#absolutely fucked up the best ham and cheese sandwich of my life

[asteria-argo]

great news everybody, I have kept up the time honoured tradition of being wretchedly hung over on new years day

[moonlit-escape]

. ☠︎︎.˖⚝๋࣭⭑ֶָ֢♱ Gene Mystreet headcanons !!

my third and final favourite mystreet character. he's so silly i need to beat his ass

5'7.4 (171.2cm)

hispanic

bisexual (it runs in the family. their mom is bi too)

scorpio ♏️

the eyebags aren't just bc he's has a god awful sleep schedule, they're actually hereditary (dante covers his with cucumbers and a skincare routine)

only speaks in spanish when he's losing his shit (arguing, panicking, tripped and scraped his knee on the sidewalk)

god can that boy dance

honestly just really loves cats

he went through a rough patch in uni and it sort of gave him a major wake up call as to just how he was doing and what kind of person he was and wanted to be

he, zenix, and sasha went their separate ways during uni, but tried to keep mostly in touch until eventually coming back together as roomies

god he would have just. the Worst depression meals. bro eats macaroni cheese dust in a glass with milk like it's a fucking nesquik packet. takes apart oreos and eats all the cream off, then puts pieces of ham in between them like theyre goddamn lunchable crackers. makes mayonnaise and jello sandwiches. takis and sweet relish. sasha and zenix have to make sure they come home on time and cook something before he puts whatever fucking concoction he makes into his body.

but he's actually a pretty damn good cook (when he's Not in a depressive episode)

learned to read fairly quickly, so he would always read dante to sleep

HARD gifted kid burnout like my man crashed and burned at 16

but now he's just a silly little nerd

favourite ninja turtle is donatello (mainly bc his fav color is purple)

he likes anime a lot, honestly. especially from 1990 to 2000s

plays mihoyo games. his mains are, respectively; cyno (genshin), jing yuan (hsr), and anton (zenless). This is a meta joke.

piercings,,, pirericngs,,,,, yesssss ,.

typa guy to use kaomoji and cat emoticons and send you cat videos off of youtube

the only social media he has is tumblr and reddit his punkass doesnt fw any other

he'd probably get a tattoo. maybe for his sweet girl, Apple, the poor thing

wants another cat, but he wants to give sasha and zenix no other choice but to let him take one in, so he's up Praying a stray will find him and follow him home

*opens his wallet and an entire roll of dante's baby pictures fall out* "UHM- UH- FWUH- I WAS HOLDING THESE FOR MY MOM-" dante, travis, and aph tear up on the spot

carries an epipen on his person at all times in case of emergencies. it was something he did growing up with dante, just in case the kid had something with peanuts, and it just kinda followed him into adulthood

was never that mean to travis, since he was dante's best friend, but he was never careful around him either, so

him and garroth actually end up being great friends who just spend most of their conversations gushing about mutual interests (their baby brothers, cats, video games) or sassing each other off

no wait bc why would his taste in men absolutely be himbos. (or at least just very sweet, kind-hearted people)

he calls people by specific little terms of endearment, depending on the type of response. that doesnt make sense. let me elaborate.

uses "babe" or "honey" when someone is in distress or upset ("oh, honey,,")

uses "bucko" or "buddy" when someone mouths off at him ("oookay there, buddy." "alright then, bucko.")

you get it now

the type of friend that is Always ready to back you up on your bullshit. absolutely no hesitation

he really didn't have a crush on aph, he was just a Grade A Asshole who thought it was fun to fuck with people

because he was viciously jealous of people who were capable of being happy and having good lives

not that he had a particularly awful, hard life. sure, his family had their struggles, but they were getting by. yes, he has felt like there was something deeply wrong with him that has been present within himself since even before he was born that made most people avoid him like he was on a secret list. but it was fine

he just knew that he had a sick feeling in him, and the only way he'd feel anything else was if he was a mean little asshole

some nights, it did scare him. it frightened him how bitter his tongue always tasted

and all of the time, constantly, buried beneath the feelings of hate, he felt guilt. he felt so, so much guilt. but, his only coping mechanism for when he's feeling bad is to do more bad things, and pretend he's always in the right

and, eventually, he broke. he broke down hard. now, since he's seen that his first plan to get rid of this feeling of skin-deep sin has failed, he's decided to try the other way. to atone

[bigasswritingmagnet]

The Jagerfrät, Part 2: Lunch and Learn

Modern day AU Agatha goes to Mechanicsburg University and discovers another part of her family legacy: The Jägerfrat. After rescuing/being discovered by three of the fraternity members, they buy her lunch, and Dimo gives her an impromptu history lesson.

Chapter 1 | AO3 Link

It was technically Theta Phi Theta Fraternity, but they were known to one and all as the Jägerfrat. It was the oldest fraternity in the country, and probably the most notorious. They were popular on Mechanicsburg University grounds, and absolutely nowhere else. On their own, they were a troublemaking rabble, known for drinking bars dry, picking fights, and tipping poorly.

But when a Heterodyne arrived…

Agatha had heard the stories. They’d burned a bar down. They’d terrorized every university within driving distance with “pranks” that usually resulted in real bodily harm and property damage in the thousands - minimum. They were the reason the Galați Goats no longer had a live animal mascot.

Every Heterodyne who had ever gone to Mechanicsburg University (which was all of them) had been a member.

Except for the last two.

“I mean, I wasn’t there, but we’re big on like, oral history and shit, y’know, so I know how it went down. It was like...everybody can’t like everybody, but the dudes didn’t even want to know us, y’know? We were embarrassing to them.”

Dimo had won the most emotionally charged game of rock-paper scissors Agatha had ever seen, and therefore was the one who got to ride with Agatha and give directions to a place that served ‘the most dope-ass sandwiches you ever ate in your life, no joke’. He sat slouched in the seat with his knees pressed against the dashboard, twirling his baseball cap on his finger. With each revolution, the enamel snarling demon face pinned to the brim caught the sunlight in a brief flash of gold.

“They made everybody tone it way, wayyy down. No more ragers, no more raids, no more anything . And the frat was not happy about it—I heard one guy straight up tried to knife them.”

“ What?”

“Yeah! Got expelled and everything, it was wild. The house heads burned his name off the wall with a fuckin’ blowtorch.”

Agatha knew why Uncle Barry had never told her stories about things he and his brother had done, but...maybe he could have squeezed in a few? Dropped casual hints? Something to prepare her for the inevitable reveal, the day she would have to face her legacy.

“If everyone was so unhappy about it, why did they do it?”

Dimo looked blank.

“Do what?”

“My father and Uncle Barry didn’t even join the fraternity; what authority did they have to tell the Jägers how to run it?”

“They were the Heterodynes,” Dimo said.

“But they weren’t in the fraternity.”

“But they were the Heterodynes,” Dimo said again. Suddenly he grinned and sat up, jamming his hat back on his head. “Turn here! This is it!”

“ This is the place?” Agatha exclaimed. Despite her trepidation, she obeyed the instruction and pulled into the parking lot of what she had assumed was an abandoned shack left over from a horror movie set.

Twenty minutes later, she was sitting on a half-rotten picnic table and staring down, wide eyed, at the perfectly pressed ham and cheese panini she had just tentatively bitten into.

“This is...the best thing I have ever tasted in my life,” she marveled.

“Told you, bro!” Maxim said. Beside him, Oggie managed to shove half a triple-decker club sandwich into his mouth in one bite.

“The guy who runs it used to be in the frat, sorta, so we get free sodas,” Dimo said.

“Also his granddaughter is smokin’ hot and totally into me,” Maxim said, preening.

“She is so not,” Oggie said.

“How the fuck would you know?” Maxim demanded.

“Cause you flirted with her and she hit you with a side of meat.”

“That was an accident, and she gave me her number after,” Maxim said, glaring.

“How can you sorta be in a fraternity?” Agatha asked, taking another bite of her sandwich.

“You hang around the house and help out with the parties, but you don’t do any of the pledging or drink the Jägerdraught.”

Agatha’s brow furrowed.

“Drink the what?”

The three boys glanced at each other, and Agatha sighed.

“I know very little about what my family used to do,” she said. “Outside of rumor and what I got off of the internet, I know almost nothing. Uncle Barry never liked to talk about it. He and my father worked hard to distance themselves from all of it, and he tried to do the same for--to me. You said they were embarrassed about it, I'm starting to think they were ashamed of it."

“Are you?” Dimo asked.

The table went quiet. The three Jägers were staring at her with startlingly solemn expressions. They didn’t know it, but it was a question that Agatha had been considering for a while now. Even not counting the college shenanigans, her family had been responsible for shady business deals, violent corporate take overs, and more tax fraud than you could shake a stick at.

But when she’d visited Mechanicsburg University last spring, she’d found herself drawn to it in a way she couldn’t quite name.

“I still have to go sign in and get my dorm keys,” she said, “but I’d like to see the fraternity house when I’m done.”

Their eyes lit up, and there was as much relief as excitement, but before a word could be said, a shadow fell over the table.

“ Where the hell have you idiots been?”

The girl standing over them was a few years older than Agatha. She had flaxen-blonde hair that was almost white, and furious brown eyes that bored into each young man in turn. Agatha could see the sunburn on her cheeks, despite the large sunhat on her head. Which—Agatha almost couldn’t believe her eyes—had a Jäger symbol pinned to the purple ribbon on the top.

“Jenka!” Maxim cried, winningly. Oggie let out an oof as a shaggy brown head the size of a toddler shoved itself over his shoulder, black eyes fixed on Oggie’s sandwich.

“Ayy, Füst, my man!” Oggie said with delight, and pulled out a slice of chicken for the dog.

“Why are none of you assholes answering your phones, where the fuck is my car, and who the hell is this?”

The three boys grinned broadly.

“This,” Dimo said, and Oggie and Maxim drummed their hands on the table in a drum roll. “Is Agatha. Heterodyne.”

“Tadaaaa!”

[corals-corner]

Here's a bombardment of random questions:

What is the inspiration/reasoning behind your Tumblr username?

If you could use magic to do one mundane task for the rest of your life, what would it be?

If you could make the ultimate sandwich, what would be on it?

 If you could invent a holiday, what would it be?

What book or series did you wish you could live in?

If you could be the best in the world at something, what would it be?

If you could have a lifetime supply of anything, what would it be?

What's your most unpopular food opinion?

What word do you want to be added to the dictionary, and what is the definition?

If you could, would you go to outer space?

I got all of these questions except #1 off a random website lol. You don't have to answer them all if you don't want to :P

Alright! Thank you so much :D

1) my inspiration for my user name was more or less randome. I liked the name Coral alot, so I began using it as my 'online persona', and my old username was just an acronym of a bunch of fandoms I was in, so "Corals Corner" just stuck

2) This is gonna sound basic, but doing my hair. I have alot of hair, so this would cut down the time it would take.

3) Alright, time for my love of food to shine! It would be on the Italian herbs and cheese bread from subway, bacon, turkey ham, roast beef, lettuce, cucumber, pickles, spinach, tomatoes, jalapeños, chipotle sause, mayo, and any kind of hot sause

4) National writers day! Idk if that exsist, but it would be a day where all types of writers could take a guilt free day(maybe week) off and relax, indeed have all the free time they want, this sounds weird af, but still

5) hmmm. Probably the WaterFire Saga by Jennefer Donnelly. I found her books when I was in 4th grade, and those are the main reason I'm still into mermaids :). I haven't read them all, and I only ever got to the ending of the first book, but I wo uld love to live in a world like that.

6) Art Supllies. I run out so quickly and I always need more.(money)

7)Orange Juice is much better than Apple Juice. Idk if that's unpopular, but I get so much shit about it. Also that dark chocolate is better than milk chocolate. Fight me.

8) ummm, idk about this one actually. but and my friends just say the randomest shit so probably something fucked up to mess with people

9) Being perfectly honest, absolutely not. I am terrified of the dark and of the unknown, and or large open spaces, so no. I'd be having a panic attack up there :')

Thank you so much for the questionns, I really appreciate them <3

[wolf-and-bard]

The Geraskier Soccer Parents AU of my dreams (in an early morning strike of weird-brain):

-Geralt knows he isn't the best dad ever. He tries so goddamn hard, but his job is demanding and consumes so much time and even with Ciri being seven already, he still has essentially no clue what he's doing. He sometimes falls into bed, half-dead, and she is the one to give him a good-night kiss. He sometimes forgets she prefers cheese and puts ham on her sandwiches. He is sometimes too happy to have her sleep over at her friends rather than invite them to their house. He doesn't read her all the children's classics, doesn't go trick-or-treating with her, doesn't even pretend Santa Claus is a thing. He isn't the best dad ever. He tries.

-There is one thing he never, ever fails to do and that is take Ciri to soccer practice. Ciri picks up and drops hobbies, interests, even tastes by the week, still unsure what she wants to pursue, but soccer isn't only her favourite pastime, it's theirs. Practice is twice a week and they have a ritual for it. Geralt picks her up from school and drives her there, she tells him about what the dumb boys in her class said, how her art project is going etc. Geralt is there throughout practice, tucked in between Foltest - a guy who is constantly worried for his daughter Adda to get hurt and also very much anxious for her to do well - and Tissaia - a woman who has not one, but three girls in Ciri's age group and several more in others, and knits like a magician - and watches. He takes notes, silently cheers for Ciri.

-After their games and while Ciri changes, Geralt chats with her coach Vesemir - who used to be Geralt's coach, but now prefers to train the girls' teams - about the progress of the team, upcoming tournaments etc. Sometimes when Vesemir is indisposed, Geralt even leads the practice. When Ciri is all done, Tissaia usually has another hat or mitten finished and Geralt and her drive with their girls to whatever food place the girls are in the mood for. They have an early dinner in which Tissaia lectures the girls on their form and in which Ciri is sometimes allowed to sit on Geralt's lap - but only if Fringilla or Yen don't tease hear about it - but in which she definitely gets to steal his milkshake (Geralt hates milkshakes). Geralt only praises her when they're back in the car and Ciri tells him he's too much of a softie with her and should be more like Tissaia. Should maybe marry Tissaia. They both laugh because that is never going to happen.

-Life is good that way. It's not perfect, it's not without bumps, certainly not without tears and scrapes, but whatever the job, whatever injury Geralt carries with him, however long he has to drive, he never, never ever misses soccer practice.

-The season's just kicked off in the year of Ciri's eighth birthday when Geralt and her arrive early on the field to find the stands empty save for a girl in the most ridiculously colorful excercise clothes and blond hair that is braided intricately around her head. With her is a man, maybe five years Geralt's junior. Ciri bolts towards them with a bright grin and Geralt is hesitant to follow. He knows neither the girl nor the man, but from what he can gather she wants to join the team which is just what they need as they're one girl short this season. "Hi, I'm Ciri, I adore your braids." Geralt holds back on the eye-roll. It's nice Ciri can make friends this easily, but his house already is a shrine for role-playing and board games, dolls and random DVDs and another friend means more things Ciri will want to try out. "Thank you," the girl replies and tilts her head to better show them off. "My uncle Jaskier braided them for me, I'm sure he can do yours too." Both girls look up expectantly at the man and Geralt only really notices him then. He is averagely built with bright blue eyes and an even brighter smile. His floral print shirt has three open buttons and his pants barely reach his ankles. He has the look of a flippant music teacher or a hipster coffeeshop owner. His eyes meets Geralt's and, wait, did he just wink? "I'd love to, dear," he says in a smooth voice that absolutely does not go straight to Geralt's guts. Geralt turns on the spot and decides to pressure check the balls, but he can hear the others giggling as Jaskier braids Ciri's hair. "I'm Priscilla by the way. What's up with your dad?" - "Oh, don't mind him, he's bad with meeting new people." - "Very intense." That's Jaskier. Oh, Geralt will show him intense.

-Ciri invites them to their after-practice dinner. Geralt wants to begrudge her that, but she and Priscilla have latched onto each other in record speed and Jaskier actually fights Tissaia on some of her more strict stances and he braids Yen's and Sabrina's hair too, only Fringilla doesn't want him to touch hers which he respects. Geralt and Tissaia glance at each other. Come to a silent agreement. They may not befriend Jaskier, but he's sunny and so good with the girls and they can use someone like him among their ranks, someone who doesn't have Calanthe's tendency for swear words or Crach's tendency to break out beer in the middle of practice or even Nenneke's tendency to relate everything to the workings of god.

