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im-constantly-fangirling-backup · 3 years ago

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Here Comes the Cavalry

REPOST BECAUSE TUMBLR HATES ME

Thomas Shelby x Reader

Warnings: Swear words

Word Count: ~2.3k

A/N: Thank you so much for requesting this, anon! I had a really fun time writing this and I hope you enjoy!

Summary: Charlie's 10th birthday finds itself the center of a showdown between Thomas and his ex-wife over the new woman in his life.

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Being a friend of the Shelby's- didn’t matter how close or distant- was like walking around with a target on your back. But you didn’t mind. As much violence and chaos that the family attracts, and as much as they try to have power over each other, there was a mutual love and respect between every Shelby that you hadn’t seen anywhere else. For example, when Polly found out Tommy had hidden crucial information, she was pissed; but also proud. It was a bit concerning, if you were going to be honest. Even Grace was kept in the loop after the divorce. Once a Shelby, always a Shelby, you supposed. Grace wasn’t involved in the family business at all, but she and the family met occasionally. Although, as time passed on, it was mostly so Charlie could spend time with his father. Grace was now remarried and her visits were far and in between. She drifted apart from all the Shelbys- not that they minded, as her betrayal was still in their minds all those years later. Thomas started to move on from her as well, now very much used to Grace not being a part of his day-to-day life. Today was the day that Grace and Charlie were making a rare visit to the Arrow House for his 10th birthday. Thomas postponed all of his meetings for the entire week to make time for his son, an action that made you smile when you heard Tom tell his clients of his absence. And they call him heartless, you had laughed to yourself. “Ada! How are you doing!” you said, hugging your best friend before walking into the Arrow House. You took off your coat and hung it on the hook next to the door. “Oh I’m doing great sweetheart,” she said. “Auntie Y/NNNNNN!” you heard a little boy’s voice yell from the stairs. The pitter-patter of their feet running across the wooden floor echoed through the large room and made you chuckle. “Hello, Karl!” you kneeled on your knees and opened your arms for Karl, who ran into them and almost made you topple over. “Someone’s excited to see me!” You squeezed him lightly, resting your cheek on his head. You pulled away from him and reached into your purse, grabbing a chocolate bar that you had bought for Karl. “I got you something!” Karl smiled, his cute crooked teeth on display. “Thank you!” He grabbed the bar from your hand and started unwrapping it, running away from you and towards the living room. “Uncle Arthur, look what Auntie Y/N gave me!” he yelled. “What did I say about the chocolate?” Ada chided you. You laughed. “I couldn’t help it Ada,” you defended yourself. “He’s too adorable to not spoil.” In the background, you heard Karl laugh loudly. “You can’t have any Uncle Arthur, it’s for me!” You chuckled and shook your head, looking down at the floor in mock exasperation. The Arrow House would be nothing without the echoes of Karl’s screams bouncing around the walls from time to time. Even Thomas seemed to brighten up a bit more whenever Karl and Ada visited. You supposed it was because his nephew reminded him of his own son that he barely got to see. At the thought of Charlie, you looked up to Ada. “When are Charlie and Grace showing up?” Ada shrugged. “They should be here in a couple of minutes. Why don’t we head to the living room? Tommy bought a shit ton of food for Charlie so we might be able to steal a bit.” _______________________________________________________________________________________ You and Ada made your way into the living room and smiled at the exquisite birthday decorations. There were balloons of every color bunched up every couple of feet around the room, a large birthday banner hanging proud and true on the wall across from the fireplace. “Hello, Y/N. Ada,” Tom said from where he sat on the couch, his elbows on his knees. You smiled at him. “Thomas.” Tom smirked slightly- which was a fucking bright-ass grin when it came to Thomas. “We’ve been over the ‘Thomas’ shit, Y/n/n,” he said, quirking his brow. You chuckled. “We have,” you said. “Tom. ‘S just fun to be all fucking formal.” Tom pat the spot on the couch next to him while Ada left your side, sensing that you two wanted some

time alone. You walked over to Tom and sat next to him. “You excited?” Thomas nodded, his blue eyes brightening slightly. “I hardly get to see Charles anymore. You bet your ass I’m spoiling me boy when he’s here,” he joked. You laughed. “I’m sure Charlie’s going to like all of this,” you gestured to the decorations around you. “Oh! Before I forget! Where should I put this?” You reached into your purse and pulled out a folded mancala board that Charlie had begged you for the last time he visited. Thomas smiled and took the board from you, leaning down and sliding it under the couch. “We’re going to open presents after cake, so just remember to pick it back up.” From there, you and Thomas began to talk about the family business. Unlike with Grace, Thomas found himself consulting you on many decisions that he made. You weren’t directly involved but your advice was greatly appreciated by the family. Especially since Thomas wanted to get into politics- a field that you knew well because your father ran for MP multiple times before his death- your advice on what not to do gave him valuable insight on how to maintain a favorable public image. “I know your past is something that can’t be erased,” you said in response to Tom’s concerns about the subject. “But that doesn’t mean it can’t be hidden. Or at least left ambiguous enough that people can’t ask the right questions. You keep the public from asking the right questions, and you make sure they can never find the answers.” “It’s a bit unnerving that you know this,” Tom noted, a smirk on his face. In truth, he was impressed. Your knowledge of politics was quite extensive considering your father tried to keep you away from it for most of your life. But you knew how to eavesdrop and read gossip, and so you gained a wealth of knowledge about politics. You laughed. “You’re acting like you don’t already know this.” Thomas took a drag of his cigarette and chuckled. “You got me there.” Your conversation was interrupted by the distinct shrill of the doorbell. Tom perked up and smiled. “Charles is here!” He practically jumped up from his seat on the couch and made his way to the hall. You followed him to the hall, beckoning Karl, Ada, and Arthur- who had been quietly eating food in the corner, thinking Tom hadn’t noticed- to come with you. You and the group walked into the hall to the sight of Thomas laughing and picking up Charlie in his arms and bouncing him up and down, making his son giggle. “Happy birthday Charlie!” you exclaimed, clapping. Arthur, Karl, Ada- and John and Polly, who had been talking in the hall after you arrived- clapped and joined in wishing Charlie a happy birthday. Charlie and Karl shared a hug that resulted in you awing. You looked at Grace and smiled. “Welcome, Grace,” you greeted her respectfully. Grace simply nodded at you and took off her coat. Turning around to put her coat on the coat hooks next to the door, she gasped lightly in shock when she saw your coat resting next to Tom’s. “Whose coat is this?” she asked casually. You apologized profusely. “It’s mine, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to impose. I can find a different place for it-” Thomas waved his hand nonchalantly. “Oh, no need. You’re not imposing, Y/n/n.” You blushed slightly. “Frances can take your coat, Grace. I trust you remember who she is?” He jabbed at her lightly. Grace huffed and nodded. “Alright.” The tension between Tom and Grace was palpable and made everyone make excuses to leave the room. You left as well, saying something about wanting to play around with Karl and Charlie. You knew things were bad between Thomas and Grace. So bad, in fact, that Tom had approached her with a divorce. Tom was many things, but he wasn’t the type of person to reach for a divorce. He believed that marriage lasted for life. But after Tom’s and Grace’s arguments over his ambitions and dreams started to grow from skirmishes to screaming matches littered with threats, Thomas had enough. He told you the night that he decided to divorce Grace that he didn’t want to spend his life with a woman

that didn’t support his political and business ambitions. You found yourself sympathizing with both of them. You understood Grace’s concerns about the target that would always be on her and Charlie’s back because of Thomas’s ambition. But you also understood Thomas’s argument that his ambitions were also the thing that would provide his family with more opportunities than he had. Thomas’s goals were a double-edged sword. Although, Grace had become quite cold to Thomas in retaliation for the divorce, often sending him and his family veiled insults. So you didn’t feel much remorse for her when Tom made barbed comments like the one made in the hall. You sighed while watching Karl and Charlie play. It was going to be a long party. _______________________________________________________________________________________ All of you were eating cake, you talking with Polly about some gossip that you heard when going shopping for groceries. “Apparently Brandon was just using her for her status,” you said, licking the frosting off of your fork. “But then Brandon caught Melissa sleeping with her boss-” “No fucking way!” Polly interrupted, putting her plate down and gasping. “How the hell do these things happen to people!” You laughed. “I know right! My life is boring in comparison- and I hang out with you insane idiots!” “Hey!” John said from across the table, his mouth full of cake. “We’re not that bad!” “Speak for yourself,” Ada muttered from next to her brother, cringing when John stuck his cake-covered tongue out at her. “Honestly, Y/N,” Grace’s refined voice reverberated through the dining room, “You shouldn’t be gossiping this much. It’s a boring pastime.” You quirked your brow. “I’m sorry?” “Oh it’s alright, I understand that some people have nothing better to talk about. I’m just saying, gossip signals a bland personality and I’m sure you don’t have that, hm?” Grace’s implied message was clear. You sat in silence for a moment, surprised. “No?” you said, going along with whatever Grace said. In all honesty, you didn’t care what Grace thought of you. She barely visited enough for you to give a shit. But apparently, Tom didn’t want to let it slide. “Look, Grace, it’s not a big deal to gossip, alright? You’d be a big fucking hypocrite telling Y/n/n not to gossip when pretty much everything you talked about was who was fuckin’ who-” “Thomas!” Grace chided. “What? If you’re going to walk in here and criticize how Y/n/n spends their time, you can fuck off, alright? I don’t need some posh stuck-up woman in me house. So either behave yourself and let Charlie have a good birthday,” Thomas threatened, “Or get out of me house and have fun on the streets for a week.” “You’d let your own son live on the streets for a week?” Grace asked, shocked. “My threat regards only you. Charles is me blood- you make me see blood.” Grace looked down at her plate and picked up her fork and ate her cake again. Tom took that as an agreement to get along with everyone and started eating again as well. You were just thankful that you had sent Karl and Charlie to play upstairs. But regardless of the tense situation, a smile graced your face at the immediacy that Tom defended you with. _______________________________________________________________________________________ “Hey,” you tapped Thomas’s shoulder when you both found yourselves alone in the back room. “Thank you for defending me.” Tom nodded and smiled slightly. “Of course.” “I mean it. No one really defends me so I really appreciate it. Especially since it’s Grace.” Tommy’s brows raised slightly at that comment. “What do you mean?” You shrugged, looking anywhere but at Tom. “I mean, she was the woman that made you the person you used to be before France. I understand there’s some bad blood between you two now, but she’s still special to you.” Tom hummed and walked closer to you, stopping at around 2 feet away from you. “So are you, you know. You’re special to me.” You smiled. “You’re special to me, too.” Thomas’s hand cupped your cheek lightly, his thumb stroking

back and forth. A flush made its way to your cheeks and you smiled shyly at Tom. There was always some unspoken bond between the two of you that you danced around. You were always scared that it was too early after his divorce, but with the way that he was looking at you, he probably got over it a while ago. You don’t know who leaned forward first, but one second later your mouths were connected in a feverish kiss. Tom’s hands were traveling places, touching parts of your body that you caught him eyeing from time to time. Your hands rested against his chest and reveled in the feeling of his heart thumping against his chest as erratically as yours. So you had the same effect on him as he did on you. The kiss was a good indicator of that, but it was nice to have reassurance. Tom pulled away and rested his forehead on yours. “Fuck, I’ve wanted to do that for months now,” Tom confessed. You smiled, pecking him on the lips. “So have I,” you replied, pulling his mouth back to yours.

#tommy shelby x reader #thomas shelby x reader #tommy shelby #thomas shelby #tommy shelby angst #thomas shelby angst #peaky blinders #peaky blinders imagine

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writingwithcolor · 4 years ago

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Announcement: No Longer Answering Rubber Stamp Questions

Introduction

Here at Writing With Color, we’ve noticed a shift in the questions we are receiving. In the past, the majority of questions challenged the necessity of diversity in fiction or asked for assistance in making diversity seem more plausible in world-building. We also received many questions on how to describe and characterize people of color in respectful ways that didn’t demonize different races, ethnicities and religions.

By and large, we see that our followers understand why these concepts are important, and for that we congratulate you! This kind of progress takes real, long-term, internal work. Our team hopes that any advice or input you received from us over the years has helped you continue to develop as a writer. We hope you will continue to support us in the future and are especially pleased to hear from our non-white commenters who have let us know when our content has let them feel seen or heard.

However…

We have noticed a recent trend in asks that is discouraging. Many askers seem concerned with receiving our blanket approval of a particular concept or character. These asks often don’t provide us with the direction and context crucial to providing advice from a race or ethnicity-based perspective. Examples include:

“I’m writing a character from [insert background] who has [insert traits]. Is this ok?”

“I’m creating a world where I have made [insert concept] the basis of my world-building. Is this allowed?”

Hi, I’m a [insert identity]. Is it problematic to have [concept/ character] in my story?

“I’m creating a [Race A] character with [these] traits, a [Ethnicity 1] character with [those] traits, a [Race B] character with [some other traits] and a [sex/ gender minority] character with a [different set of traits]. Is this combination offensive?

We call these questions rubber stamp questions. If this describes your question, there’s no need to feel bad. We realize that there was never an explicit explanation of this concept. In addition, our team is mindful of the changing demographics of tumblr that might make it mean we are receiving questions from a younger user-base are not yet familiar with many of the principles we outline on this website. However, on that note…

What is Rubber Stamping?

Rubber stamping refers to the practice of seeking an endorsement without questioning or seeking to alter the status quo. The purpose of Writing With Color is to be a focal point for discussion about diversity in writing rather than simply prescribe a series of corrective measures. Without knowing the asker’s intent (Which we can’t, since we aren’t mind readers), our moderators are not in a position to provide you with carte blanche for your writing concept in the name of all other non-white people. Yes, we have a certain level of skill and expertise on many of these topics, but we are not here to take on the burden of all PoC to approve your writing choices. Nor would it be fair to other PoC if you took our response as a reason to dismiss the perspectives of other PoC (An unfortunately common phenomenon).

Bluntly, on the moderator end, these asks are also incredibly frustrating because they are vague and thus:

Time consuming

Labor intensive (mentally and emotionally)

The last example from the previous section (AKA “Laundry lists”) is particularly time consuming because multiple moderators must collaborate to produce an answer that boils down to each moderator saying, “I guess it depends??? *shrug*” but in slightly different ways.

Perhaps the biggest problem with rubber stamp asks is they feel (to us) like they are more about the asker’s desire for closure/ approval/ virtue signaling than a willingness to participate in the kind of education and discussion on diversity we are trying to foster on this blog.

To that effect: We will no longer be answering such questions.

(If you sent in such ask before this goes up on November 15th, 2020, a moderator may reach out to you individually to better address your inquiry as submitted.)

However: Don’t worry! We also are here to teach you how to makes these questions better!

Fixing Rubber Stamp questions:

1. Be specific.

Instead of Can I/ May I, try “How can I” or “When can I” or “What can I”?

Thus instead of: “I’m Christian. May I create a Jewish character seeking to become an actress in 1920s Hollywood?” —> “How do I, as a Christian, create a compelling Jewish character while being mindful of the interplay between my own intrinsic bias and historical accounts of prominent Jewish figures in early Hollywood?”Or, instead of: “I want to write a story about a modern day piracy in the East Indian Ocean, but with magic. Is this problematic? —> “Given the continuation of modern day piracy in the East Indian Ocean, what are some tropes I should avoid if I decide to go with a modern fantasy set in this region?”

2. Remember: The goal is improved understanding, not approval. Sometimes, you really just want to know *why* you can’t use a particular concept, and that curiosity is good! Questions that ask “Why?” in good faith are often how you can learn a lot about your own intrinsic biases and the limits of your own knowledge.

Thus, instead of: If I write about [controversial topic], am I a bad person? —> Why is it better for someone like me to not write about [controversial topic]?

This approach has the bonus effect of making us feel like you actually care about what we think.

3. Write your question as a draft: Edit your ask at least once or twice to provide as much information as possible while being concise. I’ve told this to college students before, but I can tell when a person wrote their assignment by the quality of the writing. Writing done late at night, when sleep deprived and without at least one edit contains extraneous information while not having a clear point.

Going through your question (Preferably a day after you wrote it) will help you narrow down what you really want to know.

Remember: You all have free will and can write whatever you please. We presume that you seek WWC’s input because you wish to write on issues pertaining to people of color with greater levels of awareness. On a practical note, we recognize that social media, trolling, call-outs, doxxing and other dimensions of cyberbullying make writers online hesitant to do anything unless they think they have the majority of the public on their side. There are times when it is obvious that the asker is asking more because they need approval to feel less anxious when they share their work with others.

However, if the above is your worry, either you aren’t ready to write on this topic or you need to rethink the boundaries you set with the online communities/ individuals you interact with as well as how you manage your internet presence. With respect to personal anxieties when it comes to writing, morality, your conscience and so forth, we recommend turning to your own support systems IRL. As relative strangers on the internet, we are not well-qualified to allay personal concerns.

Remember: Writing with diversity is like training for a marathon. Give yourself permission to expand your comfort zone at the pace your research capabilities and experience allow!

We appreciate that you all trust us to provide helpful, well-thought out feedback for your ideas, and we also thank you for respecting our perspectives even if you may disagree. In the same vein, we request that you put the level of thought into your questions you think appropriate given that another human being is going to spend, at a minimum, several hours coming up with their response. We look forward to hearing from you!

- The WWC Team

(A link to this article will be added to the pinned FAQ for everyone’s reference)

#WWC #Announcements #Housekeeping #FAQ article #Rubber Stamp #Question Guidelines #Updates #WWC Updates

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iam93percentstardust · 4 years ago

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For your bday prompt thing: stuckony, Tony has to take care of his partners after they get drunk for the first time in 70+ years.

Also, happy belated bday!!!

Thank you, nonnie! I hope you like this story! It was my first time writing something like this and I had a lot of fun working on it!

As always, everything that I write is on ao3 but I’m not providing the link because tumblr hates links

Tony would just like everyone to know that he said the Asgardian mead was a bad idea.

He said it, he did, and tomorrow morning, he’ll get to say I told you so.

Today, however, he has a very handsy Bucky and a very affectionate Steve to deal with, and he’s not sure which one is worse.

Bucky’s hand creeps towards his inner thigh for the fifth time in ten minutes and for the fifth time in ten minutes, Tony firmly removes it, placing it back in Bucky’s lap. “Nope,” he says, ignoring the laughter in Natasha’s eyes as she watches the three of them. “No, we’re not doing that.”

Bucky gives him a very pathetic pout that absolutely does not make Tony melt. “I just wanna touch it a little.”

“And I would like to not wake up with regrets tomorrow morning so hands to yourself.”

“I wouldn’t regret it,” Bucky grumbles, hands starting to wander again.

Tony sighs and firmly holds both of Bucky’s in his, keeping them right where he can see them. “I know you wouldn’t,” he says tiredly. How much mead had Thor given them? It’s been three hours, shouldn’t they be at least starting to sober up? “But I would.”

There’s a low whining sound from his left side. Tony groans and turns to Steve, who lays his head on his shoulder and blinks up at him with those big blue eyes. “You would regret us?” Steve asks sadly, mouth turned down at the corners.

Tony leans forward and drops a quick kiss on Steve’s forehead. “Yep. Drunken consent still isn’t consent even when we’re dating, and even if you both really, really want it, I like my partners to at least remember what we did.”

“I wouldn’t forget you,” Steve murmurs. “I love you.”

The words have been said before but not nearly frequently enough for Tony’s breath to keep from hitching. It still sends a thrill through his body every time he hears it. How could it not? There’d been a long time there when he’d thought he would never have anyone who would love him, and now he has two people.

“I—” he starts to say, but Steve puts a finger on his lips, shushing him.

“I especially love your eyes,” he says dreamily and reaches up to pet them, closing Tony’s eyes as he does.

“I know, babe.” And he does. Steve compliments him on his eyes all the time.

“They’re like dirt.”

Well, that’s a new one. Usually, Tony gets that they’re like whiskey, or when Steve’s in a particularly happy mood, like Bambi. Natasha nearly chokes on her laughter as Tony’s mouth twists.

“Great,” he says dryly. Bucky tugs his hands from Tony’s, who only barely notices. “Thanks, babe. A+ compliment there.”

“Dirt makes things grow,” Steve informs him solemnly.

“That they do,” he agrees, throwing Natasha a dirty look as she continues to snicker. Fuck, where’s the rest of the team when he needs them? How did he miss them all heading off to bed while he was trying to wrangle Steve and Bucky and stop them from drinking the entire contents of the barrel Thor brought back from Asgard?

“So it’s good that your eyes are like dirt.”

“Could be worse,” Natasha says. “He could have said your eyes are like manure.”

