of The Knave.

Accompanying them is a figure who couldn’t be anyone other than Columbina…

The Knave grins, waving at them excitedly.

“Is this the one, Sandrone?” Columbina asks, her tone a soft coo.

The Knave’s eyes glisten as she stares at [F/N].

[F/N] feels their veins turn to liquid ice, as they take in the hungry gaze of the Habinger.

Columbina hums, approaching them with a soft smile on their face.

“We’d like to offer you a position, [F/N].”

[F/N]’s mouth falls open in shock and they’re about ready to protest because, really—

They can’t fight! They’re not trained or anythi—

“Not as a harbinger, but as a baker. Your treats are delectable, and the bakery is rather out of the way…It would be more convenient to have you close by. You don’t have to agree to this, either.”

[F/N]’s eyes widened and they paused, they hadn’t expected that—

Columbina said they could say no, but they’d heard stories…

People who’d refused the Harbingers…

People who disappeared with no explanation. There one day. Gone the next.

Would that happen to them too, if they declined?

“I’d be happy to take up the position.”

[F/N] managed, their tone soft.

Columbina smiled.

It sent chills down their spine.

“Lovely. I was hoping you’d say that.”

[F/N] matched her smile, crafting a smile of their own.

The move was quick.

[F/N] supposed that was one of the perks of being close to the Tsaritsa…

The people of Snezhnaya didn’t dare spare any expense on their archon, or those close to her by extension.

Settling into their new workplace was something different all together.

They’d been given a nice space with all the necessities to make sweets.

It was fancy, well furnished, and lacked nothing, yet—

Yet, part of them still very much missed their flower covered walls, and dark oak tables…

They were to be taking orders from the Harbingers when asked, and had set times in their schedule to prepare sweets.

All in all, it wasn’t bad.

Really.

Dottore would stop by a couple times here and there to watch them bake.

He was usually very quiet and it was easy to forget he was there, at times…

It was rather unnerving, actually.

It was also a little comforting.

[F/N] was grateful for his quiet company, even if they suspected he was only doing so to study them.

The first new Harbinger they met there was Arlecchino, who had immediately asked them if they could prepare a batch of sweets for the children at the orphanage.

Well, ordered was probably a better term.

The Harbinger entered their office, her expression a fierce scowl, before she stated it was one of the children’s birthday, and that she needed cupcakes.

[F/N] immediately set to work, asking if any of the children had allergies, to which they received a ‘no’ from Arlecchino.

An hour or so later, and they’d finished a batch of beautifully decorated cupcakes.

The cake itself being angel food and the frosting a lovely buttercream with a strawberry glaze.

Arlecchino had stared at the cupcakes blankly, before fixing them with a smile.

“This looks delightful. You’re quite the baker. Thank you. I’m sure the children will love it.”

[F/N] stared after her in shock, as that was likely the most normal interaction they’d had since working here.

Arlecchino joined Dottore in watching them bake.

She was less quiet than Dottore, and took to asking [F/N] questions about their baking methods.

[F/N] answered the best they could.

Arlecchino seemed content with that, so really it was a win.

They met the Jester for the first time a week after baking the cupcakes for Arlecchino.

He’d simply walked in, grabbed one of the breakfast sandwiches they’d been asked to prepare that morning, and had left.

Not after giving them a polite nod, however.

This routine continued on and off throughout the times Pierro was at the headquarters.

He’d come in, grab food, nod or greet them, then leave. It took a couple of visits, but [F/N] was finally able to figure out his preferences.

They tried to have the dishes he liked prepped alongside the breakfast meals.

If he was aware of this, he didn’t say anything, but [F/N] swore he smiled the slightest bit when he came into grab breakfast the next couple of times.

Pantalone was interesting.

He had a love for coming up with incredibly complex cake designs and always ordered at outlandishly late hours.

[F/N]’s opinion on him was, as such:

The man was a sadist.

He smiled at them, nibbling at the end of a chocolate covered strawberry.

“As always, your performance is excellent. I do wish some of the workers here had such a refined work ethic. Unfortunately, they’re not quite as flexible with their hours. Work rules and such.”