-Jaskier is as faithful as Geralt, perhaps the only one who shows up every time without fail. Shani's parents only drop her off and Crach switches between  Cerys' and Hjalmar's practices and Tissaia sometimes texts Geralt to pick up her girls. Jaskier is there, every time, earlier than any of the others. He chats with Vesemir about his day-to-day, brings home-baked cookies for everyone, he cheers and whoops and tries very hard to understand soccer even though it's evident he doesn't. Geralt never wonders why it's him and not Priscilla's parents that come, it's none of his business. He begins to tolerate Jaskier, but he knows that is where he has to draw the line. He has his hands full with Ciri and his job and his brothers too. He can't afford friendships that extend beyond the field.

-Jaskier doesn't let him off though. He always takes the spot next to Geralt (technically an improvement over Foltest's sweaty visage) and prattles on and on, at least until the game begins. When it does, Jaskier divides his attention between the girls and the stack of paper on his lap which he annotates during practice. It's often either sheet music or the illegible scrawl of pre-teens or wonkily drawn instruments. Jaskier already told him, but from that too it is obvious that Geralt's hunch was right, he is a music teacher. Geralt finds his eyes darting to Jaskier's long fingers, nimble and calloused from the various string instruments he plays. Finds himself glancing at where Jaskier's tongue peeks out in concentration. He listens to the man's ramblings and hums his replies and comes to dislike the days when Vesemir isn't there and he has to focus all his attention on giving the girls a good practice. Not that he doesn't want to, it's just that having Jaskier at his back unnerves him.

-(Jaskier for his part doesn’t care at all about soccer, but he cares about Priscilla so he convinced her parents to let him take her; after that, she said it would be fine if he dropped her off and picked her up again, but Jaskier pretends he is super invested in the sport and the team and he is, but mostly he’s invested in charming Geralt)

-After an entire season of mutual pining and obliviousness, Tissaia decides she's had enough and rallies the other parents. She has Foltest organize a big party at his country house, has Nenneke promise to look after the girls (the woman doesn't drink) and has Crach whip out the finest spirits he has in storage. Calanthe makes a phenomenal playlist and it's Tissaia's job to get Geralt to the party (Jaskier's not a problem) and dress up nicely. Only Aridea, Renfri's stepmother, refuses to pitch in, but she's been a bitch anyway.

-When Geralt picks up Jaskier at his downtown flat he has to grip the wheel of his rover hard in order not to short-circuit. Jaskier has done something to his hair that Geralt can't name but that makes him go woozy inside. He wears a plain shirt that compliments his eyes and hugs his body just right and he looks high on life with color in his cheeks and the most dazzling smile. He's gorgeous. "Darling, don't you look dashing," Jaskier says excitedly and props his feet up on the dashboard, only after kissing Geralt on the cheek. Which is not fair. "Likewise," Geralt mutters, then blushes furiously. He didn't want that to come out, oh no. Jaskier either didn't hear or acts like it and they drive in silence to Foltest's country house. Well, aside from the songs Jaskier hums under his breath, some new composition no doubt.

-At first, Geralt thinks it's a nice enough party for someone who doesn't like parties. Foltest's grilling burgers, they all have cocktails, the music is mellow. Not that that stops Jaskier from swirling an already quite drunk Calanthe over the terrace in dazzling moves. Geralt wants to be swirled like that. "You really have it bad, don't you?" Crach comments when he notices Geralt staring. Geralt downs his beer (he's no cocktail drinker) and tries pointedly not to stare at how Jaskier's swinging his ass around.

-The buzz makes it easier and he relieves Foltest at the barbecue for a bit. But then Jaskier walks up to him, a little short on breath and grinning his most flirtatious little grin. It gives him fucking dimples. Sigh. "Hey you big strong man," Jaskier says. He smells like pineapple and coconut, but isn't even a little drunk. "Jask," he says, pointedly flipping a burger. "Foltest says he has an old karaoke machine in the shed, but it's too heavy for me. Help me?" - "...fine." Geralt gestures for Foltest to keep up with the meat and he and Jaskier make their way along a garden path that winds through thickets and by a small pond. The shed is painted blue and white and Geralt and Jaskier find it very much cluttered, but not dirty which is nice. Geralt only understands it's a trap when it's already sprung on them. The tiny click of the look is almost inaudible over Jaskier's anxious commentary of their search for the machine. There is only one small window and no light Geralt can see. Fuck.

-"Ehm, Jaskier?" he reaches out and gently touches Jaskier's shoulder which has the other man yelp and jump. Which doesn't bode well for what Geralt has to tell him. "I think we're trapped." The effect is immediate. Jaskier goes rigid, his breath catches. Is he afraid? Claustrophobic perhaps? Shit, so he can't be in on the joke. "Jask?" - "Geralt. I know we aren't the closest, but I need you to hold me right now." And he launches himself at Geralt. Maybe he is in on the joke? No, he's trembling too hard for that. Geralt catches him and does as asked. "I am absolutely going to die," Jaskier whines into Geralt's neck and Geralt can't help a small chuckle as he rubs Jaskier's back soothingly. This is... surprisingly nice for a trap. Also likely Tissaia's doing. Geralt has a rare idea. "What if I distract you until someone finds us?" he murmurs against Jaskier's hair and Jaskier draws back a little. In the half-dark his eyes glisten, widen when they meet Geralt's. "You would?" - "Close your eyes, Jaskier." Geralt feels a surge of daring, perhaps granted by the intimacy and seclusion of the situation. He catches Jaskier's lips with his own. When they part, Jaskier grins, shaking from something other than fear. "I thought you didn’t much like me," he whispers. "I thought I got on your nerves." - "Idiot." They kiss again and, faintly, Geralt can hear someone cheer from outside.

[anika-ann]

Attached: The One Word

The Three Times Steve Didn’t Get to Hear the One Word He Wanted and the One Time He Did

Type: series, modern-college-professor Steve AU… aka the wrong attachment AU ;)

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader   Word count: 7700 👀

Summary: In which Steve really, really wants to ask you the question, but the odds are always against him – absurdly so. Maybe it’s fate and he shouldn’t ask. Or maybe the universe just hates him and punishes him for tainting a girl like you and wanting you all for himself officially.

Warnings: lots of swearing, crack-ish, briefest smut so 18+ only please, sickness and fluff

A/N: I say this to you, my friends – I do not at all envy men in a heterosexual relationship for being expected to pop the question. I would chicken out every time, I’m sure of it. Enjoy!

Story masterlist

⊱-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦ ✉ ◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-⊰

Steve liked to think important things through. He liked planning. He liked to have all the facts and view things from different angles before making a decision.

Therefore, wanting to marry you was something he was perfectly certain of and two months after he received your mother’s blessings ��� two months of slowly reducing costs, preparing to lower incomes, not that they had ever been glorious ever –, Steve had a feeling that the time was finally right and that he was ready to pop the question. He was.

The only problem was that the universe started plotting against him.

Big time.

⊱-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦ ✉ ◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-⊰

1.

Palmeri was a relatively new restaurant, but quickly gaining reputation. Steve had heard Carol talking about taking her girlfriend there for the fun of trying a new spot and getting a taste of fancy Italian. Clearly that had a good time; the moment he learned, he started considering it. Two days later, he had to make a reservation for a week later, because the word of the delicious food travelled fast.

That was fine with him, even if he felt like he was about to jump out of his skin before the date finally arrived. Still, he advertised the fact to you that he would like to celebrate your early wrapped up exams already foreshadowing that you would obviously slayed the one you were supposed to have a day prior Friday.

When you heard the name of the restaurant, your eyes twinkled like fairy lights, a squeal of delight escaping your lips before they swiftly found his to kiss him crazy. Steve’s heart thundered in his chest as you ran off back to your books with newly-found motivation, his nerves mingling with the satisfaction that you appreciated his idea – even if you couldn’t have no clue about what he was about to do.

He could only hope that you’d be as delighted at him sinking to one knee.

But he would have to get out of this fucking interfaculty meeting FIRST!

“Seeing as the satisfaction of the students apparently took a nose dive according to the university poll last month…” Fury continued rambling, his serious and mildly snarky voice carrying through the conference room, as if mocking Steve who anxiously eyed the clock, again.

The reservation was for seven thirty.

It was five to seven.

Half an hour ago, Steve hated the idea of not taking a shower and looking his absolute best while proposing to you.

Now? Every option looked better than this. He would arrive to the restaurant all sweaty and catching his breath if he took off right this moment. And even that seemed impossible; president Fury, that son of a bitch, was nowhere close to ending the meeting.

51 weeks. 51 Fridays Fury could have called the meeting.

Nope, that bastard picked this one, the one Friday Steve was planning on sweeping you off your feet and asking you to be his for the rest of your lives.

Fucking asshole.

“Got anything to add, Professor Rogers?” a gruff voice asked him and Steve jumped in his chair and nearly dropped the phone he was pulling out of his pocket to text you with his deepest regrets – but he had to, otherwise you’d already be on your way.

Best if he saved you the embarrassment; best if you stayed home at least, all dolled up and pretty and smiling for him to show off.

Goddammit fuck.

Steve’s eyes snapped to Fury, meeting a glare that seemed even sterner with only one functioning eye.

Steve gritted his teeth and determinedly gripping his phone.

“No,” he shot back, biting his cheek when Fury’s eyebrow rose at his snappy tone. “I mean… I need to make a phone call. If you’d excuse me, it will be just a minute.”

Likely story. He would have to be apologizing for at least three minutes straight and then crawl on his knees when he finally got back home; not because you’d be so unforgiving and angry, but because it would be the right thing to do after disappointing your precious heart.

He was about to make you sad. He fucking hated making you sad.

“Make it three tops,” the president grumbled, but luckily didn’t pry what was so important for him to leave the room.

“Stevie!” your bright voice greeted him from the speaker and Steve’s heart seized in his chest, his fist automatically clenching in anger. He was about to crush you because of a dumb-ass useless meeting. He brought the fist to his mouth to stop himself from greeting you equally delighted way and fleeting the university grounds. “I’m just about to take off! I was getting worried you wouldn’t make it. Did Fury give you a hard time? … Steve?”

Steve, much to his horror, found his eyes prickling with tears of frustration as his name on your lips sounded suddenly unsure.

Fuck. This.

“Hey babygirl,” he said finally and the roughness of his voice must have been everything you needed to hear to understand.

“You can’t make it.”

Steve wanted to tear his hair out at the defeat in your voice. Talk about a nose dive of your mood.  He was gonna fucking scream.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered instead, the apology so pathetic in comparison to what he wanted to say.

But that was the irony – you couldn’t even begin to guess how much it sucked for the two of you to not being able to go to the damn Palmeri. You didn’t know the main tragedy, only a part of it. You didn’t know he had been about to propose.

Silence stretched between the two of you and Steve tilted his head back, blinking against the sting in his eyes, his stomach sinking to his feet.

“It’s not your fault,” you sighed eventually, sounding as if you were trying to convince him as much as yourself.

Steve could imagine precisely the disappointment on your face, the fall of your expression, pretty features no doubt having been accented by make-up just the right amount twisting. He could see clearly how your lips made for smiles turned downward, lower lip maybe even trembling a bit.

Steve was gonna murder Fury.

“But it is. I’m so sorry, I know how excited you were and so was I and— I’m just really sorry.”

“I know, Steve,” you breathed out weakly and he could hear the attempt of a smile in your next words. “Come home soon, yeah? I’ll wait for you.”

Steve’s heart grew in size so rapidly it actually hurt.

“I love you, sweetheart. I know--- I know you might not wanna hear it now and that it doesn’t mean much, but I really do,” he creaked.

“It does. Bye, Steve.”

Steve’s fingers clutched at the phone, eyes falling shut in defeat.

You were nice about it, sure, but the fact that you didn’t say I love you back didn’t escape him as didn’t the switch from Stevie to Steve; the subtle hints sat heavily in his gut as he returned to the room.

He met Bucky’s compassionate gaze – of course Buck knew about why Steve was distracted during the assembly – and quickly looked away, once again excusing himself for the interruption even if there was nothing sincere about his words.

His chest ached for the rest of the meeting – and would for the rest of the night.

⊱-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦ ✉ ◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-⊰

He did not come home soon – in fact, it was nearing eleven when he finally opened the door, trying to make no sound when he found the apartment plunged into dark. He grimaced, jaw clenching; you were already asleep.

A fresh surge of anger shot into his veins; the university hated him, he was certain of it – and the other way around. He had missed his shot because of a meeting that was literally about nothing. Fuck his life.

He grumbled, the only sound he allowed himself to make when moving around the apartment, switching the dimmest light he could as not to wake you – because disappointing you was enough, the least he could do was not to disturb your sleep.

Frustrated, tired and hungry, he tiptoed to the kitchen to grab a bite. He was starving and even though he was exhausted and craved nothing but to wrap his arms around you and sink into the cushions, he knew hunger would wake him up a few hours later if he went to bed with an empty stomach.

Upon opening the fridge, a surprise welcomed him; a ham & cheese sandwich ready on a plate, a small Tupperware box with pieces of tomatoes and cucumber on side, a sticky note simply reading ��Stevie’.

His breath got stuck in his throat, heart hammering in his ribcage – that was how moved he was by your gesture. He knew that you must have been as upset as you had been excited to have the fancy dinner with him, but here you were, pushing your sorrows and anger aside and preparing him food, a possible olive branch.

The sandwich was nothing fancy by any means; but God, Steve loved you just a little bit more at that moment for he didn’t have to move a finger to eat so late and you even took care to set his vegetables aside, because you knew how much he hated when the bread got squishy with the juice.  

Gratefully biting into his late-night meal, Steve swore to himself he would spend the rest of his life spoiling you rotten.

When he finally got to cautiously cuddle you from behind – eyeing the absolutely stunning dress you were supposed to wear hanging outside the closet as if there to mock him – you stirred at the dip of the mattress.

Lazily blinking your eyes open, you welcomed him with a raspy hey and he had a half mind to just take the ring from the safety of its velvet box and slip it on your finger right there.

“I’m sorry, babygirl. I’m so so sorry,” he whispered, tentatively wrapping his arm around your midsection, unsure if he wasn’t in disgrace after all. You just hummed and rolled over to face him, burying your face in his chest, heavy limbs wrapping around him as if you were an octopus – the most adorable, precious, beautiful and perfect octopus in the world. His octopus. “I love you so much. I promise to make it up to you.”

“Uh-huh. Looking forward to it. Now sleep,” you mumbled to Steve’s sleepshirt, half-grumpy half-sounding as if not caring for what he was saying at all, causing him to feel warm all over.

Oh he was so going to show you just how he could make it up to you. He would marry the shit out of you.

Just you wait.

⊱-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦ ✉ ◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-⊰

2.

Because of a water incident, Palmeri closed three days after Steve’s first failed attempt – and assumptions were that it would remain so for a month, because they needed to redecorate.

That meant a new plan for Steve, because he could not wait that long. Out of question. He needed to hear you say yes as soon as possible. Yesterday had been too late.

So, he asked Sam for a recommendation – casually, he believed – and somehow ended up with the man looking at him for a few seconds before realization dawned on his face.

“Oooooh, I see how it is! Need something real nice, huh?” Sam whistled, a teasing grin on his face as he patted Steve’s shoulder for support. “Relax, I gotcha, man. All you need; cosy atmosphere, but classy, white table cloths and everything. The right place to take her to in order to butter her up and make her all putty.”

Steve didn’t manage to quite hide his embarrassment at being so obvious, but he knew that Sam was a friend and all his shit-talking was good-natured, always knowing where the boundaries were; he wasn’t a counsellor for nothing.

And Steve had to give it to him – the place he recommended was just what he promised it would be and exactly what Steve needed.

