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fuzzyfancreatorbiscuit · 1 year ago

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Ok this was that one shot I cleaned up, hope you guys enjoy it.

Not so bad!

It was a nice enough place, to go on a blind date. It was a hole in the wall café, that I liked to frequent. Most days would have been perfect, if I wasn't being stood up for the 8th time this month. I had corner table next to the front window as rain fell on the pane of glass in a relaxing retheme, mix with the muted tone of the brick walls and soft jazz playing in toon with the weather. Any other day it would have been perfect just sitting here with what ever drink I felt like that day. But as my luck would have it, I'm sitting alone again in brand new sun dress. He could have texted me telling me he didn't want to come or that he changed his mind, no he couldn't do that. Instead he texted my sister telling her that he took one look at me and didn't like what he saw, told her I wasn't his type and to let me down easy, say that he was in a business meeting or something. Huh business meet my foot, he owned his own company and he was the only employee. That would be a sight to see him talking to himself and getting mad at whoever ate his lunch that was clearly marked, his. My sister on the other hand is lovely and told me the truth. So I texted her back, thanks for letting me know so I don't end up sitting here until closing time waiting for someone that wasn't going to show.

Don’t let this get you down, they're are plenty of guys out there that would love to see you in that new dress we purchased together. He's an idiot for not giving you a chance. Thanks sis, but I think I'm done with blind dates for awhile if you don't mind. My sister tried to cheer me up but fails. Hey at least he wasn't as bad as that guy who shook your hand said he needed to go to the bathroom and left through the window, or the guy who came up looked at you and said, "wow you look fatter than in your photo." Nice sis did you ever work for a suicided hot line cause I think you missed your calling. Ok, ok I just don't want you feeling bad after all that hard work you did losing all that weight. I get you are trying to make me feel better but I still have a long way to go and I really should try to get to my final goal before I try again, and no more blind dates. Alright just as long as you are sure you are ok? I'm fine and I get to walk in the rain to calm down so by the time I get home I'll be as right as rain. Wink, wink. Uh boo that was terrible, get better material. Lol you love it and don't try to hide it, I know your husband after all and he's 10 times worse than I am. Just text me when you get home so I know no monster has eaten you. Oh come on they haven't had one case where a monster tried to eat someone so knock it off. Just text me please. Ok fine I will.

My sister could worry to much sometimes. She starting getting really bad when monsters set up a district roughly 5 miles away from my favorite café. She feels that some monster is going to kidnap me or eat me. Frankly I think its ridiculous that anyone would want to kidnap me, I was ok looking brown curly hair hour glass figure but I had some weight on me. I was losing it and I've lost quit a bit, but I am no where close to swim suite modal. I had no elusions of myself, I can be pretty but it took me long time to realize this cause I always felt like I wasn't good enough or pretty enough for anyone to take one look at me and say damn you look fine. I always struggled with weight and thought if any guy was going to look at me that way, was going to be one of those men that liked heavy set women. I found four and each one ended up choosing someone else. I sept out of the café hearing the bell ring for the last time this night and started on my way home. I didn't hail a cab nore did I drive here I knew it was going to rain and I was 90% sure that bugger wasn't going to show up. A text before the date told me he wasn't going to like how I looked even though I pull out all the stops. I had a hair cut, nice makeup but not to much, and new dress that made me look good. But it wasn't enough to get any guy to look my way. That’s fine, I was used to it, probably would go over my head if a guy gave me a compliment for once that wasn't related by marriage or birth.

I was so lost in my own thoughts that I didn't see the tall figure I was approaching. Next thing I know I'm falling over with my heals going over my head and landing something soft. I thought I was going to hit hard ground but something or someone broke my fall. Feeling awful that I wasn't looking where I was going I turn to apologize but before I could speak a word I'm met with sharp teeth and glowing eyelights. See somethin you like sweetheart? His baritone voice could be felt through my entire body causing me to blush like an over ripe tomato. Snapping out of it, I realize my hem of my dress had ridden up and his hands were on my thigh from how we landed. His sharp grin widens and I go to stand up only hit my head trying to stand up. Wow take it easy doll, you'll crack that pretty little skull of yours and I would feel bad if I had to take ya to a doc. Taking a slower approach I stand up this time avoiding the bar I didn't notice the first time. After readjusting my dress the best I could since it was sopping wet I realize how tall he was now that he was no longer on the ground with me on top. I feel another blush rise on me face, he had a nice suit on with no jacket but had a silver and red embroidered vest with a black button up dress shirt that he started to roll up his sleeves as he looked at the ground most likely look for his cufflinks. Feeling guilty, I start looking on the ground for something flashy that would go with his onesome. He cocked his head, what cha lookin for sweetheart? From the looks of it you lost your cufflinks I'm helping you look as sorry for bumping into you. A deep throaty chuckle that also vibrated through his chest that made you lose your train of thought. Damn it, what was this man doing to you, you just met him? Don't get to attached Y/N, he probably has beautiful girlfriend. How did ya know I lost my cufflinks toots? Don't call me that and you rolled up your French cuffs to get them out of the way and were looking at the ground a second ago. I just put two plus two together. Heh well I would much preferer looking at you doll but my brother will kill me if I have lost those damn cufflinks. You didn't hear what he said cause you spotted a couple of jewel encrusted skull cufflinks on the ground and bend down to pick them up Are these what you were looking for? Extending my hand holding them palm face up open with them in the center of my palm. His grin widens slightly reaching out to take them from hand only to get a strange tingling feeling when he touched my hand causing me to blush again, what the hell is wrong with me???

Thank you sweetheart you saved my life, how's bout I buy ya a drink to say thanks for findin them for me? I'm soaking wet I would feel bad giving some poor bar owner a mess to clean up, not only that I know my makeup is all running down my face and my once flowy dress is clinging to me and I don't have the energy to deal with all the jokes from drunk assholes about a fat chick walks into a bar, or wet one at that. Just look at me! Oh I'm lookin, com'n no one will mess with cha is you are with me. One little drink to say thank you. Sans didn't like how she talk about how people were treatin her. She had a beautiful soul not to mention sexy as hell looking temping for him to get her out of that wet dress and warm her up in the fun way, He also liked how he can make her blush so easily as well. Y/n rub her arm up and down looking across the street at the bar called Grilby's then turned to him and asked him what his name was. Sans, sans the skeleton, and your name sweetheart or do I keep calling you sweetheart? Laughing a little bit she told him her name was Y/n L/n. What's so funny doll? The way you deliver your name you sound like you are james bond. She told him with a snicker. hu does this james bond always get the girl? Lol yes he does sometime the girl doesn't last full day before they end up in his bed. Well call me james bond toots. Ha I'm not that type of james bond girl buy me dinner first. Oh if that’s all it takes I'll pay, he says with a wide grin. Down boy buy me a drink first lets see how it goes cause you might not like me as you get to know me. Not possible, I'm not so bad of a guy you might fall for me before you finish your first drink. Well see. And don’t call me toots.

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thusspoketrish · 3 years ago

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Showers in the Malfoy-Potter Household

Domestic, tooth-rotting, fluffy Married Drarry!!! Written for the prompt Fresh over at @drarrymicrofic. 2.3K words. Thank you to @curlyy-hair-dont-care for the thorough beta xx

I. That One Time with the Gloves…

“Bugger, I need to shower!” Harry shouts to the empty sitting room as he steps through the Floo, shoulders tense as he kicks off his muddy shoes, waving his wand to send them to the hamper and clearing the residual mess on his and Draco’s Brazilian Macchiato Pecan hardwood floors. On socked feet, Harry dashes up the stairs towards their ensuite, disrobing along the way as the charmed grandfather clock in the downstairs hallway strikes 14:00.

Any minute now, Draco will Floo back in from brunch with Narcissa and Lucius—the very brunch Harry said he couldn’t attend because he pulled Sunday rotation at the Ministry. In truth, he had actually signed up for THE GREATEST WEEKEND QUIDDITCH MATCH EVER!!! between the Department of Mysteries and the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Harry had been surprised to learn that the DoM swots were a bunch of dirty playing wankers—their self-important swagger causing a stir on the ground and a gloriously brutal match in the air. Harry’s pretty sure he bruised his ribs when he struck the muddy ground at the end of the match. But even with his injury, Harry couldn’t help the wicked grin that crossed his face when Timmons, the DoM’s Seeker, watched in horror as Harry staggered to his feet, punching his Snitch-full fist triumphantly into the air.

The glory. The power. Harry feels like a warrior—he feels like a bloody beast!

The little white lie and a skipped brunch with the in-laws were worth it!

Once in the bathroom, Harry uses his wand to send his scattered muddy clothes to the hamper downstairs and turns the water on scorching hot. Stepping under the spray, his sore muscles relax. It’s absolutely blissful, and he can’t help the happy moans that escape him as the water sluices away the mud and sweat from his highly earned, brutal win. He chuckles darkly to himself. Those wankers from the DoM will be sucking on this one for months to come.

The shower curtain is pulled to the side, starling Harry so badly that he nearly slips, his head whipping around to face his smirking husband.

Draco sticks his head into the shower, making sure to avoid the stream, his eyes flashing. “Well, well, well. Look who’s getting so fresh and so clean after a hard day’s work.”

Harry huffs, covering his nipples with both hands as he says, scandalised, “Merlin! You scared the bloody hell out of me!”

“I’m sorry,” Draco says, sounding far from it. “I was so eager to see my husband after a lengthy morning away from him that all I could think about coming up the stairs was giving him the best shower blowie he’s ever had in his entire life…”

Harry grins. “Babe, I’ve missed you so much,” he says eagerly, stepping back under the spray. “Come on, get undressed and join me.” When Draco doesn’t move, Harry gestures inward. “Come on...come now…”

“Yeah, okay. Let me just…” Draco pulls from behind his back Harry’s dirty Quidditch gloves, dropping them into the shower as Harry gasps. The fresh dirt mingles with the water, swirling down the drain. Harry could’ve sworn he sent those gloves flying into the hamper.

Draco’s smile is shark-like, eager, and ready for blood. “Imagine my surprise when these came flying into my chest on my way up the stairs. I was so curious, I decided to have a quick search of the laundry room hamper, and lo and behold, I found all of your Quidditch gear, sweaty and smelling of fresh mud and grass, darling. Must’ve been one hell of a rotation this morning, huh?”

Harry holds up his hands. “I can explain—”

“Oh, really?”

“Er, yes…” Harry starts, running a hand through his soaked hair. “Babe, it’s those wankers from the DoM’s fault! They’re a bunch of posturing arseholes and someone had to put them in their place.”

Draco crosses his arms against his chest. “Ah, right. And that someone had to be you?”

Harry smiles sheepishly, shrugging. “Well…you know I’m the best Seeker in the Corps.”

Draco harrumphs, tilting his chin up and leaning against the wall next to the shower. “So, you know what this means, right?”

Harry bows his head. “Yeah…” he says sadly, shaking his head.

“What?”

Harry sighs. “No more Mimosa Sundays at Malfoy Manor?” he asks hopefully, peeking up at Draco through his wet, shaggy hair.

“Don’t be ridiculous. You know the mimosas at my parents' are bar none.”

“Yeah, yeah. I know…so, no blowie for me?”

“You’re damn right,” Draco says, yanking his head back and sharply pulling the shower curtain shut.

Harry grumbles to himself, turning back to the shower to rinse his hair. A minute or two passes before the shower curtain opens up again, a fully naked Draco stepping inside.

“But that doesn’t mean you can’t start grovelling the proper way: by sucking my cock,” Draco says with a smirk.

Harry laughs, wrapping his arms around Draco’s waist. “How did I land such a deeply compassionate, forgiving husband?”

“With that sinful mouth of yours, obviously,” Draco drawls, placing his hands on Harry’s shoulders to slowly push him down onto his knees.

II. That One Time Draco Was Trying to be Seductive...

Harry’s entering their bedroom, half an egg mayo sandwich in hand, when he notices Draco standing before the wardrobe mirror. “What are you doing?” he asks, pausing near the door.

Draco turns around, his arms spreading wide as he pops one narrow hip outward. He’s draped in an intricate floral-patterned gold bathrobe. “Do you like it? It’s new, darling. Just arrived from Italy. Rocco-inspired, heavy-weight close-knit silk lined with black satin…isn’t it gorgeous?” Draco purrs.

“Er…it’s quite something,” Harry says, biting into his sandwich.

“Neanderthal,” Draco tuts with a scowl before turning back to the mirror. He slides his hands reverently down the sides of his body as he tilts his head to the side. “It feels like fucking sex,” Draco whispers, his eyelids drooping.

Harry chokes on a bit of egg. Draco grins, ferally, as he faces Harry again.

“I have a surprise for you. Get undressed and meet me in the bathroom,” Draco says imperiously.

“Right now?” Harry asks around his sandwich, his eyebrows shooting up towards his hairline. “Why?”

Draco runs his hands down the front of his bathrobe, his eyes fluttering shut. “The things I’m going to do to you the moment you slip this robe off my body…”

That’s all Harry needs to hear as he sets his sandwich down on the nightstand to pull his shirt over his head, tossing it to the floor before levelling Draco with a heated stare and a wolfish grin. “Is that right? Well, go on, then. I’ll meet you there in a minute,” Harry says, now unbuttoning his trousers. When Draco heads towards the bathroom, Harry picks his sandwich back up and shoves the rest of it in his mouth before getting undressed.

When he’s fully naked, he opens the bathroom door, the entire room filled with fragrant steam so thick he can barely see Draco.

“Er?” Harry says, stepping into the bathroom. Draco stumbles forward, wand in hand.

“I think I may have overdone the steam a bit,” Draco says before promptly pitching forward. Harry misses him by just an inch because he can’t bloody see, and Draco lands face first on their tiled floor.

“I thought it would be sexy,” Draco whines from his position on the floor in Harry’s lap after Harry Rennervates him. There’s a red patch on his forehead and a trickle of blood coming out of his left nostril that Harry cleans up immediately.

“You were! You were so sexy,” Harry urges softly.

“But there was no arse groping. No kissing. No fucking. It was all so unpleasant!” Draco cries.

“Aw, babe. I’m sorry. I think we should take you to St Mungo’s just in case…”

Draco sighs, sitting up but swaying slightly. “Fine. Alright. But let’s not tell them the visit is due to my failed attempt at seduction.”

Harry stifles a laugh. “Of course not. C’mere,” he says, helping Draco to his feet. “You can seduce me after the Healer has ruled out a concussion, okay?”

“Okay. But only if you promise to take my new bathrobe off with your teeth later…”

III. That One Time with the Mongrel…

Draco’s writing out a pros and cons list to determine if they’ll be purchasing a cottage in Cornwall this summer when Harry appears in front of him, a black towel cradled against his chest that’s moving.

Draco quirks an eyebrow. “What in the fresh hell is wrong with that towel?”

Harry chuckles and pulls the towel back. Pressed against his chest is a tiny, muddy little Beagle.

“No,” Draco says firmly, setting his quill down.