[F/N] smiled at him, unable to keep their brow from twitching.

“How unfortunate for you.” They said, their smile strained.

Pantalone’s smile widened, and he nodded, his expression one of mock disappointment.

“Why, yes. Highly unfortunate. Fortunately, my favorite baker has a fair bit of wiggle room. Without a little something to sweeten the day, I believe I’d be truly distraught. I’ll see you tomorrow evening, of course. Do rest well, [F/N].”

Pantalone bit back, a false smile on his lips, as he waved his goodbye.

[F/N] huffed, shaking their head.

They couldn’t help the exasperated smile that made its way to their lips.

He was irritating yet—

Favorite baker, huh?

The sixth of the Fatui Harbingers was hard to please. The Balladeer liked to find anything he could to nit pick when it came to their baking, and when he couldn’t (Which was more often than not— [F/N] prided themselves on their baking. ) he took to complaining about how sparce the decorations were in their kitchen.

They were a baker, not an interior designer.

They did notice that the sixth never seemed to order anything sweet, whether it stemmed from dislike or not, they dared not ask.

Instead, they took to making more savory foods, and set aside the dishes he preferred, similarly to what they did for Pierro.

A few weeks later, a bunch of the sixth’s soldiers waltzed into the kitchen and set up a bunch of paintings on the wall.

They were flowers…

The paintings were incredibly similar to the ones [F/N] had in their old bakery…

The sixth was surprisingly cute at times...

He just didn’t know how to talk to people, and well, he’d at least helped fix the decoration problem.

The Eleventh harbinger was obnoxious, yet simultaneously endearing.

He had too much energy, and the first time they’d met him, he’d asked if they thought chopsticks could be used as weapons.

How were they supposed to know?

They were a baker, not a weapons master.

Still, they’d responded with a small smile and had said they were pretty sure anything could classify as a weapon if used as one.

That, apparently had been the wrong thing to say, as the next week or so the eleventh in an attempt to test their statement, had opted to challenging the recruits to fights wielding a variety of all sorts of different things—

One time, he’d even grabbed a muffin from their kitchen and had thrown it at some poor, unsuspecting recruit.

Still, the next time he spoke to them, he was wearing a wide grin as he told them ‘they were right, and anything could become a weapon.’

[F/N]’s response had been a tired smile and a long drawn sip of their coffee.

They’d been drinking a lot of that, recently—

Pulcinella, fortunately, had managed to reign Childe in.

Thank goodness for that.

[F/N] wasn’t sure how long their coffee supply would last, and as entertaining as Childe was—

They’d rather their dishes be eaten, as was intended, as opposed to being thrown about in an attempt to fight.

They really did work hard on what all they baked.

Truly.

[F/N]’s favorite of the Harbingers had to be Capitano, however.

He was always very polite to them, and their interactions were always the most normal.

It felt natural.

He’d come in, grab some breakfast, and converse with them for thirty minutes or so, before leaving to train his troops.

They’d started to look forward to his visits.

Sometimes, they’d attempt to sneak a glance at his face. Capitano seemed to take great amusement in foiling their attempts.

[F/N] sighed, earning a raised brow from Dottore.

“Capitano has a particular weakness to zucchini bread.” The Doctor drawled, his lips curled up into a smile.

[F/N] stared at him blankly, their expression confused.

“In fact, when he’s presented with such a dish he has trouble not eating all of it on the spot.”

Dottore continued and [F/N]’s eyes widened, as realization hit them.

“Oh. Oh! Thank you.”

They managed, their eyes wide with surprise.

Dottore chuckled, waving them off.

“Don’t mention it. Your pathetic attempts at glimpsing his face were amusing at first, but now they’re rather sad. My, even Signora felt a bit sorry for you.”

[F/N] rolled their eyes, snorting at his words.

“For some reason, I doubt that.”

Dottore chuckled, bringing a hand to his chin.

“You’d be surprised just how far a thoughtful remark and nice slice of cake can get you. People are often quick to write off simple acts as that, but I find that it’s much easier to get those to bend towards your will with a few well placed acts of kindness.”