Steve’s eyes light up and Tony claps a hand over his mouth to keep him from saying that. He doesn’t think he could stand it. There are a lot of things he’s been compared to in his life, and many of them have been bad, but that would definitely be one of the worst.

“Don’t give him any ideas,” he grumbles and then yelps when Bucky’s hand lands squarely on his dick.

“James!” he hisses, scandalized. He twists in his seat, away from Bucky’s wandering hands, even if that means moving closer to Steve, who promptly latches onto him like a limpet. What is this world coming to that Tony, of all people, is horrified by some light exhibitionism? He thinks about burying his head in his hands and groaning but decides against it. There’s no telling what Bucky would do if Tony took his eyes off of him.

“Okay,” he says abruptly and stands up, dislodging Steve. “You know what? I had high hopes that we’d be able to sober up down here but that’s definitely not going to happen so we’re going to bed.”

“Together?” Bucky asks, waggling his eyebrows. It’s normally a very effective strategy, but tonight he’s too loose to look anything other than ridiculous. Tony bites back a laugh.

No encouragement.

Stand your ground, Stark.

…Even if it’s really tempting.

“Nope,” he says, popping the p. He rocks back on his heels. “You two are going to go to bed and I am going to sleep with Natasha.”

It’s the least she can do for laughing at his misfortune all evening. And besides, it’s not like they haven’t shared a bed before. Most of the team have shared a bed at one point or another. It’s a great way to deal with the nightmares they all have. And Nat’s scary enough that even Bucky won’t dare argue with her, especially once she nods and slides her hand through the crook of his elbow.

“I’d love to have you over tonight,” she says in that sly tone that means she’s rubbing this in Bucky’s face. He sighs. When did his life get so complicated? What did he do in a past life that was so bad he now has to deal with petty spies and assassins with roaming hands?

“Nat, stop teasing Bucky,” he orders. “Bucky, keep your hands to yourself. And Steve, just—” Steve gives him the biggest puppy dog eyes. Tony regrets every single time he’s ever told Steve how effective those are. “Never mind. Bed. You two are going and what you get up to once you’re there is none of my concern.”

“It could be,” Bucky says with another one of those eyebrow wiggles.

“Uh-huh,” Tony says, not impressed. “Darling, you’re so drunk you’re nearly falling over. I’d be surprised if you can even get it up.”

“Oh doll, I can always get it up for you.”

“Charming,” he says flatly.

Steve slides his hand into Tony’s free one, interlacing their fingers and swinging them, happy as a clam. Tony glances over at him and opens his mouth to say something, what he’s not sure. It’s not like this is nearly as much of a problem as Bucky’s leering is; it’s just a little awkward. Before he can say anything, Steve beams at him and lifts their joined hands up so he can press a soft kiss to the back of Tony’s. Tony shuts his mouth again and tries not to blush.

After a moment, he says, “Nat, can you take Bucky upstairs if I’ve got Steve?”

She nods. “Let’s go, Джеймс.”

Bucky pouts but obediently follows her to the elevator. Once they’re gone, Tony turns to Steve, who promptly wraps him up in a hug. “Were we really that bad tonight?” Steve mumbles, voice muffled by Tony’s hair.

He wants to say yes, wants it to never happen again because tonight was awkward-with-a-capital-A, but he thinks of all the times Rhodey and Pepper have had to wrangle him when he had too much to drink. “Worse things have happened,” he tells him instead and nudges Steve’s jaw up so he can kiss him in that sensitive spot right under his chin.

“Good,” Steve says and finally—finally—he sounds sleepy. “I never want to cause you problems.”

Tony smiles fondly. He knows they don’t. That’s why he finds it impossible to stay mad at them when they do things like this. “Come on, honey. Let’s get you upstairs before you become deadweight.”

“You’d have to get the suit to move me,” Steve says drowsily, stumbling along with Tony as they head for the elevators.

“That’s very true.”

Natasha is already gone by the time he gets Steve into their bedroom, and fortunately, Bucky is already asleep, snoring softly as he lies facedown on the bed. “Small miracles,” Tony mutters, shoving Steve in the direction of the bathroom.

He helps Steve out of his clothes, decides against a shower—they’ve tried sleepy Steve in the shower before and it never turns out well—and eventually gets his teeth brushed. By that point, Steve is all but swaying on his feet so it’s no effort at all to get him tucked into bed beside Bucky, who must know on some subconscious level that it’s Steve next to him because he rolls over and wraps himself around Steve like he’s part octopus.

Tony smiles at the sight of them and pulls his phone out to take a quick picture before he grabs a couple things and then heads down to Nat’s floor. She’s also already in bed by the time he gets there, but she’s leaning up against the headboard, reading a book.

“Thanks,” he says wearily as he drags himself into her bathroom.

“You owe me,” she says simply. “Besides, it was easy once he realized you weren’t there. Just had to promise him you’d be coming up soon.”

“You’re a genius.” He stumbles back out of the bathroom and faceplants on the bed, burying his face into her hip. “Fuck, that was exhausting. Was I ever that bad when you were working for me? No, don’t answer that. I think we all remember that party.”

She laughs and cards her fingers through his hair. “You did well, котенок.” She pauses. “But I still took pictures.”

“…I hate you.”

#alle writes #alle answers #stuckony #if you like please consider reblogging #alcohol tw #Anonymous

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no-pucks-given · 4 years ago

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FREDERIK ANDERSEN | TIMES LIKE THESE

AN: At the end of January my lovely friends convinced me to start writing. I did, and it turned out to be something I really enjoy and love. I haven’t posted anything on Tumblr before, it’s always been to intimidating for me. I talked to a few writers on here, and decided to just do it. So thank you to everyone who supported me in this (scary!!) decision, hahaha. I hope you enjoy this one, it’s one of the last ones I wrote. (:

Warnings: Thighs, oral (male receiving), unprotected sex, some more thighs.

Word Count: 3.5K

Requested: @freddieflower3129

Watching your boyfriend play the sport he loves so much is one of your favourite things to do, but watching your boyfriend lose, and eventually even lose his cool, is definitely one of the things you hate. You can almost feel Freddie’s frustration through the screen after yet another goal, another shot he should’ve stopped. You blame it on the defence, on luck, but you know that Freddie blames this on himself.

Another loss, you see the look of pure defeat on his face when he leaves the ice. A look that tells you he’ll be wrecked by the time he gets home. Every win, every loss is spent together, you celebrate the wins, and you support him through the losses. Tonight, maybe more than ever before, he needs your support, and you’ll make sure he gets that in the best way possible.

Freddie will never ask you for this, afraid that he would bother you, but you know he loves it when you do this for him. His muscles are sore after a game, in desperate need for some release, a way to lose the tension in his body, tonight you’ll make sure he gets the massage, and love he deserves. And boy, does he deserve a lot of love.

You put your plan into motion, making sure everything is ready when Freddie gets home. You light up a few candles, the small flames giving the room a cosy, peaceful look. Rummaging through the drawers you find his favourite oil, putting it on the bedside table. You find the softest towel you own, and finally you’re all set to give your man the peaceful night he deserves.

You’re comfortable on the couch when Freddie walks in, a sombre look on his face. “Come here, baby,” you say softly, opening your arms for him. Without a second thought he drops his bags, and makes his way over to you, his large frame engulfing your smaller one. His head buried in the crook of your neck, arms wrapped around your waist, hugging you close to him. You brush your fingers through his hair, a soft sigh leaving Freddie’s mouth. “How are you feeling, baby?” you ask, even though you already know his answer.

Freddie chuckles low. “Like shit, like a loser, a failure, does that answer your question?” he counters back, annoyance, hurt lacing his voice.

“I’m sorry. I know you’re feeling like that, but it isn’t true, you know that,” you say, tugging softly on his hair. Freddie lifts his head, eyebrow raised in question. “I’ve planned a small thing for you upstairs, if you’re up for it,” you say, a small smile playing on your lips.

“You did?” he asks, your words triggering his curiosity. You nod your head, smiling at him. He helps you off the couch, and follows you upstairs.

You look at him when he crosses the threshold, his bottom lip slightly pouting. Freddie finds your eyes again, cocking his head to the side. “You don’t have to do that, y/n,” he softly says, worried he’s making you do things you don’t want to do.

You shake your head at him, fingers loosening his tie. “I know, but I want to, and you deserve this,” you say, pulling his tie off completely. “You deserve to know how much I love every single part of you, Freddie.”

Together you undress him, until he’s left in nothing but black boxers. You guide him towards the bed, where Freddie lays down on his stomach, arms above his head. For just a few seconds you simply watch him, his broad shoulders, his thick thighs, his perfect bottom. You chuckle quietly at yourself, you’re such a fangirl for your own man. You slip out of your sweats, leaving you in just your underwear and t-shirt.

You crawl on top of Freddie, your legs on either side of his waist. You lean over him to grab the oil, squeezing some on your hands. “Is that my favourite?” Freddie mumbles from below you.

You smile, pressing your oily hands onto his back. “Of course it is, love. Only the best for you,” you say, gently massaging the tight muscles on his back. Your fingers work the tight knots in his shoulders, a deep sigh leaving Freddie’s mouth every now and then. “You feel like a burden to your teammates, like you carry the weight of the world on your shoulders, but little do you know you actually carry their pride, their joy, their love instead,” you tell him softly, your hands moving down his back.

Freddie listens intently to everything you have to say, his brows furrowed in confusion, in realisation at times. He knows he can be too susceptible to negativity at times, taking and hearing only the negative sides of things or events, while there are enough positive sides as well. He tries so hard to change that, but it’s a lot harder than it looks. At times like these he couldn’t be happier to have you. You always know what to say, whether it’s to calm him down or to see the positive side to certain events.

You slide further down his body, settling between his legs. You smirk to yourself as you rake your nails over his sculpted ass, a low groan leaving Freddie’s mouth. “y/n...” he warns, but you just press your hands on his backside.

“You know I love your ass, I only got praise. Do you need to hear them?” you say cheekily, a blush spreading over his face.

“No, you can skip it,” Freddie mumbles, a smile on his lips.

Your oily hands slide over his thighs, his muscles flexing underneath your touch. “I could write a book about your thighs, Freddie,” you tell him, massaging his sore muscles.

Freddie chuckles, lifting his head a bit to look at you. “I swear to God, if I ever catch you writing a damn book about my thighs you’ll be in so much trouble, baby,”

You laugh at him, grabbing one of his feet. You gently massage his footbed, making sure not to tickle him. You do not want to get kicked in your face tonight, or any night for that matter. “Oh, that’s so good,” Freddie moans out, completely relaxed. You smile at him, moving on to his other foot.

After a while you crawl back towards his head, whispering in his ear that he can turn over now. Freddie rolls over, scooting back to sit against the headboard. He pats his thigh, urging you to sit down, a small smirk playing on his lips. You sit back down on top of him, knowing damn well this is going to lead to something completely else.

You softly press your lips on his, revelling in the feeling of his lips, his tongue, his taste. The kiss stays light, sweet, his eyes promising you this isn’t over yet. You squirt some more oil on your hands, while Freddie holds out his arm for you. You slide your warm hands over his skin, loving the feeling of his strong arms underneath your fingers. “Your arms,” you start, Freddie’s eyes shooting to yours, “they make me feel the safest I’ve ever felt. Wrapped around me I feel like I can conquer the whole world,” you tell him, smiling softly at the man before you.

Freddie’s free hand lands on your hip, his thumb brushing soft circles over your exposed skin. You move on to his hands, your thumbs pressing down soft circles on his palm. “Your hands, they provide me security, and trust. Whether it’s wrapped around mine when we’re out for a walk, or..” you say, looking innocently at a smirking Freddie, who already knows where you’re going with this. “wrapped around my throat while you fuck me, tangled in my hair when I take you down my throat,” you finish, feeling Freddie’s erection against your stomach.

Freddie takes you by surprise when his fingers wrap around your throat, bringing your face closer to his. His mouth claiming yours, tongue forcing its way into your mouth. You moan into the kiss, completely forgetting about the massage for a moment. You rock your hips against his erection, earning yourself a low groan from Freddie.

Freddie breaks the kiss, looking pretty content with himself at the moment. “Now you can continue,” he says, sliding his hand from your throat, between your breasts, and back to your hip.

You shake your head at him, he’ll never stop surprising you. Your hands slide over his chest, rubbing the oil into his skin. “Your chest keeps your most precious possession; your heart. Your pure heart, full of love, happiness, and kindness. It’s the most beautiful part of you, love,” you tell him, pressing your palm onto his chest.

His hand lands on top of yours, pressing down harder. “It’s no longer in my possession, y/n. I put my heart in your hands a long time ago,” he says, slightly squeezing your hip.

Your hands cup his face, making sure he looks at you. “I know you can get in your own head too much, but I’ll always be here to help you, to support you through everything. Don’t be afraid to ask, love. I need you to understand that you don’t bother me when you ask for anything, just ask and I’ll give it to you,” you say, hoping he believes your words.

“Thank you, baby. I promise I’ll ask if I need something,” Freddie says, smiling back at you. You see the small change in his features, it almost has something.. naughty? “I do need help with something actually,” he says, giving you his most innocent look.

You raise your eyebrow at him, trying to keep the smile off your face. “And what would that be?” you say, sliding your hands down his chest.

Freddie lifts his hips, rocking his erection against your core. “That.”

You shake your head at him, of course that’s what he wants. You try to reach for the towel to clean your hands, but Freddie grabs your wrist, stopping your movements. “Don’t bother, I want to feel those hands all over my cock,” he says, smirking at your shocked expression. “It is edible, right?”

You playfully roll your eyes at him, your head inching closer to his. Your lips brush over his ear, tongue darting out to trace the shell. “Why don’t we find out, huh?” you whisper, your hand cupping him through his underwear. The sharp intake of breath only spurs you on to continue your slow, torturous ways. It isn’t often that Freddie lets you take the lead like this, but when he does you make sure to enjoy it as much as you can.

Your lips kiss his skin, softly sucking and nipping every now and then, slowly making your way down. Your hand strokes his erection through his underwear, your lips close around one of his nipples, sucking the bud into your mouth. Freddie groans, you love how sensitive he is there. You bite down on his nipple, before soothing the burn with your tongue. Freddie curses below his breath, his hand wrapping around your hair.

You lick and nip your way down over his stomach, his muscles tightening underneath your touch. When you finally reach your destination you smirk to yourself, determine to drive Freddie absolutely crazy with need. You lick the skin just above the waistband of his underwear, chills running through his body. His grip on your hair tightens, your eyes finding Freddie’s. “Stop teasing, y/n,” he says, tugging on your hair, letting you know playtime is over. You mumble your agreement against his skin, while slowly tugging down his underwear.

Freddie lifts his hips, allowing you to slide down his underwear completely, freeing his throbbing erection. You lick your lips at the sight before you, his erection standing proud against his stomach, precum leaking from the tip. Your head dips down, but Freddie yanks you back up, your eyes shooting to his again. “Hands, y/n. Remember?” he says, referring back to your earlier conversation. You nod your head, one of your hands closing around his cock, squeezing his base tightly.

Freddie relaxes his hold on your hair, allowing you to lower your head towards his cock once more. Your tongue swirls around his tip, relishing the familiar taste of his precum. Your lips close around him, softly sucking on the head of his cock.

Your mouth follows the same rhythm as your hand, your other hand braced on his muscular thigh. You lose yourself completely in him, his low moans and grunts when he pushes further into your mouth, they way the muscles on his thigh flex underneath your hand. You can feel his eyes on you, even though you can’t maintain eye contact with him, too far gone in giving him pleasure.

His words bring you out of your trance, your eyes shooting back to his. Freddie chuckles at your confused expression, clearly you haven’t heard a word he said. “Play with yourself, baby,” he repeats, smirking at the hungry look in your eyes. It’s one thing to have you in front of him, his cock down your throat, but knowing you’re playing with yourself just turns him on even more. He groans at the thought, cock twitching in your mouth as your hand actually disappears underneath your t-shirt, and into your panties.

You moan around his cock, your fingers softly circling your clit. Freddie lifts his hips, pushing further into your mouth. His lazy rhythm tells you he isn’t planning on coming, the look in his eyes tells you he does have other plans. “I want you to come, y/n. Come with my cock down your throat,” Freddie rasps out, his voice laced with desire, a need to watch you come undone.

Swift circles, slow circles, at this point you don’t even know what to do anymore, all you know is you need to come, want to come. It’s Freddie’s low praises, soft groans that push you over the edge, almost choking on his cock, nails digging into his thigh. Freddie doesn’t give you any time to recover, any time to catch your breath. He pulls your hair, releasing himself from your mouth with a pop. “Come here,” he softly says, helping you straddle his hips.

Before you can even tell him you’re still wearing your panties they’re ripped off your body. His strong hand snapping them in half, the piece of fabric landing somewhere on the floor. You look up at the large Dane before you, who wears an even larger grin on his face. “Always so impatient, huh?” you mumble, his hands reaching out to pull off your t-shirt.

“I am, I’ve waited long enough,” Freddie whispers against your neck, softly sucking on your skin, surely leaving marks behind.

You lift your hips, your hand guiding his erection towards your entrance. You slowly sink down on him, his cock deliciously stretching you to the absolute max. The moment he’s fully inside of you, you both let out the breath you’ve been holding. “Fuck, y/n,” Freddie groans, hands tightening on your hips. It’s a perfect fit, like you’re made for each other.

One of Freddie’s hands finds its way to the back of your head, pushing you closer to his face. Your lips find his in a scorching kiss, tongues twisting and twirling around each other, fighting for dominance. A battle you quickly lose to Freddie, a win you’ll happily give to him anytime. He smirks into the kiss knowing damn well that he would win. You can be on top of him, feeling like you’re the boss, but deep down? He’s still in charge here, and he’ll have you pinned underneath him in a second if he wanted to.

You rock your hips on top of him in soft, slow motions, loving the feeling of him deep inside of you. The way Freddie sits against the headboard, heels digging into the mattress, it gives this experience a whole new dimension. It’s so close, so intimate like this, chests pushed together, lips barely leaving the other’s for more than a few seconds. Your nails dig into his shoulders with every rock of your hips, every thrust Freddie gives to meet your rhythm.

You’ve never been closer, felt closer to Freddie than right now, right this moment. You can’t even begin to describe the things that this man makes you feel, every single day, every single minute. Especially when you’re like this, intertwined with each other, completely at peace.

You feel like you could burst at any moment, the euphoria creeping through your veins, inching closer, and closer to your release. Freddie, knowing your body like the back of his hand, feels you pulsing around him, your breathing turning more erethic by the second, indicating you’re close to reaching your high. “Eyes on me, beautiful,” he breathes out, fingers gripping the back of your neck tightly. Your eyes shoot to his, while you bite down on your bottom lip, unable to fight back your approaching orgasm any longer.

“Come for me. I got you, baby,” he encourages you, his thrusts hitting you in just the right spot. Trying your hardest to keep your eyes on him you let go, your orgasm crashing through your body. Your back arches, pushing your sensitive breasts even further into Freddie’s solid chest, your hips stilling on top of him, while you cry out his name. You rest your head against his shoulder, riding out your high in peace, your breathing still erethic, heart beating loud in your ears.

A few thrusts of his hips, a few groans and moans, before his orgasm hits Freddie full force. He pushes you down onto his cock hard, burying himself deep inside of you. “Oh fuck, y/n!” he groans, shooting his load deep inside of you, coating your inner walls with his release. You smile against his neck, completely exhausted. “Christ, y/n. That was...,” he trails off, completely lost for words.

“Fantastic, mind-blowing, brilliant, phenomenal, or something else in that category?” you ask, kissing his shoulder.

A breathy laugh leaves his mouth, his strong arms closing around your body, hugging you closer to him. “All of the above, definitely all of the above,”

The two of you just lay there for a few minutes, enjoying the comfortable silence, the closeness of each other. You softly kiss along his jaw, his beard tickling your nose. “Come on, love. Let’s get cleaned up,” you whisper against his skin. Freddie tightens his arms around you, swinging his legs off the bed. In one swift move he’s upright, with you still secure in his arms.

His movements cause him to slip out of you, his release mixed with yours dripping down your legs. “Gross,” you say at the same time Freddie groans, fingers tightening around your thighs.

“It’s not, baby, it’s hot,” he says, smiling down at you.

You shake your head at him, a smile on your lips. “You’re such a caveman, Freddie,” you chuckle, while Freddie just shrugs his shoulders.