You were all smiles and some giggles, little tipsy on the second glass of the wine, eyes shining in the dim lights, somehow lighting up more whenever you caught him staring at you. It was the perfect display of all the good things you were, ones he adored about you, the light of his life and gazing at him as if he was yours too.

Downing some of the liquid courage himself and with you so gorgeously giddy, Steve felt his confidence building up during the night and was just about ready to get on one knee once you finished your shared dessert.

“This is good!” you gushed, digging the fork if into the cake to get another bite and Steve grinned, unable to help himself as he agreed.

“Uh-huh, sweet. But not as sweet as you.”

You stopped mid-chew, eyes meeting his and he felt his face burn hot with embarrassment at such cheesy comment.

You swallowed, gaze still fixed on him as he busied himself with the sweet treat, and then you chuckled, causing his face to turn entirely red.

“You, Steve Rogers, are so corny sometimes,” you mocked him lightly, but when he looked up, sheepish and with his confidence bruised, he found you all starry-eyed still, watching him adoringly as if he hung the moon – and he would, for you – and Steve felt himself settle again. “But I still love you. Maybe even more for that.”

It was a wonderful opening, things really going his way – but he hesitated a second too long, like an idiot, and the next thing he knew, a string quartet, a damn string quartet, walked straight to the elderly couple two tables over, one of the group congratulating them to their thirtieth anniversary and at that moment…

Well. At that moment, Steve really fucking hated them.

Who fucking cared they were a sweet elderly couple?! Steve could only dream about you two becoming them one day as of now, because they ruined just another of his fucking shots!

He couldn’t believe that he missed his window again.

And what more, you cooed under your breath, a silent aww falling from your lips and Steve knew that anything less than a string quartet accompanying a marriage proposal when delivered in a restaurant was a no-go.

So scratch that one off the list.

All guests clapped their hands, more of awws coming from different directions and you proceeded to take his hand, gentle fingers stroking over his knuckles and Steve knew one thing with absolute certainty; he needed to propose tonight otherwise he might burst.

At home then, he would ask you at home. Who even wanted something as cliché and public as he had planned? Lame. You were a private pair, some people still judged you upon seeing you together; a little intimate proposal in your home after a fancy sweet dinner would be just the thing.

Steve just had to figure how exactly and at what moment to ask. He’d be fine. You’d say yes. Right?

He was so preoccupied with his thoughts and plans that he barely noticed you growing skittish during the taxi ride, but he certainly noticed when you started practically jumping by his side as he was unlocking the door to your apartment, confused by your antics.

The second Steve opened it and stepped inside, he found himself being shoved back-first towards a wall, your hands on his chest, sliding up and down his coat and blindly undoing the buttons as your mouth assaulted his, a soft mewl vibrating against his lips, wandering hands appreciative when they slipped under the lapels of his coat and jacket.

Steve’s head spun at the display of desire, a sudden pleasant dizziness overtaking his body, all rational thoughts vaporizing as you rocked against his crotch, his cock twitching in excitement at the friction and at the way his tongue had to fight against yours. His brain grew foggy at the faint taste of wine and the cake you had shared, his hands automatically grabbing your waist to keep you close, fingers squeezing your hips and ass to urge you closer when he rolled his hips against yours, eliciting needy moans from your lips-

You withdrew for just a second to catch your breath, lips skimming over his jaw, revelling at the feel of his beard on your skin he knew you loved, hasty words whispered into his flesh.

“Dammit, Steve, you look so fucking hot in this suit--- oh Stevie,” you whimpered when his hands slipped under your backside to tease your clothed weeping core, the sensation setting his blood on fire, the delicious friction and your dirty mouth everything that mattered in the world. “Let me suck you off-“

Steve nearly choked on his own spit upon hearing that, almost losing his balance with his legs turning into jelly and all his blood rushing into his dick.

Yeah, Steve might be a professor but he was a simple guy.

When his girl, in those stunning hot as hell dress begged him to let her get on her knees to blow his dick and his mind, he really couldn’t find himself refusing, the coil in his belly searing hot by the time you looked up at him from under your eyelashes, so pretty, doe-eyed, lips kiss-swollen and willing and so fucking devilish as you freed his cock and licked the drop of precum already forming there.

“Fuck, babygirl, what’s gotten into you-“ was all he managed to ask before all he could think off was the velvety heat of your mouth, taking him all in and making him see stars, the jewellery box in the pocket of his coat long forgotten.

And fuck was also his first coherent thought in the morning, when he realized that once again, the proposal attempt ended up being an utter failure.

⊱-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦ ✉ ◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-⊰

3.

Steve had established after his two and half failed proposals that he wouldn’t make any reservations in some dumb restaurant. Just no. Privacy it would be; something personal, accompanied with a simple and yet big enough gesture, him doing something just for you, following with words of you being his world or something.

Yeah.

And for once, it seemed that the universe that had seemed to hate him, finally started playing in his favour.

The weather was going crazy, sun and spring in a middle of February and Steve had a revelation – he was going to take you out for a picnic. It was going to be perfect; he’d take you outside the city, find a quiet corner, just you and him, nothing in your way and more importantly, in his way to pop the question.

Steve was certain that you’d prefer this to anything else anyway, loving when he made an effort to create something for you. He still remembered when you first discovered he enjoyed drawing and you practically melted into a puddle when you found drawings of yourself too, allegedly displaying you prettier than you were – as if.

So, picnic it was.

Except on Friday, the day before THE DAY, Steve woke up with a splitting headache, his whole body hurting, nose full and lungs as if stuffed with cotton wool. He blamed the crazy weather, but it didn’t really matter where this sickness came from – he felt like shit.

He groaned and downright punched the alarm on his phone, startling you awake.

With bleary gaze, he registered you rolling over in his arms, squirming at him sleepily as he let his eyelids slip shut again.

“Steve, hun, are you okay?” you asked him softly, voice husky as he loved to hear it when you woke up, too adorable for him to keep his hands off you.

He sure as fuck wasn’t thinking about sweet and filthy morning loving now; he would have coughed out his lungs if he tried to move too much and some parts of him might fall off judging by how much everything hurt.

“Yeah,” he rasped, throat scratchy at the single word and as if from a distance, he heard a noise of sympathy, your palm instantly finding his forehead, gentle touch soothing against his burning skin.

“You’re absolutely not okay. Stevie, you’re burning up,” you whispered compassionately and Steve blinked his eyes open, the little light in the room causing him to snap them close again immediately. Ouch.

“Fuck my liiiiife,” he groaned, prolonging the last syllable, which proved to be a wrong thing to do, sending him into a couching fit due to his scratchy throat.

Your hands roamed his shoulders and back as he rolled over to his side from you, hoping to suck in some air to continue coughing.

“Oh Stevie, I’m sorry. I’ll bring you some medicine when I’m back from school, yeah? And I’ll make some soup,” you assured him kindly, dropping a kiss to his shoulder before your pleasant warmth disappeared, leaving him too cold and hot at the same time.

Seriously. FUCK HIS LIFE.

Grunting, he fell to his back, exhausted by one stupid coughing fit, whole body heavy; and he must have fallen asleep too, because the next thing he knew, soft lips were touching his forehead, tender fingers brushing messy strands of hair away. He stirred, forcing his eyes open to be greeted by a sight of that angelic face of yours, complete with a halo of light around you.

“I already called Bucky. He’ll sort out your classes today, alright? There’s a tea on your nightstand along with some last Tylenol we have.”

Steve squinted in the direction of the piece of furniture you mentioned and sure enough, there it was, everything you said it would.

What a pretty dutiful nurse you were. God, he loved you.

As he eyed you then, deep sense of longing settled in his swimming stomach, more so as he didn’t miss the gorgeous thermo leggings and long sweater hugging your figure, reaching your mid-thighs.

All Steve wanted was to pull you back to him so he had a human furnace in bed with him, the soothing smell of your shampoo to comfort him – even though he probably wouldn’t be able to smell it. But his hands would still be able to explore your delicious body, grope and hold it close to his and you could maybe ramble about everything and anything, lulling him to sleep.

But no, you were leaving to school, leaving him alone in the apartment.

Just him, himself and his fucking flu.

He eyed you wistfully, lips pursed at your concerned expression.

“When you’ll be back?”

The wrinkle between your brows smoothened, a smile playing in the corner of your mouth.

“I have class until eleven. I see what I can do. I’m gonna have to hit the pharmacy and make some shopping,” you explained patiently, casing Steve to groan. Too long. So so long… Your smile widened, another kiss landing on his temple this time. “But I’ll be back before you know it. Get some rest, Professor Rogers.”

Your teasing tone made him growl, the action effectively sending him into another coughing fit and through glassy eyes, he saw you disappear from the room with one last glance over your shoulder.

Steve closed his eyes and breathed in deeply – oh, the delicious air – and then buried himself in the covers, praying that a decent sleep would make him feel better.

It didn’t, not quite. What did make him feel much better was the Tylenol and the sirup you brought along.

The absolute best was when you were there for him to cuddle you to sleep in the evening; somewhere in the back of his mind, he was aware that he was being a giant baby and was being utterly ridiculous, but God help him, this was all he needed the whole day.

He sighed blissfully as he hugged your midsection while you were sitting propped on the back-rest, soft light from the nightlamp illuminating the pages of the book you were reading. You were warmth, the gentle kind and Steve felt you seeping into him, fingers of one hand raking through his hair; he felt himself getting high on your loving care and cough sirup.

“I love having you here,” he muttered into the fabric of your pyjama, feeling you shift in your position a little, probably as you looked at him.

“Yeah?” you asked, sounding as if you were smiling, maybe even laughing at him; but he couldn’t care less, already drifting off to sleep, just content to have you.

“You’re warm and nice… and the prettiest nurse. And I love you. You’re my everything.”

“Oh Stevie,” you cooed sweetly, kissing the crown of his head and he preened at the sensation, smiling lazily. “I love you too.”

His heart skipped a beat as he nuzzled into your flesh and heard you gently toss the book away, your other hand now caressing his cheek.

“Yeah? Will you always be here? I want you to always be with me,” he admitted sheepishly, drawing a soft giggle and earning a kiss on his forehead.

“God, you’re adorable like this…”

Steve grunted, discontent with your reaction. “Not an answer.”

“I’ll always be here if you want me to, Stevie,” you answered dutifully, causing warmth fill his chest even if your body was shaking with hushed laughter; he felt it, but didn’t care. For your words however, he did; phew, as if he ever wanted something else, as if you had the right to question that!

He really needed to propose soon… just not tomorrow. You’d probably say no if he asked you, blaming his request on the fever. Naively.

“I wanna,” he mumbled, trying to squeeze you tighter. “Mine. My pretty girl. My babygirl. Forever.”

“Forever is a long time,” you noted, smile once again lacing your voice, along with an emotion, oh so soft one, he didn’t have the capacity to identify anymore. “But that’s what it’ll be if that’s what you want.”

Finally satisfied and with determination in the back of his mind, Steve let your love bridge him over to the dreamland, distantly aware of your fingers still playing with his hair.

⊱-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦ ✉ ◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-⊰

+1

Steve’s mother used to say his that flu lasted a week under a doctor’s care; and seven days without it. Of course, when he was younger with many health issues, it was more complicated than that, but he got the message.

Under your care, he felt considerably better after five days, only a mild case of a runny nose remaining. On a Thursday morning, he even found himself awake before you did, before your alarm went off.

Contemplating whether he should stay in bed with you or get shit done, he lazily scooped away a bit and propped himself on his elbow to feast his eyes on his pretty nurse.

Your hair was a messy halo around your head, your brows were lightly crooked as if you were having an unpleasant dream, your lips parted just a fraction, the softest snort escaping you.

Steve felt himself grin, a love-sick lift of the corners of his lips.

You were so freaking cute.

And seeing you, relaxed, but clearly catching up with sleep to beat your exhaustion to which he abundantly contributed, he knew he couldn’t stay in bed; in fact, he had to make you breakfast to bed, for all the troubles he put you through and for the attentive care you lavished him with.

Sure, when he was getting overly needy and whiny or cranky, you weren’t shy to call him out on his shit – which only made him love you more – but otherwise you were admirably patient.

As if he hadn’t already known that you were a keeper before that; this only solidified his conviction. If everything about you didn’t scream put a ring on it, then he wasn’t Steven Grant Rogers.

Hell, he had a half-mind to propose you just at that moment, all domestic atmosphere and sweet gesture like breakfast in bed, but he wasn’t certain it wouldn’t look like the past few days were what pushed him over the edge. That would only be a half-truth--- quarter-truth?

Shaking his head at his own dumb thoughts, he gathered the pancakes, yogurt, various pieces of fruit and obviously, a coffee, laying it on a tray he had nearly forgotten he owned and tiptoed to the bedroom, honestly surprised that you hadn’t woken up yet with him fumbling around.

He stopped dead in his tracks when you sighed and stirred, rolling over and stretching out a hand as if in a search for him, only to find the space empty. Something between a hum and a damn meowl fell from your lips and Steve had to remind himself what it was he wanted to do besides trying his best to find out how exactly he could make you repeat that sound.

So precious. Absolutely adorable. Beautiful. Tempting.

You clutched the empty sheets, but didn’t wake and Steve crossed the distance to the bed, carefully setting the tray on the nightstand as he went to sit on the bed next to your waist, a dopy smile on his face.

Laying a hand on your thigh, he squeezed a little, attempting to wake you gently; he knew you got jumpy when something tickled your face, so this was the safer option.

You stirred once again, but didn’t wake, your eyes only fluttering open when he called your name a few times, alternating with your favourite term of endearment.

You squinted at him, appearing confused and groaning. Steve grinned.

“Morning, sunshine,” he hummed, finally allowing himself to run the pads of his fingers from your forehead to your cheek and jaw, leaning into drop a kiss to your lips.

He froze, his brain on alert as he registered how hot your face felt.

The faint snoring. Squinting against light. Not waking up sooner than him. Your face pretty much burning to touch.

Oh no.

“Babygirl… are you feeling sick?” Steve whispered hesitantly, met with a bleary gaze and a pout.

“Wasn’t feeling great even yesterday evening…” you said, voice hoarse – whether from sleep or the flu Steve had managed to infect you with, he couldn’t tell.

But he certainly felt guilty, even if it was inevitable, really; with all you sweet care and constant proximity, it was only a matter of time. Not that it made him feel any better.

“Oh sweetheart, I’m so sorry-“

“Not your fault-“

“Kinda is-“

“Steve dammit!” you hissed, your eyes flying open fully and Steve knew what was coming; still, he grimaced as you coughed. “Shit. I hate flu.”

“Tell me about it. You think you can eat something?” he fussed, snapping into his nurse mode right away, ready for your roles to reverse.

You hummed and tried to sit, your gaze falling on the nightstand for the first time. Your expression, having been twisted in a grimace, softened instantly. As you turned to him, he suddenly felt sheepish. Was he acting like a love-sick fool?

“You made me breakfast to bed?” you cooed, snuggling into the covers before gesturing for him to help you sit up. “You’re the best.”

“I’ll be better if I make you some tea to go with it… and bring cough sirup… and stuff, yeah?”

You smiled like a loon – well, you tried, the result kinda faint, a testimony to your exhaustion – and Steve quickly rose to his feet.

“You’re the best.”

“Nope, that’s you. Eat your breakfast, babygirl.”

⊱-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦ ✉ ◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-⊰

Steve could tell you still didn’t feel exactly alright and the idea of eating wasn’t thrilling to you, but the pleaser you were, you tried your best for him to see that you appreciated his effort to make breakfast. When he brought you the tea, the medicine and water to down it, you were hallway through the pancakes, even though you seemed to force yourself into every bite.

“You don’t have to make yourself sicker just because you feel like you have to eat this, you know,” he hummed nonchalantly, causing you to grimace and take another two bites before sighing and pushing the tray away.

“It’s really yummy though… I think,” you stated, a wry smile playing in one corner of your lips. “Thank you.”

And you sounded so honestly grateful, clearly attempting for the smile to look real even with your eyes blazed and your features undeniably displaying tiredness, that Steve had to chuckle as he handed you the pills.

“Glad you liked it, sweetheart.”