[F/N] hummed, grabbing the materials to make Zucchini Bread.

“If you have a specific request in mind, just say so.”

The Doctor chuckled, shaking his head in amusement. “Very well, in that case— I’d very much like some Red Velvet cake.”

[F/N] nodded, setting aside the ingredients to make the cake for Dottore, as well.

They set off to baking, their eyes trailing to the door upon hearing Arlecchino enter.

She took to watching them bake, as usual.

“Would you like to join me for a day, and I’ll teach you a few recipes sometime?” [F/N] asked, as they loaded two separate pans into the oven.

One for the Zucchini bread, and one for Dottore’s red velvet cake.

Arlecchino paused, before smirking at them.

“Oh, yes. That would be nice. Would this weekend work? Actually, if you could teach me how to make those cupcakes you did…”

She mused, her eyes glinting.

[F/N] nodded, “Saturday works fine.”

Arlecchino smiled, her expression cheerful.

“Excellent. I’ll be looking forward to it, then.”

[F/N] nodded, their expression pensive.

Arlecchino was almost always civil, but she was rather hard to decipher.

[F/N] had a suspicion that there was more to the harbinger than she let on.

Dottore spoke up after Arlecchino left.

“She’s rather fond of you.”

[F/N] bit back a retort, shaking their head.

“I wonder why.”

The Doctor chuckled, his hid tilted slightly to the side. “Don’t we all?”

[F/N] pushed the finished cake over to him silently, caught up in thought.

The Knave dropped by later that afternoon, excitedly rambling about her newest invention.

[F/N] listened with a polite smile, Dottore’s words still swimming in their head.

Why was everyone so nice to them…?

The Knave left, her arms full of cranberry orange muffins, as she gave [F/N] a cheerful goodbye.

Pulcinella stopped by, offering them a decent sum of mora for a copy of their recipe book.

They said no, much to the older man’s amusement.

He seemed sure that their recipes would make nothing short of a fortune, but the book was theirs.

He’d been surprisingly understanding of that, and jokingly suggested that should they keep using it so religiously, the book may hold some merit in the future as a catalyst.

Their response had been, it could be a catalyst now, if not a physical one.

His response to that had been that they spent too much time with Childe.

That statement technically wasn’t false…

Childe was a frequent visitor to the kitchen, and often regaled them with tales of his countless battles.

They had a suspicion he was lonely.

They were too.

They welcomed the company.

The sixth also liked to stop by, but he was almost always quiet, and used the kitchen as a get away.

In the Balladeer’s words, ‘The environment was less suffocating.’

[F/N] was content to work quietly when the Sixth stopped by, as they could understand the need for a safe space.

It was nice to at least have the option for company.

They handed Capitano the zucchini bread when he entered, watching with ill concealed interest, as he observed the dish.

“Dottore… I’ll have to speak with him…”

Capitano murmured, his grip on the bread tight.

[F/N] frowned, their brows furrowing, earning a soft chuckle from Capitano.

He brought his hand up to ruffle their hair, affection clearly in his tone as he spoke.

“I appreciate the gesture, but I believe there’s been a misunderstanding. Not even Dottore has seen my face. Don’t fret too much about something that may or may not be there, [F/N]…”

[F/N]’s eyes widened and they barely managed to process Capitano’a words, before he removed his hand from their head, and left the kitchen.

“Wait—! Wait… You don’t mean…”

No, that was silly.

There was no way…

Right?!

[F/N]’s first question to Pierro was “Capitano has a face, doesn’t he?”

Pierro nearly dropped his breakfast.

Of all the ways he’d expected [F/N] to finally strike up conversation with him, it had not been that.

[pedros-immaculate-vibes]

A Peaceful Elf

Part II

Halsin/Tav fanfic (slow burn, fluff, angst)

“I have to say,” Astarion purred, “goblin blood has a deeply unpleasant, acrid aftertaste that I’ve never gotten from you, darling.”

You shot him a look that said you’d shoot him with something much sharper in a second.

“Wait, you—you what?” Frowned Gale, deeply confused.