He sets you down on the bathroom counter, walking towards the shower to turn on the water. You watch him intently, a grin on your face when he catches you staring at him. Freddie chuckles low, before walking back over to you, stepping between your legs. His large hands slide over your thighs, your waist, all over your body until he cups your face with both hands. “You,” he starts, his eyes locking on yours, “are my light, y/n. In dark times, in times I’m lost and in times I doubt myself, you’re the one who guides me back onto the right path, who helps me get out of my own head, who has my back without ever expecting anything in return.”

You open your mouth to say something, but Freddie simply shakes his head at you, indicating he isn’t finished yet. “I love you with everything I have, y/n. Everything. I’m sure you’re my soulmate, and the one I’ll spend the rest of my life with. I’m absolutely sure of it,” he finishes, softly pressing his lips on yours.

Sometimes you think you can’t love him more than you already do, but times like these prove you can love him more. He looks down at you, a blush on his cheeks, an uncertain smile on his face. “I love you so much, so damn much it almost hurts. I’ll always protect you, help you, guide you, and support you, as best as I possibly can, Freddie. Even though I’m sure you can do anything you want on your own, and you know why I think that?” you ask him, knowing he needs to hear this, he needs to understand this. He shakes his head at you, thumbs brushing over your cheeks. “Because you’re amazing, Freddie. And I’ll prove to you every single day that you’re exactly that; Amazing.”

He grins at you, his eyes reflecting his love for you. You kiss him once more, pouring all your love and adoration into that one kiss, before the two of you finally take that long deserved shower.

#frederik andersen #frederik andersen smut #frederik andersen imagine #frederik andersen fic #nhl imagine #hockey imagine #hockey smut #nhl smut #frederik andersen x reader #nhl fic #nhl fanfiction #hockey fic #hockey fanfiction #toronto maple leafs imagine #toronto maple leafs #toronto maple leafs fanfiction

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minisoysquares · 3 years ago

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As fun as the events and ideas you posted about 19days would be, wouldn’t it also just bring in more negative stuff - like fandom in general has become a field of land mines and I fear that something that’s supposed to fun will turn into some sort of battle. Like how some people get extremely heated over any other ships outside of their fave ship and they cannot possibly have other ships except theirs, etc. The last thing anyone wants is for content creators to be targeted simply for making something they thought would be fun

(This ask and answer is about this post.)

First of all thank you so much for addressing such a big and valid concern. I agree that that has indeed happened in certain fandoms - I can say I've been in the thick of it and witnessed quite the warfare - but in others it has also brought fans and readers and content creators together even closer and tighter in a wonderful thriving community.

I have the feeling this'll get quite long so please proceed under the cut with that in mind.

I believe all things are potential harbingers of both discord and harmony. There will always be people who feel entitled and who want - even demand! the audacity! - authors and artists to create for their ships and their ships alone. And there will also always be people who can appreciate the writing and the art without judgemental treatment regarding the pairings/characters depicted, no matter their preferences.

All of that happens and will continue to happen, whether we go forward with these events or not. And yet authors will still write what they want to write, artists will still draw what they want to draw, graphic designers will still make the edits they want to make as well. What we could do, in this small and close knit fandom, is take in our hands this powerful rich opportunity and try our best to make a model of positivity out of it.

In these events, there would be no bashing or shaming allowed. The content created would be to be enjoyed by those who are attracted to it, and those who do not have a taste for that fanwork in particular would be asked to remain respectful. (As it should always be.) There would be no ship wars in these spaces. Discourse, hate-speech or anti-behaviour would not be tolerated by the moderators of the event.

Creators who indulged in it would be immediately disqualified. Any unnecessary commentary or complaints from the audience would be deleted and reported as spam. Anyone instigating conflict would be only painting a target on their back, really. Because most of us - I dare say - are only here to appreciate the brilliant artwork and fanfiction woven and crafted by the talented people who share it with us.

If it came to it and it escalated, this hellsite has several tools that can be put to use to that regard. Accounts could be blocked and/or even reported. They wouldn't be able to interact with the blogs created to run these events from then on. We would be able to create a black list and post it publicly so everyone else who wished to could simply block those unruly pesky accounts and remain at peace and free to enjoy themselves to their utmost.

Let us not forget that this is all fiction and it's all for fun. Everyone's allowed to have their own opinion, likes and dislikes. There simply is no need to step on anyone else and their interests to elevate them.

Let's exemplify, for the sake of clarity:

Do I personally ship A with B? Imagine I do not. I do not search for it. If I come across it? I scroll past it. Once or twice, I may even like - and even reblog - if it happens to catch my attention and it's well written/drawn! (I have tags along the lines of 'I don't ship it but' and 'look at this beautiful art' or 'drown in the power of these words.')

It's so easy to interact amongst ourselves without coming with pitchforks at one another. Know what actually needs effort? Being a meanie and a party popper! Who in their right mind wastes their time on things they don't care for? Dum dums, that's who! Of course, we're all dummies at times... and that's okay! Let's just not harass people or crash their fun while we're at it!

If nothing else: you wouldn't like if others did this or that to you, therefore don't do it to others. It's a simple concept to grasp.

Very important: in these events, every single piece would be explicitly and properly tagged and warned for right at the very top of each post, so there would be absolutely no excuses for anyone being nasty.

We would just have to be open to the experience. Enjoy our ships and let other enjoy theirs. We do not have to all like the same thing. That would be just boring. But we can cohabitate devoid of trouble in fandom. Each one of us just has to be respectful. No need to even be nice. No one has to compliment something they don't like. They also don't have to step on what others do.

Don't like a ship/character/theme? Don't read stories focused on it. Don't put down authors who write it or readers who enjoy it. Same for art. No need to shout about how awful it is just for the simple reason that it does not fit into your personal shipping preferences. It can still be still be a tasty and wonderfully baked cake, it's just that you're not fond of vanilla or strawberries. It's okay. There are all kinds of cake for everyone's tastes!

Further examples: If a ship happens to be a NOTP for me or I don't care for the character(s)? I filter the tags. All of them. Any and every tag I can think of. It's very easy to protect ourselves on Tumblr from content we do not wish to see. (My own list is huge and just as effective.) Filtering is incredibly important.

So go ahead and filter out the ships you can do without! Filter out porte-manteaux like Tianshan, Zhanyi, Qiucheng, Tianxi, Tianyi, Lishan, Litian, Liyi, Shantou, Polydays, (...) Filter out any ship tag that doesn't strike your fancy like Q x MGS, HC x JY's mom, (...) Filter out characters that aren't your cuppa tea like HT, HT's dad, SL, JY's mom, XH, (...)

Make it safe for yourself and for others. That way you won't rage at the sight of your NOTP, won't feel the compulsive need to trash the people who ship it, no one is hurt and everyone is happy!

There are many steps we could follow to prevent rotten eggs in our coop. And many more actions we could take to throw them out if need be. I firmly believe, however, that if we're all of the same mind everything would go well and with very few bumps along the way.

If we only ever feared the possible negative consequences of our actions, never taking the risk for the possible positive ones, we'd never get anything done. I say let's not let our beloved fandom stagnate or dry out. Let's incentivate and motivate and inspire! Let's share! Let's have fun!

Think of it in these terms: it wouldn't be a competition at all but rather a charity event. Performers and spectators coming together for a common good, raising content and spreading joy! There would be no winners or losers or prizes. What would matter would be good old-fashioned participation, both by providing content and/or consuming it.

It could also a good way to get people to express themselves more. Many content consumers tend to lurk or keep to themselves even if they like the content posts. (I used to be one myself and only a couple months ago started to come out of my shell.) I myself advocate for reblogging instead of liking - if you have to choose one or the other, I mean, why not do both? - and leaving a word on every single post I like and/or reblog. Sometimes I go nuts commenting, sometimes I leave a small note in the tags.

It doesn't matter how. Even if you're shy or introverted (*raises hand*) or don't know what to say I guarantee a single emoticon or a string of disordered letters symbolising incoherence will make the creator's day all the same. Getting feedback is so important and motivational for creators and also a great way for fandom members to keep in touch and support each other.

Additionally, if a person would like more of a certain type of content here are some healthy actions they could take: a) commission a creator and pay for it if they can; b) politely make a suggestion to a creator with an open ask box; c) post a prompt publicly for possible interested creators to use; d) do it yourself and share it with others!

This turned out into more of a "behavioural guidelines" thing than I'd have liked. I am not in any way whatsoever telling anyone what to do. This is what I do, and it works wonders for me. I stay completely out of toxic arguments and in on all the goodies. I'm able to fully enjoy my fandoms. And isn't that what we all want?

Thank you again for sharing your thoughts with me. And I apologise for the long rant!

Of course, this is only my personal stance on the issue. I did go for a survey first exactly for this end, to get their opinions on the subject and see if it would be worth a shot. I shall hope many other people will think as I do, but I will wholly respect those who don't.

#answered asks #19 tian #19天 #19 days #old先 #old xian #zhanyi #qiucheng #tianshan #jian yi #zhan zheng xi #he cheng #qiu #brother qiu #he tian #mo guan shan #she li #cun tou #xiao hui

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jamiemackenziefraser · 4 years ago

Text

All That Was Fair

Chapter 31: Counsel of a Witch

Summary: Jamie turns to the bookstore owner in search of help

Read on AO3

Read chapter 31 on tumblr below the cut

Previous, master list, next

Chapter 31

***

Jamie was at the end of his rope. With every passing hour, he watched Claire get worse and worse. She was pale, drawn, with dark circles stark under her eyes. Her ashen skin, so different from the soft gleam of its usual pearl, made him want to break down sobbing. She was so different from the vivacious faerie he’d come to know. It broke his heart to see her despondence, and he loved her far too much to endure her suffering in silence for even a moment more.

So he decided to turn to the one place he might find help.

The bookstore owner.

It seemed foolish— bordering on mad— to go to a complete stranger for help on the love of his life. Only this Geillis seemed to be the only one besides Claire herself that knew anything about the Fair Folk. Jamie couldn’t simply take her to a hospital. Going to Geillis was the only thing he could think to do. He was out of options.

He sat then on the couch, with Claire draped over his lap like a flesh and blood blanket, having just arrived at a decision.

“Mo ghraidh?” he said quietly.

He reached out a hand to tangle gently in her curls, his fingers delighting in the softness of it.

“What is it, Jamie?” she asked.

Even her voice came off weak, hard as she was trying to sound unaffected. There was a breathy tonality, as if she couldn’t quite draw in enough air. A chilling reflection of her exhaustion.

“I’m goin’ tae go back to the bookstore,” he said simply.

At that, Claire sat up, pushing her hands against his thighs to brace herself enough to get upright. Big whisky eyes regarded him with a bewildered expression.

“To see the witch? Why?”

It took Jamie a second to realize what she had just said. He was opening his mouth to answer the “why” when the first part of her question finally sunk into his brain. His heart stopped beating for a solid second at the same time as his brain ground to a halt.

“Did ye say ‘witch’?” he asked hollowly.

Claire furrowed her brows and stated simply, “of course. The one who gave you her notes on traveling through the stones? That witch?”

“I—” Jamie’s tongue was tied in knots as he struggled to get on board with this new reality-shattering revelation, “I didna ken witches were real,” he finished lamely.

“Oh,” Claire said, with the same patience Jamie had when explaining something like toothbrushing to her, “she is. That just means she is a human who understands about our realm.”

Blinking, Jamie gave her a look. He was struck dumb for the moment, but as soon as he regained the ability to speak, he demanded, “ye kent she was a witch all this time and didna tell me?”

Claire blinked her weary eyes and gave a nonchalant shrug, looking a bit more like herself as she answered with a straightforward, “It didn’t seem all that important.”

“Ehmm... so… how did ye know?” he asked, trying to keep up.

“Sensed it. I just sort of… knew. Like how you know when someone is from a different place that you haven’t been. We both saw each other for who we are. Plus it makes sense, since she obviously knew I’m of the fair folk, that’s why she gave you the book.”

Jamie gave a hesitant nod. He was about to ask more questions about witches when he noticed Claire was raising a hand to her head and rubbing it wearily. His stomach turned over in sympathy.

Overcome by the bittersweet tenderness, he reached out a hand to replace hers, cupping her face gently.

“I’m goin’ tae ask her if she kens anythin’ that can help ye, lass,” he said gently, “Just because ye dinna ken what’s goin’ on doesna mean we canna find answers.”

She leaned her face into his touch until his hand was the only thing keeping her head raised.

“That’s not a bad idea, Jamie,” she said quietly, “let’s go.”

“‘Let’s’?” Jamie echoed, “nae, a nighean. Ye can barely stand on yer own two feet. I wouldna have ye do anything other than rest.”

“And I would not have you go to a witch alone,” she countered.

Jamie’s eyes widened and he felt his brain kick into overdrive. “Do you mean she might be dangerous?”

“No,” Claire said with a shake of her head, still leaving her face pressed into his hand, “I know she’s not. But I’m coming.”

His stubborn lass.

Jamie brought his other hand up to frame her face, fixing her with his best admonishing stare.

“I said no, mo Sorcha. Ye’re stayin’ here.”

He saw the spark of resistance flare in her eyes before she made the move. Pulling away from him, Claire stood abruptly to her feet. Weak as she was, she swayed for a second, thrusting out a hand to grab hold of the top of the couch and steady herself. Jamie popped up beside her, getting ready to reach out to grab hold of her waist, but she took a hasty step back.

“I’m going,” she insisted.

Jamie was left trailing after her as she began to walk stubbornly toward the door (her weakness only betrayed by the way her body shook with tiny tremors). She grabbed the bolt and slid it free with a clang before throwing open the door and walking outside.

“Claire!” Jamie called, running out after her, barely snagging the car keys and his wallet from the table before he did, “wait!”

She whirled around— the most energetic thing she’d done in a long while, it hurt him to recognize— and placed her hands on her hips. As she did though, her eyes grew wide as if she was suddenly feeling dizzy, and her hand shot out instead to brace against her knee.

Getting hold of herself, she straightened once again. “Like I said, I’m coming with you. Now, should I do it myself or are you going to help me?”

Knowing he’d lost the battle and terrified that he’d be forced to watch her collapse as she stubbornly walked to the car if he refused, Jamie caught up to her.

Gently taking her by the arm, he said quietly, “alright, a leannan, my stubborn lass, you win.”

***

Claire had laid her head down on his lap the moment they were both seated in the car. She spent the majority of the ride to Inverness slipping in and out of consciousness while Jamie worried over her. He prayed under his breath that God would send them answers in the form of this witch. She’d provided him with revelations once before, so Jamie could only dare to hope she’d have a solution just waiting for them.

As he pulled into the public lot nearest the bookstore, he found himself daunted by the distance Claire would be forced to walk. She hadn’t seemed to have noticed that they weren’t moving anymore, and her breathing was shallow as she drifted in that odd state of half-consciousness.

“Claire,” he said gently, his voice catching in his throat, “we’re here, a nighean.”

She raised her head, curls falling back behind her, and then dragged her body upright. She rubbed again at glassy eyes, trying to find the necessary strength.

“Take yer time,” he said softly.

When her hand fell away and her eyes connected with his, the desperate look inside of them sent him crumbling to pieces.

“Do you really think she’ll know what’s happening?” she asked in a tiny voice.

The air in his lungs was expelled with a whoosh. She wasn’t asking him that, not really. She knew he would have no idea— he’d only just learned about the existence of witches mere minutes ago. No, she was asking him to tell her everything would be okay. And that much he could do.

“Aye, a nighean. I pray that she can gi’ us somethin’. It’ll be alright.”

She gave a shaky nod, and Jamie took that as her being ready. He went around to her side to take her hand and pull her out of the car. She got out easily enough, but once she was standing outside, she fell against Jamie’s chest. He quickly encircled her in his arms, holding on tight to keep her upright.

“Woah,” he murmured, “take a second. Ye’re okay.”

The words felt weak even in his own mouth.

She took his advice, leaning against him for a drawn out moment before she raised her head just enough to say. “Okay, let’s go.”

Of all the tortures Jamie’s brain had conjured in his life— speculations about how it might be to die by fire versus drowning or other such morbid games— the torture of the next few minutes of watching his very ill faerie struggle to walk down the street topped any agony he’d considered before (save maybe the time when he’d left her at the stones and thought he’d be facing a life without her).

He kept one arm wrapped tightly around her waist the whole time. The weight of her leaning against him was obvious, and he worked to support her as much as possible. As she struggled to put one foot in front of the other, drained as she was, Jamie cursed himself for giving in so easily and allowing her to come along.

But she pushed on, his stubborn lass. After a couple slow and shaky blocks, they arrived at the bookstore. There was only time for a single exchange of hopeful looks before Claire stepped away and took his hand instead.

He pushed open the door with a jingle.

Just like the last time, they were greeted by the air of other-worldliness. Knowing as he now did that Geillis was, in fact, partial to things not of this world, the odd atmosphere made more sense. It took a moment for Jamie’s eyes to adjust to the dim lighting and an even longer while for the goosebumps on his arms to ease.

Claire must have sensed Geillis’ presence before Jamie did because there was a squeeze to his hand the second before a red head popped out from between two shelves in the back.

“Ooh, the lovers, back again. Did ye read my wee notes, fox cub?” Geillis cooed.

She emerged from between the shelves holding two old books to her chest, looking quite excited.

“Yes, they were verra… informative. I thank ye for it. That’s actually why we’re here…”

Jamie was about to launch into his plea for help when Geillis suddenly stopped dead in her tracks a few feet before reaching them. Her eyes went wide as she looked at Claire, a frown slowly forming between her brows and on those cherry colored lips.

“I see…” she said softly, “something is wrong wi’ yer fair one, aye?”

Sensing something— maybe it was a laxness in her fingers or maybe it was just his intuition— Jamie glanced down at Claire just in time to see her face freeze and eyes go distant. He let go of her hand and whirled around to catch her just before she collapsed. Both of his arms went around her tightly and pulled her to him as her knees buckled.

Looking down at her pale, scrunched features, Jamie was relieved to see that she wasn’t unconscious, but she certainly wasn’t doing well. Her eyes were glassy as she blinked hard, trying to keep herself aware.

He looked up from his suffering love to give Geillis a pleading look.

“We need yer help,” his voice broke on the word help.

Geillis looked somber, studying him and the faerie in his arms. Then, she gave a nod.

“Bring her back, and then tell me everything.”

“Back” apparently was referring to a back room. Geillis had led them to the back of the bookstore as Jamie all but carried Claire, and then she pulled back a curtain to gesture them into another room.

With Claire tucked tightly into his side, Jamie ducked through the doorway.

On the other side was a whole second bookstore with the same crowded shelves and haphazard organization. Only this side also had shelves of all kinds of paraphernalia— vials of colorful liquids, bowls containing small animal bones, and all types of odd trinkets. Jamie tried to take everything in, but his mind was so fixated on Claire that he had trouble taking stock of all the things Geillis had in her secret stock.

His survey was interrupted as Geillis gestured them toward a window on the far right. There was a bench seat built into the window, and Jamie brought Claire over to it and sat her down before joining her on the smooth, wooden surface. Geillis appeared a second later with a chair, setting it up in front of them before settling in and regarding him with raised brows.

Claire was leaning against his side, quiet as a mouse and their fingers entangled where they rested together on Jamie’s thigh. Her head tilted down slowly to rest on his shoulder— too tired even to feign strength.

Geillis looked at them for a long moment before saying, “tell me everything.”

So Jamie explained. How he found her on the hill. Her story of wandering on the moors when she fell through the stones. How he’d taken her into his home before reading the book and trying to take her back. Her choice to stay. And finally, her deteriorating condition— the exhaustion that rendered her drained and lifeless.

In the middle of his explanation, Claire had drifted down to lay her head in Jamie’s lap and curl her feet on the bench. It had made the lump in his throat grow, nearly choking off his words, but he’d pressed on to finish his story, knowing how important it was to get answers.

Once he’d finally closed his mouth, Geillis gave a thoughtful hum, looking down at the faerie in his lap with a worried expression that was almost pitying.

“I could tell the moment she walked in that somethin’ was wrong,” she said softly.

“Anyone wi’ two eyes could see that, she can barely stand on her own two feet!” Jamie snapped. He regretted it instantly. Geillis was their greatest hope and her comment didn’t warrant that response, he was just so worried that he was strung nearly to breaking.

He started to apologize when she cut him off. “Nae, I meant her aura is wrong. Worse than wrong it’s… barely there.”

Jamie couldn’t help but ask, “that’s how ye kent she was a faerie the first time, aye?”

Geillis nodded. She was quiet for another gut-wrenching moment, looking down at Claire. The lass in his lap was unconscious, and Geillis seemed to be longing to talk to her instead of him. Or maybe she was just studying her.