“Wait! Don’t be so quick about it! C’mon, babe, she was all alone in the alley by the Ministry! No mum or dad in sight. I couldn’t leave her there!”

Draco closes his eyes against the utterly heartbroken look in Harry’s eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose. Of course, Harry would bring home an orphan, Draco had been preparing himself for this day since they married four years ago, only, he thought said orphan would be a wee babe, not a filthy mongrel. He exhales, nods, and opens his eyes, hand dropping away from his face. “Okay. Well. I refuse to have this mongrel in our house looking and smelling the way it does.”

Harry’s face lights up as if Draco has promised him the moon, and the stars, and all the love in his entire being. All over again.

“So, can we keep her?” Harry asks excitedly.

“Yes, Harry. We can keep her.”

Harry surges forward to press a kiss against Draco’s mouth, taking Draco off guard but aiming perfectly, nonetheless. Draco can’t help the laugh that bubbles up his throat as Harry begins to litter kisses all over his face, the mongrel caught between them. “You’re going to love her, I promise. Just look at her! She’s bloody adorable, isn’t she?” Harry says, holding the beast out to Draco.

Draco’s nose scrunches up as the dark-eyed creature stares up at him. She’s so small she could fit in Draco’s cupped hands, but her smell is atrocious. “Sure…” Draco says slowly, leaning away.

Harry hums happily. “I think we should name her—”

“—Beasty,” Draco interrupts, gaze flickering up to Harry. Harry rolls his eyes.

“No, silly! We should name her Pepper. Because she sorta smells like black pepper.”

Draco wants to suggest to Harry that perhaps they need to visit St Mungo’s to get his nose examined, because the last time Draco checked, black pepper smelled absolutely nothing like faeces. But he refrains, the joyous look on Harry’s face well worth going along with the madness.

“Sure, darling, whatever you want. Pepper it is. But she’s going to need a bath.”

Harry nods. “Right, yes, let’s take her upstairs to our bathroom.”

Draco smiles tightly. “Ah, no. I just had that tub put in. I don’t want this mong—Pepper staining the porcelain.”

“Oh, right, right. Okay, well, we can bathe her in the tub down here.”

Draco links his fingers together over his list. “Yes, excellent idea. So,” he starts, eyeing the now droopy-eyed, stinky monster. “Should we use a Petrificus Totalus or—?”

“DRACO!” Harry gasps, looking completely horrified. “We can’t put Pepper in a full body bind, are you insane? She’s a puppy!”

Draco frowns, his eyebrows knitting together. “She’s covered in grime and you expect me to manoeuvre this beast into the tub with its full cooperation?”

Harry glares at him. “She’s the sweetest thing, and I’m sure we won’t have any problems getting her into the bath, okay? Just follow my lead.”

Draco shrugs. Harry hasn’t led him astray yet.

When they finally enter the downstairs bathroom, tub now full of water at the perfect temperature and a mild soap, Draco suddenly gets an armful of Pepper as Harry begins to shed his jacket and jumper.

Draco stares down at her.

She is quite cute, with her large, bulbous black eyes, long, floppy ears, and wee-frowny mouth. Draco believes he can actually come to love this gross little beasty.

“Let’s get you all fresh and clean, sweetie,” Harry says, taking her back from Draco to place her in the water.

That’s when all hell breaks loose.

As Harry struggles to keep a hold on her, Pepper lifts her paws away from the water as if it’s fire, wild yelps escaping her as she struggles out of Harry’s grasp, dropping into the water first before lunging straight at Draco.

Draco catches her, her tiny little body soaking through his very nice, very clean jumper.

“Fucking fuck, fuck…” Draco mutters, staring down at Pepper, warmth exploding in his chest. She’s shivering against him and the anger and shock immediately leave his body as he cradles her, a defeated groan escaping him as a section of his heart unlocks and opens up to this little beasty.

Harry laughs. “Merlin, you are just so bloody adorable,” he says.

Draco scoffs, even as he stares down fondly at her, rocking her in his arms. “She’s a menace, that’s what she is.”

“No…I mean you,” Harry says, his eyes twinkling behind his glasses, cheeks dimpled. Draco can feel the heat of a blush spilling across his cheeks as Harry leans forward to kiss him. When they part, Harry glances down at Pepper before meeting Draco’s eyes.

“We’re building our little family,” Harry says proudly.

Draco opens his mouth to say something mocking, but can’t, not with the ball of emotion that’s suddenly lodged in his throat. Instead, he blinks several times, glancing down at Pepper who’s staring up at him with her large eyes, tail wagging.

“Oh,” Draco says softly. “I suppose we are.” He sniffs. “I think it’s best if we get Beasty Pepper to the vet instead, maybe they can help us give her a proper bath. Shall we?”

Draco smiles as Harry drapes an arm around his shoulders. “Yes, let’s do it, babe,” Harry responds tenderly.

#drarrymicrofic #Drarry Microfic #Drarry fic #Harry Potter #Draco Malfoy #Drarry #Drarry Squad #short fic #fluff #so much fluff #established relationship #harry x draco #married drarry #All fluff and zero pain #which I'm finna embrace as my new normal #hahahaha

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blackbat05 · 3 years ago

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Dog Days

Shangqi x Reader

A/N: Me seeing Simu with his dog. That’s the tweet. Hope you enjoy and as always, you know the drill! I literally wrote this whole thing in like an hour? Uninterrupted? And this is my 2nd write within 2 days? WOW!😯

Genre: PG-13

Warnings: Cute doggos🐶. That’s all. Come on, it shouldn’t be a warning even! I think I also proof read it but given that I almost wrote it at one go just be careful ya know🙂

***

You and Shangqi were neighbors - but you never really saw him because he was at Ta Lo when you just moved in.

Your hours could also be irregular as a youth worker making all those home visits and street drifting. I would also expect Shangqi to be pre occupied with official Avenger matters now that he’s on their radar.

So when the weekends rolled around, the both of you had looked forward to your much needed break.

Shangqi would be the kind who is religious with their weekend morning runs - getting his head in the game. Plus, he likes the vibes that the neighborhood gives.

Ok, you caught me here - Shangqi makes it a point to visit the Char Siew Bao stall after his runs. That settles his breakfast for the morning.

As for you, you were living alone in the big city together with your Daschund, Churro. He was your baby but you also had to make sure Churro didn’t get too fat. You certainly didn’t want any health complications to jack up your existing bills.

So here the both of you were, taking a walk in the park. Putting on your favorite playlist, you enjoyed the ballad flowing into your ears.

Everything was going well. A little too well.

All of a sudden you felt the leash tightening. Eventually, the sneaky little bugger ran off to who knows where.

Like owner, like dog. Churro was attracted to the delicious smell that was carried all the way to the park by the wind.

Shangqi raises his recently purchased Char Siew Bao in his hand, looking at it greedily. He couldn’t wait to devour this.

Suddenly, he feels a flurry of movement at his feet and then paws scratching against his leg. Shangqi looks down to see a ridiculously adorable, short-legged dog trying to climb up his leg. Must be the food.

‘Hey bud! Where’s your owner?’ Shangqi squats down, giving Churro a few belly rubs.

‘Churro! Where are you boy!’ You finally catch side of your loose dog, being rubbed by… Shangqi? The very same Shangqi who had just been recruited by the Avengers?

You wasted no time making your way over. ‘Oh my gosh! I’m so sorry, I hope Churro wasn’t a nuisance!’ You apologized profusely, picking your squirming dog up.

Shangqi momentarily looses his train of thoughts. Why did he think that Churro’s owner was probably a young kid or maybe even an older adult? He didn’t expect you - a girl who managed to be so effortlessly good looking to pop up right in front of him.

‘Uh yeah… no worries,’ Shangqi tries to compose himself. ‘He was no trouble at all.’

Churro flops himself over, belly facing the sky as he tried to lick you. And oh boy… the laughter that emitted from you was nothing more than angelic.

Oh come on now, the sun rays that was peeking behind from your messy hair? That was a cherry on top. Now the gods were just simply messing with him.

‘Churro!’ You laughed. ‘Boy stop it now! Don’t embarrass me!’

After getting him to settle down, you decided to walk with Shangqi around the park to get to know each other better.

And that’s how you both knew that you were neighbors. ‘That’s crazy!’ He smiles at you, secretly glad not to end the day as simply knowing a friendly stranger.

‘Glad to know that I have such a dependable neighbor.’ You beamed at him, Churro leading the way.

Was today a time for Churro to suddenly act up? More so in front of an Avenger? An incredibly good looking Avenger?

A duck from the nearby pond had caught your dog’s eye. You should have anticipated what happened next but you were too caught up in the conversation.

Churro went absolutely bonkers - chasing down the poor duck in a full circle around you and Shangqi. Churro’s sudden spurt in energy had caught you off guard once again as the leash followed behind the energetic Daschund, wrapping you two together by the ankles.

‘Oof!’ You find yourself face to face with Shangqi. You would have enjoyed it but you didn’t want him to have a close up look of your face that was turning positively tomato.

‘God I have no idea what’s wrong with him today,’ you huffed in mock annoyance, attempting to untangle the mess that Churro made.

‘Let me,’ Shangqi chuckles, gently unwinding the leash, passing it back to you. Just then, his phone beeps in his jacket. ‘Oh great,’ he reads the message with a groan. ‘Um…’

‘Let me guess, avenger stuff?’ He nods, biting his lips. Shangqi really didn’t want to end this conversation so abruptly. And neither did you.

You asked him for his phone to punch your number in. ‘Call me for lunch - or dinner some time,’ you toss him back the phone. ‘I know a great that makes some mean Beef Noodles.’

With that, you waved him good bye as you carried a grumpy sausage away from the park. You were grateful for the assist but you really needed to have a conversation with this dog of yours.

Watching you leave, Shangqi sends a quick message to Katy, recounting to her all the events. As he leaves the park, his phone beeps again with a reply from his best friend.

‘Don’t mess it up this time jackass.’

Typical. Typical Katy.

***

A/N: As I typed Char Siew Bao - BOOM I wanted one too😋 HAHAHA! Hope you enjoyed this unexpected headcanon!😉

#shang chi #xu shangqi #shangqi imagine #shangqi x reader #simu liu #shang chi x reader #shangqi #shangqi headcannons #shang chi and the legend of the ten rings #shangqi x reader fluff #shang chi x reader fluff

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mycrofts-gunbrella · 3 years ago

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Caring is the Greatest Advantage (Mycroft Holmes x Reader) Part 4

A/N- Hoping this one has come out a bit happier than the last instalment! I’m trying my best to not write Mycroft too out of character and focusing on how much more emotion he had displayed in season 4.. I have a few more chapters planned out so far and I am hoping to, at the very least, update weekly! I hope you all enjoy this chapter and, please, don’t forget to leave a comment letting me know what you think! Kind words or constructive criticism are always welcomed and inspire me to write more! Thank you!

Word Count: 4416

"Did you fancy doing anything else today? Well, this evening I suppose suits better." You asked Mycroft, clearing up the plates from dinner. Dinner here being a term used loosely- after the emotional turmoil only a few hours ago at the revelation of both yesterday's events and your inner attractions, neither of you particularly felt like cooking, or eating for that matter, and settled on a sandwich just to provide some energy.

The energy of the room had felt different now, now that everything was in the open, now that the pair of you had finally broken that barrier to move further in your relationship. It was nice, calming. The pair of you weren't children, the confirmation of shared attraction didn't mean you immediately jumped each other, or feel the need to be constantly touching in some aspect or another- but the mere idea of knowing that the attraction between you was mutual, and that you wanted to act upon that was more than enough for now. It felt incredible.

"Mmm, what did you have in mind?" He hummed back, standing from the small table in the kitchen to help you with the washing up- not that you weren't fully capable of doing so yourself, it just felt nice acting a little domestic- electing to wash the dishes himself and leaving you to dry them and put them back in the cupboard. You shrugged, closing the cupboard's door and leaning against the counter.

"St James' is just round the corner isn't it? We could go for a walk? The weather is oddly nice for September." You suggested, grinning as you watched Mycroft look down at his current attire of jogging bottoms and a band t-shirt. You didn't need the power of a Holmes to know what that face meant. "Compromise. You don't have to wear the joggers in public, but you also cannot wear a suit, I swore against it."

"If you're suggesting for me to leave my home in my undergarments you've completely lost your mind." You looked at Mycroft and allowed his brain to think a little more. "Oh bugger you can't mean-"

"You and I both know you have a pair of jeans in your wardrobe Myc. Joggers or Jeans, the choice is yours." Mycroft opened and closed his mouth multiple times before rolling his eyes and muttering something under his breath that sounded Latin. "Oi at least have the decency to do it in French so I have a chance of understanding what you say when you swear at me." You quipped, jokingly throwing two fingers up at him as he gave in and sulked up the stairs.

"Tu seras la mort de moi." His voice was still quiet, but loud enough for you to understand him.

"Et pourtant tu serais perdu sans moi." You shouted back, teasing a little. Mycroft didn't answer but smiled to himself as he walked into his bedroom, agreeing with you completely but too high in his pride to admit it. Downstairs, you rummaged through the other bags from Anthea, feeling thankful as you saw that she had equally bought you some hoodies too, pulling on a maroon one before grabbing and sliding on your boots. A few minutes later you heard Mycroft's voice from upstairs, muffled completely excluding the 'goodbye' that sounded as he left the bedroom and made his way down the stairs. "Planning my arrest were you? Should I be expected to enter the park to MI6 agents dragging me into a car and shipping me off somewhere for forcing the British government into denim?" You turned around and saw him in his change of attire, whistling approvingly at the sight of him in the dark grey pair of jeans you had bought him a few years ago- 'because you cannot walk into a pub wearing anything purchased on Savile Row, Mycroft'- and the navy blue blazer he had chosen to match with them; the small evidence of The Who's logo peeking out slightly between the lapels. It was seldom Mycroft wore such casual clothing, but feeling welcomed by your reaction certainly made him more comfortable. Maybe at some point you'd tell him it's because those jeans make his bum look incredible. Mycroft's cheeks flushed and he shook his head, ignoring the noise of encouragement you had made.

"MI5, actually, but do not be too alarmed- I've insisted they only use force if absolutely necessary." He teased, hoisting his scarf from the coat rack by the front door and expertly wrapping it around his neck. You jabbed him lightly in the arm, knowing he was joking but equally wanting to make sure the phone call wasn't from Sherlock already pestering him about something or another. "It's fine, truly. Nothing to cause government upset.. only public." You went to question what he meant but was instead caught off guard by him eyeing you up. "Are you really going out.. in that?" Mycroft gestured to your clothing and for a brief moment you felt a little insecure, frowning slightly at him. He caught on immediately and apologised. "No- I mean.. You will likely get cold, will you not? A hooded sweatshirt isn't the warmest item of clothing I can offer you." You grinned at his concern and just passed him his beloved umbrella (it wasn't raining, but that didn't make a difference) before opening the front door.