“He’s delusional, I have no idea what he’s talking about, it must be all the ale in the goblin blood that’s, HAHA, affecting his speech and—and thinking,” you fumbled, refusing to make eye contact with anyone while rifling through Dror Ragzlin’s pockets. To your companions disgust, you’d already extracted the wriggling worm from his skull; you weren’t entirely sure why, besides the guardian’s voice recommending that you do it. For now, it stayed in a jar with a few others you had collected. For some future purpose. 

“Ah, yes, that must be it. All that vile ale just putting me right out of my own head! Speaking of head, how about we go and tell that Druid the good news now, hm?”

“Lady of Darkness, preserve us,” mumbled Shadowheart, appalled by the vampire’s crudeness and the wizard STILL being clearly oblivious to your arrangement with the vampire.

Gale, a bit confused by Astarion’s use of wordplay, agreed.

“Right. Let’s go,” you stated, the steadiness in your voice not paralleled by the sudden tremor in your hands. Standing up, you straightened your armor and, as subtly as possible, wiped the specks of blood from your cheeks whenever you saw your reflection in fallen armor or half-rusty shields. The hard part was over, the next part was cake. 

Right?

—

Halsin paced in the dimly lit dungeon, curiosity and anxiety mounting with every battle cry and—explosion?—noise he heard come from without the prison doors. Should he have gone with them? Should he have shifted into something small and returned to the grove while he could? Should he have prepared for the worst and braced for incoming goblin hoards?

The search for any sign of a Selunite outpost proved futile; nothing but debris and bodies littered the area. Once he had realized this, he spent the following stretch of time mulling over his predicament. 

Goblins threatening the grove, HIS grove; the grove being over run by refugees; the tensions he had left Kagha to handle during his capture (Sylvanus have mercy, Kagha was not the best at diplomacy), and the ever mounting danger of mindflayers that he still had no true trail of. 

But, one thing at a time. 

He focused on the moment at hand, planned for the best outcome and less ideal ones, and kept his mind as calm as possible. He did find that an interest in your preferred druidic practices kept popping into his mind, and he found that occurrence, well, odd. Of all things, why would that matter? It doesn’t. Plan ahead. Focus on a plan. 

A few minutes later, a familiar creak of dungeon doors followed by a familiar babble of voices stirred him from plans and pleasant distractions.

He held his breath, waiting to hear news and afraid to be too optimistic.

—

“Sylvanus guide you. What news?” He towered over you, eyes raking your face for clues of an answer.

My. Gods.

There was a quiet pause for a few beats when Shadowheart cleared her voice in an intentional way. 

You cleared yours, as well, but more to make sure it wouldn’t crack. “Halsin,” you bowed with a hand to your chest, “it is done. The three are no more. You are free to return to the grove. I do…however, have a request.”

“AH Sylvanus be praised!” He boomed. “No, that is unfair, it is you who should be praised! Tell me how I may aid you, it’s the very least I can—” suddenly, he paused. A queer look entered his eye as he stooped down, angling himself to stay out of any nearby light. Concern gripped him and he slowly reached his warm, callused fingers to your chin, angling it gently to the light.

“I…I think I can guess at your problem. Allow me to examine further. Please.”

You nodded, trying to remember this was important and not to focus on the fact that HE JUST TOUCHED YOUR FUCKING FACE AND HIS PALMS ARE SO FUCKING HUGE as he held his palm out in front of you and glowed with some kind of light you were unfamiliar with. You prayed the magic he was using wouldn’t uncover the flips your stomach currently occupied its time with.

Tension flowed over his face and shoulders. “Ah, hells below, you have a familiar problem I am unfamiliar with curing. A mindflayer tadpole. But…you know this and are of your own sound mind…How can this be?”

Another short pause as you tried to steady your voice.

“Sound mind is debatable, but needless to say, we have a—a kind of protection of sorts,” said Shadowheart, piping in to keep you from possibly revealing any secret she desperately wanted to keep. “Suffice it to say, we are in control of ourselves, however comforting that may be.” She glanced at you, and the string of entrails you had dangling from your armor. 