“Do ye ken what’s wrong then?” Jamie couldn’t help but ask, “please? Any ideas at all. I—” he started to try to express how terrified he was, how he couldn’t bear for anything to happen to her, but the words clogged in his throat. He looked down at her as hot tears pricked in his eyes and brushed those beautiful curls back in a way that was probably more soothing for him than it even was for her— out of it as she was.

When he looked back to meet the startling green eyes, there was sympathy there.

“I have a theory…” she said, but trailed off.

Jamie felt his entire body lift. His back straightened as he eagerly asked, “tell me?”

Her eyes flicked down again to his hands stroking Claire. “Ye willna like it.”

The hope that had begun forming in his chest popped with suddenly ferocity. He felt sick to his stomach, worse than he ever had on a boat or plane in the worst of his motion sickness bouts. He wished he could just refuse to hear the bad news that was about to come, but he had to face it, for Claire’s sake. No matter what, he would keep fighting.

“Tell me,” he said. This time it wasn’t a question.

Geillis settled back in her chair, folding her hands in her lap.

“Ye said she came through the stones by accident, aye? I think…” for the first time ever, Geillis looked hesitant, “I dinna ken how else to say it…. I think she’s becomin’ human.”

“What?!” Jamie burst out, loud enough to make Claire jerk in his lap. He quickly looked down, placing his hands on her again to settle her. She hadn’t fully woken, so his touch on her side and face was enough to soothe her back into tenuous sleep. He looked back up to Geillis and repeated, more quietly this time, “what?”

She looked uncomfortable as she looked at Claire like the theory was forming in her head. “Well, not exactly becomin’ human. Not really. She’s still fae. It’s jes— ye ken she’s from another plane, aye? Well now she’s separated from her realm, and things are different here. She canna draw energy in the same way. Going through the stones— being here in this realm— she’s cut off, and she canna eat and drink like the rest of us to sustain herself, her body isna capable. She’s likely been drawing on what energy she can, but it isna the same as in her realm.”

Jamie came back to himself to find he was clutching the end of Claire’s hair in a balled-up fist. He felt like Geillis’ explanation had torn him open and ripped him inside-out.

“So...” he spoke through the bile rising in his throat, “she’s essentially starvin’ to death? From lack of energy?”

She nodded solemnly. Her fixed gaze on him was so intense that he had to look away. He tried to look down, but the sight of Claire’s pale face as she slept in his lap made his eyes burn with tears.

“Do ye—” Jamie tried to ask, choking back tears, “what can I do?”

Geillis looked sympathetic but made no move.

“Take her back to the stones,” she said simply.

Jamie shook his head violently, his very body tense, as if it could expel the idea. “No, no, she doesna want that. There has to be another way. She could eat— or—”

“That won’t help her, that’s not what she needs. I’m sorry, fox, I… I don’t know of anything else,” her voice was so low and excruciatingly sympathetic that Jamie wanted to scream.

He found himself still shaking his head in denial. There was a sharp ache in his stomach, as if his heart had shoved its way down there.

“I dinna think I can—” he choked as the first tears began to fall. Trying to find the barest hint of comfort, he stroked Claire’s hair again, his fingers brushing her face.

“There’s no choice,” Geillis said finally, “she’ll die.”

Jamie wanted to leave the bookstore. He almost wished that he had never come— only he could never wish to be ignorant about such a thing, even if it was tempting. He glanced down at Claire in his lap.

She was unconscious, her face nearly ashen in the light from the window. There was no hint of her usual golden warmth— only pallid skin and dark circles under her eyes. He could feel her shallow breathing,

He wanted to break down completely. The allure of giving into his grief was so strong, but she didn't deserve to languish in this place any longer. He would see her home.

The polite thing would have been to thank Geillis for her help. Only his throat was so clogged that the words never would have come out. He couldn’t even spare a glance up at her.

A silent tear dripped down his cheek as he reached a hand down to gently shake Claire’s cheek.

“Mo ghraidh?” he choked.

He was suddenly overcome by the acute desire— no need— for her to wake up. He had to see those golden eyes or he’d die. He couldn’t draw breath, he couldn’t—

She opened her eyes slowly, blinking dazedly up at him from where her head rested in his lap between his hands. He expected her to murmur out “what’s wrong?’ as she usually would have upon finding him in such a state of extreme distress. But she didn’t say a word. She was likely too tired to sense his emotions, too tired to even bring herself to confront the reality that was showing on his face. She just breathed in shakily.

Jamie somehow found a strength inside himself that he didn’t know he possessed. He gathered his composure— for her sake.

“Let’s go home,” he said softly, his voice astoundingly even.

He gathered Claire up in his arms with the utmost care, lifting her under back and knees until he was standing face to face with Geillis.

“Take care of her, fox cub,” the witch said solemnly.

Jamie swallowed hard. Unable to verbalize it out loud, he gave her a nod.

A promise.

He would send her back. He would do what needed to be done to save her.

At that moment, Claire stirred in his arms.

“We’re leaving?’ came her breathy question.

“Yes, a leannan. We’re going home.”

To his surprise, her hand pushed against his chest— her touch weak and lacking any real force, but still insistent.

“I don’t— they’ll—” she sounded distressed, which broke Jamie’s heart. But she was so incoherent he didn’t have any idea how to assuage her.

“What is it, a nighean?” he asked, on the verge of tears.

“Don��t want them to see,” she finally managed.

That did him in. More tears leaked from his eyes to pour down his cheeks. He swallowed the sob in his throat.

She had always hated other people seeing her— accustomed as she was to being invisible to humans— and now she was embarrassed by the thought of Jamie carrying her through Inverness.

“Dinna think about them,” Jamie answered, barely able to contain the heartache in his voice, “no one matters except you, mo ghraidh.”

She still looked distressed. Her eyes were squeezed closed again, her brows furrowed, and she shook her head.

“Jamie, I…”

Her voice trailed off. Her head lolled on his shoulder, and he nearly broke down all over again.

He turned his teary gaze to Geillis, giving her his best look of pleading.

“Is there nothin’ ye can do tae ease her?” he asked brokenly.

Geillis looked wrecked too, staring at Claire as if the sight of his wee faerie suffering was too terrible to look away from. “I’m sorry,” she said with a sad shake of her head, “there’s nothin’ I can do.”

Jamie bit his lip, hard enough to draw blood, and then refocused on his love.

“Damn the world,” he told her firmly, “we’re goin’ home.”

***

IMPORTANT:

Hi, friends! I mentioned a few chapters ago that I will be going on hiatus for a short time. I've finished writing arc II now, and in the interest of leaving you all at a decent stopping point before I go on hiatus, I will be dropping a chapter a day. There are 3 more chapters after this one until arc II wraps up. BUT the story will be far from over, so I truly hope you stick around until I get back in a number of weeks. I love this story and these characters so much and I'm really excited for arc III.

With that being said... I will now be running off to hide in fear of my life. IknowIknowIknowI'msorry! SORRY!

#next day update!!#all that was fair #claire x jamie #outlander fanfiction #fae claire

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forbiddensoul562 · 3 years ago

Text

Contagion

I could have sworn I’d published this, but I found it in my draft folder this morning... So... I apologize that it hasn’t gone through a rigorous editing process, but I hope you enjoy anyway!

Two years ago I sat on a train in Taiwan, headed from Taipei to a small, remote place called (I think) Wufeng. As I sat there, I thought about a post-apocalyptic zombie Meronia fic I’d read somewhere on here. It was very good, but I had no luck tracking it down again, and I thought that was a damn shame.

So, I pulled out my notebook and wrote a test first chapter of my own version during the whole two hour train ride.

It’s not much, and might not have much substance to it. But I’d love to get anyone’s thoughts on it’s start.

Working Title: Contagion

The moment they appeared their existence made national news… The world screeched to a halt, all attention on these things. Humans… turned diseased, feral, or perhaps something else entirely. No one knew for sure where they came from. It was as though one moment the world continued spinning like normal, and in the next… these things began flooding the streets. The initial confusion of news analysts and reporters slowly began to turn to fear. It took only an hour before the first bite was reported... The victim turned, becoming one of the diseased.

That was the moment public fear began to turn to panic, catching like wildfire.

As Near watched, from secluded inside his high tower, he was acutely aware that he was witnessing the turning point of human history.

By the second hour after the first report had hit the news, Near had decided that what he was witnessing was potentially the unravelling of human society. He was a detective… trained to solve the world’s mysteries. But this… There was no training for this, and even if he wanted to act, the pandemic was spreading far too fast.

By hour three Near found himself trying to name these things based on their condition – should he refer to them as the Sick, infected initially by some kind of widespread contagion? The news began to report them as simply ‘undead,’ and while Near understood that such a title effectively, and most simply communicated to the general populace what these things were doing, based on common knowledge from mass media, Near could only roll his eyes at how unoriginal and unfitting the term appeared to be.

At the tenth hour, local news agencies began going off the air as it was too dangerous to stay and try to report. It made sense, they had themselves and their own families to think about. It was in that moment that fear suddenly began to take the place of Near’s previously more pragmatic thoughts. A new, chilling terror of encroaching total isolation the outside world seeped into his bones.

It was then that he decided it best to make the one call of utmost importance in the dying world, before cell towers began to completely fall off the grid.

Rester handed Near the phone and the detective listened to the ringing tone as he pressed it to his ear, an unspoken panic brewing in his center and he couldn’t decide if it was premised in his worry for lines of communication, or something much more morbid. ‘Pick up,’ He mentally pleaded, desperately. ‘Come on, answer your phone…’ Of all the times to be ignored…

But then, as if by command, finally the other end of the phone ceased the repetitive tone, replaced instead with a simple, abrupt, “What?”

“Mello.” A heavy breath was released that Near hadn’t realized he was holding, momentary relief taking its place. “You’ve seen the news?”

[More beneath a ‘keep reading’, just in case Tumblr isn’t showing it...]

There was a brief pause from the other end, and Near felt his heartrate quicken in response. Time was just too precious for delays of any kind. Every second that crucial information wasn’t being conveyed was another second that Near felt his panic increase, worried that the call might drop and he might never get to say what he needed to.

“It’s starting to be chaos here, too.” Mello’s tone was somber, quieter as though speaking any louder would make the events all the more real.

“I see.” Near reached for a strand of hair, though the repetitive twirling sensation was proving to do little to calm his nerves, as it once had. This was just becoming too big of a catastrophe for his simple rituals to pacify his worry. “The world is ending, Mello.”

“Strangely dramatic of you.” The older successor muttered, but was quick to add, “You think I don’t know that?” There was an irritated edge to his tone, yet still Near couldn’t help cracking a small smile at Mello’s underhanded, and perhaps unconscious, implication that they both truly were not above dramatics. Though, perhaps he was reading too far into it, searching for a sliver of normality in a world that was quickly falling crumbling.

“No, of course you would already be aware.” After all, Mello was much more heavily involved in the world, or at least connected to it on a far more personal level than Near was. “No doubt the grid will be going down at some point. Maybe in a few minutes, maybe in a few hours, or days… So to that effect I wanted to contact you first over anyone else.” Near’s motions in his hair stopped, the white strand unravelling around his index finger. His vision and even his attention to the rest of the room seemed to blur as he focused entirely upon his connection to the only other person of importance Near had, in a world that was falling apart. “If things continue as they are, to the best of my ability I plan on attempting to create a safe zone within my tower. Right now it has the resources to survive here for at least a year, but I aim to build on those.”

When Mello said nothing in response, Near continued, rambling still, but this time more to the point, “What is happening right now is far greater than you or I, Mello, and on our own I do not think we will make it long. You lack the resources and I lack the physicality. But together, we-”

“Near, don’t, I’m not-”

“Mello, please.” He could hear the pleading in his words, “Just listen to me a moment.”

This time, the blonde remained quiet on the other end.

“If you can make it from your present location in California to here in New York… I would greatly benefit from whatever you have to offer to survival efforts. Neither of us will make it if we’re split up. This is not like anything else we have ever dealt with, and because of that I don’t think it makes sense to hold onto lingering animosity. Think of your survival.”

Near shook his head. Logic wouldn’t work with Mello… So he added quieter, “I need your help, Mello.”

There was a long silence between them, then, the words and residual antipathy culminating between them into that one moment of silence which seemed to hold all the necessary potential to be both of their ruin, not to mention all the others Near had every intention of trying to help. Everything hinged on this single moment… of being able to put aside disputes, and endless history for a greater good. It had never worked before. Yet this time, Near held his breath.

Finally, “I’ll do what I can.” The words were vague, but of course both successors understood the weight and challenge associated with attempting to travel from one side of the country to the direct opposite in the current collapsing state of things. But if Mello was as willing and able as his words alluded to, then Near was willing to hold his breath a little while longer.

Near nodded, “I look forward to your arrival, then.”

The detective was ready to end the call while he had Mello’s agreement and thus his own sense of hope, but of course Mello broke in before he could, “Yeah, you say that, but you’re not the one having to go out and deal with this shit. It’s a risk, Near. At this rate, who knows what the country will do in response...”

Near could read between the lines: Mello thought he might not make it.

But Near had to stay positive, even if he was feigning it for both of them, now. The thought of being alone to go going through what was shaping up to be the apocalypse was troublesome at best, and truly terrifying at worst. “Getting into and climbing the ranks of the Mafia was a risk, too.”

There was a short, curt chuckle from the other end of the line. “Yeah, well… we’ll see. I’ll try.” The younger successor didn’t like the tone latent in his voice. He didn’t like hearing Mello be anything other than his loud, over-the-top self that exuded confidence. But then, nothing was good about this situation or provided any reason for the blonde to hold onto his normal demeanor… Still, it was jarring and was almost worse than seeing the reports on the news.

But Near forced himself to nod, “Right, I’ll see you soon, then.”

Yet another pause on the other end, followed by a simple, “Yeah.”

In that moment Near found himself reluctant to cut their connection. There were so many things he wanted to say to the blonde successor… just in case this was their last time ever speaking. Years of harbored words flooded his mouth like bile, yet burning his throat with the knowledge that no matter how much he wanted to let it all spill out, Mello wouldn’t stand such talk. Not now. Maybe not ever. Though, perhaps it was better this way. He didn’t want to say anything that might prove a distraction to Mello’s journey across the country to get to him.

So he instead swallowed it all back down, promising himself that he would make time to pour out all of these words to Mello when the older successor made it to him.

He could only bring himself to whisper, “Good luck. Be safe. Please.” It was the closest thing to a prayer Near thought he could ever formulate.

“You too, Near.” Mello said much quieter. “Don’t... let anything happen before I can make it there, alright?”

“I won’t.” He shook his head. “I’ll be here waiting.” With that, he pulled the phone away and hung up.

#fsfics #Death Note #Meronia #MelloxNear #MelloNear

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keiwritesstuff · 4 years ago

Text

Hopeless

Ishikawa Yuki AU

Summary : When the pieces started to fall together, she knew she had no choice but to let him go.

Genre : slice of life, angst

Notes : long. Self-indulgent. 3rd person POV. Not sure if I got the characterization right. I wrote this all in one night. Not proofread, so there might be misspelled words and grammatical errors. Based on a prompt. Best read on pc/laptop/browser (if you’re on your phone), since the layout changes when it’s read/opened on the phone tumblr app.

When did she start noticing it?

Was is sometime after their relationship reached the eighth month?

Or was it when he started showing strange signs or started doing things that were very much unlikely for him to do?

+++

Even before they started dating, when they were just friends, Yuki had always listened. Whether she’s venting, or just simply talking about how her day was; he would always, always listen.

And so, when she caught him staring into space that day, just as she was talking about her thoughts on one of the matches she recently watched, she felt a little odd.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

He shook his head lightly. “I’m just a little bit exhausted. I stayed up watching the team’s past matches. For reference.”

She chuckled. That sounds just like him. Always finding opportunities to improve. He never thought of anything or anyone lightly. He always believes that there is always something new to learn from everyone regardless of age and experience.

She gave him a little smile and brushed her fingers lightly against his cheek. “You’ll do well. Your teammates got your back. You know that, right?”

He nodded.

And she brushed off the odd feeling. Yuki was just being…. Yuki.

_________________________________________________________

On their date the following week, Yuki suggested that they go to their usual place for dinner; a restaurant with tatami rooms for private dining, surrounded by luxurious green landscaping to cater to the demands of the many wealthy patrons who frequent the restaurant. She’s not used to at all, since she grew up in an ordinary, middle-class family, but the food is heavenly, and the restaurant provides a safe space for the both of them to spend some time together.

Yuki was reading the menu, seeming unsure of what he would have that evening. He was probably being cautious of his diet, she thought.

“I think I’ll have the usual.” she spoke first while Yuki was still scanning the menu. It’s the same food that she always had every time they went to the restaurant. Yuki was the one who suggested it when he first brought her to this restaurant, and she was teased a lot by him for not wanting to try anything else other than that particular menu, to the extent where he no longer needed to ask her what she would have whenever they go to this place for a meal.

She stifled a laughter when she remembered how Yuki used to tease her all the time about it, how he used to attempt to steal her food and cutely asked her to finish the tomatoes in his plate, and how they often argued about the secret ingredients in the menu. This restaurant held all those memories.

She was happily smiling at the thought, until Yuki asked,

“Hold on… which one is it again?”

_________________________________________________________

Two weeks.

They didn’t see each other for two weeks after that last date. Yuki had a busy schedule, filled with practice, meetings, interviews and photoshoots. It wasn’t the first time they couldn’t see each other for a long period of time.

But it was the first time that Yuki couldn’t respond to a lot of her calls.

She was probably calling at the wrong time. His schedule usually ends at 10 p.m, but he must’ve had extended meetings with his manager after that. Or he just wanted to rest. After all, not all of her calls were left unanswered. He did answer some of it. And as she suspected, he was just exhausted. Of course he was. After all, he was the team’s ace.

She understood her position. She understood his as well. This is as normal as their relationship would allow. Who he is… does not allow them to have what other couples have. They could not have that stroll at a park under the cherry blossom trees. They could not have those cheesy movie dates. They could not even go to the beach to watch the sun set, since there is a high risk of fans and paparazzi finding him.

Regardless, she was content. She loves him, and she would go above and beyond to make sure his career is not jeopardized by their relationship in any way, even if it means that she could not eat sundaes on broad daylight with Yuki.

+++

[Hey, how was your day? How was practice?]

She texted him.

[It was good.]

Came his reply.

[Did you have fun? Is Takahashi still messing with you since that day you accidentally ate his bread? Haha]

He responded,

[No, not really.]

Strange. It wasn’t like him to give that kind of replies. He usually would talk a lot, even in his texts. He would vent about how his teammates kept teasing him for being so popular, or how much he wanted to eat greasy, deep-fried food.

This time, it was really strange.

[Hey.. are you alright?]

She hit ‘send’.

Two minutes later, a reply came.

[Yeah. Just dead tired. I’ll talk to you later, okay? I’m going to bed. Good night.]

_________________________________________________________

This went on for a week more. The short replies, the unanswered calls, the brief conversations. To say that she was not upset was clearly a lie, since things weren’t like that before. And it’s not like he didn’t respond to her calls and texts AT ALL. He did. It’s just that.. it has become somehow different.

Or was she the one who became strange? Has she become… clingy? Could it just be her mind playing tricks on her? Or perhaps… this is what to be expected when one is dating a famous athlete?

Then again, beggars can’t be choosers.

She should be more understanding of his job. She should be supportive. There are things that she herself has not understood yet about how the industry works and she’s sure that Yuki already has a lot on his plate. He isn’t just an athlete. He is an ambassador, a representative, and to an extent, an idol to many.

She shouldn’t ask too much of him.

_________________________________________________________

It was on one Friday morning where she had to call in sick after waking up in shock, immediately running to the toilet and vomiting. She knew right away that she caught a high fever.

Has she not been taking care of her health lately? Was she stressed at work?

Overthinking?

Regardless, with shaking hands, and with the little consciousness she had left, she left a voice message for a close friend. She had promised him that she’d join him in a co-op expedition on Monster Hunter later that night.

“Hey, Yuji.. I can’t join you tonight.. high fever.. Need to rest. Sorry.. I’ll join you some other time, okay?”

With that, she hung up, mustered as much strength as she could, pulled up the covers and fell into an uneasy sleep.

+++

She was awoken by the sound of plates being handled. Her eyes shot open.

Burglar?

Terrified, she turned around slowly, only to breathe out a sigh of relief when she saw the person in her house. She had forgotten that she gave him the spare keys to her house.

“Gosh..Yuki.. You scared me..”

“Oh, hey, you’re awake.” he replied, arranging something on the kitchen counter.

“W..what time is it? How long have I been sleeping?” her hand roamed around for her phone. She found it and checked the time. To her surprise, she was out cold for a good seven hours and it’s already 3 in the evening. She groaned. Her whole body still felt heavy, but that sleep was very much needed.