You went to drop a careful kiss to his cheek when a coughing fit took you by surprise, starling him and resulting in you clutching both your chest and head, wide hurt eyes looking up at him as he smiled, tight-lipped and compassionate; he knew exactly how you felt.

And you were still kinda adorable, pouting a bit, looking at Steve as if he could save you from the evil flu monster.

“I hate flu… but I really like you. Thank you for taking care of me,” you said sincerely, emphasizing your point with an obviously unplanned sneeze.

Steve lips twitched, but so did his heart. His hands went to caress your hair, earning a pleased hum.

“Just returning the favour.”

“Uh-huh. Don’t think I was that nice.”

“You were,” he assured you, feeling need to add a little piece of important information, just to show how much he meant it. “Just made me fall in love with you all over again.”

“Sweet-talker. I bet that’s all gone now, seeing me about to go through a box of tissues a day,” you chuckled weakly, nearly sinking into the cushions.

Steve wasn’t sure what was it he was suddenly overcome with; how or in which exact moment it sneaked into his conscience, a crazy insane thought and the untameable feeling in his gut that nudged him to do it.

To do it right now. To tell you, truly and from the depth of his heart, how much you meant to him. How much he was sure you always would.

“No, it’s not. I want to take care of you,” he whispered, hesitantly taking a hold of your slightly clammy hands and gently squeezing. You reciprocated the action, even if weakly.

“I want to take care of you and I want you to take care of me. I want to have you by my side every day, in our home, in our bed,” he continued, for once not talking only about different ways of making you moan his name when mentioning a bed. “I want to kiss you stupid whenever I get the chance, I want to laugh with you when you’re happy and hold you when you feel like crap. I want us to fight the whole world if they tell us that our love is wrong, because I know there’s nothing more right than me loving you and you loving me.”

The words spilled from his lips without much thinking, just one following other, somehow making sense, he hoped.

The strange buzz of nerves in his ears was so loud that he barely registered you breathed out his name.

“Steve-“

His eyes never left your face, watching it crumble under the weight of his declaration, already glassy eyes turning wetter, breathing ragged almost as much as his was from the rapid fire of words. Your lips parted in beautiful awe, that beautiful awe he had seen before, whenever you seemed to be shocked by how deep his need for you ran.

There was no questioning what should come next. Only half-aware of doing so, Steve had already prepared the ground.

“Stay right here,” he blurted out, giving your hands another quick squeeze before straightening rapidly and nearly tripping over his feet as he rushed towards his desk, opening the third drawer. Your voice, laced with both confusion and overwhelming emotion, followed him.

“I- I’m not going anywhere. What’s-“

“Sh-shh,” Steve hissed distractedly and took a deep breath as his fingers finally met with the box, gripping it tightly and his palm covering it as he stalked back to the bed, heart hammering in his ribcage.

This was the right moment, right? It seemed ridiculous, but god, so so right.

“You’re lucid, right?” he asked just to make sure, wavering only for a bit; you might be sick, even have a headache maybe, but you certainly appeared lucid enough a moment ago. But maybe that would be the reason you’d say no?

Shit, he felt like teenager about to ask his first crush to sit with him at lunch.

“I—I think? I’m just hella confused…“ you stuttered, causing his already wild heart to skip a beat upon hearing the nerves in your voice.

Your eyes, wide with confusion and yet slightly narrow because light hurt, watched Steve carefully as he dropped to his knees by your bedside and he didn’t think he ever saw you looking more endearing.

Steve had never been more certain of the fact that he wanted you to be his wife; and yet, and maybe precisely because of that, a lump formed in his throat. He took a deep calming breath, bracing himself.

“I love you. I love your mind, your body, your soul and everything that’s you and I—I think you’re the most wonderful woman I have ever met and had the luck to fall for. So I…”

With another heartskip, loud pounding in his head and maybe a tiny bit of a shake to his hands, he rose to only one knee, not missing your expression turning into a picture perfect of shock when he held out the box he had been thinking about for too long.

“Oh my god, Steve-“

“Please let me do this,” he whispered, barely audible, mostly because while you seemed absolutely stunned, you didn’t look angry or horrified, so he sensed a chance.

“I’m running a fever, my nose is running too and I’m--- ew all over-“ you protested weakly, a tear actually running down your cheek, but then you chuckled, a hand flying up to cover your mouth and Steve felt his confidence rise.

“You’re not, and even if you were I wouldn’t care. You’re my everything and wish nothing more than to make you mine officially.” Unable to wait any longer under you attentive and entirely adoring gaze, he opened the box and said your full name, nearly choking on it under the overwhelming joy of the moment – because he already knew. He knew what you were gonna say; you had it written all over you face. “Will you marry me?”

Steve knew. He was so sure that he knew--- and yet. Yet. As the silence prolonged, lasting seconds, minutes even – hours, it must have been – Steve felt the nervous coil in his gut twist painfully.

He watched you with torturous anticipation as you were; semi-sat up on a bed, hurting, probably beginning to sweat through your pyjama and drinking chamomile tea to get rid of the bug you had caught from him, and here he was, proposing.

In sickness and health indeed; and in some absurd way, this all made perfect sense to him… well, it had, a minute ago.

You looked like a million thoughts were racing through your head, and Steve felt his heart sink to his stomach. What if you truly were thinking he was crazy-

“Yes,” you said at last and Steve released the breath he was holding, endlessly relieved, the heaviness weighting a ton finally falling from his shoulders. Oh Chirst, thank fuck—he really had been getting worried- “Yes, I-“

Relief blended into delight as he heard you speak the beautiful word again.

Yes. Yes, you wanted to be his wife.

Yes, you wanted to marry him!!

An incredulous chuckle spilled from his lips and he tossed the box on the bed, swiftly moving up and grabbing your face to kiss you stupid as he wanted and had said that he always would.

You made a startled noise, but you giggled too, grasping onto his shoulders and his nape and kissing back with all you got���and then you were pulling away, fighting for breath, because flu, duh, he needed to be careful with you, but-

You agreed to marry him!

Keeping you as close as possible while allowing you to breathe, his eyes happily roamed your face, so pretty and adorable and the knowledge of him being able waking up next to that face for the rest of his life sent his heart into frenzy, sparkles of pure joy filling his chest.

“I love you! Thank you, babygirl,” he exclaimed, kissing you once more, a short but intense encounter of lips that caused you to giggle again—but he didn’t give a shit if he was being ridiculous. Your eyes, even if tired, seemed to glow now, happy twinkles dancing in your irises, telling him you were just as excited and delighted as he was. “Thank you-“

“You’re so crazy-“ you mumbled, dropping a kiss to his shoulder as you still shook with laughter and Steve simply climbed on the bed fully, wrapping you in his arms tightly.

He could sing at how you fit into his arms.

“I am. For you.”

“I can’t believe you proposed to me while I’m lying sick on a bed,” you mumbled over his shoulder, sounding as if you were complaining a little.

“In sickness and health?” he offered nervously, holding you tighter just in case you were going to back out now. Which was not an option.

He had to physically put the ring on your finger. Right now. Then you wouldn’t be able to change your mind.

In the back of his brain, an annoying voice told him that this was not how it worked, that there was no guarantee. But Steve shushed that voice and withdrew only enough to reach for the box and with a grin so wide he could feel his cheeks hurt from the strain, he took a hold of your left hand, slipping the ring on.

He didn’t miss the way your breath caught and he didn’t think the flu was to blame for that; the ring looked lovely on your hand. And Steve was a smidge proud of how he managed to make it fit perfectly.

“Steve… the ring-”

“You don’t like it?” he worried in an instant as he detected a new emotion in your voice.

You went to lightly slap his shoulder, rolling your eyes – an action you apparently regretted by the silent groan that followed; just another reminded of your sickness.

“Shush, you dummy. It’s--- breath-taking, but-“ you bit down on your lower lip, clearly hesitant to speak your mind and Steve didn’t find it at all comforting that you said you did like then ring. Not with the but. You sounded almost guilty, which was… strange. “But must have been so expensive and we still haven’t really-“

Oh. Oh.

Steve felt his lips spread back into a smile.

His sweet, sweet girl, responsible and perfect. He hated the reminder of your father’s behaviour, of the fact that you were ashamed on his behalf and felt guilty.

Steve didn’t want that.

“If I tell you it wasn’t, will you be mad?” he offered, watching carefully for your reaction, and your thoughtful expression turned into a confused one.

“Wasn’t?“

“I just had it cleaned and re-sized.”

You blinked, eyelids heavy, and tilted your head in bewilderment—melting into a brief panic and Steve realized what must have crossed your mind.

His stomach clenched in horror at you even considering it. You might have thought it was meant for another woman from his life.

Which it was, but not the way you thought!

“It was my ma’s!” he blurted out in panic, causing you to flinch a bit in fright of his suddenly louder voice. Steve shook his head – he was so messing this whole proposal thing up – clearing his throat, he observed your face, now full of emotion he couldn’t read. “…is that okay?”

There were tears prickling in your eyes, no words leaving your mouth as he had managed to render you speechless and he could punch himself for making you feel whatever you were feeling.

He had to fix this, fast.

“We can absolutely pick up something else if you don’t like the idea!” he was quick to offer, his heart speeding up when you still didn’t say a word. But you didn’t seem… that mad. What was happening in your head though, that was a mystery to him. “It’s just… she always told me that it was the second most precious thing she had left after dad, right after me, and that she wants me to give it to-- please don’t cry.”

Yes, he made the tears spill. There were a few rolling down your cheeks and Steve… he was starting to recognize the emotions playing in your expression, but he couldn’t entirely put his finger on it.

Honestly, he couldn’t tell whether you were so touched by the whole inherited ring gesture or if you were hating him with your very being for ruining some picture-perfect proposal you had been dreaming about since you were five; angry and disappointed that he didn’t even have the decency to buy you your own ring.

Probably a bit of both.

“Steve, you romantic idiot, come here,” you choked out, by a miracle not coughing for once and before he could even react and let the relief sink in, you grabbed him by his shoulders and pulled hard.

You had a surprisingly a lot of strength for someone coming down with a flu – actually, being down with a flu.

He landed on you, barely catching himself before he could crush you, a surprised laugh spilling from his lips, delight once again lighting up his world.

“I love you, Steve,” you whispered, pecking his lips, fingers sinking to his hair and that moment, Steve was in heaven. “So much.”

He grinned wide, wrapping his arms around you and holding you to his chest as tight as he could, feeling both his own heartbeat and yours, tumbling happily and together.

“And I love you… future Mrs. Rogers.”

⊱-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦ ✉ ◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-⊰

Tied to you (next in timeline)

S.R.masterlist

Attached masterlist

⊱-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦ ✉ ◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-⊰

Not gonna lie. Thought of posting this in four parts of maybe at least two (3 and +1), but then I thought, screw it, let’s post 7,7k words at once. I hope you made it through all of them.

What’s coming next? I have no idea... maybe it’s who’s ‘coming’ next 👀

Thank you for reading!

[corpse--diem]

A Reptile Dysfunction | Norma & Erin

TIMING: End of May PARTIES: @normallee​ LOCATION: Champlain Falls SUMMARY: Erin finds out the hard way what the difference between a lizard and a phlizard is. Norma is of absolutely no help.  CONTENT WARNINGS: none

Erin couldn’t remember the last time she’d taken the time to stretch her legs along the trails of the gift that was White Crest National Park. It’d been too long, she did know that. Her mother had still been alive, she was sure of it. Back when the shadows that danced between the trees and foliage only meant that the sun was going down or that the wind was picking up. She’d hike for hours, often alone. Completely unsuspecting and completely at peace. Knowing what she did now, she wasn’t sure how she’d skated through those small adventures without more than a few mosquito bites and a touch of sunburn on her nose. Fear had kept her away, like it had kept her from most things she used to enjoy since returning home. Didn’t feel fair, and after some brief contemplation, she found herself shrugging on a pair of old hiking boots and took the drive to the trail she knew led to Champlain Falls. It was finally warming up, too cold for a proper jump into the water pools, but just the sound was enough to start the calm. Maybe try to remember what it was like for a few hours to be one of those naive locals who could move about freely with little thought to the shadows again. Thankfully she was alone. Most people were at work or school on a weekday afternoon. A perk of owning her own business. She could step away for a few hours when she absolutely needed it. Today, she did.

And for a while, it was pretty normal. The hike went smoothly and she’d made it to the falls at just about lunch time. Reaching down, eyes on the falling stream ahead of her, her hands only found the blanket where her sandwich had been moments ago. “What the hell,” she murmured to herself, shuffling around. No dice. Just a damp trail along the blanket. A flicker of movement caught her eye. It moved fast--a lizard, maybe? Hard to tell. What she did know was that it was making off with her lunch. “Get back here, you little--” She jumped to her feet and started after it.

The last time Norma had been on a hike in White Crest, she had run into flying monkeys. She very much hoped that the trek to the falls a fae told her about would end differently. Or perhaps similarly if the flying monkeys weren’t chasing her. She imagined that the situation would be full of wonderful chaos and a true treat if it had been happening to an unsuspecting human rather than herself. Alas, that was not the case. This time she was determined to get things right, appear very human. She had searched the internet and was told that once humans get to waterfalls, they often had picnics. She then searched how one had those. The internet gave her a list of things to bring and she packed up her basket and made her way to the scenic spot through the winding paths.

It would make sitting by the falls waiting for jumpers to vanish look less conspicuous. At least, that was what she hoped. When she arrived at the falls, Norma opened her basket and started to set her food on the ground. She lined up the ham and cheese slices in a way she had seen online just directly on the ground. The trash bag she had with her she laid out on the ground next to the food to sit on. It was difficult to get right at first, it kept trying to fly away. The blanket she draped over her shoulders even though she was not at all cold. It was a very nice temperature out but if humans usually had picnic blankets, what else was she to do? She had to keep appearances up, after all.

Norma had just settled down to sit and watch the human chaos when it seemed to find her instead. A smile curved onto her face as she watched a philzard crawl over to another human strangely sitting on top of her blanket. Did she know that wasn’t correct? Before Norma could correct her, the reptile had stolen her sandwich strangely placed on top of the blanket and the human was after the creature. “Oh, you should probably let that phlizard go. I have more food if you’d like some,” she said with a smile, gesturing at the cheese squares lined up along the rocks in front of her.

Erin hadn’t even noticed the other woman at first, too caught up in the chase, until she spoke up. The orange squares of cheese lining the rocks made her pause. Hard. Was that a joke? She didn’t pick up on the ph pronunciation. “I don’t--uh, no thanks,” she answered with a wary gaze, her feet trekking towards where she saw the lizard disappear. “I’m more concerned about the lizard getting sick. Can lizards eat peanut butter?” She asked, kneeling to lift up some of the small, loose rocks the creature had whizzed across. Lizards ate bugs, she’d read somewhere once, and were generally carnivorous. The reptile was taking its own fate into its hands here, and while she normally wouldn’t have cared what happened to it because of that, just once she wanted to leave something as good as she left it. Even if it was this stupid little lizard. The rock in her hand dropped back into the mud with a damp thud and she glanced over at the strange woman, brushing the hair from her face with the back of her hand. “You didn’t happen to see where it went did you?”

“Oh I wouldn’t worry about the philzard, I’m sure it’s fine.” Humans were so strange. Norma couldn’t imagine feeling compassion for a strange creature that had taken off with her food. She was grateful for the food it was providing her, of course. “I would worry much more about you.” And the philzard’s spray. The smile on her face grew a bit wider. “Are you certain you would rather have that sandwich and not any of the food I have? I made a very nice spread,” she said, gesturing once more to the cheese and ham on the rocks, all placed in a careful row. It really was in this human’s best interest to leave the creature alone and accept that her meal was misplaced for good. However, it did benefit Norma much more if she encouraged this hunt. She could feel traces of frustration building in the air. Good. Chaos wasn’t far behind. Especially not if things went the way they always did with phlizards. So Norma squinted her eyes and looked around a bit. There wasn’t anything she could see just yet, so she stood up, carefully placing her blanket over the food and trash bag for safe keeping, and looked around. “There!” she said, pointing at the small tail wiggling its way out of sight, leaving a trail through the mud as it dragged the sandwich along. “It went that way, we should go chase it.” This would be entertaining if nothing else.