“Ho-ho, I missed that one,” you laughed as you peeled it off, to your own embarrassment moments later.

Halsin stared.

“Right,” he clapped his hands, glancing at the stone floor, then back up at the four of you, “Well, that is a relief, however, I regret I cannot offer more. There is no cure I know of for now. During my research, I did discover that these tadpoles are linked to recent pilgrimages, made by these zealots of the Absolute, to Moonrise Towers. I will gladly aid you, should your journey take you in that direction.” A warm smile brightening the dim hall. “If you don’t mind, we can speak of it as we take our leave of this festering pit. How many goblins are left outside these walls? I may not be at my best, but I can still be of use. And, I wouldn’t mind wreaking a bit of havoc on certain goblins in particular,” he mentioned heartily and smiled a crooked grin specifically at you. It felt like he could appreciate your unorthodox revelry in smiting the deserving. Or, maybe you were just looking into it a bit too far.

That’s when you realized you hadn’t said anything in a beat or two again because of his distracting eyes.

“Ah, well, we were able to actually clear the entire temple. It wasn’t that hard, truly.”

Halsin blinked. “You what?”

“Yeah! We poisoned the goblins’ drinking fountain before we entered the temple, placed a few grease bottles and fire bolts, annihilated their ogre at the front door, then hailed a few ogres I made a deal with to clear out the main halls,” you looked down and away, now caught in your train of thought. “Oh, and in between, I borrowed some smokepowder barrels from a merchant who was working with the goblins. Honestly, I’m quite surprised not one goblin batted an eye when we placed them around Ragzlin’s throne. About that, not sure what the Zhentarim are planning with the gobos and all of that smokepowder; there was so much, they could have blown up the remains of this temple, haha!”

—

So she’s not so quiet, thought the arch druid. She IS an odd one…

—

You looked back up, a bit wrapped in your own glorious momentum at the memory. 

“Ha! Well, I suppose the way is clear then! I look forward to hearing more about it! But I must get back to the grove as soon as possible. Thank you, brave one! Let us meet in more…bucolic surroundings.” He grinned, and with that, shifted into a mouse and darted away. 

“Hmm, one almost wonders why he didn’t do that in the first place,” Gale commented, knitting his brow. 

As you watched the mouse disappear into the gloom, you almost wished you had made it seem still a might bit perilous, if only to have the druid as company for a little while. Something about him made you feel…

NONSENSE. Utter nonsense. You subtly shook your head. 

“If I were you, Gale, I might not question one’s ability to wield magic under unexpected circumstances,” Astarion commented over his shoulder as he and Shadowheart sauntered toward the prison entrance.

“Oh, are you talking about that time he was stuck in that waypoint? Ha haaa,” Shadowheart laughed airily, like squeezing lemon drops on a cut.

“Astarion, if you happen to find your bedroll absolutely slathered in grease from here until this ‘Moonrise Kingdom’ or whatever some-such, I promise you, I’ll have no idea how it happened,” quipped Gale, just as airily.

You focused back on your companions as they turned around at the door and one chirped “Coming?” in your direction. 

“Maybe later, if she’s lucky,” Astarion mused aloofly. 

You rolled your eyes, took one more look around, and made your way toward them.

“Oh WAIT, I forgot to tell him we found that Outpost thing. That might be important, right?”

[merlyn-bane]

Codywan Order 63 - Day One, Fantasy / Fake Relationship

A/N: The writing for this fought me the entire time, but I did my best and this is what I was able to turn out in time for the event. Might come back to it later, might not. Totally unbeta'd haha. Very proud of the art, though. Please enjoy Cody's very lovely beard. We support bearded she-dwarves in this house.

Thanks so much for putting this on, @order63.

After three years of it dragging on, unrelenting, it feels unreal. Impossible. But the fallen, empty forms of the Wizard’s machines littering the field around them should be proof enough, she supposes. They’d all collapsed seemingly at once, mid-battle, just—gone out, like extinguished candles. 

The war is over.

Three years struggling to fell them with swords and axes and arrows and just about anything else they could scrounge up, and she’d never seen them do that. 