"Myc I have pulled bodies out of the River Thames wearing nothing more than a pencil skirt and a blouse, I will be fine." You grabbed his hand and tugged him outside, shutting the door behind him. He wanted to argue back but he knew any attempt would be futile- you both knew that you could be more stubborn than Mycroft and so he didn't wish to cause harm on what could be a splendid evening. You took your normal position beside Mycroft, your hand resting in the crook of his elbow, while his rested in his pocket, the other holding onto his umbrella handle. The chill of London's air brushed the back of your neck, leading you to pull the hood of your jumper over your head before continuing your walk, not allowing Mycroft to have the pleasure of knowing he was right. but also not missing the smirk that tugged at his lips as he noticed- of course he bloody did.

The short walk to the park was in a comfortable silence. Mycroft found himself thinking over today's events, how even he couldn't have predicted that this would be how it would end. He was certain you would have left earlier, he'd even prepared himself for the chances of a punch to his nose in anger, and so never in his right mind did he expect you to stay, let alone embrace him while he cried, forgive him for the unforgivable, to... kiss him. He felt childish thinking back on it, but he kept replaying that moment over in his mind. It wasn't a proper kiss, it was barely there at all, and yet, if Mycroft thought hard enough he could still feel the light pressure of your lips on his, and it left him eager for more.

"Penny for your thoughts?" Your voice distracted him as you walked down the final street before the park. He blinked, looking down at you, at your joint arms and offering a smile.

"Just that I didn't expect today to happen the way that events turned out." You opened your mouth to make a comment about how Mycroft knew everything but he cut you off. "I deduce, I cannot predict the future, Y/N."

"But you can mind read?" He raised his other hand, one finger to his mouth in a 'shhh' motion and you grinned.

"Penny for yours?" You hummed in response as you looked at yourself in the reflection of a car window and pouted, rounding the corner to walk through the park's gates.

"I look like an egg." Mycroft let out a rare laugh, caught off guard by your answer. "That you do, my dear. But a rather beautiful egg." It was your turn to flush now. Getting any form of compliment from Mycroft Holmes was a rarity, and when they did come to surface they were usually on one's intellectual skills, or the times where you'd go out to a fancy restaurant and he would claim 'your dress' was beautiful, but never you directly. Your lack of response made Mycroft nervous and he spoke again. "Apologies, upon reflection that was a very backhanded compliment." You squeezed his arm and nudged yourself in closer, welcoming in the warmth his body was emitting.

"No no, I am incredibly flattered to be deemed a beautiful egg." You laughed. "It would make a lovely epitaph don't you thi-." He tensed. "Yeah, sorry, bit soon." You continued your walk for a little further before something clicked in your mind and you stopped in your tracks. Mycroft stumbled a little at the sudden cease in movement and shot you a confused glare. "Myc.. There's nobody else here."

"Excellent observation, Y/N. I now understand why you're so well respected down the Yard."

"Git. I meant.. we're in one of the most tourist centred parts of London, in the early evening, and there's nobody here." Mycroft raised his nose a little in the air, a movement witnessed by anybody else that would be mistaken for smugness, or being pretentious. But on Mycroft you knew it meant he felt a little embarrassed, raising his head ever so higher so you couldn't see the dusting of red on his cheeks. "The phone call... Mycroft bloody Holmes did you abuse your power as a government official to rent out the entirety of St James' park so that nobody would have to see you in your jeans?" He avoided your gaze and you began to laugh, removing your hand from his arm as you wiped a tear that spilled down your cheek out of amusement before tugging him over to a bench that was a few feet away.

"Should I not have?" His tone was light, relaxed knowing that you weren't mad with him and that you found the situation entertaining.

"It's not that.. It's just that nobody else WOULD." You rubbed your numbing fingers together and tucked them inside the sleeve of your hoodie. "You. Are an extraordinary man, Mr Holmes. You never cease to amaze me." He smiled softly, tentatively reaching over to take your half sleeve covered hand into his own pale one.

"And you, are freezing." He commented. You dismissed his assessment and instead focused on the view in front of you, the slight appearance of the London Eye poking above some trees from across the Thames.

"After living here for so long, sometimes I forget how beautiful London truly is." You spoke, shuffling the rest of your hand from your sleeve to lace your fingers between his. He hummed in agreement as he watched on. "And you stole this view from thousands of visitors this evening for the sake of your own dignity and so we could be alone. What do you have? People guarding every entrance? A few loitering around somewhere to make sure there were no stragglers? Christ are they armed? It just so.. so.." Mycroft felt himself become uncomfortable.

"I can be a very selfish person Y/N, you know that."

"I was going to say sexy but now I feel as though I'm not being as sympathetic to the tourists as you were expecting me to be." Mycroft tensed again and you leant to rest your head on his shoulder. "You should probably try to get used to that. I've been waiting a fairly long time to actively be allowed to say things like that to you and it not sound really weird, so I'm making up for lost time."

"How long?" His voice was quiet, likely his mind recovering from you, for the second time that day, calling him such a thing. It wasn't that he didn't like it, he was extremely flattered, but he just found it very hard to believe that you truly thought that way about him; that anyone could. You thought for a moment, childishly using your fingers to count.

"How long since I realised I had a thing for you? As of today it's been 5 years, 3 months and 17 days.. or, in less creepy terms to not make it seem like I've been counting, 2 weeks before I broke up with Thomas. It didn't feel fair to keep dragging him along, especially when I started to look forward to meeting you for dinner much more than I did meeting him for our weekly date night. He's a lovely guy and deserved more than that. I tried for those couple of weeks to get over it but I couldn't." Mycroft stayed silent but you could practically hear his brain whirring. "How long did I wish that you somehow felt the same way about me? Probably 5 minutes after the last thought." You laughed, feeling ridiculous for sounding like a school girl with a crush. "What about you? Pining after me for long or just spontaneously after I kissed you?" You joked, trying to make the whole ordeal feel a little less embarrassing. Mycroft shifted in his seat, laying his focus in the warmth that he could feel spreading to your hand that he held in his. He wasn't the type for large exclamations of emotion, or really speaking about the way he feels at all. But, upon hearing your revelation, he bit the bullet and spoke.

"I have never been the kind of man to experience typical human emotion. Until yourself and Gregory came along, I hadn't even the experience of having acquaintances, let alone.. friends." His eyes stayed forward, watching as the London Eye rotated slowly and focusing on its movements. "Approximately 6 months prior to the time you have mentioned, I began to realise that the way I felt towards you was far different to the way I felt about Gregory, and not the same way I feel towards Sherlock. I pressed the thought into the back of my mind for the better part of a year, before Sherlock told me that you were 'obviously' experiencing some kind of affection towards me, which I told him was preposterous, but from then the thought of you in that aspect felt welcoming. I had never expected in my life to have those kinds of emotions for anybody, let alone have them reciprocated, but I still chose to ignore them. I chose to keep you as my friend rather than risk losing you at all.. Then Eurus happened. Seeing you on that.. screen. Knowing what they could do.. Knowing I could lose you anyway.. it flicked something inside of my brain that made me regret not talking to you about it sooner. I was trying to work out the right way to bring it up, but then you did it for me." The side of his mouth flicked up into a small smile and disappeared, the embarrassment of talking so much on emotion taking over.

"You still look cute when you're embarrassed." You commented, not wanting to elaborate on his wordings more. It meant everything to you that he had even said that much, so you weren't going to push him further out of his comfort zone by pestering on. "Though as much as I'd love to look at your little flustered cheeks in this moonlight, I have to admit that you were right and I am bloody freezing, can we go back?" You took your hand back from his briefly to rub against your other one, a feeble attempt to bring warmth back into your fingertips. Though warmth soon enveloped round your neck as you felt Mycroft begin to wrap his cashmere scarf around you, folding and wrapping it expertly until you felt comfortably warm, taking a moment to breathe in the scent of his cologne that loitered in the fabric.

"I'm always right." He grinned smugly, standing from the bench and offering his elbow out to you once more. You nudged it away, missing the disappointed look on Mycroft's face, before instead grabbing his hand, lacing your fingers between his and tucking them into his pocket for warmth, your other arm folding over your body to hold his arm.

"I'll prove you wrong on that at some point, mark my words." You beamed, starting the walk back to Queen Anne's Gate and relishing in the warmth of the taller man beside you. Mycroft couldn't hide the small smile that appeared on his face from your action, choosing himself to push closer and close the gap between you even more. He swiftly pulled his phone from his pocket, leaving his umbrella dangling from his wrist, as he made a quick call to Anthea.

"I suppose we better let the tourists have their park back.. at least for now." He spoke, more to you than to Anthea but nonetheless she relayed the message to security who began to pack up and reopen the gates to the public. It had barely been a minute before they had all left, all except the PA in question who watched on fondly upon seeing the pair of you leaving, fighting the urge to text the man that it was about damn time.

***

The walk back was incredibly quick and you soon found yourselves walking back through the front door, discarding layers of warmer clothing, Mycroft opting to put the sweats back on in place of his jeans.

"I'm thinking we have a cuppa and then head to bed? I'm knackered." You proposed, flicking the kettle on and settling back to rest on the edge of the kitchen counter. Mycroft hummed in agreement, reaching to grab the necessities. You quickly kicked off from the counter and wandered back into the front room, pulling Mycroft in tow. "Seems as good a time as any to have some music on, Greg made me this mixtape a few weeks ago. He said it's some classics I already love, and a bunch that I'm going to, so it sounds pretty promising." From behind you Mycroft opened his mouth to speak but you cut him off. "If you're about to chastise me for calling a CD a mixtape, don't waste your breath. Mix-CD just sounds horrendous." He stayed silent, inwardly amused at the fact you hadn't even seen his face and yet knew exactly what he was going to say, and you called him the 'mind-reader'. The Kinks began to play quietly through the speakers, 'Have a Cuppa Tea' fittingly being the first song to play on shuffle. Usually you despised any type of mixtape, or 'best of' albums, claiming rather strongly that they defeated the point of artists bringing out the original albums, ruining the story behind each one. But when it came to Greg you trusted him completely with music taste and had never been disappointed thus far. The click of the kettle in the kitchen sounded, making you walk into the other room and prepare your drinks- you hadn't bothered asking Mycroft the way he had it, you had that burnt to memory years ago. Perching back onto the sofa besides Mycroft, you handed him the beverage and sighed in content.

"You missed the Sex Pistols. Forgive me if I cannot hear you for the next 20 minutes, I have a feeling that my ears have bled." He teased, taking a sip of his tea and settling it on the table beside him. Before you had a chance to answer, another Kinks song began to sound in the room, the slower rythm of Waterloo Sunset.

"You're going to pay for saying those things, you know I love the Sex Pistols." You pouted, moving your own tea to the coffee table. "I think, Mr Holmes, you need to dance with me in ways of apology." You grinned, standing up and holding your hand out to him. "It's a rare slower song from Lestrade's musical repertoire so I'm not expecting you to start headbanging or anything.."

"Do people slow dance to Rock music normally?" He asked, smiling.

"No they don't.. but when have you ever been a man who follows the rules of normality?" He took your hand at that, standing himself up and leading you to an emptier part of the room, tea forgotten. You softly placed your hands on his shoulders and rested your head on his chest, his reaching round to settle on the small of your back as you began to sway together slowly, the only sound that could be heard was the music and Mycroft's erratic heartbeat that he was sure meant he was going to have a heart attack. "See, this is nice." He hummed in agreement, the vibrations of his deep voice reaching his chest and vibrating against your cheek. "We could have done this years ago.." You commented, thinking on all the lost time you had with Mycroft, all of the years you had listened to music together and could have danced, holding each other as close as you were now.

"We'd have struggled being as Gregory only gave you this CD a few weeks ago.." You laughed and swatted his shoulder.

"You know what I mean.. oh the power of cowardice and fear." You closed your eyes, holding onto this moment as though you had never wanted it to end. Alas, the song began to come to a close, and yet neither of you made an attempt to move. The instrumental introduction to your favourite Clash song began to play and you grinned. "Now this is a song. I'm surprised Greg put it on here, I'd have thought he'd be sick of it by now with the amount of times I play it at work." As the vocals began you felt Mycroft stiffen in your arms, the fingers on the hands on your back began to dig into your skin slightly, not painful, but protective and his heartbeat picked up pace even more.

"Could we skip this one? Please?" His tone of voice was different this time, not the calm, relaxed voice that he had earlier, nor the playful one he had only moments ago. He sounded.. unsettled.

"You're joking right? Mycroft this relationship will have a rocky start if you force me to turn of The Clash at all, let alone bloody 'Death or Glory.'" He tensed again hearing the song's title.

"Please.. it's the one.." Your brain began to piece together his words and you lifted your head from its position on his chest, looking up and seeing the pained expression on his face. Of course, out of every song in the world, this was the one you were listening to when Mycroft said he saw you on the screen, inches away from death. You closed your eyes and sighed.

"I'm not letting this happen. I'm okay, I'm here, alive. This is my happy song, and I have so many wonderful memories from it." It wasn't a lie. The sound held memories of countless car rides with Greg, it was the song that played when you had the phone call about your promotion at work. It had even been playing when your sister phoned up to let you know that she was pregnant with your niece. Both times. It was a bloody good song. "I understand why you don't like it, but you just need to associate it with something better, give it a new memory." You moved your arms from his shoulders to wrap around his neck, shifting one hand to place onto his cheek as you reached yourself up on your tiptoes to become closer to his height.

You caught his focus, making his eyes land on your own rather than being dazed as his mind went back to you dancing on that screen. You leaned yourself in closer, just enough for your lips to ghost over his own, before closing the gap. Unlike the last peck you had given him, this was a far more passionate kiss, giving him the emotion you had kept pent up for the last five years. His grip on your back softened, one hand reaching to your upper back to push you closer to him, his lips moving against yours beautifully. His body began to relax, the tension in his shoulders disappeared as he leant himself forward, easing you back flat on your feet. Had you have not known any better, you would have never guessed that Mycroft had never kissed somebody before; he was just a bloody quick learner. You ran your tongue along his bottom lip softly, grinning as he let out a quiet moan. The need for air soon took over and you allowed yourself to separate, not moving any further than leaving your foreheads touching. "There. Now when we hear it, that's what you need to think of instead. Christ knows I will be." You laughed, your hands guiding themselves from his neck slowly down his chest and pushing him back slightly. "I'm going to go shower, so meet me upstairs? I know I promised more Hardy but I would really like to go to sleep if it's all the same to you." Mycroft only nodded, feeling you peck his lips once more before disappearing out of the room. The song had finished by now, having been replaced by who Mycroft believed were The Rolling Stones, but he wasn't really listening.

He stood still in his spot, mind replaying over the moment as he smiled fondly to himself. He could hear the shower running upstairs along with your voice, muffled but clear enough to understand that you were still singing along to the last song. Placing his fingers against his lips, Mycroft tried to imitate the pressure you had placed on them moments ago, thinking about how your lips felt against his, properly this time, not just the two second thing on the sofa this morning. His chest felt warm, stomach flipping and in a rare moment Mycroft felt genuinely happy. In all his life up to this moment, caring had never been an advantage, had always led to him getting hurt. But maybe, just maybe, you were right about how you were going to prove him wrong one day. And he hoped to whatever sentient being that may or not be watching over him that you were going to prove him wrong about that.