“Are you alright?”

Yuki came to her and sat next to her on the bed.

On his lap, was a bowl of soup.

She stared at the bowl, and then.. at her boyfriend.

“Did you come here and….cook?”

“Yes..? And.. I know you’re sick and all, but how come I only found out about it from Nishida? Why didn’t you call me?” he asked out of sheer curiosity while helping her to sit up straight. She remembered the phone call this morning. “Oh.. I told him I couldn’t join our gaming session tonight.. he needed help taking down a boss. I didn’t have much strength to call anyone after that.”

“Taking down a boss..? Is it that important? You guys are ridiculous.” he teased.

She let out a weak chuckle. “Hey, Shara Ishvalda is not ridiculous. What’s ridiculous is you, suddenly showing up in my place after God knows how long we haven’t properly talked to each other.”

She meant is as a joke, but despite the fever flowing painfully in her veins and biting painfully at her joints, she could still notice the change in his expression. Oops. Did she say something wrong?

“I understand you’re busy. I shouldn’t ask too much of you.” she added, but Yuki was silent. The expression on his face was unreadable.

Was he upset? What exactly happened to him lately? Is he exhausted? Stressed? What is he hiding from her? Was something bothering him? Was it work?

Was it guilt?

Her thoughts were cut off when Yuki handed her a spoon. “I hope it tastes okay.” he spoke.

“Well... unfortunately, my tongue is currently deprived of its senses… and therefore, I deem your soup…”

She took a sip and imitated Gordon Ramsey’s face expression as best as she could, “…mediocre in terms of its taste.”

Her attempt to lighten up the mood worked.

Yuki was laughing softly.

Ah, there he was. Her Yuki.

The person who had made her heart pound like a drum, the man who often put others before him, the man who made her realize just how much she could love someone. She hasn’t seen that smile for such a long time. She missed that smile.

She missed him.

All she could do was stare at the man in front of her. With trembling fingers, she touched his cheek. “I missed this, Yuki. I missed you.” she said meekly. He took her hand in his own, but was silent for some time before saying,

“I’m here.”

“I know you’re busy. I know people expect a lot from you. I know you tend to carry the burden all on your own. I respect that. But-- I also want you to know that if you need any help, all of us are here for you. Me, your teammates, your family.. I want you to always remember that you---”

Yuki’s phone on the night stand vibrated, signalling an incoming call.

Yuki immediately answered the phone call and walked towards the kitchen, where she couldn’t hear him.

It was a short phone call. After it ended, Yuki went back to sit next to her on the bed. But this time, she could no longer form any words.

As much as she was surprised that she was interrupted mid-conversation, she couldn’t stop the chills that ran down her spine. Immediately, that feverish burn in her veins was replaced by something much, much more agonizing, and she could feel blood rushing to her head, trying to make sense of what she had seen.

She saw the caller ID, and she knew who it was.

She knew that name. She noticed that Yuki probably didn’t realize that she had already seen it, considering how he was trying to act normal after that phone call, but somehow… just somehow…

Everything started to fall into place. Everything started to make sense.

_________________________________________________________

Of all Yuki’s friends and teammates, only a few had personally known her. She had grown close to Yuji after she and Yuki started dating (especially when he found out both of them loved games), and Takahashi texts her every now and then, spilling tea about the things her boyfriend do during training, and sometimes sent her pictures of young Yuki because he absolutely loved it when she teased Yuki about it.

Masa, though, is the only one who knew her way before she met Yuki. In fact, he was the reason they met in the first place. She and Masa coincidentally shared the same social circle, and their passion and interest in volleyball and manga made them friends.

When Masa heard her voice over the phone in all seriousness, he knew something had definitely happened. She was not the type who talks about what happens in her relationship to others. She had always tried to resolve any conflicts on her own first. It was her way of protecting herself and Yuki.

When she had finished talking, he became silent, mainly due to shock and disbelief. Several things were running through his mind. What was Yuki doing? Has that boy lost his mind?

“Or maybe I’m the one overthinking? I’m not sure what to think of anymore, Masa.” she spoke. She wanted to believe that she was indeed overthinking. That she saw wrong. That everything happened was either just a coincidence or just Yuki feeling exhausted because of work. She wanted to believe in Yuki.

But it was hard. It was hard when the pieces just somehow…fit together.

“Hey, I’ll try and talk to him somehow and find out what’s going on. You should try to calm down and save your worries for later, okay?” he assured her.

They had been friends for a long time. She knew she could count on him. Plus, Yuki had always looked up to Masa. If there is anyone in the team who could get Yuki to talk about his feelings and thoughts in all honesty, it would definitely be Masa. She trusts him.

She trusts his judgment.

She wished she didn’t.

Because four days later, she received a phone call from Masa, confirming all her worst fears.

_________________________________________________________

Other than the restaurant, they have another secret spot where they could meet without the prying eyes of others.

It was at a small, empty playground on the hills. During daytime, the place would be crowded with children and the elderly who found the place suitable for walks and light jogs. At night, the playground is completely silent due to its not-so-close distance from the nearest neighborhood, and because of it’s location on the hills, the playground is a lot colder and eerier at night.

It was ideal enough for Yuki and her. They would sit on the swings and talk about many things while looking at the view from the hills. On colder nights, they would stay in his car, eating snacks and enjoy each other’s company. She was happy enough to have him next to her, healthy and smiling. She couldn’t ask for more.

This time, however, when she looked at him as he got out of his car and walked towards her, she knew that she will no longer be able to even ask for anything more.

“Hey,” she started.

“Hey,” he replied the same.

No hugs. No kisses.

It had really dawned on her that everything was ending right there and then.

Where do they start?

Where do things start to end?

Can it end quickly?

It’s starting to feel really, really painful.

She looked at him. Stared at him. His eyes, that see the best in everyone. His nose, that he loves to scrunch. His lips.. that had showered her with soft kisses. His hands... that had given her warmth for so many times.

How did things turn out this way?

But she knew she had to do it. It had to be done. What’s the use of a having a relationship if only one of them is committed to it?

“You know I’m breaking up with you, right?”

The words unexpectedly came out smoothly. She didn’t know she could be so… composed.

Inside, however, she felt as if every inch of her was slashed with a knife.

It seemed that he had already anticipated it. She could read the expression he wore on his face.

“It’s her, isn’t it?” she asked.

He paused for some time. And lightly nodded.

She stared at the view. The city used to look so vibrant from where they were. Now, it just looks like random lights piling on top of each other.

It’s making her dizzy.

She turned around to face the other way.

Calm down. Calm down.

“I figured it out early on.” she added.

She heard Yuki taking a deep breath. He didn’t look at her.

Guilt.

He was about to say her name, but she was quick to stop him. “No. Don’t. Don’t apologize. I don’t want to hear it. I don’t..need to hear it. I already know you’re sorry, Yuki.”

Don’t call my name. This is already hard . If you call my name, I’m not sure if I would be able to let you go.

“Instead of saying you’re sorry… I just hope that you would treat her better. Treat her nicely. Appreciate her. Respect her. Make things work, no matter what happens.”

Yuki stayed silent, and she continued,

“I realized that it is no use holding on to you, on this relationship, when it’s obvious that your heart is clearly with someone else.”

Breathe. It is for the best. Breathe.

“And so, Ishikawa Yuki… I release you from this bond.” she spoke. Her lips formed a little smile, attempting to diffuse the heavy tension in the air. Yuki could only stare at her, wondering how could she stay cheerful despite knowing what he had done. He was amazed at how calm and level-headed she was at that moment despite the obvious pain in her voice.

“So.. you should go now. Tell her that we broke it off. Assure her, and yourself, that we ended things on good terms. And move on, Yuki. I will move on as well.” she spoke again, giving him a light push on the shoulder.

Go. Please, just go.

“I… I can’t just leave you here.” he finally spoke.

“I won’t be here all night, silly. My car is right there, and I have work tomorrow.” she chuckled.

Breathe. Breathe. Just… breathe.

Their eyes met for the last time, and with a strain in his voice, Yuki finally said, “Thank you. For everything.”

She forced a smile.

It felt like an eternity. When will this end?

She smiled, almost bitterly. “Go.” she insisted.

And he did. She watched his back as he walked away. She watched him as he got into his car. And she waved her hand lightly as he drove off.

Breathe.

However, as soon as his car was out of sight, her knees buckled, and she knelt on the the ground. Biting her hand, she tried to stifle her cry as much as she could as she could no longer stop the tears streaming down her face.

It hurts. It hurts!

Help me. Anyone. Please. It hurts..

Please stop this pain.

How did things turn out this way? What did she do wrong? What exactly went wrong? What could’ve she done better?

Did she not love him enough?

Why couldn’t he give her his heart?

What did she do wrong?

What did she---

“Hey.” a voice came from behind her and she looked up in shock.

“M…Masa?”

Masa read her tear-stained face as he knelt next to her. “He told me this afternoon that he was meeting you here tonight. I told him to come clean about the whole thing.” he spoke as he took out a handkerchief and handed it to her.

“God, you’re a mess.”

“S…shut up and let me grieve.” she managed to retort in between sobs. The tears haven’t stopped. How could they when she had held them back for so long?

“Alright, alright.” Masa calmly spoke and sat next to her on the ground. She looked at him as if he was insane.

“C..Can’t a girl cry alone?” she stifled another cry.

“In this place? Gosh, no. What if a couple comes here to have a good time and suddenly saw a girl crying on the ground? Good Lord, you’re going to scare the living daylights out of some poor souls. Have mercy on them, will you?”

She knew he didn’t mean it. She knew he meant well, judging from the hand on her shoulder that hasn’t left since he sat down.

She clicked her tongue as a joke. Words have seemed to fail her by now. She wasn’t sure what to do next. The love of her life has left her. What will she do now? How will she move on? Can she move on to begin with?

The thought alone scared her, and she found herself sobbing uncontrollably again.

“I..loved him, Masa.. but.. it wasn’t enough…”

She felt him pull her closer and she felt his hand gently guiding her head to lean on his shoulder. “Here, I’ll lend you my shoulder. The first 30 minutes is free. After that, you will be charged 500 yen per minute.”

She chuckled a little, but said nothing further. She let herself cry as much as she wanted to on his shoulder, the handkerchief was no longer of use at that point. His jacket was stained by her tears, but he made no noticeable expression of discomfort. He had been such a great friend despite his mean jokes, and she appreciated his presence next to her. She wasn’t sure what she could’ve done if Masa wasn’t there. Probably something really, really stupid and reckless.

+++

She woke up the next morning in a mess. She felt horrible, her eyes were still swollen, and her head felt unbelievably heavy.

Nevertheless, she woke up.

Just then, she received text messages. They’re from Nishida and Takahashi.

[Good morning! I heard from Masa-san that you and Yuki-san broke up. No worries! Let’s take down another boss tonight! I’ll let you curse as much as you want!]

[Mornin’! Hey, look at this silly photo of Nishida.]

She looked at the photo Takahashi sent. Yuji was getting hit by a ball while he was tying his shoelace. It was a bit blurry, but Yuji’s expression was definitely silly. She chuckled.

It turned out that Masa really didn’t waste any time to spread the news. Well, it’s better if everyone knew. It would save her from many awkward moments in the future.

And then came another text. This time, it’s from Masa.

[Oi, good morning. How are you feeling?]

She chuckled. She felt a slight warmth from the text messages.

[I feel like shit]

[Of course you do. I would be surprised if you suddenly said you’re fine, especially after what you put my jacket through last night. I found dried snot on it this morning.]

She unexpectedly laughed out loud.

[I’ll buy you another one. Sheesh.]

She managed to smile a little more.

She still wasn’t so sure how she was going to move on, but she will take the first step.

And she got up.

#i had this prompt bookmarked for so long #i am so sleepy #what even is this #help me #i can see oxygen

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sk-lumen · 3 years ago

Note

Need serious advice about setting boundaries or communicating when dealing with a person who:

Is a parent

Has unhealthy communication methods -- it takes very little for them to start full-blown screaming, shouting out all your 'negative' things/mistakes/past, can continue to scream-criticise you even after you've gone silent, for WHOLE MINUTES even if you've shut up, will not accept anything that even hints at them making a mistake

You can't trust since childhood coz u made the mistake of confiding in them with a serious issue as a young teen --- mental related --- and they belittled and invalidated you, and since then pretended you never confided in them and have NO IDEA how you've been coping without them or ANYone else for years... Yeah thanks, parent, what u said back then made me think I was the one at fault and so I stopped trusting even friends coz yeah, when ur own parent doesn't give a damn, why would anyone else?

Is a master at silent treatments without explaining what EXACTLY they're punishing you for, then when theyre in the mood, will start talking to you as if they hadn't ignored you for days. Lol I'd rather be water boarded I think. Especially for all the damage this caused when I was a child

Won't openly talk about what they want, yet expects ALL FHE TIME others (in the family) to know what they want, then will complain/scream/angry for AGES about how no one cares, no one gives a damn... And when someone asks them what they want, they either say: nothing, or "you should know! Can't u see?"

Upon asking them to please talk normally, will blow a fuse, and lose it --- happened multiple times today

Literally will use me as a scape goat to unleash their frustrations upon. Even when I leave the room, I can hear them b*tch about how much of a failure I am etc. The trigger being anything that bothers them, from a phone call to something other siblings did, bla bla. I limit my time with them... But it's like, it feels impossible to have them treat me normally, without ridiculing or criticising me. I'm already a very low self esteem person... This doesn't help AT ALL

In short, refuse to tell/ask/discuss important stuff, and getting mad randomly that no one read their mind, bcoz everyone's 'old enough to have enough sense' to know what they 'should' do... Eg will not pikc up the phone when we call them from the store to ask when what the needed isn't available, so what other alternative can we get... And then when we get home, will instead blame us for being fussy and not getting the alternative, completelt skirting around the issue they didn't deign to pick up the phone... I mean, I don't get it. In the past I HAVE in fact asked them to just openly tell me what they want/expect from me to make them happy... Got passive aggressive answers like "don't you know? Are you dumb?" Bla bla

Passive aggressive to the max when they've lost it

Expect me to drop anything I'm doing and immediately cater to them, and expect me to help them in their hobbies (while simultaneously, as I learned many years ago to much heartache, not being interested or even pretending to be interested in my hobbies. The disinterest taught me very quickly how much what I wanted meant, leading to years of self-invalidation. Luckily I've learned it really is them, not me. My hobbies are valid)

Will not talk about why they're feeling angry, what causes it. Instead will blame me, who's like the golden scapegoat in our amazing family, by saying :YOU made me negative. They've said it many times now... It hurts a lot, when I'm also struggling with my own issues which I ofc can't confide in them about :)

Today I manned up -- the outburst of hatred happened again! Over a simple thing. It was NIGHTMARE and made me angry/sad/frustrated/triggered---, and so I told them to stop talking like that... Boy was that the wrong thing to say... I don't think I can accurately tell u what happened afterwards...

Usually children learn communication skills from the parents... I at least learned to recognize the unhealthy ones, and what NOT to communicate like lol. Like, other parent is even worse, believe it or not. But that's another complex situation

I'm not bashing on the parent. Lord knows I even have that much of a right huh? I hate myself eveb more when they invalidate me if I try to show how MUCH THEY HURT me after a 'communication session'. As in, heaven forbid me if I BE SILENT afterwards and DON'T wanna listen to their retardation. Nope. Even then they provoke me, rage at me, you know how sometimes enraged people hiss vitriol thru gritted teeth? Yeah, that's what they did today after I stayed silent and tried to ignore them an hour later after the 'session' when they wabted something. It's like they don't even need me to say a word and will carry on and on for minutes 🤢

I feel alone, helpless and at a loss what to do

I want to move out. Due to severe mental issues I can't even move out rn coz it scares me even more. But this has to stop. Things are only okay if I'm absolutely passive, say yes to whatever they want, kill my wants and needs, and become a perfect robot bred to cater to them (parent)

I hope you can help me out, dear

Hi darling,

It sounds like you’re in a considerably toxic environment. I'm sorry you're going through this. Know that this is not normal, nor is it how a parent/child relationship should be. In case there's any doubt, let me start by saying you deserve to be supported, respected, listened to, to have your needs met. You deserve to live in an environment that offers you all of these things.

With that being said, from the many scenarios you’ve mentioned you’ve already tried reasoning and setting boundaries, to no avail. There is only so much you can do on your own, if the other person in the equation is not meeting halfway or at all. After all, a healthy conversation involves two people, not just one.

Here's my advice, in this order:

Calmly and maturely asking the respective parent to have a serious discussion with you and to listen to what you have to say. Share how their actions and behaviour is making you feel, let them know you care, and make sure to mention several solutions for the issue as well. If this doesn’t work…

Bring up the subject of needing help from outside, such as the assistance of a specialist/therapist. Family counselling can shed a lot of light on toxic behaviours that are ingrained from childhood (both in their case and yours), on fears your parent may have, stress from their work, whatever is causing their outbursts and anger - because there is always a reason. Behind anger is sadness, and behind sadness is some need not being met, or an underlying fear, trauma, etc. This is not a justification for their behaviour, they are responsible for it; this is simply the fact of how energy dynamics work. People bottle up their frustrations, fears, etc, and let them out on those closest to them, to whom they feel superior. It’s not fair, and it’s not healthy, but it is frequently how this pattern works. If this solution doesn’t work either…

Then unfortunately, all you can do is focus on yourself. If they refuse to meet you anywhere along the road, you have to pack up your things and go your own way. Literally or metaphorically. They may be your parent and you may love them even in spite of their behaviour, but you cannot hold yourself responsible for anything they say or do; that is on them. In those cases, you have to prioritize your own mental health and wellbeing, and focus on moving out. If your (home) environment is toxic, you have to focus on first changing it. That’s vital. Only afterwards can you start healing, refinding yourself, reclaiming your self-esteem and confidence, your sense of worth. As long as you stay stuck in a toxic environment, you cannot really heal; if there is abuse of any kind (physical, mental, emotional), the causes are still there, leading to re-traumatizing.

If for whatever reason moving out is not (yet) an option, I would emphasize seeking some sort of counselling for yourself, if nothing else. You need an anchor, some sort of support that will help you along your path until you do get out.

Now, I don’t know how old you are. I am going to assume you are over 18 and of age, so only mind my advice if that is the case. (As disclaimer, I don't provide advice to minors as it's not the scope of my blog nor am I specialized/focused on that area.)

I understand moving out seems scary because it is unknown, but with that line of thought you may wait another 10 years in the same situation. Wouldn’t you wake up 10 years later already having done the hard work on moving out, finding your independence, claiming your sense of individuality and moving on from this sort of environment, this phase in your life?

Sooner is better than later, but do so with mindfulness and care over your mental health, of course. I know it’s scary. But being an adult requires some difficult decisions at times, and setting boundaries begins with choosing your wellbeing and doing what needs to be done, even if it is something uncomfortable short-term, but highly rewarding and beneficial long-term.

Hope this helps... and wishing you much luck, clarity, gentle guidance and comfort.✨

PS: Lately I've been receiving longer and longer letters in my inbox. As solution, I was thinking of having longer asks/letters redirected to my blog where there isn't any length limit, and readers can more comfortably browse both my tumblr and blog - and those requesting advice can share and receive a more in-depth response.

-Lumen

#mental health #toxic relationship #toxic environment #boundaries #parenthood #ask #tw? not sure what to tag just in case #tw: swearing #tw: mental health #tw: anxiety

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abraxos-is-toothless · 4 years ago

Note

prompt: saw their phone number graffitied on a toilet stall for rowaelin? 😏😏

Ask and ye shall receive. (You were meant to have this ages ago, but to do long asks for fics I have to actually write it on tumblr now, so I’m rewriting people’s prompts. It won’t let me copy and paste.)

-------

Rowan groaned at the sound of his phone ringing.

It was a Friday night and he, Lorcan, Fenrys and Connall were all sat around his dorm room coffee table, getting ready for their weekly game night. They’d all been doing this since they were kids, right through high school and now into college. People thought they were being silly and childish but it was just what they did. All of them were on the football team in school, girls wanting them for their popularity and how they looked, and then being disgusted when they found out what the boys did on Friday nights, instead of going to parties.

Tonight’s game was monopoly and they were all just choosing their pieces when Rowan answered. It was an unknown number, because everyone they knew, knew not to call on game nights. “Uh, hello?” There was some giggling on the other end and then a few hiccups before he received an answer in a very feminine voice.

“Hi there.” The mystery woman laughed again before she made a shushing sound, which he assumed was for her, considering he hadn’t spoken back yet. Finding it way too funny and thinking it was just a case of the wrong number, Rowan put his phone on speaker, placing it down for the others to hear.