“I think I can handle a lizard,” Erin muttered offhandedly as she glanced around the edge of the water, then back to the other woman. There was something off here, something she couldn’t quite put her finger on. That smile definitely wasn’t a warm, friendly one, she knew that much. Her brow rose sharply at the display. “Really--no.” She paused again, genuinely unsure about everything happening with this stranger. “Is there a… joke or something here I’m not getting?” She gestured to the rocks with food on them. Are you okay? Was going to be the next question out of her mouth when she started pointing. “Oh, good eye!” Erin caught the tail end as it slithered away, a mucus-y trail in its wake. She nodded at the woman, more determined than ever to catch this thing. This wasn’t how she expected her afternoon to go but--it could’ve been worse, right? She was on the lizard’s trail, flipping the rocks it was scuttling under, always a few steps behind. This sucker was fast. “Aha!” She shouted when it had cornered itself, too large to fit between the piles of rocks it had run towards. At least not with the sandwich between its jaw. They’d come to an impasse it seemed. Her entire body froze, afraid a sudden move would startle it away.

“Oh god, that’s the ugliest lizard I’ve ever seen in my life,” she remarked, bending her knees ever so slowly, grabbing a stick beside her. “That’s a good lizard. Very good. We just don’t want you getting sick,” she started, using the same soft voice she used on Betty in hopes to coax her into doing something. “I think I got this,” she said to the woman. Quickly she jabbed the stick into the sandwich, knocking it out of the lizard’s mouth and cementing it in place so it couldn’t run away with it. Erin grinned wide but all too soon. As soon as the phlizard’s mouth was empty, it spat out a low, angry hiss followed by a spray of mucus. Erin yelped, groaning as she fell backwards into the mud. “Oh, god, what the fuck,” she sputtered, wiping the slime off of her face and neck, feeling it trickle down her arm and chest. Her heart spiked. It burned.

For a moment, Norma wondered if a normal human would warn the woman, perhaps stop her or pull her away from the lizard. No, she decided, most humans were quite awful to one another, especially to strangers. She had learned that much in her many years on the planet. She was sure of it. So while her hand reached out to pull her back, hovering before falling back to her side, that was as far as she went. Norma didn’t walk towards the creature, simply stood back and watched and waited to soak up the threads of panic and fear that were about to swirl in the atmosphere around them. “Phlizard,” Norma shouted from a few feet away. “Not lizard. I wouldn’t poke it with a stick if I were y--” It was too late. As she predicted, there was mucus spraying everywhere. She ducked. She assumed by the scream that the human did not manage to. And by the looks of it, she was correct in her assumption. “I would like to point out that I did warn you not to engage with the phlizard. They’re very obnoxious.”

She breathed in and felt trickles of chaos seeping into her. It wasn’t much, not enough. Truly, for her own survival, she should push for more. She wanted more. And yet, she didn’t want to risk herself being entangled with the philzard for much longer. Nor did she want to completely blow her cover. She was meant to be human and care for other mortals at least superficially, right? Norma ran over and reached down, hooking her arms under the womans and started to drag her back through the mud towards the water. “Time to leave it alone now. Let’s run if you are able, please. I would very much like to avoid your fate if at all possible.”

A phlizard? It was one of the few panic-stricken questions bouncing around in Erin’s head, layered in between the burning sensation on her skin. The woman was dragging her away from the liza--phlizard. If she wasn’t desperately running for the water and splashing it over her face and body, desperate to make the burning stop, she would have picked up on the woman’s all too calm nature. It helped, a little, but the mucus had burned small holes into her shirt and a rash was beginning to spread along her skin. She could feel it itching beneath the surface. “I--yeah, okay. You did. But why would you tell me to chase it? I was just trying to make sure it--did you know it was going to do that?!” Erin practically screamed, frantically scrubbing her arms in the water. She just wanted one thing. One day. Just a few hours of solitude. Why was that so hard? Why was she so stupid to think she could have that? “What is wrong with you?” What was wrong with this whole damn place?

“Well,” Norma started, brows furrowed as she stood by the water, watching the woman try to wash the mucus off of herself. “I did start by telling you to leave it alone. But you seemed very attached to that sandwich so I figured I would help you find it.” She realized her advice was rather contradictory in hindsight. Still, the chaos was worth it in the end. And humans were often hypocritical so she was certain she didn’t reveal too much. “Oh, did I know if it was going to spray mucus?” Norma asked, tilting her head. “I couldn’t say for certain, no. But they do tend to do that when they are cornered. Or when you try to take food from them. Really you shouldn’t have taunted it. I simply suggested that you follow it.” Her face fell as the woman accused her of being incorrect. That was rather rude, she was sure of it. But more importantly, it could mean her cover was in fact blown. Norma began fidgeting in place, flustered by her fallen facade. She had to fix this. “Wrong with me? Nothing is wrong with me, I am perfectly normal, thank you! You’re the one covered in mucus,” she said, huffing out a small laugh to try and mask her anxiety. “Here, I can help. What you’re doing now, that’s never going to be enough.” And with that, Norma pushed the woman into the water.

Erin didn’t really care right now whether or not she was being fair or right--she was covered in burning reptile mucus. “Would’ve fucking loved to know that before you let me chase it,” she grumbled, repeating herself. Made sure she heard it again. It was partially her fault for chasing the stupid thing but this woman knew, and still encouraged her to chase it. She was going to blame her for as long as she liked right about now. “How are you going to--” With a yell, Erin’s back hit the cool water and for a moment, she did forget about the burning sensation crawling up her skin. She popped up, taking a breath, eyes wide and absolutely enraged. “What is wrong with you?” She screamed again, arms splashing and cutting through the water as she pulled herself to her feet. “This is not--helping!!”” The water did feel good against her skin but all she could see was red, her vision narrowing and without thinking she yanked on Norma’s arm and pulled her down with her into the water.

“Well you didn’t ask. I would have told you if you’d asked,” Norma said matter of factly. Humans were so demanding. They wanted all the answers but only when it was convenient to them. No wonder they died so easily. It was a wonder the species survived as long as they had. Still, she couldn’t deny the relief she felt as the woman splashed into the water. She was so starved for chaos, for sustenance, that even small moments of surprise felt like a feast. Norma tilted her head to the side as she watched the mortal scramble. There was more than just surprise. Anger. Rage. And was that… a thirst vengeance? It was almost unmistakable. Even better. It was so tempting to pull it out of her, to feed off it. Norma reached her hand out towards her, she could take just a taste, have just one drop. She was so close to risking it, feeling true power and chaos at her own hand once more, when suddenly, the mortal was reaching out to her instead. Interesting, that’s not what she expec-- “Ahhhh!” Norma yelped as she was yoinked down into the water herself. It was cold. And not as refreshing as it always appeared to be in mortal media. “What is wrong with you?” she shouted back once her head was back above the water. “Now I am in need of assistance! Get me out of here!” she said, flailing about and splashing. She knew how to swim but not well. She was certainly out of practice. If she could avoid drowning again, that would be preferable. It was never enjoyable.

Erin felt no remorse watching the woman flail about, struggling against the water like a toddler learning to swim. Just a sliver of satisfaction she didn’t and wouldn’t address, not right this second. She was confident that this was partially this woman’s fault, anyway. “Try standing up,” she yelled back plainly, her feet slipping in the mud as she hauled herself through the water towards the dry shore. When she let her water-soaked body collapse into the grass, her eyes turned to the burns that still lit up her nerves like a branding iron. The noises from the woman in the water slowly turned into background noise, every sense lighting up in panic. This wasn’t good. Accompanying the burns was some sort of rash, but not any kind Erin had ever seen.

“I have scales.” 

The statement came out calmer than she felt. At this point she couldn’t even register how ridiculous it sounded, but she was pulling at her skin, lifting her clothes to inspect the area where the animal’s spray had burned through the fabric. More scales. “Why do I have--” she jumped to her feet, eyes wide, watching the woman, making no attempt to help. Only yelled out “Why the fuck do I have scales?!”

Norma took a deep breath, puffing out her cheeks to hold in as much air as she could before trying to push herself to stand. There was some wobbling about, back and forth, until she found her balance just long enough to stumble through the water. It wasn’t incredibly deep, sure, but Norma was taking no chances. She could survive drowning, yes, but at what cost? Still, it wasn’t too hard to clamber to land. It was a shame, her blanket was all wet now. She tossed it aside and sighed. Norma was just about to figure out how to begin drying herself off when she felt the panic rising from the woman beside her. It wasn’t as chaotic as she’d hoped, but she did feel a little bit of satisfaction from it all the same. “Of course you have scales,” she said, practically sighing. “It sprayed you. That’s what happens when a philzard sprays you. You should really avoid that next time.”

Erin wasn’t paying attention to the woman splashing around behind her anymore. All she could see were scales. The only thing screaming in her head were fucking scales. “What do you mean that’s what happens?” Her voice was reaching a shrill pitch. The way the other woman was so nonchalant about the whole ordeal infuriated her further. And why did she keep saying phlizard? She ran back into the water until she was knee deep, scraping at the surface of her skin with her nails but hissed in pain when it proved both futile and painful. “What the fuck,” she murmured angrily under her breath, scrubbing with just her finger tips now. Still hopeless but it was better than standing there and doing nothing. “What do I do? I can’t get them off.” Her eyes jumped up, anger and fear dueling in the strain of her voice. “I can’t get them off!”

Norma breathed deep, drinking in the chaos radiating off of the woman beside her. It was so tempting to reach out and push her just an inch farther, to just send her tail spinning head first into that panic and to feed once more as she should, in her full fury glory. Alas, it was too risky. She’d have to suffice feeding off the scraps surrounding her. She breathed it in once more and wiped some of the water off her arms. “Oh, you can’t get them off,” Norma said simply, reaching up to wring out her hair. “Unless of course you’re a witch.” She paused and glanced back over at the mortal. “You aren’t a witch, are you?” She had a feeling that the witch hunts she incited back in the day wouldn’t be appreciated by the spellcasters in White Crest. And she’d learned long ago that family lineages held grudges. Best to be cautious. “You don’t happen to have a towel or something on you, do you?”

Erin’s head shot up at the casual use of the word witch. Though, she supposed it shouldn’t have been as alarming, considering the new skin coating her arms. A single dry, harsh laugh shook her shoulders. “A witch? Oh. No,” she answered flatly, finally giving up and pulling herself defeatedly from the water. “Not that I’d ever tell you, a complete stranger I wouldn’t trust with even a slice of cheese, even if I was. And yes. I do.” She swiped the picnic blanket from the grass and wrapped it around herself, making no attempt to offer it to the other woman. Her head shook and she muttered half to herself as she gathered her things. “Nope. I’m just another stupid human in this stupid town full of no good, sandwich-stealing, mucus-y asshole lizards.” Her jaw clenched as she patted her skin, which flushed a furious red in the sunlight. The scales were not, in fact, coming off. Nell better not be busy right about now, she thought, wrapping the blanket tighter around herself, ready to book it back down the trail at lightning speed. She didn’t want scales. She didn’t want to be a lizard--phlizard--whatever they hell they were. She just wanted a quiet afternoon. That was all. But even this, it seemed, was too much to ask for anymore. She tilted her head at the woman she partially blamed for her current predicament. “But at least I have a blanket.”

“Oh, right. I forgot to introduce myself. I’m Norma,” she said, holding her hand out to shake for a second before pulling it back. She really didn’t want to get scales today. Or ever, if avoidable. “You should find yourself a witch unless you enjoy those scale-like rashes. I will not judge you if that’s the case.” It was hard to keep the smile off her face as she felt the wave of anger and thirst for vengeance brewing just beneath the surface of this ‘stupid human,’ as she called herslef. It still wasn’t quite her cup of tea, but she appreciated it all the same. If only she had an erinyes to share the meal with. “I am glad you have a blanket. And I assume by your defiant stance you are not going to share it.” Norma sighed and reached down to gather up her food and soaked blanket and all the rest. “I did have a wonderful time running into you. I’m always glad to make new friends.”

[writers-hes]

Fucking Harry | Summer Feeling Challenge

Hi, guys! How are you? I’m finally back with an all new fic called ‘Fucking Harry’. This is an entry to @helladirections​ ‘s Summer Feeling Challenge. I hope you enjoy!

word count: 2884  masterlist + if you love me come clean masterlist  be a part of my taglist!  SUMMER FEELING MASTERLIST (over 40+ fics about summer. angst, fluff, and smut!!!) SUMMARY: You were back in the same place where you last fell in love, alone again. You prayed to God that he was here. Chanting his name multiple times under your breath until he appears right beside you—but you knew that no magic in the universe will do that for you. You were born unlucky, after all.  Story Theme: Theme Parks unedited

---

It’s that time of the year again. You knew, because suddenly, the upcoming summer started to be gloomy. You hated summer more than you hated anything. Everybody was off to go to their country clubs, get summer jobs, go on trips with friends, fall in love…ick. Summer love? That doesn’t last anyway. Once summer is over, the person you fell in love with leaves you alone and gives you nothing else. Even if they were your friend at first. You agreed that you’ll be friends first and then lovers. Who could blame you two anyway? You were both lonely that summer. All your friends were away while you were stuck in Italy.

Fucking Italy.

You both agreed that there was something about Italy. It’s romantic. He kissed you just like how the sun kissed your skin. He made love to you in the private confines of his home there…and in the beach, in the yacht, well, he basically made love to you everywhere. You hung onto him like a necklace. Love marks littered his body and he showed it off to everyone—wearing polos with the buttons intentionally stopping right under his swallows or not wearing anything at all. You believed his words like a gospel and everything he said seemed like a prayer. That was him for you and perhaps all of the boys and the girls adoring him in everything that he did.

Now, you were back in the same place where you last fell in love, alone again. You prayed to God that he was here. Chanting his name multiple times under your breath until he appears right beside you—but you knew that no magic in the universe will do that for you. You were born unlucky, after all.

“Harry, Harry, Harry…fucking Harry,” you groaned, annoyed. Italy is just associated with Harry and it was fucking annoying. Why did you come to Italy in the first place? It’s unlike you to go back to a place associated with bad memories—the reason why you never went back to your hometown. But then again, you saw that there was a seat sale on some airline and that your boss told you to go take a break because you’ve been working non-stop since that wretched summer happened. You shook your head, an attempt to get rid of the guy inside your mind. So you walk, head on, in the streets of Florence where you fantasised the tow of you roaming around Cinque Terre, a city that overlooked the ocean. You remembered that Cinque Terre was a sight in itself. The city was adorned with hues of blue, yellow, red, and pink buildings. It had five towns and it was secluded from other cities. It was a nice life where you can buy pastries and greet the baker. Everybody knew everyone and Harry Styles was very well-known.

To be completely honest, you didn’t know how Harry Styles managed to stay in your mind for two years. You can still remember the rasps and the moans when you had sex—an ear-worm that haunted you to this very day. Still, you couldn’t help but smile when you took a trip to the theme park. A place where you and him considered solacing. It was loud in there, the mechanics of the rides replaying inside your head, little Italian children and international tourists asking their mothers to get them a toy.

Perhaps you could visit the theme park alone this time. You knew that it was open at this season. Everyone’s there and it’s summer. You stopped a small bakery to get some bread for lunch. You and Harry went to this place, around noon, to get a croissant sandwich that Harry raved about. You also remembered how much he liked their focaccia flowers. You entered, the smell of coffee and freshly baked bread enveloping your senses. You were giddy—they served the best bread in the world. You walked to the counter, smiling at the same baker that greeted you two years ago.

“Ciao, bella!” the man greeted.

“Hi. May I get a ham and cheese croissant sandwich and Caffe Latte?” you asked him, remembering your order from the last time you went here.

“Cosa certa,” he said, listing your orders on a notepad. “For who?”

“Y/N,” you replied, opening your wallet to retrieve your card. The barista nodded as you paid for the food.

“Grazie,” he said. “My boy will call your name and you can get your food,”

“Grazie,” you replied, walking away from the man and his cheeriness. You sat down on a chair where you can view the busy streets outside. You sighed sadly. The last time, you were the couple sitting a couple of tables from you—enveloped in each other’s hands, unaware of the prying eyes.