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excellentexecution · 2 years ago

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@niccolahiromithomas asked: "Daaaayuuuuummmmmmmnnnnnn! Lo did not tell me his Mama was so damn fine. I would like to take her for a ride. I'm sure his old man ain't workin' her out right given he ain't here. Shit! I wouldn't want to be anywhere else if I had that sexy, thick ass to tap every night," Trevor mumbles to himself after watching Niccola bend over down the hall as she gathered bed linens from the closet for him. Unbeknownst to the young man, the other Hart man of the house so happened to get some last minute time off and had just arrived while he had been out to the comic shop with his son.

Logan had been looking forward to the trip for days, then. Saved his allowance just for the occasion, his sought-after comic book well within reach, only thing left was for he and his father to make the voyage to the local shop. It wasn’t a promise that Bret was willing to break. Logan had been doing well in school - his latest report card showed his hard work paid off - several Bs and two As. Chores around the house completed when asked, too, the boy deserved a special treat, a perfectly pressed comic wrapped in clear plastic protection. It was a reward that he earned. That, and Trevor being allowed to spend the night in good sleepover fun, a classmate of Logan’s that the Hitman thought was a kindhearted friend. Maybe a little foul-mouthed - his parents were a rowdy pair themselves - but not someone that was of great concern. Bret hadn’t had any worry at all about leaving the other boy alone with Niccola, not while he and his beloved Logan made their trek out to the shop. Just a couple of minutes to drive to, a few more to make the purchase, Bret’s wad of cash already in hand, prepared to pay and spoil his son just because he could, thereafter hurried home so that the two teenaged kids could share in reading the newest of comic editions, a limited release. But that all changed once the father and son duo finally reentered the home, stepped through the front door and eyed up the scene before their eyes.

Logan gone to the kitchen for a snack, the cabinet doors opened then reopened, small hands not yet aged by life searching earnestly for something tasty, Bret was the one who stood there in the entrance way, by himself with disappointment painted on his face. Trevor wasn’t the only person who had ever made comment about Niccola. Some more tame than others - her body a most favorite of topic points - a handful that danced on thin ice of being considered flat-out smut. Like always, Bret would try to keep his cool. Responsible in both mind and action; collected in his thoughts for he couldn’t give way to emotions that dared to spill over, violence never the answer. But even so, Trevor was definitely the youngest. A fact that broke the Hitman’s heart more so than what was actually said, suspicion as to where he heard such language blamed on his mother and father. For all the obscene garbage he so confidently shared aloud, obviously not aware of such, for Bret still caught sound of it, his parents were far worse. Gossip trash was their prized conversation starters. Inner family disfunctions always on their lips, when it came to the Hart home, they didn’t offer an ounce of mercy.

As was gathered through the grapevine of neighborhood and school parents, Niccola was unsatisfied. Utterly miserable when it came to the bedroom - her husband’s recovery really had put a damper on their love life. Forever changed it, walked it thirty paces back and not one pace forward, ruined whatever wonder was still had. They weren’t the same, so was whispered. As good as dead - Niccola should go out and get herself a man who still could get it up - the Hart husband selfish for keeping her prisoner in a sexless, boring marriage. If only they knew. For though it took time to get them to where they needed to be, the Hitman not as quick as he used to be, arousal a pesky little bugger to keep steady, they weren’t yearning for more. Their love making was amazing still. Perhaps even better than before, touches across soft skin savored for longer, cherished in ways that Bret and Niccola never thought about before. Like it would be their last, because, at one moment, it almost was. No rumors were ever given attention to. Not of those sorts - the ones that didn’t matter in the end. Least not from parents who seemed to be jealous from within their own unions, from what was eavesdropped about Trevor’s own, it was they that were joyless. Desperate for love that wasn’t real for them; Bret couldn’t fault their son entirely. But still, he hurt the elder male so.

“Trevor?”

Bret said gently, delicately, as if he were approaching an injured baby fawn and not some boy who spoke about his wife as if she were nothing more than a piece of meat, an object for pleasure and none else. “I guess you weren’t expecting me and Logan to be back so soon. Well, we’re here now, and I know that Lo has been dying to show you his comic book. I don’t think I need to have a discussion with you about what you’ve just said. I know that you know it was wrong. And not only that, but that it was also incredibly disrespectful to Mrs. Hart. Y’know, I always thought of you as a good kid. I still do. But this behavior, I don’t want it in my house. I don’t want it near my wife or my children. I don’t want this to affect your relationship with Logan, he really likes you, but, son, it needs to end here. I don’t ever want to hear you speaking about my wife like that again. Because, you’re not just disrespecting Logan’s mother, but our whole family, and I know that you’re smart enough as to understand why that would upset me. You do understand why, don’t you, son?”

“Go run along. You and Logan should be spending time together. I’ll be making dinner with Mrs. Hart for you kids in the next hour or two.” He explained, lightly squeezing Trevor’s shoulder in compassion, in fatherly affection that the boy didn’t seem to be receiving at home, second chances. “You’re a great guy, Trevor. Don’t let others influence you. Don’t be like those negative people around you - you’re better than that. You’re so much more than it. Go on. Go see Logan.”

Giving space so the boy could meet with his curly haired companion, Logan and his very wide, beaming smile, Bret walked to where Niccola was finishing up with getting the required linens. An old set that was always saved just in case - leaning against the wall, arms crossed over a broad chest, serious deliberation upon slightly sad expressed lips, a frown.

“I think we need to have a talk with Trevor’s mom and dad. Poor kid’s got a lot on his mind. He needs somebody, Nickie.”

And true to his words, Bret would be there for him. With either stern discipline or fatherhood kindness, the child would get himself straightened out. For no one, none on any corner of the planet, would freely insult Bret’s precious family, the mother of his children nor the babies themselves. Not as long as he still breathed.

___

#[ Niccolahiromithomas ]#Revenge of the Survivor | WWE Era #Making Love Out of Leather and Lace | Bret x Niccola #[ Hitman bout to lay the law down on somebody else's son <3 ]

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marvel-and-mischief · 4 years ago

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Daisies

Part of my Floriography Series

Pairing: Pero Tovar x F!Reader Words: 2700 Warnings: gambling, swearing, alcohol, rough handling by guards, allusions to prostitution (it’s part of a scam), lighthearted punishment in the stocks Synopsis: Pero seems to always be around at the wrong time to sabotage your scams and join in with your punishments. Enemies to Lovers (sorta)

Daisies: attachment, new beginnings

💐

“Now remember, ten or above wins you double your stake, below ten and your stake is mine.”

The scruffy drunkard sat opposite you let out a bellowing laugh, the nasty stench of his rotten teeth hitting your nostrils. His movements sloshed the tankard of mead in his hand, spilling some of its contents on the table between you. You had to hold back your look of disgust and smile through the uncomfortableness.

“I won’t lose. Throw ‘em, lady,” he slurred. You had to fight off the smirk threatening to show on your face as you shook the two, six sided dice in your right hand. You had nothing to worry about, the dice were weighted, favoring the lower numbers and therefore guaranteeing your win every time.

“Alright, but when you win you owe me a drink!” you winked cheekily at your mark, catching his eye whilst you threw the dice on the table. The more you distracted them the less chance there was of getting caught in your scam.

The dice came to a stop and you both looked down at the same time; a three and a four, earning a groan of disappointment from the few onlookers that had gathered to watch.

“Better luck next time,” you grinned, gathering up your dice and winnings as the man muttered something unintelligible and grumpily left the table, “anyone else want a go?”

“I will.”

You froze at the voice in your ear and saw the figure of a familiar man take the recently vacant seat opposite you. Pero Tovar always seemed to show up in your life when you least wanted him to. He was an annoying ghost and you could never shake off his haunting. You should gather up your earnings and leave but something kept you rooted to the table. And the longer you took to contemplate your next move, the more the drunkards in the tavern wanted to know what was going on. Soon you’d attracted quite the crowd.

“I said, I want a go.”

You looked into his brown eyes, the ones that sparkled with humor, always at your expense.

“It may be too difficult for your small brain to understand how to play,” you said through gritted teeth.

“Then let us play a different one. I will throw the dice, and if the total is lower than ten, I win every penny you have taken tonight.”

The bastard. The only reason he would suggest playing it that way was if he knew how you were cheating the game. You clenched your jaw in frustration.

“I think I am ready to take my leave-“

“But we have an audience!” Pero smirked, raising his voice and waving a hand at the tavern full of people who hurrahed, eager for you to throw the dice. You were cornered, physically by the wall of people around you and mentally by Pero who knew if you refused the game it would look suspicious.

“Fine,” you grumbled, faking an over the top smile, twirling the dice in one hand and clenching your other hand into a fist under the table. Stay calm, don’t show him how much he was getting to you, you told yourself. You’d chase him down afterwards and with a knife to his throat take your money back. That would show him.

You dropped the dice on the table and leaned back in your seat to see Pero staring at you. You didn’t need to see the dice to know you had lost, the weights that usually worked for you were against you this time, and the tavern goers yelled in surprise and delight, some were even joyfully patting Pero on the shoulder in congratulations. All the while Pero was smiling at you, self satisfied at playing you at your own game.

You pulled the drawstring bag off your hip and threw it across the table, hitting Pero in the chest.

“Better luck next time,” Pero mocked your earlier words, “would you like a drink to drown your sorrows in?” Pero threw the bag of coins in the air and caught it successfully.

“Oh bugger off, Pero,” you hissed, leaving the tavern in a huff. You didn’t want to see him again this night. You’d get him back next time.

The boy was young, still a teenager but old enough to know better. His clothes were of the finest materials, gold threads held the pieces together and added beautiful patterns to the front and shoulders of the jacket. He even had a long, shiny feather in his cap. He stuck out in the crown like a sore thumb.

You had been scouting the market for marks all morning and he was the only person you thought worthy of relieving of coin. He had a guard with him, who was more interested in looking at the women walking by, and his coin purse was dangling enticingly down by his hip. It would have been much easier for a child to run along and snip the string with a knife but the only ones you’d found were hand in hand with their parents. So you were on your own.

You were hidden down the side of a building, in the shadows and away from prying eyes. Or so you thought until you caught the flash of a grin out the corner of your eye.

Pero Tovar was mirroring your position on the other side of the marketplace, the wealthy man in the middle of you both. Pero moved his gaze to said man and it was then you knew he was after your mark.

It had been only a couple of nights since he took all your money at the tavern and you’d be damned if you were going to let him swindle you of even more coin. You had to get to the mark before Pero did, by any means necessary.

You tried to plead with him, subtly shaking your head but all Pero did was lean against the wall and offer you a warning glare.

The mark was buying a trinket from a stool, handing his purchase over to the guard to carry and looking around for where to go next. This was your only chance.

You untied the string at the top of your tunic, letting it open up to display your chest more than you would usually allow. But you needed a distraction and a way of getting close to the man without suspicion. You pulled out the small scissors from your boot and held them comfortably in your dominant hand, shaking down your sleeve to keep them out of sight.

You tried to ignore Pero but as soon as you slipped out of the alley he did the same, heading directly for the wealthy man.

Unfortunately whilst you were gaining speed through jogging movements, Pero’s purposeful strides were larger than yours, meaning you both reached the man at the same time.

“Sir, could I offer my services-“

“You seem too respectable to want the services of a harlot-“

“Harlot? Excuse me, I am so sorry, this ruffian-“

“Ruffian! You should show some respect-“

Your attempts to get close enough to grab the purse were scuppered by Pero subtly pulling you away with a hand around your waist. And as much as you tried to pry him off you, he was strong and stubborn, rendering your scam completely useless. The wealthy man’s guard dragged him away with a growl in your direction to stop you from pursuing them.

“What was that!?” Those words had been on the tip of your tongue but Pero spoke them first. You looked at him with a confused frown.

“What?”

“What were you thinking? That guard could have killed you.”

“Oh do not pretend you care for my health, you wanted that purse to yourself.”

“I did, but when I saw you were going to get yourself in serious trouble I had to come and save you instead of getting the coins for myself. You are welcome, idiota.”

You stared at Pero in disbelief. Was he expecting gratefulness? You couldn’t quite believe what he was saying.

“I have been doing this for years and I haven’t gotten caught once. I would appreciate it if you didn’t save me again,” you huffed, tying up the strings of your shirt before stomping away from him.

If you never saw Pero Tovar again it would be too soon.

You were mad. But you were mad that Pero was right more than you were mad at your actual predicament.

You had been playing a simple card trick on an unsuspecting traveller, one that you’d played hundreds of times, it had never gone wrong. Somehow the extra card up your sleeve (the one you used to cheat with) had slipped out and fallen to the floor and a guard that had been watching had spotted it and arrested you before you could run.

So that was how you found yourself in the stocks all morning, set in the middle of the courtyard of the castle grounds for everyone to laugh at. A few delighted children had thrown various rotten vegetables in your face, most adults had taken pity on you and walked on by. Your back was hurting from being hunched over, your feet were aching on the hard, stone ground. But none of that compared to the pain of seeing your foe being dragged towards you.

“Please, I beg you, this is punishment enough, do not put that man anywhere near me.”

“Anyone would think you hated me,” Pero grumbled, humor in his voice despite being guided towards his punishment.

You felt the top half of the stocks lifting off the back of your neck, a second of relief, as the guards situated Pero next to you. His hand was so close to yours you could touch him, not that you wanted to. The stocks were dropped down and locked in place and the guards left you alone.

“You bring me nothing but bad luck,” you mumbled, huffing as you shifted on your feet.

“Because I was not there to save you this time?” You could hear the smirk in his voice which irritated you.

“Because I have never been caught, and then you start showing up everywhere I go and I am caught, and to make things worse, I have to be punished next to you!” You laughed humorlessly, narrowly dodging a handful of what smells like horse manure. You shoot a glare over to the man who threw it.

“Carino,” Pero clicked his tongue and you felt his hand sweep against yours, “these rotten potatoes are preferable to your whining.”

You gasped and tried to flick at his hand but it only hurt your bruising wrists.

“When I get out of here I am going to find the biggest vegetable, fresh from the ground, and throw it at you.”

Pero laughed a large, belly rumbling laugh that surprised you.

“Why are you laughing?” you asked, baffled at his sudden turn of emotions, but it didn’t deter him from laughing more.

It was the second plop of manure hitting the top of your head that had you joining in with Pero. The ridiculousness of the situation, the bickering between you, and your damn hand kept knocking into his. It was all so silly.

You spent the rest of the morning in fits of giggles with the man you thought you hated.

You were thrown down the steps of the dungeons, your knees hitting the hard, dirty floor before you were hauled back to your feet to be taken to the cell that would be yours for the night.