“I think you might have the wrong number.” Lorcan raised a brow and the other three went silent when there was yet more giggling.

“Oh no, I just found your number in the men’s room at the club.” Oh for fucks sake. Lorcan smirked, clearly remembering that night he wrote Rowan’s number in the bathroom, hoping weird men would keep calling him for hook-ups.

“Wait, why are you in the men’s room?”

“I lost my friends somewhere and there was a guy that kept following me. The ladies line was too long, so now I’m hiding in here.” Fenrys was frowning more and more the longer the woman on the phone talked. “I found your number on the wall and I thought, ‘why not?’ but I was also hoping for help. That guy I mentioned is really creepy and forward. I don’t want to go back out there.” Now that was worrying. Rowan was just about to tell her it would be alright, but Fenrys spoke first.

“Aelin? Is that you?” He knew mystery girl?

There was a gasp from the phone, “Fen? Does the dude whose number this is, does he have me on speaker?”

“Sorry Ace. But what were you saying about a guy?”

“Um, he kept trying to hand me drinks, quite forcefully. I think he put something in it but I didn’t drink it. I can’t find the others. I’m scared.” Oh dear gods. Fenrys was about to reply but Rowan didn’t let him.

“Aelin? My name’s Rowan and we’re going to come and get you okay? Don’t move.”

He could hear her let out a shaky breath. “Okay. Will you hurry, please?” Rowan let her know that they’d be there as fast as they could before hanging up. The others stood grabbing their jackets and slipping on their shoes. Connall grabbed the keys to his car.

“I’m not drinking so I’ll drive us.”

When they were all in the car Rowan leaned forward in the backseat, nudging Fenrys’ shoulder. “How do you know this girl?”

“I met her cousin, Aedion, in class the other week. She was waiting for him outside one day and she clapped me over the head when I asked if they were dating. Her tiny dark haired friend, Elide, couldn’t stop cackling.”

“Wait, Elide?” Rowan and Fenrys both swivelled to face Lorcan, both raising a brow at him.

“Yeah Elide, how do you know her?”

“I uh, I asked her on a date about a week ago. We’re going out tomorrow. You mean we’re on our way to help her bitch friend? That Aelin?” This just kept getting better and better. However, Rowan didn’t like that ‘bitch’ comment for some reason. She seemed lovely on the phone.

“You may think her a bitch Lorcan, but would you honestly leave her there for that creep to find?” He said it with a little heat in his voice. Lorcan just shook his head.

“Of course not, and if he’s there when we get to her, I’m going to teach him a lesson or two.”

Good, they could do it together.

oOoOo

Rowan and Fenrys were the ones to go into the club when they got there, heading straight for the men’s room. He still remembered the night Lorcan wrote his number on the wall, laughing as he did it saying, maybe someone will take that stick out of your ass, and replace it with their own. Rowan had smacked over the back of the head after, even though he too was laughing from all of the alcohol. All of his friends had somehow decided he was gay, because all of his dates never made it past the first. It was simply because he just didn’t think he and those women were compatible. Some of them never even asked about him, they just went on and on about themselves, or some didn’t appear to have a mind of their own. Always switching their opinions to what he liked and being overly affectionate way too early. So he stopped dating, hoping that one day, he find the right girl without trying. Maybe he’d meet her in a coffee shop, or in line at a movie.

Or maybe saving her from a creepy guy at a club, his mind unhelpfully provided him.

There were many drunken men and women stumbling about the place, pushing up against him constantly. He narrowly avoided some girl vomiting on his fucking feet just as they made it to the toilet door. Fenrys entered first, Rowan just behind him and they were met with the sound of shouting and a quiet sobbing. A man was stood outside one of the stalls, banging his fists against it saying, “Come on lass, you can’t hide from me forever.” The man’s voice was slurred and he looked as though he was a few seconds away from kicking the door down. There was another whimper from inside the stall and Rowan called out, “Aelin? Is that you? It’s Rowan.”

“Please, please, please get him out!” Rowan saw red at how scared she sounded, turning towards the extremely drunk idiot. Fenrys jumped in before him and grabbed the man’s shirt in both fists, slamming him against the wall with all of the force he could manage.

“Fuck off! She’s fine, she’s with me.”

Fenrys laughed without humour. “Yeah, she’s just pleading for help because you’re so nice. Who the fuck do you think you are, attacking women like this.”

The man scoffed, trying and failing, to push Fenrys off of him. “She’s been begging for it all night, now she’s just being a little bitch.” Rowan’s friend pulled back and punched him, watched him sputter and groan for a few moments before slamming him against the wall again. He took that moment to gently tap on the stall door.

“Aelin, you can come out now. It’s alright.” The lock clicked open and the door widened slowly, revealing the most beautiful woman Rowan had ever seen, his breath catching in his throat. Her hair was long and almost golden in the lights, her eyes were a blue with gold flecks, and he could get lost in them forever. All of the feelings he couldn’t quite place, soon morphed back into anger when he noticed her trembling bottom lip and mascara running down her cheeks from where she’d been crying.

“R-rowan?” She whispered it and all he could do was nod. Aelin threw herself at him, burying her head in his chest and wrapping her arms around his waist. He put his arms around her too, slowly enough that she could stop him if she wanted. He could tell she was crying again from the way her body shook in his arms. Rowan rubbed a hand up and down her back, leaning in to mumble soothing words in her ears. Fenrys turned to look at them, eyes narrowing when he saw the state his friend was in. He looked up and met Rowan’s gaze.

“Take her out to the car. We’ll take her back to yours for the night.” Rowan didn’t know how much of a good idea that was, considering Aelin didn’t really know them that well, but he didn’t want to let her go for some reason. The circumstances were horrible yes, but she just felt so right in his arms, fit so perfectly. He nodded at Fenrys, pulling on Aelin to lead her out of the room, turning his head back when his friend called out again, just as he reached the door. “Oh and Rowan?”

“Yeah Fen?”

“Send Lorcan in, would you?”

Oh, with pleasure.

oOoOo

On the drive back to Rowan’s dorm, Aelin stayed with him in the back, along with Fenrys who had swapped with Lorcan. It was about fifteen maybe twenty minutes after Rowan had got Aelin outside when the two finally came out of the club, both with very damaged knuckles. He didn’t ask much but apparently the guy had a bunch of drugs on him, all in small tablets that dissolved in drinks. Rowan didn’t need to know anymore than that to know what the man was planning to do. Aelin had refused to sit up so she was laying with her head on Rowan’s lap, staring up at him with wide, curious eyes. Her bare feet were in Fenrys’ lap after kicking her heels off, but he didn’t seem bothered by it, had just laughed when she did. Rowan didn’t like the little pang in his chest at their interactions.

There was a tap to his nose before a finger started trailing the lines of his face. He only raised a brow at Aelin but didn’t tell her to stop. She moved one of his hands in to her hair and bent his fingers a little and he chuckled, taking that to mean she wanted him to play with it. Just as his fingers started running through the soft curls, scratching at her scalp, Aelin said with a small groan, “You’re very pretty. You have pretty eyes, they’re so green.”

“Yeah?”

“Yup,” she made a little popping sound on the ‘p’, “and very pouty lips. Very kissable. And gods your hair.” Lorcan made a gagging sound from the passenger seat and Aelin smirked, obviously knowing what she was doing. Rowan leaned down so he could whisper in her ear.

“Your lips look very kissable too, Aelin.” She giggled as he leaned back.

“Tell me when I’m sober and I just might let you kiss them.” She winked at him and Rowan couldn’t help but smile widely at her.

“I don’t just randomly kiss girls you know,” her face dropped slightly so he continued, “I like to at least take them to coffee first.” Her grin came back in full force, lashes fluttering against her cheek when his fingers tucked a piece of hair behind her ear.

“I’m going to hold you to that.”

Rowan bopped her nose just as she had done to him.

“You better.”

---------

Should be able to give you the rest of your prompts but slowly, as I said they all have to be rewritten:))

Tags: @bryaxisthefaceofnightmares @lila-baard @empress-sei @acourtofterrasenandvelaris @tswaney17 @queen-of-glass @thesirenwashere @awkward-avocado-s @b00kworm @http-itsrebecca @eatmysandwiches @poisonous00 @flowersinvegas @julemmaes @mu-si-ca-l @spyofthenightcourt @sis-it-dont-add-up @mad-madeline-ace @df3ndyr @jesstargaryenqueen @notyournymphetish @carbconnoisseur @aelinfeyreeleven945tbln @superspiritfestival @alyx801 @silentquartz @tillyrubes10 @nightcourtcinnamonroll @acourtofmarauders @rhyswhitethorn @booknerdproblems @acourtofbookworms @lucy617 @ireallyshouldsleeprn @mis-lil-red @eleonor-da-silva

#aelin galathynius #rowan whitethorn #fenrys moonbeam #lorcan salvaterre #aelin x rowan #rowaelin #rowaelin fic #tog #throne of glass #throne of glass series #my writing #haz writes #my fic #tog fanfic #prompts

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nillegible · 4 years ago

Text

Mo Xuanyu notices someone following him on his way back to Mo manor one night. It's not a villager, they wouldn't walk so lightly. Mo Xuanyu would hazard a guess that it's not a cultivator, either, heaven knows they would have attacked him hours ago for harassing and frightening the villagers as he has been. Curious, he melts into the shadows.

"Ghost of the Yiling Patriarch?" asks a soft voice, closer than Mo Xuanyu had expected.

It's a familiar voice; and when he looks to where it came from he sees a young man he’d met often at Koi tower, crying to his broth Jin Guangyao, not knowing exactly how cruel his San-ge truly was.

"Sect Leader Nie," says Mo Xuanyu, approaching Nie Huaisang where he stands in the patchwork darkness beneath a tree.

Nie Huaisang stares for a long moment, then says, "Mo Xuanyu."

"Expecting the Yiling Patriarch?" asks Mo Xuanyu, not without some bitterness. It's all that his father had wanted out of him as well, he had ignored him in favor of Xue Yang who barely even tried to understand the Yiling Patriarch's incredible mind. Xue Yang had been more interested in re-animation and puppetry than the magic, the theory, and that was just pitiful.

But that kept him safe, and where was Mo Xuanyu now? Back with his mother’s brutish family, barely clinging to his sanity, and amusing himself by pretending to be the ghost of a demonic cultivator more than a decade gone.

"I could have used Wei-xiong's help, yes," says Nie Huaisang simply. It makes Mo Xuanyu look closer. Nie Huaisang is drawn, and pale, but he stands straighter than he ever has at Koi Tower. Some instinct tells him that this man, here, is dangerous. Mo Xuanyu, the 'mad village fool' understands.

Perhaps Nie Huaisang is no more a weak fool than he is. Hidden depths, Sect Leader Nie.

It's because of the way Nie Huaisang says Wei-xiong with more respect than anyone Mo Xuanyu has ever heard, it's because Mo Xuanyu has seen Nie Huaisang's beloved brother's head locked away like a curiosity among Jin Guangyao's other war prizes, it is because Mo Xuanyu is sick and tired of the world and wants to burn it all down, that he says, "I've studied some of his work. Would I do?"

[read on Ao3, or click below to read on tumblr]

Sect Leader Nie accepts his offer, tells him that he’ll get in touch, but does not explain himself or what he wants. He is really really good at giving non-answers, at batting those pretty eyes of his and pouting (he carries a fan. Every quirk of his lips that isn’t hidden is calculated, is intended to be seen).

He also keeps his promise and visits again in the dead of night, nearly a week later. He brings with him notes on different sorts of monsters. Some are generic and some are intriguing. None of them seem like the sort of thing that would require the help of the Yiling Patriarch, but Mo Xuanyu talks him through the techniques and banishment methods that would be required for each class of monsters or demons.

It feels like an assessment. He wonders what happens if he passes.

Just a few years ago Mo Xuanyu wouldn’t have noticed the details, but he’s been thinking about Jin Guangyao a lot, recently, and he’s worked out enough of how he had been played to see someone else using similar techniques.

Why hasn’t Jin Guangyao realized that you’re dangerous? he should ask, but instead he tells Nie Huaisang about the time WWX had written about redirecting yao into helping in a fight against a demon, and how he seemed never to have revisited that idea again.

“That would be dangerous,” says Nie Huaisang.

Mo Xuanyu smiles at him, “He was the Yiling Patriarch, I don’t think he minded.”

“No. Wei-xiong was never afraid of danger,” Nie Huaisang agrees. That again. “Thank you for the advice, Young Master Mo. Shall we meet here next week?”

“Isn’t this a little far out of your way, Sect Leader Nie?” asks Mo Xuanyu.

“Ah, for help of the sort that Young Master Mo can provide, it is not a bother.”

“Have the peerless Gusu Lan stopped supporting other sects in need? That Sect Leader Nie would cross Gusu to approach this humble one for help…” It’s a good lead in, Nie Huaisang can laugh it off or tell him what he really wants.

Then another thought strikes him, so he giggles, “Or can it be that Sect Leader Nie has need of a cutsleeve whore with no options, and thought to try his luck?” Mo Xuanyu bats his lashes, desperately missing the little fineries he’d grown used to at Koi Tower. He probably looks a mess and can’t quite pull it off, now.

Nie Huaisang’s eyes widen, round with surprise, “Ah, Young Master Mo, that’s not it! It really isn’t, I have. I have a specific problem but it will be a source of great shame if it comes out that Nie Sect couldn’t solve it without depending on Lan sect or Jin sect… they already do so much for my Sect.”

The bitterness is barely perceptible, but it is there. He wonders if Jin Guangyao is the reason for the distrust between GusuLan and QingheNie, too. It gives him a flicker of hope, “If I could be of more use to Sect Leader Nie in Qinghe I would be willing to–”

“No!” says Nie Huaisang. “We can’t show that we’ve met.”

Oh. “Is this because I said – I don’t actually want to sleep with you, Sect Leader, I’m not really an animal, whatever my brother has said.” Of course he hadn’t pulled off charmingly flirtatious, what had he been thinking? If he’d been prettied up it could have been enough to fluster Nie Huaisang, now he’d probably just been disgusted at the thought.

“I do not think that of you, Young Master Mo. But Jin Guangyao cannot know that we’ve met. I’m sorry that I cannot take you with me. But I can use your help. May I please meet with you a week from now?” asks Nie Huaisang.

It sounds more genuine this time.

It’s still a no. “My cousin beats me. I’m fed once a day, alongside the donkey, I sleep in the stables. Sect Leader Nie… please.”

“Mo Xuanyu, I –” he looks up into Nie Huaisang’s face, and sees only pity. No surprise or horror.

“But you knew that didn’t you?” asks Mo Xuanyu softly, and sees the truth in Nie Huaisang’s face. Of course he knew. Of course he’d come in the night to get what he needs from him, but not help him in return. Maybe he’ll give Mo Xuanyu a pouch of coins in the end. Coins that no-one in the village would take from him, would accuse him of stealing from his aunt and cousin. And once Mo Ziyuan heard, he’d be beaten for it and never see the money again.

Get lost, then, Mo Xuanyu should say, because he is tired of being used and cast away. But he truly has nothing, and another visit… someone to talk to who at least speaks to him like he’s human… Mo Xuanyu has so little that he can’t turn down even scraps like this.

“I will see Sect Leader Nie next week,” Mo Xuanyu says. “You can bring me the notes for the real problem. If I cannot solve it, I’ll tell you that, I won’t con you with some fake ritual.” He makes to leave, but Nie Huaisang stops him.

“Is there something else I could do for you?” asks Nie Huaisang. “I can pay you, in cash or weapons – I heard that your sword was taken from you before you left.”

“Sweet buns,” he says, before he can think it through. His stomach speaking before his pride could stop him. He prays that it sounded sarcastic and not desperate.

“What?” asks Nie Huaisang.

“Go away, Sect Leaser Nie,” he says. Mo Xuanyu isn’t going to repeat himself, isn’t going to beg for sweet buns, of all things.

A hand grasps his shoulder and Mo Xuanyu recoils, pushing him away so fast that he unbalances himself, stumbling and falling heavily to the ground. It sends a shock to his still healing ribs, making him gasp for a moment before he can regain his breath and look up at Nie Huaisang, who has his hands out, open to show he mans no harm.

“Mo-gongzi, I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have grabbed you, I didn’t think.” He’s rummaging in his sleeve and Mo Xuanyu wonders if now is when he should run away to save his own life.

Maybe if he cared about his own life, he would.

Instead he just watches, until Nie Huaisang pulls a small paper parcel from his sleeve. He kneels down, and offers it to Mo Xuanyu.

He opens the paper, to find three sweet buns inside. They’re still warm. He takes one and returns the others, and takes a bite. He’s finished, it and resisting licking his dirty fingers to chase down the last of the sweetness – he hadn’t had anything sweet since the local temple gave out sticky buns during the last festival. The priests had turned him away – disgusting, aberrant, abomination, but some of the boys had made a game of tossing buns at him, and they’d tasted wonderful after he scraped the dust off.

“Keep them,” says Nie Huaisang, pushing the package back towards him. “I didn’t mean to offend you. I was just startled that you asked for the one thing I had up my sleeve.” The smile is hesitant and drops off quickly. He just looks sad. Tired.

“Thank you,” Mo Xuanyu whispers, because he still has manners. He’s not going to cry over just two sweet buns, but his eyes sting as if he might. “Is this about…” he swallows the words back. Don’t be stupid, A-Yu, but Nie Huaisang doesn’t look angry. “This is about Chifeng Zun, isn’t it?” he asks.

“What do you mean?” asks Nie Huaisang voice sharper.

“His head,” says Mo Xuanyu, and can’t hold the tears back. “His head is at Koi Tower. Why do you think I’m here? Why do you think that I… for a bun. Jin Guangyao tried to kill me because I found out and. Three buns.” He laughs while he cries. He’d never realized how cheap he would become. I am so sorry, Mother.

A pale green handkerchief is produced from the same sleeve, and Nie Huaisang holds it out to him. “I will speak to you next week, Mo-gongzi. I’ll bring you food. I’ll help. It’s late, I need to go now. But trust me, please.” When Mo Xuanyu doesn’t move to take it from him, Nie Huaisang takes his free hand and presses it into it. “Good bye, Mo-gongzi,” he says, and this time he gets up and walks away.

Mo Xuanyu doesn’t move until the footsteps are long gone. He traces the delicate embroidery on the handkerchief. Pine trees in deep greens, a stream nestled within it.

It’s too beautiful to cry on, so he wipes his face on his sleeve instead. Shortly before dawn he gets up and brushes some of the dirt from his robes, and rushes back to the manor. He needs to start on his chores or he’ll be in for a worse beating than usual.

In the light of day it feels surreal.

Was that really Sect Leader Nie?

Was that someone that Brother sent to see what I am up to? To see what I'd do?

If that was Jin Gunagyao, then Mo Xuanyu wouldn’t have long left to live. Not if he's leaking secrets the way he is.

(He wishes he'd come himself, that he'd have a chance to defend himself, a chance to live. But. He has never played fair, and wouldn't start now.)

Mo Xuanyu would give nearly anything to kill his brother first.

Three days later, Madam Mo hires a new kitchen-girl. She has friendly eyes and a green ribbon in her hair.

That night when Mo Xuanyu heads to the stables to sleep with the donkey, he finds a blanket, a portion of the food that his cousins and aunt had been served, and a small pot of medicine.

There is dinner every night after, he sees the new kitchen-servant sneak it out at dusk. She's terribly good at sneaking, and Mo Xuanyu is grateful to have food again. He's been eating stale vegetables and uncooked grain with the donkey for months.

Four night later, there's a person waiting for him siting cross legged on the floor of the stable, lit by a small lantern. Mo Xuanyu's dinner waits for him beside him on the hay.

"Now will you tell me what you really need?" asks Mo Xuanyu, lifting the lid off the bowl. Soup, still steaming hot. He'd found the talismans carved into the bowl to keep it that way yesterday.

"I was wondering," says Nie Huaisang. "Can Mo-gongzi play the flute?"

#mo xuanyu #nie huaisang #mdzs #mxy #nhs #au: canon divergence #the soul summoning array doesn't exist #tw: canonical abuse

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obviouslygenuinely · 3 years ago

Note

@/28nachos just encouraged and suggested suicide to younger tinhats in the fandom as if larries haven't already faked suicide multiple times to threaten those who dare call them out. Watch the documentaries where parents were scared for their teens who believe in larry conspiracy and when @/hsdaily was bullied into deactivating when a larrie faked suicide a like a year ago. The ultimate attention seeking and bullying of anyone who dares question their beliefs. How is this not a cult?