———

“Ah, fuck!” you exclaimed once you were inside your hotel room, exhausted from the wishful thinking and the walking. You walked towards the balcony and sighed, opting to open a bottle of wine from the mini bar. Getting wine drunk in Florence, Italy doesn’t seem like a bad idea.

Or maybe it was because the next day, you opened your emails. Hungover, you looked to see that you had an e-ticket to the theme park. Then, you remembered that in a courageous rush, you bought one in hopes of seeing the man with green eyes again. So in a haste, you were up and dressed, a plastic cup of coffee in your hands, in a cab to the amusement park. You watched the panoramic view outside your video and you wondered how a love like yours and Harry’s ended like it did. It was sad, really. He just left and in harsher terms, he ghosted you once you landed back in America. Fucking Harry.

You sighed, for the nth time—ready to just combust and call Harry. But you can’t, so you just chanted his name again, until it was time for you to enter the gates of the theme park. You looked at it, it was all the same. All the fucking same and you were reliving everything alone. You walked around the theme park and it was gigantic. There were trees that shaded the walkways and families taking photos of their children. You smiled at the sight, love and joy radiating the place but for some reason, you can’t be bothered. You were alone in a sea of people bonding and it just sucked. You sat inside one of the cafes in the theme park and got yourself his favourite Americano. What else is there anyway? He made you a godforsaken mess—an idiotic fool. You were busy looking through your phone, chanting his name under your breath when a pair of black Old Skool Vans appeared on your line of sight. You looked up and there he was, looking at you, his mouth agape. He seemed to be alone too and you were there too, speechless how he found his way to you. Perhaps all your chanting was true and the universe wanted you to meet again.

“Y/N?” he breathed, pulling the chair in front of you, a Caffe Latte in his hand. “How have you been? What brings you to Italy? Why are you here?”

“Hold on,” you replied, still in shock at the wonder in front of you. Harry was here. He was here and he was real because the way that he was looking at you right now was the same way he looked at you before. “Harry…how are you here?”

“I asked first,” he said, seeing the Americano in your hand and how you were still in sync with him because he got you your favourite.

“I took a break from work and saw that there was a seat sale going here so I decided to stay here. Yeah,” you nodded, awkward.

“I drove here from London. I stopped by France and I decided to go to Italy too,” he replied, clearing his throat. “How have you been?”

“Been better,” you admitted. “I mean, it’s Italy,”

“Yeah, I feel the same,” he replied. “Y/N, love. We’re here in Italy, in an amusement park. Do you want to try out some rides and just forget for a little while?”

“What do we do?” you asked.

“Just…relive Italy together even just for this day,” he said. “I do need a hand to hold onto in the roller coaster,” he said, extending his hand. It was true. He was a little bit of a scaredy cat in some rides and you were the hand that he held onto when he needed reassurance that everything will be okay. You thought about it. It would be nice to spend Italy with someone.

“Alright but we're not talking about what happened last time, okay?,” you nodded and he beamed.

“Alright,”

———

“Are you sure you want to ride the roller coaster?” you asked him. You were in a queue and were close to the entry gates. Harry was shaking like a flower.

“Relive it, right?” he said, forcing a smile. “I want to, Y/N,” I want to hold your hand again, he thought. There was absolutely no way for him to ride on this goddamn roller coaster but  you liked how free it made you feel. The ups, and downs, and the spikes made you feel liberated. It made you feel something and you liked how your hair flew everywhere. He didn’t want to ride the death trap but if it meant seeing you smile genuinely and holding your hand when he’s scared, then he wouldn’t mind a little sacrifice. You smiled at him, excited.

“I promise, after we finish the ride, you can lean on me if your legs wobble,” you teased and Harry laughed. He might take you up on that offer.

“You’re so mean to me,” he pouted but smiling anyway as he saw you chuckle. “Will you treat me to a nice scoop of gelato after? I was thinking...pistachio or cherry,”

“Alright,” you said, nodding. The queue to the rollercoaster became shorter and shorter and you were bouncing on your feet in anticipation while Harry bounced for the opposite reason. Soon, you were inside the little carts, waiting for the operator to finish setting up everybody.

“You want me to hold your hand, Harry?” you asked, opening your palm for him to squeeze.

“Yes, please,” he nodded, gulping thickly. “You know how queasy I get sometimes,” he chuckled nervously, wiping his sweaty hand on his blue denim before encasing your hand with his. “I’m sorry if my hands get sweaty,”

“It’s alright. Thank you for coming with me to ride it anyway,” feeling nauseous at the familiarity of the scene unfolding before you. Harry’s leg bouncing, his hand and yours, the sweat on your forehead from the heat, and the love that you felt for him. You wanted to scream at him, push him, and ask him what the fuck happened between the two of you. The way that he’s looking at you right now, through the facade of his anxiety, was love and you knew that.

“May we please remind you to keep your seatbelts on, be seated, and most of all, enjoy the ride,” a woman spoke, triggering the machine to pull back slightly and slowly riding up the small bump, before speeding down to the ground.

Harry was hysterical beside you, screaming while closing his eyes in fear. His grip on your palm became tighter and you smiled, screaming at the top of your lungs. The frustration, anger, sadness, and hurt all coming out and nobody cared. This was freedom. You screamed some more until your lungs gave out.

“Fuck!” you heard the man beside you. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,”

“It’s okay, Harry!” you screamed in return. “We’re about to land,” you added, seeing that you were about to enter the station again. The coaster slowed down, stopping at its designated spot. You looked at Harry, who was red. You were pretty sure that there were tear stains on his cheeks but you ignored them.

“Thank you for riding our famous roller coaster. We hope to see you again,”

“Hope my ass. You will never see me set foot on this shit again,” Harry muttered under his breath, making you laugh. The safety locks on your chairs are lifted and you lead him to the exit. He was heaving, and had wobbly legs.

“You okay?” you asked. “I’m sorry if I had to make you go through that. We can try on other rides if you want to,” you offered.

“No, no more rides, please. Just wanna sit and play carnival games later. With the big toys, you know?” Harry said, rushing on the first bench that he sees. It actually takes a while before Harry calms down again. He laid on the bench for what seemed like an hour, bottles of water on his stomach that it makes you wonder if it was alright to just tell him to go home and leave things at that. You were about to speak when Harry interrupted you.

“Y/N,” he called. “Do you...maybe want to leave this place and have dinner with me?”

“Harry...I don’t think that’s a good idea,” you replied. “Only here, remember? After this, I have to go back to my hotel and you back to where you’re from,”

“Please, Y/N...I have so many things to tell you,” he said, sitting up so you could sit beside him. You didn’t, opting to stay on the bench beside where he was. The distance was frustrating Harry but he respected your boundaries. “Well, I’ll say it here then,”

You nodded, uneasy. Harry sounded serious and solemn in what’s supposed to be a happy place.

“I’m sorry I left,” he started, making you gasp at his bluntness. “I really am. Look, the last time I went here was with you and it was the best trip that I have ever had. I knew that it was something that I would cherish for the rest of my life but--”

“Why did you leave me?” you asked, facing him. “Do you know how I felt when you left? When we landed back, you changed.  You just left and I couldn’t call or text you. I received text messages from you thrice a month and that was you being generous,” you told him, newfound courage surging through your bloodstream.

“I was scared,” he admitted, making you chuckle pathetically.

“What about me? Wasn’t I scared too? It’s been two years. You can’t just decide to pop in anytime you want and leave when it’s convenient. Did you even mean it when you said that you loved me?” you asked, defeated. People started to notice the fight that broke out with you two and they started to recognise who Harry was. You noticed too so you stood up. Harry trailed behind you until you stopped at a more private part of the park.

“You know I love you, petal,” he replied, shoving his hands in his pockets. “I told you to never doubt that, right? I love you still, Y/N and I’m sorry,”

“Harry--why are you here? Why did you insist on reliving what we had two years ago?” you asked, desperately trying. He was hiding and you were sure of it but he didn’t budge, shrugging.

“I’m sorry. I don’t--don’t know why I did what I did and then doing what I’m doing now. You know I’m not a man of regrets but I’ve been feeling so alone and lonely and I miss you.I love you I really do but that night, when we landed...I realised how Italy can only happen in Italy.There’s so many people prying on my business and I don’t know how they’ll react,”

“You’re ashamed of me,” you concluded, nodding at his confession. Harry was rendered speechless. It wasn’t as if he was ashamed. He was scared of how the public will react when you’re revealed to the world. “You’re fucking ashamed of me because I’m not like you?” you ask him, and Harry could feel the venom dripping from your words. “I--I can’t do this,” you exclaimed, tears on your cheeks. You laughed pathetically at yourself, straightening your back and walking. Harry was Harry so he grabbed you by the arm, ready to apologise and admit his mistake but you snatched your arm away from his grasp.

“Don’t,” you seethed. “Don’t fucking touch me. Don’t talk to me, don’t think of me. Leave me the fuck alone, Harry. I swear to God,” you warned, walking away from the boy who broke your heart for the second time. Harry was slumped over, his figure becoming smaller and smaller in the Italian sunset and you sobbed, leaving your heart with the man who took it.

You were hoping for a change but now, you were back in the same place where you last fell in love, alone again. You prayed to God that he was following you. Calling out your name multiple times above the crowd that was starting to appear until he appears right beside you—but you knew that no magic in the universe will do that for you. You were born unlucky, after all.

“Harry, Harry....fucking Harry,”

-- sorry if you thought it was smut... :) 

TAGLIST: taglist:@lizzyclifford13-blog @tpwkwrites @floral-suits -suits @bree082 @dezzym17 @bouncebackbyers @lolapuffs @belleamore @demolition-lovers-blog @gorgeouslygrace @styledharry @nervousshoeghostmoney @drowninherperfume @spideys-wife @for-harryseyesonly @littlewolfieposts @fangirl-moment-x x @ughhhitsfan @perfectlywrong @gucciboots @harrys-stan @nibabyy​ @alanasthoughts​ @thatcielitochickk @kacey-yyyyy​ @goldensweetcreatureh @devilinbetweensheets @sumo-john @theshortmuffin07 @harrymfingstyless​ @shawnlietome @youremycompass1318 @mylifeofbeatrizromera​

[surveys-at-your-service]

Survey #394

“just want one thing  /  just to play the king  /  but the castle’s crumbled and you’re left with just a name  /  where’s your crown, king nothing?”

Do you have your ears pierced more than once? Yeah; I have two in my earlobes and my right tragus pierced. I used to have a cartilage and anti-tragus piercing, but they closed when I had to take them out at the hospital. -_- Do you use an electric toothbrush? Yep. Have you ever seen a queen bee outside its hive? I don't believe so? Have you ever used Duolingo? No. Do you think the number 13 is unlucky? No. Which Clue (or Cluedo) character is your favourite? I always played Scarlet because I thought she was pretty. Do you have any novelty ice cube trays? No. Have you ever had a bad experience meeting a bf’s/gf’s parents? No. Do you get sick of eating turkey during the holidays? I don't eat turkey because I don't like it. I have honey spiral ham instead. Have you ever danced on a table? No. Did you have a lot of fun as a little kid? Yeah. Is there someone you can talk to all day, never running out of stuff to say? Some days. Ham or turkey? Ham. Would you rather eat nothing but fruits or nothing but cheese sandwiches? Fruit. What’s the last song you sung along to? I think Shinedown's "Get Up" while I was in the car. You get to be in any tv series or movie. (old/new) What are you choosing? Let's seeee... maybe Wonderland! Do you meditate? No; it actually stresses me out because I can't completely clear my head. What’s your go-to song when you’re angry? "Headache" by Motionless In White is a good one. What do you think about the most? My weight, honestly. It's at least an itching thought in my head at ALL times. Just being able to feel that I'm overweight and simply glimpsing a fatty part of my body is so, so upsetting. I usually look in the mirror to see if my face is slimmer whenever I pass one, or I'll grasp a part of my body to just feel if I've lost weight there. I could really go on and on about this, but I'd rather not, given it's depressing me talking about it. Have you ever visited any celebrity gravesites? No. How do you feel about archaeology? It's extremely fascinating to me. Any animals whose behaviors you find particularly interesting? ALL animals! Meerkats, however, quite obviously top my list. I love love love social animals, and their behaviors and deep connections remind me of just how human animals really can be, but honestly better half the time. What are your thoughts on gun control? There MUST be reform. I don't think entirely taking away the right to bear arms is the answer, but there needs, needs, NEEDS to be some serious tidying up regarding it. I believe it should be much more difficult to legally obtain a firearm with very extensive background checks and things of the like. I firmly do believe it would help SOME to prevent gun violence. Nothing is ever going to completely stop it unless firearms just cease to exist, but anything that helps reduce it is worth it. Would you have a big cat (like a tiger) for a pet if you could? Absolutely not. Big cats are extremely dangerous with strong hunting instincts, and besides putting my life at risk, I am not forcing a large animal into a small space. Do you like animals better than most humans? Sure as hell do. What simple things in life bring you the most joy? Hearing birds chirping in the morning, crickets and toads at night, starting my soda for the day (rip), watching snow fall, feeling a cool breeze on a nice day with the windows open, my pets wanting to cuddle... just to name a few. I massively appreciate the small things, so I could make this a very long list. What are your favorite smells? Cinnamon rolls, coffee, fresh baked bread, lilac, honeysuckles, etc. Ever found anything cool at a thrift store? What was it? Yeah! I've found some dragon figurines I use for decor, but the absolute coolest has to be this shipwreck lamp that I bought. I love flea markets. How do you find new music to listen to when you want it? YouTube recommendations, usually. Do you like all those dystopian future books/movies? They're all right. If you collect anything, what is your favorite piece of that collection? I collect two types of things: meerkat-oriented and Silent Hill stuff. My favorite part of my meerkat collection is Rebel, my super cute plushy that Jason got me. I slept with it for years and even now that we're done, I still hold the little guy very dear to me. My favorite SH piece I have is a limited edition, Japanese flyer for Silent Hill: Revelation that I won in a giveaway. How did you meet your significant other (if you have one)? N/A How did you meet your best friend? Via YouTube. Your favorite place to be aside from your home? Sara's house. Do you have any favorite books you’d like to have signed by the author? It'd be dooooope if I could have Tim Clutton-Brock sign my copy of Flower's biography. Do you like any board games or card games? I mean yeah. Not a lot, but some. What is your least favorite beverage? Of the things I've tried, probably black coffee. Do you like Breaking Benjamin? I do! What kind of music do you like? Metal, rock, alternative, and indie. Do you like guys with long hair? Yes. Have you ever seen an elephant? Yes. How many people of the opposite sex have you told you loved them? One, if you mean romantically. Do you and your mom get along? Yeah, we're really close. Have you ever had to change your phone number? Twice that I recall. I got a creepy text once, and another with threats. Ever been bitten by a spider? Not to my knowledge. When you were little did you jump in puddles? Oh, absolutely. Bugs: Cool or gross. Even though I'm scared of some of them, they're certainly still cool. Well, most. Do you wear a toe ring? No, I don't find those attractive at all. Have you ever had to babysit before? Twice, even though I didn't want to. Do you actually eat your fortune cookie, if you get one? Yeah, I like 'em. What's your favorite thing about cats? I enjoy how calm and independent they are. Salt, or pepper? I like both, but I prefer to have salt. Think of an ex. What's his favorite color? Jason's were green and purple. Which is better, the taste, or smell of coffee? I only like the smell. What item appears the most in your room? Meerkat stuff. Liquid eyeliner, is good, or totally sucks? My hands are WAY too shaky for that. Has a stray dog ever tried to bite you? No. Do you currently have any bug bites? No. Do you multitask well? NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO. Do you know what an "AMV" is? Yes, because I used to make them and am considering getting back into it. What’s one award show you have to watch every year? None. Who do you like more: the Batman or the Joker? The Joker. Have you ever had a pet rock? I don't recall, actually? I might have as a little kid. Haha, there was one April Fool's Day that Mark sold rocks with his mustached "M" on them, and I SO wanted one. He gave all the earnings to a charity that I can't remember, so that also really made me wanna get one, but yeah, I was NOT asking Mom for even a small amount of money for a rock, haha. She woulda been so fucking confused. Do you know anyone with a lazy eye? Knew, rather. Did your parents let you have pets when you were a kid? Yes. What band was on the last band t-shirt you wore? Ummmm... I'm not sure. Maybe Korn? What’s the last movie you watched at a friend’s house? Elf, I believe? Do you have any tattoos on your arms? Yep. Do you own a teapot? No. Did you have a GI Joe when you were a kid? No. What is the origin of your last name? Irish. Do you ever use the "n"-word? NO. What piercing do you like most on the opposite sex? It would depend on the person, but probably some sort of lip ring(s). What is your salad dressing of choice? Ranch, or the kind from Olive Garden. Have you ever written anything longer than 10 pages? Yes. I wrote a massive essay on toxic masculinity during my last college attempt. I got WAY more into it than I thought I would.