“We have to stop meeting like this,” was the voice that greeted you. You saw him sitting in the corner of the cell, a growing bruise on his jaw and stripped of his leather outer garments. He looked softer in just a shirt and breeches, more vulnerable but also kinder. Like any ordinary man, not the pain in the ass you knew him to be. You chuckled at the sight of him.

“Your life would be boring without me,” you teased, but Pero nodded his agreement. You plopped down next to him with a sigh, stretching out your legs and feeling the soreness of your knees as you rested them. You rubbed at the tenderness over your skirts.

“Are you hurt?”

“Some scrapes, that is all,” you assured him, but his eyes lingered where you were soothing your burning knees, “how did you end up in here?”

“Not my fault,” you raised a sceptical eyebrow, “a drunkard started a fight with me.”

“And where is this drunkard?” you asked suspiciously, looking through the bars into the other cells, all of which were empty.

“He passed out. The guards did not want to drag his useless body in here.”

You hummed, clearly not believing his tale. He rolled his eyes at you, deciding it wasn’t worth arguing.

“And you?”

“Hmm?”

“How did you end up in here?”

You sighed, remembering what had happened.

“A noblewoman thought I was going to steal her purse.”

“You were not going to steal her purse?”

“No!” You feigned looking scandalised at the mere suggestion, before dropping the act, “I was going to steal her dog.”

Pero guffawed, not expecting you to say such a thing.

“Her dog?”

“It would have been worth more than the coins in her purse.”

Pero rubbed at his tired eyes. You listened to the sounds around you; the guards gossiping outside the dungeon door, a rat squeaking somewhere nearby, the rhythm of Pero’s breathing. It was the first bit of peace you’d had in a long time.

“If we get caught again they will not simply throw us in the dungeons,” Pero whispered ominously.

You couldn’t disagree with him, but there weren’t many other options for people like the two of you. You were wanderers and loners. You had no money, no home, no family. What choice did you have?

You glanced at Pero who was already looking at you. He looked defeated, with dark bags under his eyes and his lips turned ever so slightly downwards, he looked how you felt. Hopeless and alone.

“We keep running into each other. That must mean something,” you claimed, feeling stupid as soon as the words came out. You quickly looked away and waited for him to mock you.

“You think this is God’s will?”

You shrugged and began picking at the dirt on your skirts.

“Perhaps we should do something about it.”

“Like what?” you asked, allowing your tone to lift in hope.

“If we are meant to be, maybe we should get out of this town and find another.”

“Together?”

“Why not?”

You looked at Pero then. There was no teasing in his eyes or smirk on his lips, he was being deadly serious. Your heart skipped a beat at the thought of sticking with Pero from now on. However, you couldn’t make it too easy for him.

“Well for one, I’d be stuck with your ugly mug.”

Pero grinned and let out a deep, throaty chuckle.

“I would wager my ugly face is better than the hangman's noose.”

The room became sombre once more as you realised what your options were. You had to leave town, but you could either do that alone or with the man whose company you were beginning to enjoy.

You felt Pero nudge your side and you saw he was holding a single daisy up to you.

“Do you carry flowers at all times?”

“No, idiota, they are growing in the walls,” with an amused shake of his head he carefully placed the small flower behind your ear and leaned back to admire his work.

After your initial shock you smiled your thanks and he smiled back.

“Bonita,” Pero muttered and leaned his shoulder against yours as he settled back against the cold, damp wall.

You think you could get used to sticking by his side.

Permanent tag list: @autumnleaves1991-blog @phoenixhalliwell @computeringturtle

#Floriography Series #Pero Tovar #Pero #Tovar #Pero Tovar x Reader #Pero x Reader #Tovar x Reader #The Great Wall #Pedro Pascal

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bigbangclappin · 4 years ago

Text

Lock

Word Count: 688

Pairing: ReaderXJackson

Genre: Drabble, smut, mafiaau! Fluff if you squint your eyeballs.

Warnings: basically smut, unprotected sex. Cursing. BamBam being himself.

A sharp gasp left your throat when your husband thrusted his hips harshly, your back arching off the bed. Jackson peppered open mouthed kisses down your neck between your breasts until he found purchase with your nipples.

“Fuck,” you groaned out as you laced your fingers through his hair, “You should take month long business trips more often…”

He made an affronted sound and smacked your thigh as he lifted your leg to wrap around his waist as he drilled in to you deeper, “Babyーare you just using me for sex?”

The chuckle you let out came out in the form of a moan, “Most definitely.”

He nipped at your neck for your cheekiness and tried to give you a kiss but you decided to tease him some more and give him your cheek, “Bǎobèi let me love you.”

He whined so cutely that you couldn’t help but give in and let him kiss you hotly. His tongue forcing yours to submit. God you had missed him more than anything. Not only did you miss the perfect intimacy only he could give you but your kids were a handful.

They definitely inherited their father’s energy and good lord could you barely keep up. You loved your babies dearly but sometimes they depleted your tank. Having Jackson back home meant the time you spent chasing your children for bath time was cut in half. They were slippery little buggers when they didn’t want to do something.

Luckily their uncle BamBam volunteered to watch them for you so that you could spend some much needed alone time with their father.

“I love you.” Jackson mumbled against your lips.

You returned his affectionate words feeling your climax near quicker and quicker. Your knees hugged his hips tightly; your nails leaving vicious red lines down his back as his thrusts gained speed.

“Fuck, GodーBamBam!” Your eyes widened when you saw the skinny man in your bedroom doorway .

Jackson slowed his ministrations to a halt; a look of offense warping his features. “Excuse me?”

You scrambled to cover you both with the blanket as you shouted at the young member who was holding your two year old son; his hand covering his eyes . Your husband finally caught on when he heard the racontorous laughter of one of his youngest members.

“Bam are you just going to stand there like the creep you are or what?” you snapped at him, your cheeks aflame in embarrassment.

“Sorry, Sorry, I thought you would have been done by the time I opened the door you know with what sounded like the finale and all.”

Your husband tsked at him in irritation, “If you weren’t holding my son I’d shoot you, now get to the point before you scar my kid.”

“We lost Cai’s favorite Pororo plushy and apparently we can’t nap without it so we were checking to see if he left it in here this morning…”

Hiding behind your husband’s broad frame you grabbed the stuffed penguin from your night stand and threw it to the otherside of the room, “Get out now will you?”

Cackling nonstop Bam began to leave closing the door behind him but not before you heard your son ask, “Why is Bàba on top of Mommy?”

When your husband heard his friend’s response he tensed before he shouted out, “He’s two you damn pervert!”

When it got quiet again you looked at Jackson gently rubbing his arms hoping to soothe his irritation, “I hope you can operate with six men because he’s dead.”

“One step ahead of you baby,” he mumbled, placing a kiss on your forehead.

He shifted slightly, his arms extending so he was hovering over you.

“Are you still hard?” you asked in disbelief.

“Don’t laugh at me (Y/n),” he groaned into your shoulder, “It’s been a month since I had you last!”

You choked out your laughter nearly in tears from the situation, “Well I bet from now on you’ll remember to lock the door.”

He grunted as he rocked his hips forward causing you to moan, “I will I promise.”

You pushed him away pointing toward the door, ��Starting now!”

#kpop scenarios #got7 imagines #got7 mafia au #got7 scenarios #got7 #jackson wang #jackson wang drabble #jackson wang mafia au #jackson wang imagine #jackson wang fluff #jackson wang smut #got7 smut #got7 drabbles #bigbangclappin #got7 writing #got7 au #what the hell did i write

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hermannsthumb · 4 years ago

Note

As per our conversation, Hermann teaching a zoom class and perhaps forgetting to mute himself when his husband comes in during break...

god this is going to be my first fic of 2021. hilarious. not sfw!!!!! 👀 and also major warning for secondhand embarrassment LMAO

------

“You finished yet?” Newton calls into the study.

Hermann stretches his arms above his head with a groan, then yawns just as Newton appears around the doorframe. “Hardly. We’ve still got another, oh…” He spares a glance towards the cat-shaped clock hanging near some potted ivy by the window. (The clock was purchase of Newton’s at some sort of novelty shop they stumbled across on vacation last year that Hermann absolutely refused him to allow to hang in the bedroom.) “Hour. I’m allowing them a small break to fetch water or lunch or whatnot.”

A plate balanced atop Hermann’s preferred mug is produced from behind Newton’s back—sandwich, apple slices, and tea. Newton smiles. “Good timing. I was worried I’d have to force this on you in front of your students. How’s the leg holding up?”

The occasions upon which Hermann has no choice but to reschedule his graduate lessons to Zoom are rare, but fortunately foreseeable by a day or so; though the end of the war meant Hermann does not run himself nearly as ragged as he used to, his left leg acts up terribly every now and again, and he really doesn’t have it in himself to make the journey by foot to campus (or even by train) when it does. Or do anything besides wear a bloody heating pad and pop some his medication—Newton calls them his bad leg days. Hermann’s students are always very understanding, and indeed, he suspects they may appreciate the chance to lounge about their own flats for the day. “Better than before,” Hermann says. “Much better, really.”

Newton sets Hermann’s lunch down on his desk, and pulls up the second computer chair to sit down next to him. He steals an apple slice. “Good,” he says. Then his eyes flick over Hermann—from his usual combination of sweatervest and slightly-wrinkled oxford up top, to Newton’s borrowed pair of sweatpants below. They’re too-big in everything but length and hit his calves, but it’s not as if any of his students are going to see them. Newton grins. “Those look kinda hot on you, you know.”

“Newton,” Hermann warns.

“Are you wearing my boxers too?” Newton says. “Or—”

He creeps his hand over to Hermann’s thigh with (what Hermann knows are) full intentions to draw back his waistband and take a peek. Hermann bats him away, blushing. “Behave yourself. I’m in class.”

“You’re on break,” Newton says.

“A short break,” Hermann says. “A very short break. Not nearly enough time to—”

“You didn’t take very long this morning,” Newton says, grinning wider.

That morning should hardly be held up as an example of Hermann’s usual, er, prowess in their intimate affairs. After fetching Hermann his medication and a glass of water, Newton had very graciously massaged his poor, poor knee, and his poor, poor hip, and Hermann had had only the natural reaction to one’s extremely alluring husband groping about one’s bare skin even with twinges of pain, and Newton had used his mouth to take care of that. Hermann’s stamina was short-lived, though it made him feel heaps better. “I was wound up,” Hermann says, lamely.

Newton swallows down another apple slice and carefully slides one of his legs between Hermann’s. “I bet I could get you wound up again pretty fast,” he says. He rubs his knee up and down slowly, against the front of Hermann’s loose, borrowed sweatpants; Hermann groans.

“Bugger,” he says. “Oh, Newton, I’m teaching.”

“Really fast?” Newton says. “C’mon, it’ll make you feel even better.”

“This is entirely about your—” Hermann bites down on his bottom lip to keep another pathetic sound from slipping out, and clutches onto the edge of his desk. “Ah, your own bloody ego, and you—you know it.”

“Maybe,” Newton says.

He grazes his fingertips across Hermann’s jaw, and presses his thumb against Hermann’s mouth. Hermann parts his lips automatically to allow it to slip between them. Newton’s pretty irises darken. “You want another blowjob?” he says. “Hey, you wouldn’t even have to stop teaching. I could just hide under your desk.”

“Newton,” Hermann hisses around his thumb. “Don’t be crass.”

“It wouldn’t be the first time,” Newton snorts. “Remember that one time in the lab—?”

Hermann does, unfortunately, or maybe it’s fortunately, because it had been rather exhilarating at the time. Newton had talked him into a rare instance of laboratory sex, oral sex for oral sex, and offered to go first; halfway through the act, they’d been interrupted by someone with paperwork for them to sign, and Hermann (in a panic) had shoved Newton out of sight beneath his desk. Newton continued to suck him off anyway while Hermann signed it for them. “It’ll be just like then,” Newton says. He pulls his hand away from Hermann, and begins to slide off his chair to his knees. “C’mon, dude. Or are you afraid everyone will find out you’re a slut?”

Hermann moans in spite of himself, and then laughs nervously. He does so lose control of himself when Newton calls him those sorts of things. “Newton. Oh, you’re awful. Get back—mhm, ah—” Newton is pulling down the waistband of the sweatpants with a devious grin. He makes a mocking, obscene little kissing-face when Hermann's prick, already hard, pops free. “Darling—”

Hermann’s phone begins to buzz when Newton takes him into his mouth. One short buzz—a series of one short buzzes, in fact. Emails. Emails, emails. Why so many in a row? He’s meant to be in class. People know he’s not available now. Hermann is absolutely not available now. “You’re too bloody good at this,” Hermann says through a soft gasp, and kneads at the bulge of Newton’s cheek. Newton winks.

Buzz. Buzz. “For God’s sake,” Hermann says, and snatches his phone up in a fury. He’ll set the damn thing to Do Not Disturb and finish enjoying his private time with his husband, thank you.

The top subject line catches his eye before he can. You’re not muted!!!! It’s from one of his graduate students. The rest of them are something similar, from some handful of three or four students. “Oh, fuck,” Hermann gasps. A chasm of dread opens up in the pit of his stomach; surely he muted himself, of course he muted himself, he wouldn’t have not muted himself. Hermann programmed jaegers, by Jove, he knows how to work simple technology like a mute button. Right? “Newton, get—”

“Mm,” Newton hums happily.

“No, you moron, get up, get up now.”

Hermann tugs Newton back by his hair, which is a mistake: Newton’s head hits the top of his desk with an echoing thud, and Newton’s moan of pleasure at being manhandled turns into a grunt of pain halfway through. “Shit, Hermann, that hurt!”

Hermann pulls up his Zoom screen (minimized during the break) frantically. His camera is off; his computer sound is muted; his microphone is not, and he has a half-dozen messages in the Zoom chat (which he missed) politely telling him he might want to check that. He fixes it quickly. “Get out of here,” he hisses at Newton. He tucks himself back into Newton’s sweatpants, acutely aware of the horrid hot blush spreading up every inch of his visible skin. Oh, he wishes he was dead. He wishes a kaiju would come from no where and stomp both of them into oblivion. He wishes he could hand in his resignation at this very moment. “I wasn’t—muted.”

Newton, still kneeling under his desk, stares at him with eyes wide behind his glasses, and then lets out a burst of laughter. “Oops,” he says.

The allotted break ends five minutes later. Newton makes off with Hermann’s uneaten sandwich, and Hermann gathers up as much dignity as he can muster and switches both camera and microphone back on. “Good,” he says. “We’re all here. Er. Where did we leave off?”

#newmann #maria's fanfiction tag #Anonymous #not sfw ////

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a-simple-imagine · 4 years ago

Text

A Treasured Memory

Synopsis: You reminisce on the past with Charlie. Prompt: "you're quite cute when you're tired"

Pairing: Charlie Weasley x fem!reader

Words: 2.1k+

A/N - This was written for @blisfvll‘s 1.5k writing challenge. This is my first time writing for Charlie Weasley but I am utterly in love with him as a character. This whole thing is just pure fluff so I hope you all enjoy it.