A strong hand grips Obi-Wan ‘round to face its owner, undeniable, and Obi-Wan resigns herself to the critical gaze of the warm brown eyes she finds when she glances up. 

Cody.

“No, Cody,” Obi-Wan agrees with a small smile, not stepping back the way she perhaps ought to. The other woman is…standing very close. “Nor are you, from the looks of it.”

“You’re not hurt,” the dwarf maiden asserts brusquely after several seconds of assessment of Obi-Wan’s person, as if Obi-Wan isn’t aware of that. Obi-Wan only hears the relieved concern there, she thinks, because she has grown to know Cody so well.

And because Cody is still holding onto her by the shoulders.

Cody scoffs, as though the very notion of her taking injury from one of Sidious’s machines is preposterous. Then, Obi-Wan has seen her commander tackle the thrice-damned things before with nary a scratch, so perhaps it is that. 

“We should return to camp,” Cody says, and Obi-Wan can only nod along. “Rejoin with the others. And perhaps that crazy old fool will have returned.”

Obi-Wan snorts as she always does when Cody refers to one of the greatest wizards of their age as the crazy old fool, shaking her head as she finally finds it in herself to step away. “Ever onward, then, Commander,” she says, and tries not to think about how much she’ll miss her when she must return home.

---

Yoda has indeed returned by the time they and their men make it back to camp, joined by Windu the Purple, who seems to have somehow managed to earn Cody’s hard-won respect despite being of the same kind as Yoda. One of them manages to see sense beyond their magic, Cody had grumbled, the one time Obi-Wan asked.

It warms her, to see that they both managed to survive their fight with the dark wizard. Today had been a last stand if it had been anything.

There is much celebrating that night, obviously, in the wake of their victory; Cody’s family and all manner of others that had joined them in the fight for Middle Earth, even a couple of old wizards and a stray hobbit. The ale flows freely, and Obi-Wan’s a little more than fuzzy on most of it by morning.

But she doesn’t think she’ll ever manage to forget the way Cody’s warm brown eyes burned into her own across the fire.

---

Obi-Wan rises early the next morning despite the ache in her skull and sets to work packing her things to head home as soon as she’s finished blinking the sleep out of her eyes. 

The longer she waits, she knows, the harder it will be to leave. She’s already dreading her goodbyes to all of these people that she’s fought beside the last few years, not…least of all Cody. She still doesn’t quite know how she will handle the other woman’s departure from her side, where she’s been such a stable fixture through—all of this, but she knows that Cody must return to her home—to her ancestral halls, to her family and all of her responsibilities contained there—and Obi-Wan must return to her own. Goodness knows it will already be an absolute nightmare trying to reclaim her silverware.

If anyone has lain their sticky fingers upon her teapot, Obi-Wan may have to flay them. 

All told, packing does not take long. Obi-Wan had not taken much with her when the wizards came, and she does not have much now.

“If you do not at least wear your mithril, I will be very cross with you,” a voice informs her from the entrance. Obi-Wan whirls around to find Cody there, one of her brows raised in judgement as though she thinks Obi-Wan can not see the soft, almost indulgent curve of her mouth, framed as it is by a truly magnificent beard the likes of which Obi-Wan cannot say with honesty that she had fancied prior to their acquaintance—

“It is not as though I’m bound for another battlefield, Cody,” Obi-Wan forces herself to reply, blessedly even. Cody’s lovely eyes narrow, and Obi-Wan sighs as she resigns herself to this conversation. 

“That hardly implies safety,” Cody says rather expressively, sure enough. “It is bad enough that I can’t even get you to wear shoes—”

“Hobbit—”

“—but Mahal damn me if I allow us to make this trek with you unprotected entirely!”

Obi-Wan holds up a hand. “Us?”

Cody blinks, looking at Obi-Wan as if she’s stupid. It is, perhaps, a little rude, she thinks. “I am escorting you home,” she informs Obi-Wan like a fact, adjusting the pack over her shoulder that Obi-Wan’s only just noticing.