[mfingenius]

Hello!! Love love loveeeee your writing so i’d like to request a prompt pleaseee: worried harry having to leave a pregnant draco to go to some ministry conference with hermione for a few months and his jaw drops when he comes back because he knows he asked a reluctant ron to look after draco but even he can’t understand the weird friendship the two developed while him and hermione were gone!! (idk whether you did mpreg so you don’t have to include that part if you don’t want to ^.^!)

“No.” 

“Ron, please,” Harry says pleadingly. He already has his bags packed, and the Portkey leaves in less than twenty minutes. Ron can hold off for another twenty minutes.

“No,” Ron says again, crossing his arms. “Look, mate, you may have forgotten this, but Malfoy and I don’t get along! And he’s more responsible than either of us! He doesn’t need a babysitter!”

Harry grimaces. “Please, Ron, I need this favor.”

Ron huffs and shuffles uncertainly. Only fourteen more minutes.

“Why?” He asks, exasperated. “You’ve left Malfoy alone before, you’ve never asked me to watch him. And what does that even mean, watch him? He’s twenty one! I’m not going to distract him with a plushie and send him to bed early!”

Draco would kill him if he tried that, Harry knows. He chews on his lower lip. 

Draco hadn’t wanted to tell anyone that he was pregnant yet; Harry isn’t exactly sure why, but he has a list of possible reasons: they’re young, they’re not married, his parents will murder him. Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy have begrudgingly accepted the fact that they were dating, but if Harry tells Lucius Malfoy that he knocked up his son - effectively getting them kicked out of the Sacred Twenty-Eight list - and that they’re not getting married before the baby’s born - Harry’s been wanting to marry Draco for almost the three years they’ve been dating, and, if he’s honest, he’d do it in sweatpants in their couch and be the happiest man in the world with it. Draco, however, wants a proper wedding - Harry thinks he has a pretty good chance of Malfoy actually putting a price on his head. 

Harry’s own parents already know - they’re thrilled - and so do Parkinson and Zabini. Draco had agreed when Harry had asked if he could tell Hermione and Ron, but he did so so reluctantly that Harry hadn’t done it yet.

He thinks this might be the time, though.

“Draco’s pregnant.” He blurts.

Ron’s eyes widen, and he looks so horrified Harry doesn’t know whether to be amused or offended.

“Pregnant?” Ron asks. 

“Yes,” Harry says.

“With your child?”

“Yes,”

“As in, you’re going to be parents together?” 

“Yes.”

“So you’re not breaking up with him?”

“No,”

“Fuck. I owe Hermione ten Galleons.”

“Hey!” Harry says. “You bet we’d break up?”

Ron waves it away impatiently. “Malfoy’s pregnant pregnant?”

“Yes,” Harry says, a little impatiently now. “Look, it’s only - he’s only four months along, and we didn’t want to tell anyone until halfway through the pregnancy.” Draco had made that choice. He’d been terrified of losing the baby, even if they’d both been told, by multiple healers, that not only was Draco in prime condition to have a baby, but that they both looked healthy and strong. “But I - I’m worried about him. I don’t want him alone for so long.”

Ron narrows his eyes at Harry, and then huffs, rolling his eyes. 

“Fine.” He says. “But you will pay for the therapy sessions I will surely need after I spend time with your boyfriend!”

“I promise,” Harry vows.

*

When Draco opens the door to find Ronald Weasley standing in front of it glaring at him, he wrinkles his nose.

“What are you doing here, Weasel?” He asks, fighting the urge to hex the redhead when he merely scowls and moves past him, right into Draco’s and Harry’s flat. “I don’t need a babysitter.”

“That’s what I told Harry.” Weasley says, rolling his eyes and dropping on the couch. “But he made me promise.”

“So?” Draco asks, waving it away. ”Tell him you did it, I’ll say the same, and he never has to find out.”

“I’m not lying to my best friend.” Weasley says pointedly.

Draco rolls his eyes. “Bore.”

He closes the door and curls himself onto the big blue armchair that he loves, picking up the book he’d been reading.

Weasley looks around for a few minutes.

“What is there to do here?” he asks, looking at the telly wearily.

Draco doesn’t answer.

“Is your book interesting?”

No answer.

“Are you - err - alright?” 

Draco curses under his breath and looks up.

“You know.” He says, deadpan.

“I don’t know anything,” Weasley says hastily.

“You know that I’m pregnant.” Draco says. “And it’s why you’re being nice to me.” Weasley doen’t deny it. “Well, cut it out. It’s weird.”

Weasley scowls. “Fine.”

He drums his fingers against the coffee table.

“And shut up.” Draco snaps.

“Fine.”

*

Ron’s been staying at Harry’s - because he can’t think of Harry’s as Harry’s and Draco’s yet - for a few days in utter and complete silence. Malfoy doesn’t talk to him, and Ron doesn’t try to start conversation either. Ron doesn’t think he’s ever gone this long without saying a word. The only break he gets from it is when he goes to work at the Aurors’, and even that somehow seems to be going through a quiet and boring lull.

Because of it, he’s surprised when Malfoy throws his coat at him.

“Oi!” He says indignantly.

“Put it on,” Malfoy orders. “We’re going to the Healer’s.”

Ron immediately shoots up from his seat.

“Why?” He asks, alarmed. Fuck, if something happens to Malfoy while Harry is away Ron doesn’t know what he’ll do. “Are you alright? Does something hurt? Is the baby okay?”

“Yes, no, and I wouldn’t know.” Malfoy says. He shifts from foot to foot stiffly. “It’s my monthly appointment. For the - pregnancy.”

Ron spends an entire minute frozen, stunned. Is Malfoy asking him to go with him to a place where Ron doesn’t have to go? Could it be?

“Harry always goes with me.” Malfoy says, reluctantly. “I’ve never gone alone.”

And I don’t want to, goes unsaid.

Ron doesn’t know much about Malfoy; the prick went to Beauxbaton’s, he’s a Veela - Ron had been pathetically speechless the first few minutes they met, until the git opened his mouth - and he’s his best friend’s… lover, he guesses. What he does know, though, with utter, absolute certainty, is, Malfoy’s a stubborn bastard. He would never ask Ron to accompany him to the Healer’s if he didn’t feel like he had any other choice.

“Alright.” He says.

*

“Weasley I am going to literally murder you.” Malfoy says, a second before he runs off to the bathroom to retch.

“This is what you asked for!” Ron says, throwing up his hands. The sandwich - if it can even be called that - it’s filled with strawberries, whipped cream, ham, cheese, and cucumber - is literally Malfoy’s exact craving. He’d pestered Ron until he made it, a few minutes ago.

“Well I don’t want it anymore!” Malfoy snaps from the bathroom. “Make me something good!”

“What does that mean?” Ron asks, exasperated. Malfoy’s cravings have been weirder and weirder, and Ron cannot - for the life of him - figure them out.

“Figure it out!” Malfoy snaps, and he vomits again.

Ron sighs. When is Harry getting back again?

*

Of course. Of all of his vulnerable moments, the Weasel had to walk in on this one.

“Malfoy?” He seems uncertain. “Are you crying?”

Draco blows his nose loudly from where he’s sitting in front of the mirror, another sob escaping his throat. Weasley walks over, seemingly alarmed, and Draco barks out a bitter laugh.

“What’s wrong?” Weasel asks. “Does anything hurt?”

“No,” Draco says sourly. “I’m fat.”

Weasel stares at him for a moment, and then laughs.

Draco punches him in the shoulder.

“Ow!” Weasley says, from where he’s fallen on his butt next to Draco. “Merlin, Malfoy. Look, you’re not fat.”

“Yes I am!” Draco snaps, looking back at the mirror, tears welling in his eyes. “Look!” 

It’s not even that, he knows. He doesn’t care if he’s fat, or thin, or whatever, and he knows Harry wouldn’t, either, but this pregnancy has him crying about literally everything.

“I’m looking!” Weasley says. “And you’re not fat! You’re barely even showing!”

“Oh, yeah?” Draco snaps. He grabs his trousers from beside him - he’s only in grey pants - and throws them at Weasley angrily. “They won’t button.”

Weasley stares down at the pants for a moment. “There are enlargement charms.”

That sends Draco into another fit of sobs, which makes Weasley hilariously frantic.

“Or not,” He says quickly. “Don’t cry, okay? Look, I’ll - we don’t have to leave the house! Ever again. You can stay here and wear what fits, and we’ll incendio what doesn’t.”

It makes Draco feel better.

“Fine,” he sniffles, wiping at his eyes. “Now get me a tub of ice cream.”

Weasley laughs, and Draco smacks him.

*

“Are you seeing this?” Harry whispers.

“Yes,” Hermione seems just as stunned as he is.

“Are they actually getting along?” Harry demands quietly.

Hermione shrugs helplessly.

They’re both standing at the door - neither of their boyfriends have seen them - and staring at where Ron and Draco are sharing what seems to be a plateful of chips, covered with whipped cream, fudge, chocolate chip bits, peanut butter, and bits of steak.

Harry thinks he might gag.

“Harry!” Draco is the first one to notice him. “You’re back!”

Harry barely has any time to steel himself before his boyfriend is on him, legs wrapped around his waist and arms around his neck. He grabs Draco’s thighs, grunting slightly at the unexpected extra weight.

And fuck, Harry can feel it. He can feel Draco’s belly - small, but bigger than it had been a month and a half ago, when he’d left - between them, and he can’t seem to decide between pushing him back to look at it or hugging him closer because he hasn’t seen the love of his life in a month and a half.

“I missed you,” Draco whispers, watery, and Harry looks up, alarmed.

“You’re crying?” He asks. “Why are you crying?”

Ron, from where he’d gotten up much more calmly and now has an arm wrapped around Hermione, responds.

“He does it all the time.” 

“Shut up, Ronald.” And Harry nearly drops his boyfriend, because, Ronald? The last he was aware of, it was Weasel.

“I take it you had a nice month and a half?” Hermione asks faintly.

Harry puts Draco down and stares at his beaming boyfriend for a second before kissing him on the lips.

“Fuck, I missed you,” he sighs. He pulls back and looks down between them, Draco’s belly a round, prominent bulge where there used to be none. He drops a hand to it, rubbing lightly. “Both of you.”

Hermione makes a choked sound - fuck, he forgot to tell her - but doesn’t ask.

“We missed you, too,” Draco says happily. “Now come along and hold me.”

Harry laughs and kisses him until neither of them can breathe. 

——————————

Send me a Request :D

If you enjoyed this, please consider buying me a kofi

Masterlist: [1] [2]

Commissions

[pomegranate-belle]

V-day ask meme 5 with mattfoggy?

5. Character spends all day trying to give a valentine to their crush, only to be foiled in increasingly ridiculous ways

So this became... 3k words. I feel like this trope is very high-school oriented, but somehow the fic ended up being comicsverse so idk. It’s set... Somewhere in a post-whatever-run-we’re-on-now future where Kirsten is back and Matt’s not stupidly sleeping with mob boss wives. Also, massive apologies to any X-Men fans; I do not know shit or fuck about characterizing Magneto and Professor X, I just wanted Sir Ian and Patrick Stewart to cameo in this fic—

—

Despite all the commercialism and the overwhelming scent of flowers and processed candy, there’s just something about the aura of Valentine’s Day that Matt likes. People young and old get excited for it — whether for romantic purposes or just because chocolate will soon be on sale — and their feelings infuse the air in a way Matt can’t quite pin down to one or another of his senses. The Valentine Vibe, Kirsten had called it when he tried to explain the sensation to her.

He’s... Ecstatic, to have her back in his life, there’s really no other word for it. They’re not quite what they once were — in fact, Matt has no idea what they are except she’s there and they love each other but they’re not the kind of people who kiss each other anymore. Still, after climbing out of his latest spiral to find her waiting at the top? He can’t think of a better dynamic to have with an ex. She’s still Kirsten, after all. She’s still intelligent and funny and brave and doesn’t take his shit.

She’s also begun to take a particularly pointed interest in his relationship with Foggy that he thinks he should maybe be a little frightened about. Her intention is that Matt, so she says, ‘stop pining and seduce him already’ — which is easy enough for her to say, but just because he and Kirsten followed an absolutely fantastic trail of sexual tension to an even more fantastic relationship does not mean the same thing will work with Foggy.

You don’t seduce Foggy Nelson, and Matt would know. He’s been trying unsuccessfully for fifteen years and he is not subtle. Matt knows he looks good even if he can’t see it himself; the empirical evidence is pretty, uh, evident. But whenever Foggy sees him shirtless his only reaction is to toss a shirt at him and tell him to cover his shame with a warm fondness that’s simultaneously disappointing and heartwarming. Matt’s not even on the menu to Foggy, he’s concluded. But, well. Matt’s always been a champion of lost causes, and all that.

Besides, best friends give each other stuff on Valentine’s Day all the time. Foggy loves chocolate, and he’ll probably brush off what the ‘oh my god Matt you big softie this is totally the sappiest one in the store’ card Kirsten helped Matt pick out says as being a joke, so it’s not like there’ll be any negative repercussions. Matt’s resolved. He’s gonna do it.

Unfortunately, Foggy’s in a meeting with a client when Matt shows up to probably-unsuccessfully sweep him off his feet. The secretary says it’s set to go on another two hours. Matt doesn’t have that kind of time to bandy around now that he’s trying to be responsible with his work-life balance, so he makes a tactical retreat.

Fine. He’ll just take Foggy out to lunch and give him his valentine then. No problem.

—

They actually do make it to lunch, which gives Matt a false sense of security. He decides to save the valentine for the end — like dessert. It’ll be sweet, he’s certain, and he’ll be able to savor Foggy’s happiness the entire time he walks him back to his office.

Matt is just about to pull out his gift and offer it to Foggy when his phone starts announcing Jessica Jones’s name. He spends about three seconds too long debating whether to answer or not.

“If you ghost her she’ll beat the crap out of you,” Foggy points out, standing with a metallic rasp of chair legs against the floor. “I’ll head out and let you take that.”

Foggy sounds content, smells like deli ham and honey mustard and potato chips — a not-super-healthy sandwich lunch masquerading as something more so by way of a thin layer of lettuce — and gives off the same soothing body heat he always has, excepting his bout with cancer that Matt tries not to think about. To make a long story short, he feels like home to every one of Matt’s senses, and it’s a struggle not to ask him to stay. Still, the insistence of Matt’s phone prevails, because he knows what Jess is calling about. He’d asked her to help keep an eye on Mike and let him know if he was up to anything — if she has something to report, it’s bound to be important. So, Matt offers Foggy a nod and then pulls out his cell to answer her.

—

Of course, both he and Foggy are busy all afternoon, but Matt knows that Foggy usually knocks off early on Fridays, so he wraps up his own business — meeting with Jess to discuss strategy, any work that can’t be pushed to later — as efficiently as possible and follows suit. His plan is to meet Foggy right as he’s stepping onto the sidewalk — waylay him and present him with the valentine before anything else can interfere. Except that as he’s strolling along down the street, Matt happens to hear a mugging going on down an alley that he’s passing. Breaking that up takes more time than he’s willing to admit — god, he’s getting old — and even vaulting over a few rooftops doesn’t make up the delay. Foggy’s gone when Matt reaches his destination. He lets his head fall back against the brick wall behind him, breathing heavily, and then reaches for his phone.