I forgot to turn off Anonymous, but I'm laid up in bed with a second round of COVID and a sinus infection. So, I'll take the time to reply here. Apologies in advance for any brain fog wording or typos.

Your tone is hard to interpret but it doesn't seem like you want an actual discussion, as you stated your opinions as facts. But since tone is genuinely hard to convey, I won't dismiss your message. Let's break this down:

1. You're referring to the actions of one Tumblr user and fandom member. I have not seen the post you're referring to but will take your word that this person said something like that. It's still a single person. One individual is not indicative of the entire fandom's behavior, beliefs, or attitudes.

Edit - I didn't recognize the username you mentioned at first (COVID brain is not fun) but I follow @28nachos and saw absolutely nothing like what you're referring to...?

2. You, yourself, are dismissive of the alleged s**cidal actions of Larries by calling them fake. That's extremely contradictory. You - and I - have no knowledge of the mental health status or issues that individuals struggle with. How is it okay to assume these people threatened suicide solely over being called out?

3. Side/personal note: As a s**cide survivor, I have a hard time respecting anyone who says someone is faking it. You have no idea if that is true.

4. If you want me to watch a documentary or you refer to an incident as proof, you can provide the links, tags, proof, etc for it. I have never once had an anti actually link me to anything, ever. And the typical "do your research" response does not apply here - these topics were presented by you.

5. Again, these teens and their parents you refer to - these are the experiences and actions of individuals. A) They're not indicative of the entire fandom. B) There is no way to know everything about the situations and mental state of these individuals.

6. You genuinely don't seem to know the definition(s) of "cult". Here are a few from various references online:

- "a system of religious veneration and devotion directed toward a particular figure or object."

- "a relatively small group of people having religious beliefs or practices regarded by others as strange or sinister."

- "a misplaced or excessive admiration for a particular person or thing."

- "A cult is a group or movement held together by a shared commitment to a charismatic leader or ideology. It has a belief system that has the answers to all of life's questions and offers a special solution to be gained only by following the leader's rules."

Larries simply do not fall into the category of a cult. Period.

Frankly, I've seen a large number of Larries discuss how we should not idolize Harry and/or Louis, and I see numerous posts holding them accountable for questionable behavior or actions.

In my personal experience with antis and solo fandom members, I've seen more cult-like behavior exhibited from them.

7. I truly don't say this to insult your wording, but it's hard to take someone seriously when they group thousands of people together based on the actions of a few people or a single person.

Thank you for sharing your thoughts and opinions; I hope my answer was thorough and clear. Have a good afternoon.

#ask #anonymous #larries #larry #larry stylinson #larry shippers #antis #harry styles #louis tomlinson #tw

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liberty-barnes · 5 years ago

Text

Keep You Safe

Peter Parker x Female!Reader

Prompt: “I can’t decide if that’s cute or something characteristic of a psychopath”

Warnings: slightly creepy Peter, but like the endearing kind of creepy, also Petey being a dork,,,as always, protective Peter Parker, Endgame related angst but only for a sec, cuddlesssss, and fluff, lots of fluff, because I’m a hoe for fluff... and Tom Holland’s biceps but that’s a story for another day

Word Count: 2167 words

Estimated Reading Time: 9 minutes

A/N: School has officially closed which means that I’m now forced to stay home all day (which wouldn’t be so bad if I wasn’t locked at home with my dad and he’s getting on every single one of my nerves) and do the homework our teachers send us by email... I didn’t even know Microsoft Teams and OneNote existed until a week ago... so that’s something. I usually write stuff on paper during class cause let’s be honest, I only pay attention to what my teachers are saying when I’m forced to (don’t do this kids, listen to teachers, God I’m a such a bad example) so I’ve got about 5 stories written and I thought “Hey, since I’m too lazy to do my physics homework, why not post it all on tumblr?” So yeah, hi, this is my version of “quarantine is driving me crazy and I need an escape”. And before you ask, yes, I’ve succumbed to the toilet paper juggle thing already, it was not pretty.

Masterlist

Peter Parker was not a creep, he was simply a worried boyfriend.

There is nothing wrong with following your girlfriend after school to make sure she gets home safe before going back to the Tower. Or asking Karen to alert him whenever you leave the house so he could follow you to make sure you were safe. Or gifting you one of those morse code bracelets that monitored your vitals and location because he knew you’d never take it off and that way he could constantly know where you were and how you were feeling.

Peter Parker was not a creep.

He watched from his vantage point on top of a building as you and MJ left the mall, Slurpees in hand and carrying at least five shopping bags each, most of them being from art stores and only a couple from clothing. The sight of your bright smile made his heart burst with affection and he listened intently, still able to hear your melodic laugh over the hustle and bustle of the busy street.

He followed you at a safe distance, losing sight of the two of you as you entered the subway. Karen kept him aware of your whereabouts though, and he saw you again when you exited the subway station, now alone.

You walked a couple more blocks and entered your apartment building, but Peter only truly relaxed once he saw you entering your bedroom, having a clear view through your window.

He stayed for a few more minutes, admiring how beautiful you looked doing something as mundane as cutting tags off your newly bought clothes and throwing out the plastic wrapped around your new art supplies.

He then made his way to the Tower, where the Avengers chose to live again, for practical purposes.

“Hey everyone!” He immediately greeted his teammates after walking into the kitchen, mask off and hair slightly messy.

“Hey Pete,” The twenty-year-old witch gave him a chilled bottle of water from the fridge, already knowing that the boy would be parched.

Peter kissed her cheek and did the same to Pepper, Carol, and Morgan who were all sitting at the table playing Uno, no doubt to make the young Stark happy.

“Where is everyone?” The young spiderling asked after downing his water bottle.

“Bucky and Sam are in the gym, Bruce is messing with something in the labs, and Sharon went grocery shopping with Rhodey.” Carol set down a blue five, not even looking up from her hand. For a superhero, she sure sucked at card games.

“Oh, okay. I’m going to my room, be back to help with dinner!” He called back before walking to the elevator and pressing the button to his and May’s floor.

After everyone returned from the Blip, the Parkers lost their home and Pepper immediately offered them a floor at the Tower, not wanting her not-really-but-still-kind-of-feels-like-it son and his aunt to be living on the streets. Peter was very happy to be living with some of his favorite people in the world and very grateful for the opportunities it provided him.

He entered his room and pressed the button on his chest, the suit retracting to a simple spider pendant that hung around his neck, looking like an ordinary chain. He took it off and put it in his charging cradle before changing into a pair of grey sweatpants (your favorite though he still doesn’t understand why) and his blue Midtown sweatshirt.

He sat on his desk chair, ready to start his homework but a vibration from his phone made him postpone the task, choosing instead to open the messaging app on his custom made StarkPhone.

Princess 👑 ❤️: heyy :) Princess 👑 ❤️: can i meet you at the tower later? Princess 👑 ❤️: i want cuddles :)))

He smiled at that and immediately texted you back.

Baby🕷️ ❤️: i’ll ask Rhodey and Shar to pick you up on their way home :) Baby🕷️ ❤️: love you <3 Princess 👑 ❤️: love you more <33

He texted Sharon and after receiving confirmation that you were in the car with them, he turned his phone face down on the desk to avoid any distractions and started on his English homework, hoping to be done with it when you got here so he could cuddle in peace with his beloved girlfriend.

Twenty minutes later, he was almost done with his homework, fully engrossed in the words on the page that he had to meticulously read, highlight and analyze. He barely noticed when you entered the room, his spidey sense no longer detecting you as a threat, but took a much-needed breath of relief when he felt your hands around his shoulder, rubbing softly.

No words were needed as you kept rubbing his shoulders while he finished his homework, relishing in the soft kisses you left on the crown of his head from time to time. He finished the last sentence on his analysis and set his pen down, sighing. He closed his eyes and put his head back so it rested on your shoulder and you kissed his forehead, hands around his neck, hugging his upper body from behind.

“Cuddles now?” You asked, voice soft and soothing reaching his over-worked brain.

“Yeah, baby, let’s go.”

You kissed him on the forehead once more and took off your shirt, staying in your white lace bra and pastel pink sweatpants before laying down on the king-sized bed. You made grabby hands at him and he took off his own shirt, laying down between your legs and resting his head on your breasts. Your right hand made its way to his soft brown curls while your left rested on his upper back, hugging him close to your chest. His arms tightened around your waist and a pleased sigh left his lips, his lashes fluttering and tickling your skin as the tension rolled off of him in waves with every gentle pass of your manicured nails through his scalp.

Peter loved this position. There was really nothing sexual about it, he just loved hearing your heartbeat and feeling your colder skin against his naturally overheated one. He loved protecting the city and all of its inhabitants but here, in your arms, in this bed, he wasn’t Spider-Man, the newest Avenger. He wasn’t the Starks’ unofficially adopted kid that would take over SI alongside Morgan and Harley. He wasn’t the kid who brightened up everyone’s day and felt solely responsible for their happiness and well-being.

He was just Pete. Your Pete. Your fragile, vulnerable boyfriend who just really needed a hug, and you were more than happy to provide.

“How was your day?” He asked, voice slightly muffled because of his mouth’s position, buried in the valley of your breasts.

“Pretty good. I went to the mall with MJ after class and we bought a bunch of new clothes and art supplies for our trip to DisneyWorld.”

“Why do you need new stuff just to go to DisneyWorld?”

“I need Disney themed stuff.”

“You already have Disney themed stuff.”

“But I need new ones so that every time I see them they’ll remind me of our trip to DisneyWorld.”

He chuckled at your over-the-top-ness and nuzzled his face deeper into your chest.

“‘M hungry.”

“Must be cause you didn’t eat.”

“Did too!” He snorted at that.

“A Slurpee doesn’t count as food, princess.”

A silence enveloped the room and he felt your heartbeat quicken.

“I never told you I had a Slurpee.”

Oh shit.

“Y-Yeah, you did, you said you went to the mall with MJ to do some shopping and had a Slurpee after.” He was panicking but focused on playing it off as best as he could.

Spoiler Alert: he’s a very bad liar and can’t hide anything from you.

“No, I didn’t so how do you know that?”

He stuttered and incoherent sentence your way, trying and failing TRYING VERY HARD to defend himself.

“Have you been following me?”

Shitshitshit.

“N-No?” He hated that he couldn’t lie to you, one look at him and all his secrets would come out like some kind of verbal diarrhea.

You pushed him off your lap so the both of you were sitting up, looking at him with nothing short of hurt, confusion, and betrayal swirling in your beautiful sparkling eyes.

“Have you been taking advantage of EDITH and your powers to spy on me?”

He didn’t answer, simply hung his head, closed his eyes and waited for the blow-up that was bound to happen next... but it never came, only a broken whisper followed by a heart-breaking sob reached his ears.

“Do you not trust me?”

“What?” His head snapped up and he stared into your eyes, seeing the tears threatening to leak and cursing himself because he caused that, he caused his babygirl pain.

“W-Well if you're following me it must be because y-you don’t t-trust m-me.”

Your words were punctuated by a particularly loud sob and he quickly gathered you up in his arms, nuzzling his cheek on the top of your head soothingly and threading his fingers through your hair.

“Nonononononono, baby that’s not it, I promise.” He took your face between his hands and kissed your tear-stricken cheeks, resting his forehead on yours. “It’s just that... with everything that happened with Tony and Beck and my identity being revealed, then almost going to prison, thank God for Pepper, I just... I’m constantly worried that someone’ll come after you because of me, because of what you mean to me, and that I won’t be able to protect you and I just need to know you’re safe, always because you’re the most important person in my life and I don’t know what I’d without you, so I followed you and asked Karen to update me on your vitals every hour so I know you’re safe and alive, and real, and... I just need to know you’re safe.”

He took a deep breath after finishing his jumbled up explanation, finally shining light on the fears deeply installed within him for months.

“I can’t decide if that’s cute or something characteristic of a psychopath. Cause you wanna protect me but you do it by following me and invading my privacy.”

“Wha- psychopath?” You both burst into laughter, foreheads still resting against one another.

“Well, you’ve been following me around for a while. Do you have a camera in my bedroom?”

“No! Of course not! Just... in the lobby... and one facing your apartment door... and on your fire escape facing your window...”

His cheeks were flushed red and he was looking everywhere but at you, seemingly embarrassed by his predicament.

“You said you had Karen monitoring my vitals... how?”

“Oh, um... remember the bracelet I gave you for our six-month anniversary?”

You lifted your right wrist, cocking an eyebrow as if to say ‘this one’.

“Yeah, so um... I actually made that. It’s got nanosensors that monitor your heartbeat, blood pressure, sugar levels, emotional state and a bunch of other things along with a tracker that’s constantly activated. It’s all connected to Karen, so she can let me know whenever you’re in trouble...”

“Is that how you always know when I’m having a panic attack or when I’m on my period?” Your eyes softened up and an adoring smile graced your face when he nodded.

“You’re a dork.” You straddled him fully and properly, then kissed him on the lips softly.”But you’re my dork, and I love you. And I love that you want to keep me safe and that you’d be willing to sacrifice your dignity and do something quite illegal to make sure I stay safe.”

He smirked at you.

“You know, out of context that sounds a bit twisted.”

You rolled your eyes but smiled fondly at him.

“What can I say? From time to time, I sure do love me a bad boy.”

He smiled and kissed you on the lips, slow and passionate, filled with all his love and adoration and relief, pure and utter relief because you’re here, with him, and you know, and you don’t hate him, in fact, you love him even more.

He fell back on the bed, taking you with him as you resumed your previous position, only this time with you on top.

“So are we gonna mention that when Tony did the exact same thing to you you threw a fit and had Ned hack into the suit?”

“Shut up.”

That night, when Peter got back home after dropping you off, EDITH alerted him to movement on your fire escape. His heart was beating faster than a hummingbird’s as he pulled up the live footage but it all turned into a breathless chuckle when he saw the surveillance video.

You had put your whiteboard in such a way that it would be seen by the camera and scribbled a ‘Goodnight baby <3′ on it.

Baby🕷️ ❤️: goodnight princess <3

And this is what I do during my English and french classes... English because I don’t need to (perks of being trilingual) and french because the teacher spends the lesson talking about stuff I already know so I really don’t care.

With that said, please stay in school and listen to your teachers... do as I say, not as I do.

Anyway, I hope you liked this little one-shot. Please don’t forget to like, comment and/or reblog if you feel like it!

Love you all, Libby <3

677 notes · View notes

seb-owns-these-tatas · 4 years ago

Text

Witcher of the Night (Chapter 21)

THIS IS MODERN ERA READER WHO WOKE UP IN THE DIMENSION OF THE WITCHER.

CHAPTER 20.1

WOTN MASTERLIST

Characters: Geralt of Rivia x small!Naive!Reader

Summary: Bearing the child from a man who promised was sterile gave more anxiety as you lived in their world, knowing that Geralt will resent as the offspring was forged by a cursed spirit that held her own reasons and consequences. Your fate becoming more complicated as each day pass by with a dreading feeling that you surely have no idea about.

Warnings: The usual blasphemy. Lore about the Djinn. (I've made it up) Matka means 'mother'. Ingrith is an OC of mine so she ain't real in the witcher story. Hehehe. (Surprise! Guess Geralt knew Ingrith after all. HE LIED. LMAO. 😂😅🤣) Panicking reader. Pregnancy.

Words: 5.4k

A/N: Is this a boring chapter? I dunno. But, it will provide everyone the lore they need for some of your questions to be answered. I forgot to actually edit this because I was too focused on ranking up in Free Fire. Hahahahah. 😂 Had to edit this a day before I actually publish it in Tumblr. (I usually take 2 days because everybody loves to disturb me in my house. Also I need to manually tag people in taglists, check my grammar and typos. Oof. It makes me squint my eyes too hard on the screen because of how small the letters can be)

TAGLIST IS STILL OPEN FOR THIS ONE! Heehee! Don’t forget to REBLOG, COMMENT OR GIVE FEEDBACK IF YOU DID LOVE THIS CHAPTER! IT’LL MAKE ME SMILE! Sorry for the grammatical errors and such because English isn’t my mother tongue! PLEASE LEAVE FEEDBACK AFTER READING, BB! I apologize for errors!

Disclaimer: PNG’s and pictures used in edits are not mine even the GIF’s too. Character development and personalities are based from my understanding and how I want them to be. I only own my original characters in this fanfic.

MY WORKS ARE NOT NOT NOT NOT NOOOOOOT TO BE POSTED ON ANY OTHER WEBSITES. My official username in Wattpad is “TATATHEPOTATO” and that’s the only other site I have for writing aside from Tumblr. Thank you, Tater tots!

"Geralt of Rivia,"

Vicious and cunning as she may seem, her tone was utterly redolent. Familiar faces finally met in such a fate that not any fortune teller may assume would happen. Loved ones being involve in adversities that has been unflattering for the witcher who stood before the queen's long associate in the castle of Kaedwen, a victorious smirk warping her sharp-edge face that Geralt has not reciprocated. Twisted in a smile that tells she was hopeful over her plans being moved into the right places.

"---I knew you would come," Ingrith spoke as a matter of fact.

The witcher knew that this encounter was inevitable for the second time. Their previous meeting lingering inside his head---being the reason why he chose to live in the outskirts of Kaedwen which eventually made him tarry a bit over going to Kaer Morhen after receiving no answer from her. Receiving much of an answer he needed through Cuthbert, his neighbor who happened to heard rumors about 'her' whereabouts more than from the sorceress he'd decided to talk with.

He'd finally knew where Yennefer has been travelling when you've arrived, his search being an easy one as Geralt discovered her location after trying not to seek for the sorceress he has been looking for years---ending up knowing her area when he gave up finding the sorceress after a month or so.

"Where is she?" he beseech his avows, the scowl stern and never fading as he was eager to see you since the moment he step foot in the castle.

"Yen or your futile human? Oh, it wouldn't be that cursed princess you've butchered in Blaviken because she's already dead, Geralt."

The cunning sorceress tutted before him as they stood at the foot of the abandoned round tower, no guards being publicly seen because of the fact that they were too much of a milksop. Ingrith, Tybalt and Eanraig---the ones who had cabbalistic abilities were the only people who tries to take care of the prince. His own parents and siblings never giving bother about checking how he was doing despite of being harmless in daylight.

"---You've disappointed me---I knew you had a penchant for sorceresses or women whom you could consider as your kind---strong, discerning....and even whores paid to entertain you through your pitiful solitude,"

Ingrith went on with her vouching, leaning her head to the side with a knowing gaze inside her eyes; a forewarning that she was dismayed from his foolish decisions that she finds, continuously mocking his settlements, "---But, you've chosen a useless woman who could not defend herself even by telling the queen that she was not the thief who has stolen her precious necklace,"

The butcher barred his teeth, jutting his jaw forward as he felt his back turn tense and rigid from how he was turning furious as each second passes by with the sorceress he'd regretted to seek for help before---not knowing she would also be the person to afflict pain for his midget in the future.

"You've told the queen that she stole her jewelry when you know it wasn't her, not a canny persuasion made, Ingrith."

Her grin turned bigger, finding his anger satisfying and entertaining in her perspective. Ingrith could disguise as a devil and nobody would notice because of how wicked she'd been turning herself into; a wretch that Geralt have seen from her with the sacrilegious intentions living inside her mind.

"I've expected more from you than to choose and defend a mortal, Witcher."

"---I've remember the night we first met," she continued to ran her mouth, sardonic as she gladly hinted. Ingrith could see the blaze in his golden eyes, how he wanted to unsheathe his sword that was carried behind his back to show her his indignation for everything---from leaving her niece in the hands of her father who detested her due to deformity.

Hence, she has left young Yennefer with no guilt in her eyes despite knowing everything---leaving the past behind and acting like it never happened, taking the initiative to ignore her whereabouts and look the other way from how she grew into a strong woman.

"You were asking Yennefer of Vengerberg from me," she stepped a foot closer towards the witcher, making Geralt deeply breathe through his nose from his pique and lack of personal space that she was trying to bombard him with.

Ingrith couldn't help but let her grin fall when Geralt took a step back, steering clear from her suggestive gestures as he gave her a low hiss and rumble of his chest when he added words to complete her sentence, "---and you had other plans,"

"I've had better plans for us, Geralt."

"I do not wish to be involved by those treacherous plans of yours. You want power---you wanted to become stronger. Settling yourself in the castle to do what you want. Even planning to extirpate your own niece because she is more powerful than you,"

The sorceress scoffed to herself, exasperated from how he blocked her advances. His amber filled with fury as it has still not yet died down after going the deep end. Her trials involving on discouraging his faith for a mere mortal like you. Her ears felt like it was being rattled from the inside, triggering her pride and ego over being told that she was below of her niece in terms of strength and magic, "Yennefer of Vengerberg? She is not powerful as you may seem, Witcher."