“Cody, that really isn’t—”

“—up for debate,” Cody smiles, raising her brow again, teasing. “You are a trouble magnet, Kenobi, and it would be a foolish waste to lose you after you’ve managed to survive all this.”

“Well,” Obi-Wan says, intelligently. She hopes Cody reads her red face as embarrassment or exasperation. 

Cody winks and reaches down to grab Obi-Wan’s bag, but not before digging her mithril shirt out of it to toss at Obi-Wan. “Glad that’s settled, then.”

---

Obi-Wan is well familiar with the sentiment that one can never truly go home. This was not her first time leaving the Shire to pick up a sword, after all. She’d been…much younger, that first time, but the gentle hills she’d grown up in had felt just as alien when she returned then as they suddenly do now. It had taken her years to truly feel settled again; she supposes it will be much the same now. 

Cody’s head appears to remain on a constant swivel as they make their way down the path that leads down into the village, though it seems to be more curiosity now than the constant vigilance it had been the rest of their journey. Like she’s interested in seeing Obi-Wan’s home, rather than just…making sure she returned to it in one piece.

Obi-Wan quickly absolves herself of that notion, shaking her head firmly. She wrestles those feelings back down deep in a locked box where they belong; Cody is only here out of a sense of duty, nothing more. One last act of kindness before Obi-Wan is officially no longer her responsibility. It is far more likely that she is simply fascinated by a landscape so unlike the mountains she is used to.

They pass by the first of the farms at the very edge of the Shire, and Obi-Wan very intently keeps her eyes straight forward. The more she looks at the fields around her, she knows, the more uncanny they will become. And the last thing she needs right this minute is the inevitable scrutiny of her neighbors. Eye contact invites conversation; conversation invites comment.

“It’s beautiful out here,” Cody offers, nudging Obi-Wan gently in the shoulder and giving her a small smile when she turns to give the other woman her attention. “Very peaceful.”

“Quiet and peaceful are not always the same thing,” Obi-Wan snorts. Cody has the grace to ignore the bitter note in her voice, merely inclines her chin as though Obi-Wan has given her a new piece of information and nothing more, and it is moments like these when Obi-Wan thinks she may appreciate Cody the most. 

They somehow manage to make it all the way to Obi-Wan’s front door unaccosted despite the staring eyes that had followed them all the way there. She supposes they must be frightened if they all think that they’re seeing a ghost. 

Three years is an awfully long time to be away from home to a people who seldom make it further out than Bree. 

The door is unlatched but Obi-Wan had hardly expected any different. She rolls her eyes and shoulders it open, ignoring Cody’s incredulous look when she doesn’t have to pull out a key to do so. 

Empty. Her home is empty. Everything smaller than her heavy oak furniture that hasn’t been nailed down has been cleared out. 

Obi-Wan closes her eyes, tilts her head back, and groans. Cody blinks next to her, brows furrowing together in the middle when she turns from surveying the little hole to look at her. 

“This is…not quite what I expected,” Cody admits, and Obi-Wan snorts softly. She heads off to start making her way through the rooms, taking stock of what’s missing and what’s not, Cody trailing along behind her. 

“Not exactly cozy is it?” she says wryly, nudging an overturned chest with her toe. “I assure you, this is not the way I left it.”

Cody straightens immediately, her palm finding the pommel of her sword. “Someone did this while you were gone?”

“Assumed I was dead, I imagine,” she says. “This may surprise you, but we aren’t exactly known to be avid adventurers. You fall out of contact long enough and they all just assume you died horribly.”

“And make off with your shit.”

“And make off with your shit.” Obi-Wan snorts, shrugging once before giving Cody a smile she hopes doesn’t look too strained. “It isn’t the first time. I have this well in hand, my dear. You can go, now, I assume they’re all missing you terribly—”

“Obi-Wan, I’m not leaving you to deal with this.” Cody shakes her head firmly, hand still resting on her sword. It’s quite amusing, really, the extent of overkill that truly is in this situation. She’d been able to get her things back with only a little grumbling following the Battle of the Young, and she’d only been barely twenty then and certainly nowhere near as intimidating as a fully grown dwarvish maiden fresh off the battlefield. 