Shrouded in the dim light of flickering candles, you're sat up in bed examining a photo album that arrived by owl. It had been addressed to the both of you so you took it upon yourself to open it. Your fingertips dance over the silky smooth film almost like you could feel the energy of that day from many moons ago. It showed Charlie dead centre surrounded by white snow and bare trees, just in the distance you could see the Shrieking Shack. He wore a thick green coat that reached to his knees, darkish blue jeans and a maroon jumper adorned with a deep yellow 'C' right in the middle. A red and yellow scarf rested tightly around his neck and flecks of pure white sat upon his flaming red hair. The smile on his face indicated a desire to be anywhere but in front of the camera and he was utterly oblivious to you creeping up behind him. As your hands slap against his shoulders, he jumps out of his skin. You can't help but smile as you watch the simple memory play out within the confines of the photograph. Bill had been the one to take it and you were rather grateful that he had. It was a special day forever engraved in your mind.

"What are you looking at?" Pulled from your thoughts by the man himself, Charlie enters the bedroom in nothing more than a pair of red and white checkered PJ bottoms. The bed dips beside you as he climbs in and you place the photo album carefully in his lap.

"Do you remember this?" A day so special to you could be long forgotten by him.

"Where did you get this?"

Your gaze falls to the photograph once more. "Your parents. It's mostly photos of you and your family," Flipping over the page, there was a picture of a very smiley Charlie with a tiny Ginny Weasley. It was an adorable shot but you quickly turn back. "Except for this one- do you remember?"

"Kind of... We went to Hogsmeade with Bill right?"

You nod a little before proclaiming ever so proudly. "I remember this day perfectly."

"And why is that?" Charlie passes the album back so you can continue your walk down memory lane.

"Because it was the day I realised I was actually in love with you..."

Grey clouds filled the afternoon sky, covering the ground in a thick blanket of snow. There was a brisk chill laced with the breeze that threatened to invade your winter clothes, but for now, they kept you reasonably warm. Snow flew into the air with every kick of your shoe and just a few paces behind you the crunch of Charlie followed. The day had been spent accompanying the two eldest Weasley siblings, Bill and Charlie around the small village of Hogsmeade. Nothing had struck your fancy except a Pumpkin Fizz purchased at The Three Broomsticks; the boys had both ordered Butterbeers. Bill was the first to leave so when the time came to return to Hogwarts, it was just you and Charlie. Not that you minded, he was your best friend after all. It had been that way ever since your second year when you showed a mild interest in dragons only to discover your fellow Gryffindor was rather... passionate about the subject. It was one of many things you came to admire about Charlie; he was so passionate about everything he engaged with. It was very sweet to witness just how excited he came at the mention of the ferocious magical creatures.

"It's so cold today." You muse out loud; a shiver spilling through your veins as the cold air blew against your face. It was beginning to feel numb with how cold it was. Charlie hummed in agreement. "Maybe next time you drag me out in the snow we should invest in some hot coco." Spinning on your heel, you begin to walk backwards so you can face him.

"You actually invited yourself," Charlie countered, his brow creasing. It really brought focus to the scar across his eyebrow. "It was only supposed to be Bill and me."

"Oh I see how it is" Arms folded, your bottom lip comes out in your best pout. "You could have just said you didn't want to hang out,"

"You know I didn't mean it that way," His expression softens, he really was too gentle for his own good. Of course, you knew he didn't mean to make it sound like your company was unwanted, you just liked making him sweat. "Sorry,"

"For what?" Bending at the knee, you brush the snow around you into a messy pile. Grabbing a handful off the very top. "I'm the one who intruder on your brotherly bonding." Standing back up, you roll the snow between your hands into a responsibly neat ball. The melting flakes quickly seeping through your Gryffindor mittens.

"We were happy to have you."

His words bring along a smile. "Thanks," Without hesitation, you throw your completed snowball directly at him. It smashes against the large yellow C of his jumper, covering him in white powder. "Now, come on."

Turning back around, you march forward with sincere child-like glee. There was something so magical about the way snow could make a person feel. You come to an abrupt stop as snow crashes into the back of your head; luckily none of it got into your coat. Glancing towards Charlie, he's brushing his hands together with an undeniable smirk. "Oh, it's on Weasley,"

Open fields, bare trees and stone walls guide the way back to the main castle meaning there was a lack of places to find cover. However, there certainly wasn't a lack of ammunition. Running ahead, you duck behind some cobblestone as best you can. Snowballs fly in your direction and you manage to dodge each one as you prepare your own stockpile. With one snowball in hand and five or so in reserve, you very carefully peer over the edge of the wall. Nothing but stone and snow; Charlie had completely vanished. Nicely played. With a deep breath, you listen for the sound of shoes against snow but the whistle of the wind is a heavy distraction. By the time the crunch hits your frozen ears, it's too late; Snow descends from up high like your own personal avalanche, covering you entirely in the frozen flakes. "Gotcha."

"Weasley," You whine, springing to your feet. Shaking your entire body to rid yourself of snow but it already managed to find it's way down your collar while freezing cold water begins to seep through your coat. Hearty laughter fills the air from an utterly amused Weasley; you try to look angry but it's a losing battle as you giggle alongside him. Feeling a lot colder than before, your eyes narrow in on him like a hawk and with the reflexes of a hare, the boy flees for his life. Grabbing the spare snowballs, you launch them one after the other as you chase after him. "You'll pay for that," A few land on their target but he's an agile little bugger. As he sprints past the wall collecting snow, he tosses it back before dropping to the ground. Both concerned and amused, you jog up to him.

"Charlie?" You find him face down in the white snow creating an almost perfect outline of his body. With a deep groan, Charlie flips onto his back; face flushed in a shade of bright red bringing his freckles into the spotlight. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine- don't worry." A sigh of relief, you offer him a gentle smile and a helping hand which he gladly accepts; pulling him to his feet. "Thanks,"

A tender smile graces his lips and for a split second you find yourself lost in his eyes; you've never noticed quite how unique they are. The light brown that surrounds the pupil fades so elegantly into the sea of blue. They're... mystical. Your heart beats a little bit faster as you both stand there in comfortable silence. Reaching up slowly, you brush some snow from his hair. "You should be more careful. We don't want you getting hurt." So many hours spent together and yet something felt different. Pulling your hand away quickly, heat rushed to your cheeks and you push him away. It was only then, while alone playing in the snow, did you realise that somewhere along the way your feelings towards him had changed; or perhaps you had just been scared to admit it to yourself before. "The last one to the castle is a rotten egg- and If I win I expect a chocolate frog."

As fast as you believed yourself to be, the snow made it increasingly difficult especially with it being rather deep. You also didn't count on Charlie Weasley being as fast as he was.

"Cheater," Is all he has to say as he so easily surpasses you; reaching the castle before you have a chance to think of a witty comeback. The boy leans so smugly against the castle wall as you approach, brows furrowed. "That's one chocolate frog for me,"

"How - are you - so fast?" You question between each breath. The race took more out of you than expected; at least you felt a little warmer now. Charlie shrugs at the question and so it's soon forgotten. What used to be such a normal act for the two of you now set your stomach a flutter as you take hold of his hand. "One chocolate frog coming right up."

"You don't have to," He replies, shaking his head a little.

"It was my idea and now I have to pay the price for losing."

Could he sense your nerves as you drifted through the castle corridors towards the common room? Did he feel the beat of your heart or the fluttering in your stomach with your hands together? Did he recognise the moment too? Heat washed over you as you entered the common room; a tickle contained in the bridge of your nose and your head begins to throb.

"I'm gonna go get changed." Dropping his hand, you disappear up to your dorm opting for something more comfortable and warm. It was awfully cold in here now. Heading back down to the coom room, you find Charlie lounging on the couch in front of the fire; just what you needed right now. There were a few students littered around the room but it was relatively quiet. Sitting on the edge next to him, you hold out your hands in front of the fire in search of its warm embrace. "Are you sneaking off into the forbidden forest tonight?"

"Not so loud," He hushes you. "Not tonight, it's way too cold. Not even mum's jumpers will help."

"I think your mum's jumpers are plenty warm," You fall back against the couch; head feeling cloudy. Why did you suddenly feel so hot?

"I can ask her to make you one if you like?" Charlie offers brightly meanwhile your head falls to rest against your best friend's shoulder. "She's always looking for an excuse to knit more." Chuckling to yourself, your eyes drift closed to deal with the sudden onset dizziness. "You alright?" You nod a little against him. Distant voices and the crackling of the fire filling the silence between you. "you're quite cute when you're tired"

Your heart skips a beat but you try not to think anything of it. It’d hurt your head too much to think anything of it. "I'm always cute,"

"Sure you are," a playful chuckle that's quick to fade leaves his lips "Maybe we should get you to bed?"

A gentle groan in response. "I'm fine here. Just... talk to me."

"About what?"

You knew Charlie better than anyone other than maybe his family so there was only one obvious answer. He just needed a little encouragement to ensure you didn't find him annoying; which unknown to him you never do when he talks about them. "I don't know... dragons?"

You don't hear much after that as you feel yourself begin to drift off but you just know his eyes are glittering with every ounce of passion he has for the beasts...

"If I remember correctly, didn't you get sick that day?" Charlie's voice breaks you from the memory. He was right; it turned out that you felt so exhausted because you'd actually caught a cold.

"Yeah," Closing over the album, you place it off on the bedside table for another day. Attention turned to Charlie, he's laying back with his head rested against his hands. Leaning down you place the gentlest of kisses against his lips. "Then you asked Bill to help brew a pepperup potion. Worked a treat although I didn't appreciate the steam shooting out of my ears."

#Charlie Weasley #Charlie Weasley x reader #charlie weasley imagine #harry potter imagine #hogwarts mystery #harry potter fanfiction #blisfvllswritingchallenge

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the-dream-team · 4 years ago

Note

From National Treasure: ʺ In another life… I arranged a number of operations of… questionable legality. ʺ

Thank you for this incredible prompt!! This is the silliest thing I’ve ever written, so I hope you enjoy :)

Read on Ao3

In another life… I arranged a number of operations of… questionable legality

James Potter had always been a menace.

The vendors who set up their stands in Godric Hollow’s town square knew to be wary of the young boy, whose messy black mop of hair was just visible over their countertops as he skipped from booth to booth. No one was certain where he came from or where his parents might be (though Marcus, the apple harvester, swore he once saw the kid just over the hill with an unexpectedly kind older couple), but everyone knew trouble followed the boy like an obedient puppy.

It started with the usual childhood mischief. He would show up at the farmer’s market, seemingly out of nowhere, wielding twigs from a nearby tree or sometimes a cardboard sword. Always battling an imaginary enemy. Large bursts of energy mixed with childish incoordination would result in smashed crates of potatoes or torn awnings. Farmers turned red with frustration, but their wives brushed them off, absolutely charmed by those big hazel eyes behind even bigger wire-rimmed glasses. The boy would wreak havoc and get off without so much as a loving pinch on the cheek.

But then one summer, once his glasses started fitting his face and those wide eyes became more calculating, the real hijinks began. Peculiar things seemed to happen whenever the young boy made his way to the square. Marty’s carrots would suddenly appear on Andrew’s cabbage display, as if out of thin air. Abigail's piglet disappeared, then reappeared again, squealing up a storm, in Michael’s barrel of beans. Oddities popped up left and right around the child, still too small to reach the booth’s counters without having to balance on his tiptoes. The vendors groveled and knit their brows into headaches, but the boy would flash his little grin and the wives would fawn, offering up samples of their best honey or slices of freshly baked bread.

Eventually, the farmers settled into their new routine of expecting the unexpected. Until one day, when the unexpected turned into the unbelievable.

The boy was making his rounds one sunny morning, peering over the fruits and vegetables, when Helga offered him a strawberry. He beamed, reached out for the piece of fruit, and then yelped when the berry burst from his hand, transforming into a flittering hummingbird.

Those wide eyes turned to saucers as he watched the bird fly off, leaving its strawberry brothers behind in their basket. The look he flashed at the berry farmer was one of deep disturbance and the boy disappeared on the spot, leaving the rest of the vendors to grapple with what should have been impossible.

They didn’t see the boy for days, and the farmers would have reveled in the much-desired calm, but the mystery behind the hummingbird still sat fresh in their memories. But then one morning, the vendors all held a collective breath as the little boy marched down the street, directly to the town square, with a little jingling satchel in hand.

He went straight to the strawberry stand, meeting Helga with a determined stare and a gold coin in his outstretched hand. She tentatively accepted the strange looking currency and nervously handed over a basket of berries, flinching as he reached out to collect his purchase.

The boy looked at his basket, then back to Helga, and grabbed a handful of strawberries. Just like before, the berries erupted into delicate little hummingbirds and flew off through the village. The boy puffed his chest out at his accomplishment and his eyes surveyed the other booths, looking for his next victim.

The farmers were in a state of shock. Possibly a shared psychosis that could only be explained by spending a little too much time under the summer sun. They waited patiently as the boy decided who would receive his next gold coin.

It ended up being Daniel, the cabbage farmer, who watched in awe as his heads of lettuce transformed into a swarm of skittish squirrels with just a light touch of the young boy’s hand.

One by one, the strange little boy purchased, transformed, and set free an entire zoo’s worth of animals. More than one weary eye drifted to the town’s church lingering above them, wondering what kind of miracle or devil’s work they might be witnessing.

And then, he left, a litter of kittens and rabbits following in his wake.

Four years later, the boy with messy hair and glasses (that definitely now fit his face) sat in the Hogwarts dungeons with three other boys, cleaning out cauldrons.

“Bloody infuriating that they took our wands, don’t you think, James?” said the boy with longer hair and sharp features. He lazily scrubbed the same spot on his cauldron over and over, even though it had become clean ages ago.

“Don’t be daft, Sirius,” said James, pushing his glasses up his nose with the back of his hand. “We aren’t allowed our wands in detention, otherwise we’d have this washing done in a minute.”

“My mum says doing things the Muggle way builds character,” added the third boy, tucking his sandy bangs behind his ears.

“Well Remus,” responded the fourth boy with watery eyes, “the rest of us grew up not ever having to do it the Muggle way. Maybe since you’re most used to it, you can take care of the rest of these cauldrons for us.”

“Bugger off, Peter,” said Remus, throwing a very dirty washcloth and hitting Peter square in the face.

The four boys laughed together before getting back to their scrubbing.

“Oh, look who it is,” came a sneering voice from the doorway of the Potions classroom. “Potter and his gang of cowardly lions. What is this, the third detention you lot have had this week?”

“Shove off, Snivellus,” spat Sirius, throwing up a few choice fingers at the greasy-haired boy.

“Come on, Sev, don’t bother with them,” came a softer voice from behind the boy.

“Is that Evans?” called James, his interest piquing. He ran his hand through his hair, forgetting how much grime had coated his fingers during the course of the detention. When the red head girl peaked out behind her friend to see James picking out dirt from his fringe, she giggled.