"You've left her alone with people who do not care for her,"

"Sorceresses don't die easily than mortals. It's in her blood; our blood, Elven blood. You know this."

Geralt couldn't help but give her a snicker, the small curl of his lip raising in disbelief for her intentions over you and being involved in his god-forsaken life that he didn't want you to be a part with, "You want my mortal to die,---" he gruffly muttered, the words tasting bitter on the ends of his tongue for the idea of you dying in his arms.

"---I won't let that happen, not until I'm alive, Ingrith."

The witcher continued to brood like how people described him to be; his mood turning sour for not seeing you yet and not knowing what was happening to you as it kept his chest bothered and heavy. Ingrith's features warped into a twist, her nose scrunched from how distasteful she found his protection over your vulnerable, weakened self; how pathetic he was caring for a mortal that could die easily especially having the curse, you were more impuisant than any other woman in the continent because a curse had effects and consequences.

His safeguarding would be useless because of the inevitable juncture that would give him sorrow and Geralt had no idea what he was in when he was trying hard to shelter you out of harms way.

Ingrith crossed her arms, shaking her head at his determination, "She'll eventually die, witcher. It's her fate in the continent. Humans like her reach their demise with misery and regret because they're nugatory, serving no purpose but to be insignificant over us,"

The latter turned his back away from her, ending the discussion with his perseverance being unyielding, shaking his head for her estimated fortune telling that he believed was a lie; understanding that she was only saying it because you didn't belong to their world and you were at high risk over danger for the chaos living in the continent.

"She won't die nor will you have the opportunity of doing so,"

"Her existence would bring more despair; more sorrow for your fate. She's just a nuisance value of human kind!" Ingrith loudly exclaimed from behind, watching him courageously push the doors to the round tower where the cursed prince has been living. Disregarding her warnings like the wind passing through.

He heard her but didn't give any acknowledge over her words. Whether it was true or not, the witcher may never know unless the day that Ingrith has been foretelling has actually been damned after all.

The fairly large throne room was filled in luxury, themed in gold and red. Such color that simply tells how their bloodline lived around the hierarchy that they highly take care of. Blood and coins. It says all. Their ornaments and artifacts spent with coins seeming to be conceived in detail for their palace rather than for the people who deserved it better living in Kaedwen.

Queen Makeda tapped her fingers along the arms of her throne, her gaze sharp and pondering over Geralt and Tybalt who stood in the middle of the room. Both having an obvious lour; deepening when she started to give orders about what was to be expected over the hunt, any hints as to where the witch has been rumored to be last seen or any more information that must be shared before Geralt takes off.

"Tybalt shall be coming in search for the witch with the witcher,"

Prince Markith, he was the queen's younger son before Prince Althalos. A lot more younger than the cursed man, immature as the maids say so. He stood beside his seated mother, wearing a simple doublet over his black breeches. The fading freckles on his cheeks stretching when a giggle escaped his lips; an obvious space between his two front teeth shown as his laugh echoed around the throne room that has gotten Geralt to give a gander.

"Witch. Witcher. Witchest." the teenager playfully mumbled beneath his breath, finding amusement over the whole thing going on with his family especially seeing the white haired witcher all brooding and silent, subtly mocking his kind in the least offending way as possible.

The queen immediately given him a sharp warning of her gaze, cocking her head to the side and seeing her son continuously chuckling from his own joke, having his own world that he always manages to live in. Seeming to be like he had imaginary friends rather than real ones that his parents seclude him amongst children because Markith should be remained untouched from the filth that people had.

"Markith, that is not a proper attitude of a prince," she lowly scolded in the midst of talking, the child's interruption obviously irking her temper.

Markith raise a brow, the child's tone utterly sardonic as he spoke, "But, I'm not the crown prince. Brother is. But, if brother dies then---"

She cut him off with a brusque hiss, "He will not die from our hands! He will live and rule the future of Kaedwen,"

"Does this kingdom even have a future when it is ruled by your hands?"

Quietude filled the throne room after her son's sarcastic retort. The silence was frothing; bubbling from her expected aggravation over the younger prince's shameless answer. Much to her chagrin, she has never received an apology nor an explanation as to why Markith suddenly blurted it out in the open for Geralt to hear.

Upon hearing those words coming from a child, the witcher couldn't help but stood nonplussed. His expressions coming off as emotionless with his brooding charm jumping off the four corners of the room. In which has received a glower from the vampire who also stood beside him, his eyes seeming to be taking Geralt much more of his attention when they were both called to stay beside each other.

Queen Makeda raised a finger, ushering one knight to march his way up the numbered stairs under the lavish canopy where the king and queen's throne sits.

"Bartley, bring him back to his chambers," she roughly ordered, her teeth barred as she glared at Markith who was also feral for disregarding his opinions over their corrupted reigning throughout their kingdom. Bartley gave a courteous bow for the queen before walking to where her son stood, forcefully grabbing onto his shoulders as he gently pushed him around to leave.

"But, Mother---"

The queen never takes no for an answer. Hence, one loud yell was all the child has taken before being thrown out, his gaze lingering longer at the witcher whom he has heard tales about; having quite the eagerness to see if the tales were true to their words. Yet, his mother decided to lock him up in his room again for being curious and playing around.

"Now!"

Geralt stood completely still. The scowl never changing as he gave a heavy sigh, seeming like the world was carried on his burly, armored shoulders. His sour mood being the result of your prior, quick separation before he even walked to the throne room. Your pained words ringing inside his head for a thousand times like a plague that he had finally not been immune for.

He shouldn't have left you in that condition especially when you were physically injured. Geralt actually just proved to you how much of a witcher he was; cantankerous, blunt and emotionless even though you've had this strong faith for him that you believed being the opposite of it.

But, he just needed to fuck it up by leaving you without a word and also calling you pathetic in such ways.

The butcher continued eating his own heart out by staring at the queen with brooding eyes, waiting for the go signal for his hunt. He wanted to get this over with; planning to do his job right and find the witch, bring her in the castle to reverse the spell then off you go with him. Leaving all of these behind as a past that you would never forget or decide to forget forever if you wanted to.

Tybalt audibly scoffed for Geralt to give him his regard, taking the side-eye from the witcher as he publicly stated his cavils, "Why am I traveling with him now, yer' majesty? to be his guard? Hilarious!"

One familiar hum was heard; gruff and utterly sarcastic once Geralt began to frankly acknowledge. His hostility over the vampire obvious when he has opened his mouth, "I work better alone and away from blood sucking monsters." a feigned curl of his lips appearing to be a smile has been received towards the queen, her quick understanding seeing that it was a forced one that Geralt was trying hard to perceive over his altercations.

"---I'm a witcher. I slaughter beasts. Monsters of any kind."

In the spur of the moment, Geralt turned his head to let Tybalt see the mocking flicker inside his golden eyes.

Tybalt knew he was pertaining to his kind. Vampires. He couldn't help but clench his fists on his sides, his nostrils flared while the witcher was trying to get on his nerves---or he just basically hated the higher vampire to send his animosity by being forthright, "What ye' lookin at, Weccan?" he sneered back at Geralt with barred teeth while the white wolf had the end of his lip curled into a leer, irked by his smug pillorying in the presence of the queen like he didn't give a fuck.

He really didn't especially when he wanted to behead everyone in his way.

Geralt's presence was already making Tybalt's hackles rise without even trying to nettle his temper. The image of his newly bathed hair was already narking him without even seeing his face and the feeling was mutual for both enemies.

Tybalt began forming his own ridicules, seeing the witcher become the object of his scorn.

"Your skin is as pale as your tresses. I doubt you still have any amount of blood in ye'!"

"The joke's too old. I'll assume you've asked me if I do bleed." the white wolf was nonchalant as he quipped. Displaying to be quite blase from his attempts of hurling more anger out of him when he was too furious from the start to even begin with.

"---Witcher, do you bleed?"

Geralt couldn't help the most jaded expression he could ever muster upon hearing the most asked question, uttering out a grumble of his insouciant timbre of his voice that has gotten Tybalt bellowing from his remark.

"My blood's not tasty enough for you. Don't bother."

"This feckin' arse!"

They've both sent each other deep growls against their chests, a low rumbling sound that was bouncing off the castle walls that everyone who was inside the throne room could notice as they stood side by side, giving each other glares and their derisive taunting.

Queen Makeda had a finger supporting her head from falling. Her arm folded and leaning against her throne whilst sighing over their random twits. Foot tapping along the stoned floors as she gave them both her enervated attention.

Tybalt's fixated gaze has been cut short when he'd knelt on the ground with one knee, bowing his head to pay his respects for the queen---probably, seeking support over not letting him travel with the witcher who must have a difficult time finding the witch that couldn't be found at all; not wanting to share his time with Geralt because their personalities were clashing against each other like rusty, acidic metal, "---Your highness, If you're worried about him dying in the middle of saving yer' witch whom can lift Prince Althalos' curse, I can assure you, he will not die. Legend says witchers die from monsters they hunt. The witch obviously isn't---"

The queen has raised her palm to cease his comments, completely unimpressed by how privileged he was being when it was her decision whether he would let him go or not.

"I can see how you both despise each other," she plainly stated, sounding nasally like she was too disappointed by Tybalt's actions.

At the mere exclamation of that, both men spoke in the same time. Their antipathy colliding even with their words sounding exactly what they felt for one another.

"Hate him." Geralt and Tybalt both snarled with such rancor, glaring for one more time before partially giving their whole attention to the queen who sat before the throne.

They've seen her mouth turn into frown, turning a blind eye towards the higher vampire who was left sulking for his sudden hunt. His plans with his sorceress coming to a stop for the queen's orders, intending to guard all your whereabouts in the palace as Ingrith tries to formulate a scheme to have you suffer without raising their hands on you nor using magic that will eventually fail because you were protected by a djinn.

"Tybalt. Be with the witcher. I want you guarding him until he finds the witch. The witcher shan't go back empty handed."

Tybalt couldn't help but curse beneath his breath, subtly rolling his eyes as he stood on both feet, adjusting his fur coat resting along his shoulders, "Oh, feckin' bullocks." before shaking his head as he forced a nod and approval out of him to gesture at the queen of Kaedwen.

Geralt calmly tried his best to exhale in a relaxing demeanor, his facial features twisting in utmost pique from the idea that he would be spending five days with the vampire he had a fight with back in the marketplace.

"Fuck." he lowly snarled to himself, momentarily shutting his eyes to breathe in disappointment. His head cocked to the side. Geralt felt Tybalt grip onto his armored shoulder, giving him a shallow pat to state his indignation with the whole ordeal. He turned on his heels, marching out of the throne room to fetch and pack his belongings for the journey ahead, quickly jogging out of the throne room that was making him want to curse as every second passes by with the witcher.

Queen Makeda can't help the snicker on her face, a smile forming wrinkles on the apples of her cheeks as she stated her false promises.

"You have my word about your little woman, Witcher. We will not touch her again."

Though, Geralt knew deep inside that it was all just a lie.

You've been receiving lots of personal questions from the druid. One of his queries was about the idea of wholeheartedly accepting a child from Geralt which you explained an approval if it was given in the future---or if he was even capable of giving you one. You strongly believed he can't.

Though, in the back of your head, you couldn't help but think how your child would look like with his genetics. Will she or he have white hair too? you gotta' have a child with beautiful genes somehow. An echo of hopeful, deranged voices filled your thoughts, quickly disregarding the thought in the back of your crazed head whilst hearing Eanraig bombard another question of his that kept you aware of how zealous he sounded.

"Do you love Geralt?"

"Woah. Hold your horses, Eanraig."

Subtly swallowing the anxiety away from hearing such question, you've warily cleared your throat. Your mouth wincing from the pungent taste of your after-retch. The inconspicious nullify of the subject taken heed by the scholar when you've avoided his eyes.

In-denial of the truth. Eanraig thought silently to himself while he brought his hand down, away from patting your back, "You will be giving the witcher a miracle," he lightly convinced you and decided that particulars shall be provided for the mother of the miraculous child growing inside; delaying the details with the father that would surely bring him into a shock and red-light from the witcher himself because of how having a pickney in the midst of his life will only bring his descendant danger.

"---From the night of the full moon, between a man and woman who had nature take its course, a child shall be produced,"

Mentioning that in a hot second, you were quick enough to counter the lie you ought to believe in. Trusting Geralt and his words more than ever because he knew himself better than anyone else especially in 'that' department. Thorough objection was promptly written all over your shocked, disapproving expressions; brows furrowed in worry with lips turning ajar for such sensible responsibility being given to your head like a crown fitting for you.

Was Geralt lying and he actually just wanted to get you pregnant? If so, then he was certainly a wacko for even doing it---in your world he could be arrested for lying.

"Geralt's infertile! What are you even---?!?!" you couldn't finish your sentence as the responsibility for having your lechery take over you a few nights ago was worth enough to blame. How did Eanraig knew when it hasn't reached a month after a tangle of passionate desires with the witcher? did everyone knew about it but not you both? was it why you were being hated by Ingrith because she knew you were bearing Geralt's child?

A ton rounds of bulleted questions rang inside your head after one query hasn't been answered. One by one it was hopping like rabbits chasing a baited carrot because on the other side of your head, it knew answers for your disputes within yourself.

Panic and fear over an unborn child was beginning to take a toll as you grabbed onto your roots, frustratingly tugging on them while you listened to Geralt's old friend.

"Infertile or not. As long as the other is human who possesses no magic---or better yet, both humans who possesses no magic shall receive results beyond their expectations. I have never told Geralt about this because he will never believe me. A Witcher does not take that kind of news too well---might be even saying that he would take his child as a bait to be eaten by monsters than to bring them to this world,"

You've pursed your lips, finding how true it was to hear those words from the witcher knowing that you were pregnant by his child. Was this a hoax? a dream that God wanted you to never wake up from?

Being transported to their dimension; loving a mutated human you never expected to and eventually baring a child from him when he knew he could never bore a child at all. Was this your destiny for him? giving him miracles---a child that he certainly didn't expected and needed because accepting his child of surprise was already difficult for him to undertake.

"I can totally hear him saying that." you uttered completely defeated and benumbed from the breaking news that made you forget how upset you were by Geralt's prior actions.

"You are having his child, my dear. You're carrying his scion that has been forged by the Djinn." Eanraig started his elucidation about the serious topic at hand, educating you about the accelerated gestation that the Djinn's curse may come between. Earlier telling you about the expected development because you might be seeing changes over your body than how a normal woman will be expecting.

"---The process is faster. Three times hastier than a normal pregnancy---Though, never fear for the child not to be normal."

With sangfroid, the breath that you've been holding has been puffed out with your eyes drooping closed; letting the calmness sink in without having the panic rise through your head for a hundred times because of the thought that the child would turn out different in which she may suffer in the end.

Until Eanraig decided to continue his statements that has given you whiplash.

"---Because that child is beyond normal. She'll inherit the Djinn's powers because it is a part of Matka's three wishes."

"She?" you've managed to feebly and shakily mutter beneath your soft breath, feeling the coldness wrap around you for knowing more about the child that you were currently bearing---keeping you in a constant disorient that had you staring onto your twitching fingers laid upon your thighs.

"I'll assume that the Djinn you have gotten was a Matka. The cursed Djinn who lovers try to find in order to bore an heir if they cannot create their own offspring. Matka was created to give her own powers to a progeny that would inherit her abilities---believing that her existence will help the world from lessening the bedlam within the lore of monsters and humanity,"

"You're telling me I'm really pregnant with a girl? with...with Geralt's child? This child is also...owning such power that is making me hyperventilate right now?! Is it a vampire?! What if it eats my insides just like how Edward's baby did?!" your back was still utterly stiff from the nervousness that this news has given you, the mere fact of taking care of a powerful baby pouring ice buckets on your head---the dread hitting your core from the stupefaction and fear raising a child of your own.

Your modern references has given Eanraig a nonchalant stare from him, never knowing to laugh or smile over your panicky state.

"Is the witcher a vampire?" he hesitatingly spoke, his throat sounding dry before Eanraig cleared his throat when he'd lately realized.

"No."

"Then, it shall not have any vampire blood."

Skin felt tingling as your heart couldn't stop the beating so fast, throwing you into a swivet, "I'm not prepared to be a mother, Eanraig!"

You couldn't help but reach a hand to clasp around your tightening throat, further listening to Eanraig. His expositions making you want to give him a bark of laughter due to the disbelief over what reality that destiny started giving you when the Djinn happened.

"The continent has its own supernatural contingencies that nobody may ever explain---which has given you a child of yours with the witcher. Your kingdom knows no magic based on your reactions, correct?" the druid raised a brow and grabbed both of your shoulders, firmly letting you look into his grey eyes that continued inspiriting your devastated self.

You've tentatively shook your head to give an answer. The dread gripping your heart so tight that you started breathing heavily, your fingers suddenly grabbing onto your stomach because of the sudden memory that the castle guards have placed a kick to your gut. The worry for your unborn baby bringing you into utter distress for her condition.

A loud gasp left your lips, "Wait, I've been---I've been abused---hurt---what about my child, Eanraig? If---If Geralt knows about this now, he wouldn't want my child, would he?"

"I...may never know what he thinks, little woman. He hardly speaks. Only to you, the bard and his surprise child, I assume."

"Then, should I keep this from him?"

"I doubt his mutations can keep your pregnancy as a secret,"

Panicking more than ever, you've felt your eyes well up with warmth. Signalling tears threatening to come out of it as both of your palms were on either side of your head. Quiet whining were heard in the back of your throat for the future that was bound for you especially by being thrown on the face by a brick, the brick being fate moving mountains for the witcher and his ill-fate infertility---that has been surprisingly controlled by the power of magic; black magic.

"Then, what do I do?! I don't want to raise a child on my own when I'm not even prepared to be a mother?!" Eanraig heard the sobs from you and he'd quickly gathered all of the comfort he could give by patting you on the back, calming down that tough anxiety you have.

"Cease the tears," he continued to pat, "---It'll be bad for you and the child,"

"I have a witcher baby! What do I do?!" you ranted and raved, sniffing in the same time as your fingers spread across your chest, feeling it tighten a lot more because of this serious matter. Time stood still for you, imagining what Geralt would say or tell when he couldn't even accept your love; when he was still secretive over things he wasn't comfortable about telling.

Would he be fine to have a child with a woman who was in love with him when he doesn't even know his true feelings for you until now?

"I don't know how to tell, Geralt! I don't wanna let this child grow without a father---what if I leave this world all of a sudden without him? Eanraig, what if he dies out there right now and this child grows up without a father?"

You knew, he would refuse the child you were having because of how he had a long time accepting Cirilla. A child who has already been taken care of by another---what more for a baby that he certainly had no experience of having nor wished to have?

The druid welcomed all your rants over such an important and surprising incident that existed in the white wolf's life. Completely knowing for it to be an unexpected route in his path that Eanraig could never see for him. He gave one last comforting pat on your back, nodding to you as if he was trying to let his words seep inside your head---your apprehension that he solely hoped to be the maturity of your mind.

"Let fate decide what will happen. You'll eventually need to tell the father of your child---and the witcher will know about it soon,"

Little did you know, there was already a tiny beat of a heart that seem to be inaudible for a mortal; but not for a witcher who had sensitive hearing created to catch onto the tiniest rustle of leaves till the quietest thumps of every heart.

Taglist for WOTN: (Strikethrough means your blog can’t be tagged. Please check your settings, bb’s! Thank you.) @alyxkbrl @himarisolace @barkingbullfrog @ayamenimthiriel @hellodevilslittlesister @turkish276 @spookypeachx @grungelovebug @fangirl-inthe-us @nympeth @amirahiddleston @gabethelobster @dreaming-about-fanfictions @uncoolcloudyhead @melaninstylezz @psychosupernaturalhero @missjenniferb @dance-dreamer @marvelousell @kingniazx @angelias134 @tapismyforte @chook007 @covid-donotenter @deadlydemon @cheesecakeisapie @angelofthor @carrieannewaywardson, @plantingmum, @stuckupstucky, @shesthelastjedi, @a--1--1--3, @gutfucks, @raynosaurus-rex, @britty443, @suhke3, @shadowclawstudio88, @ruthoakenshield, @just-a-sad-donut, @gxrdenr0se, @singeramg

Overall witcher taglist: @pizza-eater-i-ate-the-pizza, @crazybutconfidentaf

General taglist: @agniavateira, @iloveyouyen, @rahdaleigh, @silverkitten547, @henrythickcavill, @kaatelyyynn, @marvelousell, @madelinelina, @summersong69, @raynosaurus-rex, @fckdeusername, @evansislife

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