“That’s hardly necessary,” Obi-Wan feels compelled to point out, for all that she’s near certain it won’t sway Cody at all.

---

They don’t end up needing to go and retrieve any of Obi-Wan’s things after all, as it turns out. 

Obi-Wan’s just finished fixing a pot of tea for the two of them (the cure for everything, as far as she’s concerned, and no-one had absconded with her teapot, luckily) when there’s a knock on the door. Her and Cody both stiffen at the sudden noise but Obi-Wan relaxes first, shoulders loosening even as she feels irritation settle into her features.

“Nothing but a bunch of gossip mongers,” Obi-Wan grumbles, setting the teapot down on the table next to the cups she’d been about to pour. She ignores the amused huff it garners from her guest and settles her hands firmly on her hips, glaring down the hallway that leads to the door.

There’s another knock, louder this time, and Obi-Wan throws her hands up. “Fine. Fine. I’m coming!” she calls out. “Honestly.”

It’s Mrs. Chun at Obi-Wan’s door. Obi-Wan feels her eye twitch. 

“Obi-Wan Kenobi!” the woman greets with enthusiasm that only feels a little forced. 

She’s holding Obi-Wan’s grandfather’s pipe set and one of her favorite cheese knives. 

“Mrs. Chun,” she returns, polite enough. 

“We hadn’t realized you’d gone and gotten married!” the woman says, all but shoving her armload at Obi-Wan. “You have our congratulations, of course.”

Obi-Wan blinks. “I’m sorry?”

“Oh, no, dear, don’t apologize!” Mrs. Chun says. “I suppose you must have been staying with your wife’s family all this time, then. How wonderful!” She leans in close, as if they are trading secrets, now. Obi-Wan tenses all the way down her spine at the proximity. “What was that like?”

“Cold.” There’s suddenly an arm around Obi-Wan’s waist, tugging her back a little further from the door—and their guest. Cody. “The mountains didn’t agree with Obi’s constitution.” Obi, Obi, Obi— “Goodbye.”

The door is shut in Obi-Wan’s neighbor’s face before she’s able to finish processing—any of that—but she can’t particularly say that she minds, social faux-pas or not. 

“Obi-Wan, what in the name of—”

“I haven’t the faintest,” Obi-Wan manages, carefully extracting herself from Cody’s grip to set down the—gifts?—from the Chuns. 

“Your neighbor seems to think we’re married,” Cody says, question obvious in her tone. Obi-Wan opens her mouth to say—something—but cuts off when there’s another knock at the door.

It’s one of Obi-Wan’s cousins that she no longer remembers the name or the specific relation of. Obi-Wan is offered a shoulder-slapping congratulations, a half-teasing comment that the family hadn’t thought she’d ever marry (ouch) but that they perhaps should have expected something like a dwarf from her (whatever that was supposed to mean), and is summarily gifted her own silverware as what she assumes is supposed to be a wedding present. 

The cousin departs (flees) before Obi-Wan can realize that the set is missing its soup spoons. Obi-Wan blinks at her closed door once, twice, and swears. 

“Obi-Wan?”

“Hobbits also disappear when we get married. Shit. Shit!”

“Obi-Wan, what are you talking about?”

Obi-Wan starts pacing. She knows she must look like she’s lost the plot, marching back and forth in front of her front door like this, but she suddenly needs to move. “Hobbits elope. We elope. It’s the only way to get anything approaching peace or privacy for the process but I forgot because I’m hardly sought after—”

“Foolish.”

“—Yes, thank you, Cody, I know.” Obi-Wan spins on a heel, starts walking in the other direction.

“That’s not what I meant, Obi-Wan.”

Her heel strikes the floor with a distinct sound. She spins again. “So when I came back with you—”

“They assumed we got married.” Obi-Wan stop pacing to bury her overheated face in her hands while she waits for Cody to process this, and is very surprised when the other woman laughs, of all things.

Obi-Wan peers through her fingers to find Cody’s mouth split into a dazzling grin, warm eyes dancing with humor. “Well, I think I might have an idea for how we can get you your things back.”