“Potter, it looks like you’ve been rolling around in the mud with Hagrid’s pigs,” she said with a teasing grin. Severus shifted next to her, his eyes flashing at her playful tone.

“That might be so,” laughed James with his signature lopsided smile, “but at least I’m still not half as greasy as Snivellus, here.”

Severus turned bright red and reached into his robe pocket to draw his wand. “Lutum!” he shouted, and a thick layer of dirt coated the piles of freshly cleaned cauldrons.

The boys jumped up in outrage, but Severus had a wand and they were defenseless.

“This is bollocks!” barked Sirius, a dangerous shadow crossing his face.

“Tough luck,” smirked Severus, turning back to Evans with a smug look across his face. “Come on, Lily, let’s go practice our Pepper Up potions.” And with one last smarmy look, he led her into another classroom across the hallway.

“That’s not fair,” whined Peter, looking at his now-dirty cauldron.

James still stared at the doorway where Severus and Evans stood just a moment before. “Well, we’re not going to let him get away with that.”

“But we don’t have our wands,” pointed out Remus, who had gone back to patiently scrubbing his own cauldron.

“I have a plan,” said James simply.

“Mate, I think Remus has a point,” Sirius said with a huff. “What could you possibly do to Snape? We’re just a bunch of wandless first years.”

“Look boys,” said James confidently, “In another life… I arranged a number of operations of… questionable legality. I learned some skills back then that may prove useful in our current hour of need.”

Sirius, Remus, and Peter stared at him, matching dumbfounded expressions on their faces.

James stood and surveyed the dirty cauldrons around him and looked at his hands. He took a deep breath.

In theory, he knew what he had to do. It was just a matter of concentrating. Focusing on a goal and letting the magic burst through his fingers. There weren’t any fruits or vegetables in the dungeons, but that shouldn’t matter. Maybe when James was younger, when his imagination ran a little wilder and his grasp on transfiguration wasn’t quite as strong, he believed that animals were stuck inside strawberries and ears of corn. But James was a wizard in training now. With a few months of transfiguration under his belt, he knew that any object could become anything new.

So he paced back and forth, letting himself fall back into the mindset of being a little boy sneaking out of his family’s cottage while his parents were busy reading that morning’s copy of the Daily Prophet. He remembered the thrill of running off to the village, just as independent as any other adult visiting the market, and marching up to the stalls of fruits and vegetables and honey. He could almost smell the freshly baked bread, see the kind smiles of the farmers’ wives as they ruffled his hair and sent him off with fresh apples and oatmeal cookies.

He let himself live in those not-so-distant memories and channeled all their warmth to his fingertips as he reached out and touched the nearest cauldron.

With a flash, it became a potbelly pig.

“Bloody hell!” shouted Peter.

“Merlin’s beard!” laughed Sirius.

“Holy shit,” gasped Remus.

James sent them a crooked smile, cracked his knuckles, and swiftly got to work touching every dirty cauldron in the dungeon.

The piglets squeaked with wild energy, dripping in mud and looking for somewhere to run. And James had just the place.

He led his parade of piglets through the classroom, out the hallway, and opened up the door across the way where Severus and Evans had gone to practice their potion-making. The pigs stormed into the room with excited squeals which only intensified by Lily’s and Severus’ screaming as the pigs swarmed them.

“Sorry Evans,” shouted James over the sea of oinking, “you’re collateral damage here! My apologies for the smell, but I assume you’re used to a bit of stench hanging out with Snivellus all day!”

Once all the pigs had crammed into the classroom, trapping Lily and Severus in the far corner surrounded by muddy hogs, James quickly closed the door and the rest of the boys helped drag over a heavy bookshelf to barricade the entryway.

They grinned at each other, quite pleased by their success, and made their way back to the scrubbing brushes and washcloths.

“Well boys,” said James, his hand finding his way back to his hair, “I don’t see any more dirty cauldrons, do you?”

The others shook their heads in glee.

“Then I guess it’s back to Gryffindor Tower for us!”

And with that, they raced out of the dungeons, snickering at the shouts of their classmates, overpowered by the squealing of dozens of potbelly pigs.

#ask #national treasure prompt #this is insane #the marauders #pranks #james potter #godrics hollow #this is the goofiest thing i've ever written #it was fun #i have so many more prompts i promise i will get to them all!!

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artemisdesari-blog · 3 years ago

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It Costs That Much (And Took Me Fucking Hours)

So, a few moments ago I shared my picture of my crochet Thorin. I’m bad, I should have shared it here months ago when I finished him. I didn’t. More often than not I forget that I even HAVE a tumblr. Because life is short and I have a huge, huge, huge amount of stuff to get done. All the time. Kids, house renovations, just standard housework, my maths and physics degree that I decided to start right as a global pandemic kicked off (not my smartest decision but no going back now). All that to say, when I do get a little bit of down time, I like to crochet, knit and sew. Sometimes all in the same project.

Which is where the Crochet Company of Thorin Oakenshield comes in.

It is also where my biggest pet peeve of the craft world comes in. You see, these little buggers cost money to make. And probably quite a lot more than you would think. For the sake of argument, you see this picture, you have the skills required to make him, you simply need to get in all the materials that I did in order to do so. Now assume that you have NONE of those things in the house (unusual for us craft addicted types but humour me). Here is a list of the things you would have to buy: safety eyes, 5 different colours of DK (3 weight/light worsted to you non-British folks) in flesh tone (of choice), hair colour, fur collar colour, tunic colour, mail shirt (yes, I crocheted the mail shirt rather than taking up making my own chain mail, it adds to the squishy). You also need one ball of black aran (4 weight/worsted again for you non-British peeps, and doesn’t that just show my age???) for the coat and boots. Poly fill, to give him shape, because what’s the point of making a stuffy if you don’t, you know, stuff it? Plus you need black cotton fabric for the trousers, oh, but you can only get that by the metre where ever you are, and look, you need blue velvet too, and that’s ok because you only need half a metre of that, but it’s still going to be more expensive than the damn cotton (and don’t forget your sewing thread).

I would like to point out that due to that bloody velvet, Thorin is the most expensive doll of the 5 I’ve made so far.

But wait! There’s one more thing you need. See, I free handed the details of his clothes, because I am an over achiever who refuses to be stopped just because there isn’t a set pattern. But I did NOT free hand the body. Instead of making that up as I went and causing myself unnecessary stress, I purchased the AFP body from Cottonflake on etsy (no longer in their store but that might change if you message them and ask, I don’t know, I just know I make precisely 0 pennies from this). So factor that pattern into your list of things to buy too because it’s still part of your initial outlay I’m afraid.

Thus, your total outlay (based on the costs I’ve calculated based on my usual retailers, receipts I dug out of my emails for various bits and so on) is....

Hold on to your hats folks

£45.72.

That’s right. Just to make Thorin, with the assumption that you don’t have a random couple of balls of DK in the right colours lurking around in your house, is forty-five pounds and seventy-two pennies. In American money that’s something like $61.73 (according to google).

None of that factors in time, which because each doll is freehand as far as features and clothes are concerned is somewhere upwards of 40 hours. See, crafting isn’t cheap. Now, I know what you’re going to say; “But, Artemis, you can use some of those things more than once. You’ve got enough fabric there to put trousers on the whole Company, and five more pairs of safety eyes, and loads of different lengths of yarn left, and quarter of a bag of poly fill!” Yes, yes I do. But let me tell you a thing. If I were to sell these majestic buggers, the recommendation is that I charge three times my cost of materials. So that’s £137.16! PER DOLL. Now, if someone asked me to make the whole Company, maybe I would only charge for the cotton once, and charge twice for the velvet because the current Bilbo plan is to use burgundy velvet for his coat. Two pattern charges, because Bilbo’s body pattern is different and only charge for three packs of safety eyes but would only be able to lop the cost of one, at absolute most two, packs of poly fill off because of the small amounts left at the end of a doll. But that would be if someone ordered the full set of fourteen (not getting into Gandalf right now, and certainly not getting into the additional UK testing requirements law that likes to rear its head at times like this). For that full set of fourteen dolls I could charge £1609.19. You read that right. just over 1.6k. Which would make it £114.94 per doll, and cost the person making each one £38.31 for materials alone. That’s a BIG difference. It doesn’t seem like it, but that £20 difference between the individual doll for sale prices might mean the difference between eating for the next two days, or keeping the lights on. That extra £7 for materials might just not be possible because there’s no mark up to absorb it. Based off 40 hours of work the maker charging £137.16 (with materials at £45.72) is paying themselves just £2.29 PER HOUR. If they charge the lower price of £114.94 less the materials cost of £38.31 is paying themselves a grand total of £1.92 an hour.

We’re talking a minimum of 560 hours of work. 40 hours is a work week. So one doll a week for fourteen weeks... Accounting for materials that’s £1072.85 to cover more than three months of work! £76.63 per week. Which is about what it costs to feed my family each week if you want to get into it. No bills, no other necessities. Just food.

When you break it down like that, why are people so reluctant to pay crafting people for their time. I make you a thing, making that thing costs materials, it costs time, it requires me to be in my house with the heat on (and likely the lights). Possibly with a computer on if I haven’t printed the pattern.That £1.92 an hour doesn’t go very far at that point. And you know, if you’re asking me to make you this item, it means that I have a skill you don’t, or maybe just time that you don’t. Why is my skill not valued by you? I didn’t wake up one morning, pick up a hook and magically know how use it. It took me MONTHS to progress past a granny square and a ball. This doll represents years of practice, and not just practising crochet I might add. Why is my time less valuable than yours? You have the skills but not the time. Why is that? What makes your time more valuable than mine? What amazing, worthwhile, thing are you doing in your downtime that I’m not? Inquiring minds desire to know why your downtime is more valuable than mine.

“But, Artemis!” you cry again. “You enjoy making this stuff, I don’t need to pay you to do something you enjoy.”

Well, yes you do actually. Because I have other things I want to do, or need to do. I have other projects to make and work on. If you want me to give yours the time of day, you need to convince me that it’s worth giving up my free time to make you something that you want rather than something I want to do, because nothing saps the enjoyment out of making something like knowing that someone else is expecting you to do it for nothing at all.

Now, obviously there are times when 3 times the cost of materials is just a bit too cheeky. There is some seller discretion here. We know when to draw the line. I’m not going to charge £30 for a bookmark that cost me an hour and a fraction of a ball of wool to make (and I sure as shit wouldn’t use a £10 ball of wool to do it anyway). In that case I would charge half the cost of the yarn, plus local minimum wage. The yarn cost is covered, I get something for my time and I can probably absorb that amount of yarn into another project without too much difficulty, but if you’re going to pay £450 for some crochet granny square coatigan that’s popped up in whatever designer catalogue that just dropped through your door or dropped into your email, you can pay me the same courtesy. Because crochet cannot be done by machines. Every time you pick up a crochet hat, it’s been handmade by someone somewhere in the world, and likely for pennies in a sweat shop. That £450 coatigan is probably still under priced for the number of stitches in it and the hours taken to make it. That cute crochet vest for under £20 in whatever fast fashion store you like to go to, probably would barely cover the cost of materials for an independent crafter, so the poor soul who made it is absolutely being exploited.

So, whenever someone tell you that materials alone are going to cost x amount, don’t argue about whether they have odds and ends at home. Because even if they do, you aren’t that special. You don’t get to pay the discounted rate just because Karen’s order absorbed the cost of 50% of the materials needed. You pay the same amount because crafters have the same expensive basic needs that you do. We need to eat, we need a roof over our heads and clothes on our backs. And for that we need money.

And check out the song on YouTube I stole this title from (It Costs That Much) because it is absolutely true.

#crochet #crafts #a rant i guess #knitting #sewing #I don't set prices like that because I'm a dick #i just want to eat #my time has value #my skills have worth #pay me what I'm worth #dammit #it took me forever #It takes fucking hours #every time

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isitgintimeyet · 4 years ago

Text

Just a Friend

Hope you enjoy the next chapter of this story. Thanks to you all for reading this. You comments are lovely to read.

Thanks to @wickedgoodbooks for the beta

AO3

Chapter 5: From Facebook to Friends

When I was a little girl, Uncle Lamb would sometimes take me into university with him. I would creep into the lecture theatre and sit at the back watching him as he enthused about Phoenician trade routes, or long gone military strategies. I didn’t really understand what he was talking about, but I loved it anyway. The passion he had for his subject matter thrilled me.

And once the lecture was over, I would join him in his office and we would squeeze together in an old armchair, drinking hot, sweet tea while he tried to explain the principles of a three thousand year old civilisation in words a seven year old would understand.

The armchair is now in my office at the hospital. It looks more than a bit incongruous amongst the standard NHS furniture. The rich green velvet fabric has faded to a shabby eau de nil colour and years of shuffling bottoms have left a large depression in the seat cushion. But I won’t have it reupholstered. I love it as it is. It’s a great reminder of my wonderful uncle. I sit in it and somehow it comforts me, like a soothing hug.

**********************

I glance at the clock as I walk into my office, paper cup of hot, sweet tea in hand, and head straight for Lamb’s chair. Gratefully, I sink into its depths and take a tentative sip of the steaming liquid before closing my eyes for a moment. The surgery was long; much longer than anticipated—having taken all morning and most of the afternoon, in fact. It had also been far more complicated—my original plans for keyhole surgery had to be changed, but, eventually, we completed the operation successfully. I’m always proud of my theatre team, but never more so than in situations like this.

And now, after hours of concentration, I feel in need of some light relief. I can go home, have a wonderfully reviving shower and then what? I know that Dougal is taking Geillis out for a meal tonight, so she’s not available. Mary and Anna are both working nights this week, so no joy there. Other friends live too far away for an impromptu midweek activity. I could go to the gym. I should go to the gym. Or… more likely, I’ll go home, have cheese on toast, a glass of wine and watch ‘The Devil Wears Prada’ for the fifteenth time instead.

I reach for my phone to check for messages. A notification for a Facebook friend request appears on my screen. I very rarely get new friend requests—other than the odd random gentleman hoping, I presume, to make some sort of connection. I always delete immediately.

And, yes, the request is from a gentleman—one Jamie Fraser. The profile picture is definitely Samsonite Jamie, even wearing the Scotland rugby shirt I fingered whilst foraging through his suitcase. I click accept. Why not? I don’t think I have anything too embarrassing on my posts. In fact, I don’t use it very often at all.

Neither, it seems, does Mr. Fraser. His cover photo shows a very youthful bunch of Scottish rugby supporters and his recent timeline seems to comprise mostly of being tagged in photos by Laoghaire Mackenzie. Is it my imagination, or does he have a resigned look on his face on each of their ‘selfies’?

My tea is cool enough to drink now without scalding my tongue. I put my phone down and take a large gulp whilst considering tomorrow’s workload. My job is a series of highs and lows. Today, for example, started as routine, slumped to a worrying low, before peaking at a very relieved high. Tomorrow appears to be an easier day, certainly—a review of patients’ case notes in the morning followed by an outpatient clinic in the afternoon. All follow up patients, and all doing well as far as I know, so tomorrow is shaping up to be a very good day.

I open up my phone again. Facebook messenger is encouraging me to ‘say hi to your new Facebook friend.’ Without thinking, I send a little waving hand emoji to Samsonite Jamie.

I have no sooner put the phone down than it pings. Waving hand returned. I smile. What are we… thirteen years old? Next I’ll be asking him out for an Irn Bru and a bag of chips.

Ping again.

You owe me…

Shit! The stain on his t-shirt, no doubt. I watch the dots on the screen. Perhaps he’s calculating the cost of a dry cleaner, or a new t-shirt.

You promised me an ice cream.

You up for buying one for me tonight?

I hesitate for a moment. I hope Jamie doesn’t think I’m after him or anything like that. I mean, he’s not really my type. As I’ve said before, I’ve always been attracted to academic, cerebral kind of men like Uncle Lamb, rather than Viking marauders.

And I’ve never subscribed to the idea that men and women can’t be friends. One of my closest friends at university was a man—Joe Abernathy. If it wasn't for the fact that he is currently three thousand miles away, working in Boston, I would be arranging platonic ice cream outings with him.

So, deciding I have nothing to lose, I type my response.

If you can get to the kiosk by 6:30, it should still be open

A brief pause, then the response.

Great. See you there?

****************

Even at a distance, I recognise him sitting at a table next to the kiosk. No white t-shirt today, it looks like some sort of check lumberjack shirt. I breathe a sigh of relief. Not what I would call ‘first date’ clothing. Which is handy, seeing as I’m wearing ripped jeans and an oversized Aran jumper. I’m clean, presentable and fresh-smelling but definitely not dressed to impress.

He stands up when he sees me and greets me formally with a handshake. His hands are warm and dry—no nervous, sweaty palms here, which is another good sign. His shirt is blue, red and cream flannel and actually quite hideous.

“I hope this ice cream lives up tae ma expectations,” he says with the merest hint of challenge.

I crane my neck and look him straight in the eye. “No doubt at all. Cherry bakewell, is it? Double cone?”

“Aye. With a flake too. Compensation, ye ken.”

He stands aside to allow me to make the purchases. Before accepting the cone, he picks up half a dozen or so paper napkins and stuffs them in the pocket of his jeans.

“I’m prepared fer ye now. Do yer worst, Ms Beauchamp.”

I ignore his clear inference and follow him to a nearby bench.

“I can manage to eat and walk at the same time, you know,” I say in mock indignation.

“Hm,” he replies. “All the evidence sae far suggests the contrary. I need proof afore I believe it.”

There’s a moment of silence as we both focus on our ice creams. I lick neatly all the way around, trying to prevent any rogue drips trickling down the cone. Jamie pulls the flake from his cone and consumes it in two mouthfuls. He looks at me and laughs.

“Caught me. I’m a bit of a bugger fer chocolate,” he mumbles before swallowing.

“Right,” he continues, much more clearly now. “I suggest we get all the boring stuff out of the way. Ye ken, name, age, family, job, blah, blah blah. I’ll go first, if ye like.”

I nod my agreement.

“Sae, I’m James or Jamie Fraser. I’m thirty years old. Since our last conversation I am most definitely single. I live in Glasgow, obviously, but grew up on a farm near Inverness. My parents still run the farm. I have one sister, Jenny, who’s married tae Ian, my childhood friend. I have one nephew—a grand little lad known as Wee Jamie and a wee baby niece, Maggie . And I dinna think it’ll be long afore they’re joined by others. They all live here in Glasgow. My job, weel, I have a business—FraserFood—recipe boxes delivered tae yer door.”

“Oh, yes, I’ve heard of that. ‘From farm to fork.” That’s you, is it?”

He smiles proudly. “Aye, it’s me and ma family. Looks like ma marketing manager is doing a fine job, then.”

“Oh, forgot tae say, after the blah blah, ye have tae tell one confession. Only a wee one, mind.” He takes a large mouthful of his ice cream.

I purse my lips. “Really, and what if I’ve nothing to confess?”

Jamie snorts with laughter and does a funny sort of blink, screwing up his face and closing both eyes. Is he trying to wink? If so, he’s failing miserably. I try to look angelic and sin free. Judging by the look of scepticism on his face, It doesn’t seem to be working.

“Sae, my confession is, dah-dah-daaaah,” he does a fake fanfare, trying to build suspense. “I wanted tae be yer friend on Facebook because I wanted tae see if there were any photos of ye in Barcelona, with all yer...er… accessories.”

I feel myself redden. I’ve just remembered catching Geillis on Facebook the other day at work and I’m pretty sure I know what’s coming next.

“Verra interesting… in particular, the one with ye and six penis shot glasses. How d’ye manage tae get two of them in yer mouth at the same time?”

I inwardly curse Geillis and her desire to live her life through social media.

“Excuse me,” I reply somewhat primly. “I don’t think we’re at the Q and A stage yet.”

“So,” I continue in a lighter tone. “Me. Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp. I’m thirty two and I’m a paediatric orthopaedic surgeon, here at the children’s hospital. I love my job so much, I can’t begin to tell you. As of two weeks ago, I am thankfully single. I was born in Oxford and moved up here when I was twelve, when my Uncle Lamb became a professor at the university. He brought me up, you know. Raised me when my parents died in a car accident... I… er...I was four at the time.”

I can feel Jamie looking at me, but I can’t raise my eyes. Telling people about my parents never gets any easier, no matter how many times I say those words. I concentrate on picking bits of wafer off my cone and throwing them to the ducks loitering nearby, waiting for some sort of treat.

“So it always was just my uncle and me.” I carry on talking. “Then he died… seven...seven years ago…” I can hear my voice start to crack as I fight back tears. A hand creeps into my vision and I gratefully accept the proffered paper napkin and wipe my face.

“Och, lass.” He says softly.

I clear my throat. “I'm sorry. We were having a nice conversation and then there I go, getting all teary. It’s just, well, we were a team, Uncle Lamb and I… the two musketeers. He was my hero.”

Blowing my nose in a most unladylike way, I toss the napkin into the neighbouring bin.

“And that’s pretty much me. As for a confession, well… I suppose it’s kind of one.”

He raises one eyebrow quizzically, making a better job of that than the whole winking lark, I think.

"Ok, well, when I had your case, I tried to ring before I emailed you. I called the number in your case… twice. A woman answered and told me I had the wrong number—"

"Laoghaire."

"I know that now. But she obviously knew how to get onto your phone."

"Why did ye no' tell me?" He smiles as he says this. It's not a reprimand.

"I would have but you seemed to be coming to a conclusion anyway. No need to add more fuel to the fire."

"Happen ye're right."

He notices me shivering and gets to his feet. “Aye, there’s a bit of a chill. Fancy a wee walk tae warm up and we can carry on wi’ round two. It’s a quick fire round.”

I stand up and we move away from the pond. The ducks have already lost interest in us since they realise that we’ve nothing more to offer them. It’s pretty quiet in the park now, the cooler evening air seems to have kept people at home. The gravel crunching loudly under the soles of our shoes, I glance down and notice Jamie’s doing a sort of awkward stuttering movement with his feet. He’s clearly trying to match his stride pattern to mine. Which isn’t easy when his must be a good few inches longer than mine. Nice, considerate gesture, though.

“Sae, quick fire questions and answers. Ye can go first,” he says generously.

It only takes me a moment to think of a question that I have been wondering about ever since I explored the contents of his suitcase.

“What were you doing in Barcelona? I mean the contents of your case weren’t really fun-weekend-away stuff.”

“Nah, ye’re right. It wasna a holiday—flying visit only. I was there on business—talking tae a food wholesale company. Serrano ham, chorizo, saffron, that kind of thing,” he explains, a look of excitement on his face. “We’re expanding our range, starting with Spanish influenced recipes. A full three courses ready tae prepare, plus wine delivered straight tae yer door. Dinner party FraserFood style.”

He can’t stop smiling as he talks about these plans. And his hands move animatedly as he continues to elaborate on his new venture. His business is obviously his passion. Maybe that’s why he hasn’t got the desire for a relationship with a girlfriend—FraserFood seems to be his one love. No girl could compete.

He stops talking for a moment. “And here I am, boring ye.”

I shake my head. “Not at all, it’s really interesting.” I don’t have to lie. It’s the truth. My mouth is watering at his description of albondigas and flavoursome chicken and chorizo with cannellini beans. I’m ready to sign up for this delivery service any time.

“Sae, ma turn tae ask a question. Tell me, d’ye like this shirt?”

I try to stifle a laugh. The question is so unexpected and the shirt so awful. Trying to be diplomatic, I search for the right words, evading the actual question. “I’ve only seen you in white tops before, no colours.”

He sighs. “Ye’ve only seen me twice afore... anyway I dinna think ye need tae say any more. I ken ye’re being polite, but ye’re a terrible liar. I can tell by yer face ye dinna like this shirt. Laoghaire hated it, always made me change it. I did wonder if that was jes’ her being difficult. But apparently no’.”

“Sorry, I didn’t want to be rude.”

“Ye dinna need tae apologise, Claire. Being honest is a good thing, is it no’? And friends should always tell each other the truth. And that’s what I think we’re going tae be, Claire— friends. D’ye no’ agree?”

I crane my neck and look Jamie straight in the eye. “Yes, I do… friends.”

#outlander fanfiction #outlander fanfic #Just a Friend #Jamie Fraser #Claire Beauchamp #Chapter 5

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8bitbobby · 3 years ago

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My Journey with Arcade1up - Part I: Pac-man

I could never spin a yarn quite like Sophia Petrillo but I suppose I should start at the beginning. In about the fall of 2018, a new company announced a product coming to the home market that would take the gaming world by storm: Arcade1up. Their 3/4 scale cabinets would allow the average Joe an experience that hints at the nostalgia that many of us were aching to return to (if even for a short time). Much like a trip to Ikea, these cabinets are sold flat-packed for the consumer to build at home. Fully assembled, the product stands roughly 4ft. tall (without a riser) and weighs between 50-70lbs. This smaller footprint allows for easy movement around a game room and is aided by the original CRT monitors of the day being replaced by 17″ flat screens as well as the 3/4inch plywood shells giving way to lighter composite wood materials. For a retail of roughly $300-500 (at the time) you could get a standup machine with a PCB (printed circuit board) containing anywhere from 2-4 games from the same publisher. Finishing the look was side art, marquee and a bezel resembling the original graphics of the game, as well as clone joysticks and buttons to give you the feel of the original arcade.

No matter how good a company or product is, however, if you cut costs to bring an expensive hobby to the masses at a lower price point there will be issues and these Arcade1ups are no exception. The first ‘generation’ of these cabinets, of which the Walmart Exclusive Pac-man was a part, suffered from no light-up marquee, riser or deck protector. It didn’t take long until players complained that their control panel artwork had been reduced to a worn out smear of what it once was due to hours of gameplay. To remedy this, the company sent out free replacement artwork and a plexiglass cover to go over the controls to protect the printed graphic surface to anyone who requested it. This addition was one of the first instances where the company listened to it’s consumer/fan base and made corrections and improvements based on feedback. Since their humble beginnings, the company has run the gamut of early 70s quarter munchers, to the great fighting games of the 80s and 90s, all the way to the introduction of shooter and driving cabinets.

*******************************************************************************************

Okay sorry for that detour let’s get back on the road. In May of 2019, after several months of watching and reading reviews I decided it was time to jump into this pastime and ordered my first Arcade1up 3/4 scale cabinet off of Walmart’s website. Since it was the inaugural piece I thought what better one to start off with than one of the most iconic games of all time, Pac-man. Before I pulled the trigger on this purchase I decided to visit my local store and lo and behold they had a few units for sale. I showed them the advert on their website asking if they were willing to price match because the website was $40 or $50 cheaper than the store. I figured it was a win/win because I got a little break on the price and they got to sell an item off the floor to make room for something else. Unfortunately they wouldn’t match the online price and so (being the cheap bugger I am) I decided to just wait out the week or so for delivery.

Seven long days later I got an email that my cabinet was ready for pickup and so off to my local Wally World I raced. Pickup was an even stranger experience then than it is nowadays with all the craziness going on in the world. Nowadays they have a specific area to pickup items ordered online but back then larger items were picked up in the photo center. The process was hampered by the fact that the photo lab had different hours than the rest of the store and so when I came to pick it up after work it was all locked up. After about 10 minutes of waiting and wondering if I would have to go home empty-handed and come back during open hours, a night manager appeared with keys and opened up the photo section. I did my best to describe the box but the words echoed strangely in my ears. “It will be a big, bright yellow box with a Pac-man arcade on it”. After a few more moments the employee managed to find my box amongst the countless appliance and other electronic boxes and dragged it out to me. I don’t really recall the ride home but if memory serves I snapped a shot of the box leaning against our sliding glass door in the kitchen/dining room at about 10:30 at night. Unfortunately I wouldn’t get around to assembling my 1up until after work the following day.

Once built, it became clear quite quickly that this first generation cabinet would need a matching stool, a riser and a light-up marquee to complete the investment. These items as well as a deck protector would come in the months following.

Sat upon a makeshift riser, Pac-man is still dwarfed by my homebuilt M.A.M.E. cabinet but despite its shorter stature, this iconic yellow side panel pops and immediately calls back to the smoky arcades of my youth. A fitting beginning to my latest game-related addiction. It is said that all roads lead home and even though I am on a different road right now I am sure I will come back to the NES collection at some point.

Final thoughts on this cabinet: Despite it being early in the lifecycle of this company and void of all of the bells and whistles we’ve become accustomed to in more recent Arcade1up offerings it is the original. Many variations have been released since but I will always appreciate this first foray into the home market and will probably never sell this one. I rarely play Pac-man Plus (the additional game on this cab) but I go back to the title game all the time. I’m not very good yet and at the time of this entry’s writing I have yet to break the 100K point barrier. One day perhaps.

I completed this cabinet (for my purposes) over the course of the next couple of years by buying a generic riser for it in December of 2019, a matching stool from Today’s Shopping Choice in July of 2020 and a 3rd party lit marquee kit the following January. I was even sent a deck protector by Arcade1up (long after my warranty period) to protect the artwork on my control panel when I submitted a ticket asking when they would have one available on their parts page and what the cost for one would be. It was definitely nice of them to go above and beyond for this arcade game fan.

For the past 40 years Pac-man has been synonymous with video games and there is probably not a better example out there of a game more known, celebrated and commercialized than the big, yellow dot-eating creature. I can’t think a better game to be the origin point of this journey for me. I’m not sure how far I will travel on this endeavor but this first stop was extremely memorable for me. Thanks for coming along for the ride and join me for future installments where I discuss the stories behind my other 3/4 scale pickups.

#goldengirls #goldenage #memes #pacman #pac-man #namco #bally midway #arcade #arcade1up #mancave #homearcade #collection #gamersunite

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