“Matt?” Foggy’s voice is tinny and confused and perfect over the phone line. “What’s up?”

“Dinner?” Matt asks. “I was thinking Italian tonight, want to meet me at Maria’s at five-thirty?”

There’s a long, long pause.

“Yeah, sure thing, Matty. I figured you’d already have plans...?”

“Nah, nothing. See you then.”

—

Fourth time’s the charm, that’s what they say, right? Maria’s is quaint and quiet and always smells like good bread and cheese. He and Foggy aren’t the only ones there — a few couples seem to be scattered around the room, including a pair of teenage girls that are probably on a first date based on the way they fumble their words and their silverware. There’s also two elderly men, one in a wheelchair, who sound like they might be playing chess on a travel board while they wait for their food. They all add to the atmosphere instead of disturbing it, though, which is nice. Across the table, Foggy clears his throat, scraping the tines of his fork through his food.

“So. Lunch and dinner? I feel like you’re buttering me up for something,” he says. “We don’t have to move back to California, do we? Because I will, but I only just unpacked my last box a few weeks ago and it’s going to be a pain to pack it all up again.”

“No! No, nothing like that, Foggy,” insists Matt. “Seriously. I just want to spend time with you. Is that really so out of character?”

“On Valentine’s Day?” Foggy points out, and his silverware clinks against his plate. “I mean, kind of.”

The implication isn’t lost on Matt — don’t you usually have a date? — but he doesn’t address it. Foggy is his date, but couching it like that out loud is a little too presumptive, even for him.

“Well, not this year.”

Matt smiles his most charming smile, and it nets him a fond sigh, the kind that’s normally paired with Foggy ruffling his hair.

—

Again, Matt waits until the end of the meal. This time, they get to dessert, and the moment is perfect. They’re comfortably full, happy, and relaxed. It doesn’t matter if Foggy sees the gesture as romantic or not, because at least Matt can be satisfied that it was done as romantically as possible. His sense of aesthetics, such as it is, will be appeased.

Which is, of course, the moment the door of the restaurant bursts open.

“Magneto!” shouts a man, storming into the restaurant with heavy, clomping bootsteps and shattering the moment to pieces. “I’ll kill you!!”

Matt is going to kick this guy’s ass.

What is he even yelling about? Magneto? Magneto’s not—

And then one of the old men stands. Every spoon in the restaurant rattles towards him when he pushes back his chair, prompting a sigh from his dinner companion. And so it turns out that maybe the guy bursting through the door isn’t as off-base as Matt assumed. That old guy really is Magneto. It actually takes Matt a minute to realize that the man in the wheelchair across the table must be Charles Xavier. Xavier just isn’t someone Matt hangs around a lot, he tends to steer clear of both him and his academy when possible. It’s not mutants Matt has a problem with, though — it’s telepaths. The idea of someone poking around in his brain pan without so much as a by-your-leave gives him goosebumps. And not the fun kind.

As Matt considers all this, the scene continues — he notices distantly that the teenagers are being ushered towards the kitchen and away from the action. There’s a few whiffs of air as punches are thrown by the unknown assailant, and an unpleasant burning smell. Matt’s torn between shuffling Foggy away from danger and joining the fray himself, but when Foggy reaches out and grabs his hand for comfort he finds he can do neither.

“Let me very firmly impress upon you the enormity of your rudeness,” says Magneto, his voice crisp and cold.

Matt can’t even tell what he’s doing — something about Magneto’s powers is messing with his radar sense in the most disorienting way — but it sounds painful. Matt debates with himself the pros and cons of shaking off Foggy’s grip and intervening.

“Erik,” Xavier says warningly, though there’s still something quietly warm suffusing his tone.

“Oh, very well.”

The would-be assassin hits the floor with a thud that rattles the dishes on Matt and Foggy’s table. He’s breathing, a little bit labored, but still alive. And unconscious. Also possibly bleeding a little bit, but it’s hard to tell with the scent of all the metal in the air.

And that, he supposes, is why you don’t mess up Magneto’s dinner plans.

Magneto and Professor X make their leisurely escape, leaving Matt’s romantic moment with Foggy thoroughly in ruins. He lets it go, sighing into the last bite of his tiramisu and gives the plan up as a bad job. Maybe next year, he thinks wryly as he and Foggy get up together to examine the man left on the floor.

“He’s wrapped up in a chain of spoons,” Foggy narrates quietly, nudging the guy with his toe. “Wasn’t sure if you could tell that, you looked confused. He must have some sort of acid powers though because he managed to melt a few on their way in. I think maybe he just fainted when the chain tightened. Are you able to sense any really bad injuries?”

Matt tilts his head and concentrates.

“No,” he determines at last. “No, nothing.”

That settled, they split the check and book it before they can get caught up in a police investigation or a mutant hunt.

Their apartments are in opposite directions, so there’s not even an excuse to give Foggy the valentine on the way home. And anyway, Matt’s feeling so discouraged that he’s not sure he even wants to go through with it anymore. He turns for home, planning to crumple up the card and maybe eat the chocolates himself.

“Matt.”

There’s a tug as Foggy grabs his sleeve. He turns towards the warmth of Foggy’s body, the sounds of his heart and his breath, and tries to offer a smile.

“What?”

Foggy gives him a quiet huff in return.

“Come on, Matt, give me a little credit. You’ve kept coming up with excuses to meet me all day. There’s something you wanted to say, and you still haven’t said it,” he explains. “I can tell. So let’s head back to mine and you can finally get it off your chest.”

Matt feels, suddenly, seen. It’s an unsettling and vulnerable feeling, but he knows beyond all doubt that he’s safe with Foggy. That it’s silly of him to be surprised at somebody knowing him so well when that somebody is Foggy. There’s not much the two of them can hide from each other after being best friends for so long. Mood improved a little, Matt manages a more genuine smile, and they walk on together.

—

“So, what exactly is your problem, Matt?” Foggy asks once they’re safely inside.

And it’s not as if he says it in a rude way, he actually sounds very earnest and concerned, but that just impresses on Matt all the more how stupid this entire situation is. He’s twisted himself in knots all day over one dumb little gift for one dumb little holiday. Annoyed with himself, Matt divests himself of his glasses, cane, and suit jacket, opens up his briefcase, plops the valentine and accompanying small box of chocolates inside down on Foggy’s coffee table, then flops onto the couch on his back.

“That,” he says, gesturing towards it. “That’s my problem, ok?”

Foggy laughs.

“That’s what all this was about? A valentine? You had me worried you were getting ready to pull some crazy stunt or another.” He pauses, likely studying the items set on the coffee table. “Chocolate and a card, huh? For Kirsten, I’m guessing? I had a feeling the two of you would be getting back t—”

Matt is extremely tired of Foggy’s assumptions.

“No, it’s for you! I’ve been trying to give it to you all day!” he complains, throwing an arm over his face — he might be a grown man but after the day he’s had he’s allowed to be a little dramatic, ok?

“Me?”

Foggy sounds surprised and pleased, but not like he’s having any sort of revelation about Matt’s feelings for him. Which is fine. That’s what Matt had expected, after all.

“Yup.”

“Well, if it is for me, then I guess I don’t have to feel guilty about wanting to eat these,” Foggy says, and there’s some rustling of cardboard and plastic as he opens the box of sweets and chooses one.

Raspberry-filled, Matt’s nose tells him as soon as it’s bitten into. With a pleased hum at the taste, Foggy picks up the card and opens the envelope. There’s further quiet, inarticulate sounds after that — noises Matt remembers from studying near Foggy, the sound of him not-quite-reading-aloud.

There’s a pause.

Foggy’s heart does a funny kind of stutter in his chest, then speeds up considerably. He swallows the chocolate in his mouth with a gulp that sounds distinctly nervous.

“Um. Matty...”

And now Matt’s nervous too. He sits up, clenches his fingers in the fabric of his slacks to keep from reaching for his glasses.

“What? What is it?” he demands.

“Did you, uh... Did you know Kirsten wrote in this?”

Oh no.

“What did she write?”

“Well, there’s a pretty long spiel about what she’ll do to us if we hurt each other,” Foggy says, with a jovial tone that rings very hollow. “But she also says I need to get over myself and kiss you because you’re an emotionally stunted duckling and won’t make the first move.”

“... Ah.”

Matt’s still trying to calculate the relative distance to the ground if he flings himself out the window when Foggy’s hand lands on his shoulder.

“Is she right?” he asks Matt.

“About what?”

Though he tries for a devil-may-care grin, Matt thinks it probably comes out a little anemic.

“About you wanting to kiss me, Matthew,” Foggy says drily. “we both already know you’re emotionally stunted.”

Matt shrugs.

“I do. But you don’t, and that’s fine, I’m... I don’t need...”

“I don’t?” asks Foggy, sounding incredulous. “Matty, come on. There’s pretty much nobody on Earth who’d turn you down and you really think I would?”

“But...? You never said...”

Foggy sighs and steps back. Matt gets the feeling he’s probably shaking his head in despair at Matt’s apparent idiocy.

“And why would I, Matt? I mean. You know what I mean! I’m just not the kind of person you would... They have leagues for a reason, buddy.”

That self-depreciation, light but tinged with a very deep melancholy that Matt knows is drilled right through to Foggy’s core, drives him to his feet in agitation.

“Objection!” he snaps, and doesn’t care how ridiculous it sounds. “I’ve flirted with you before! How could you think...”

“You flirt with everything that moves, Matt, I knew you didn’t mean it. That’s just who you are,” Foggy explains patiently.

“Well...” He can’t exactly deny it. “Yeah, but I did want to kiss you. Do want to kiss you. All the time. Except after you eat something gross and unfit for human consumption.”

Foggy offers up a quiet laugh, then, and it smooths some of Matt’s ruffled feathers when he can’t detect any bitterness in the sound.

“Real smooth, Casanova,” Foggy says. “That was sarcasm by the way. I’m rolling my eyes at you.”

“But you still want to kiss me too,” Matt replies, because he’s beginning to think it’s true and he knows Foggy finds it both irritating and endearing, but more the latter, when he’s smug about things.

“You really are unbearable. What do I see in you, I ask myself,” laments Foggy, even as he steps forward and cups Matt’s cheek in his hand.

Matt can hardly stop grinning long enough to swoop in and kiss him first.

[galadriiel]

3, 14, 16, 24, 28, 47, 53, 55? 😌💞💕

aw god bless you vicky💞💗💕

3. the person you would never want to meet?

i actually don't think there is such a person? like obviously i don't daydream about meeting say hitler but at least if i did i could bitch slap him,, so yep i stand by this, every interaction teaches you something so bring it on👀 that said what if i said i never wanna meet the person who will cause my death does that mean that i'll just,, live forever or

14. what is your current destop picture?

galadriel, gandalf and elrond in the hobbit with the dwarves on one side and gollum and bilbo on the other,, i should probably change it though sjsj i think i've had it for over a year now but i love it so✌

16. the last song you listened to?

lalena by deep purple!

24. you can only have one kind of sandwich. every sandwich ingredient know to humankind is at your disposal.

i love how this isn't even a question just a statement but i'm just gonna. look past that and answer the missing question,, hm i'd probably make something with  a bunch of cheese, ham or roast chicken, a shitload of vegetables, maybe sweet corn?, olives and some mayo or hot sauce? which is literally pretty much all i eat anyway but yeah

28. you discover a beautiful island upon which you may build your own society. you make the rules. what is the first rule you put in place?

oh man that'd literally be a dream coming true hdnshj anyways damn okay first rule,, it'd probably just be something like sit the fuck down and discuss everything together as equals and let everyone speak so we can figure everything out and make a set of rules based on what's most important for the people and do the same whenever there's a problem or anything that requires a solution ngl sitting the fuck down smoking a joint, chilling out & listening to what the other person has to say and even if you disagree with them, treating them the way you would want to be treated is the best place to start i suppose? or depending on the group of people maybe saying don't kill each other would be the smartest&safest-

47. if you could ask your future self one question, what would it be?

that's actually kinda tough hh i mean maybe i'd just ask when i died so i'd know how much more time i have to actually do all the things i want to in life?

53. what has been your worst haircut/style?

i've only had bad hair once in my life but that one time it was absolutely horrible jdnshwjs i was in fourth grade my first time at the hairdresser's and she kept talking and talking while cutting my hair and i was too shy to speak up so i ended up with way too short hair and it didn't suit my at all,, let's just say thank god my hair grows fast

55. can you do any accents other than your own?

only a very generic london accent and the your average hungarian person speaking english™ accent since i had to listen to it every goddamn day in english class but that's about it and i probably couldn't keep either up for more than a couple of minutes so,,

[mlentertainment]

thanks 2 @teenagediscoqueen for tagging me

Favourite snack? holy fuck so many things. easy one is rice cracker mini sandwiches (with ham n cheese)

Favourite place to go on vacation? Fern Resort up in Orillia. second best is Port Severn. 

What’s a song that makes you dance immediately? most songs on here

Tea or coffee? And what kind? tea but ONLY bubble tea, and moreover only fruit teas with popping juice pearls hehe

Do you play an instrument? several, mediocre. ukulele, piano, flute, viola

What’s your favourite type of personality? i can get along with most people i think, but it’s great when they’re as manic as me

Favourite comedian? john mulaney ali wong yugi nagashima donald glover chris fleming there’s so many

Gummy candy or chocolate? chocolate

What did you want to be when you grew up as a kid? for about 3 seconds i wanted to be a famous violinist but it’s been working in TV and movies after that ever since

What’s your favourite physical feature about yourself? my eyes are nice. 

When was the last time you watched a show or movie on TV? if we’re being technical i watched doctor who on the tv last night but that was bc i hooked up my laptop bc there’s no app for crave on there

Unpopular opinion: i have never had an opinion on anything in my life. people should do weirder dream sequences in film and television, nobody’s dreams are that straightforward and it’s not hard on the budget AND you can make absolutely buckwild imagery with simple editing tricks so everybody step up their game

Are you scared of bugs? not usually but if they’re flying at my face they’ve Got To Go (trying to kill them isn’t my first resort but it’s also not my last)

Cats or cats? hell yeah

Are you allergic to any foods? nope

Does the description of your star sign match your personality? gemini but i don’t know what that means other than i’m literally always thinking about something else

Favourite type of accent? (side eyes michael and david) no comment

Name the first song that comes to your head! imitation of the sky by bryan scary and the shredding tears (that song Fucks)

Who is the sexiest famous person to you? (side eyes harder) NO COMMENT

Cake or pie? pie, obviously

When was the last time you read an entire book? published? good omens baybee (so like a month ago. almost got fired for it bc i was reading at work). unofficial? also good omens (the Titanic fic. jesus christ)

Favourite junk food? literally anything i can get my hands on. kraft dinner, chips, uber eats fast food, pastries...... i have a Problem

Do you like your height? it’s not bad! i’m good with it!

Apples or oranges? mangoes

What’s your favourite personality trait in a person? high tolerance for bullshit and tomfoolery

Do you like salad? meh

What person inspires you the most? anyone in the industry who’s Fucked Up Like Me bc they made it

What is a song that makes you cry? breezeblocks, alt-j

[feltnone]

             ----  task 01   :     the  writing  prompts .

it’s  rare  to  find  a  pencil  &  paper  these  days  but  somehow ,  in  her  findings  , there’s  a sheet  of  blank  paper  and  a  slightly  sharpened  pencil.  winnie  sits  at  a  school  desk  and  begins  to  write . . . .

01 : five things you spend the most time doing

1. keeping watch outside the school 2. hunting for food -- or other useful items 3. practicing aiming 4. singing to myself 5. thinking about my baby, wondering if it’ll be a girl or a boy

02 : five things you think you’d be doing if the apocalypse hadn’t come

1. watching something t.v or netflix 2. drinking or smoking a blunt :P 3. hanging out with my friends 4. doing something with my sister 5. arguing with my dad

03 : favourite weather, and why?

I like when it’s raining.. I always have honestly. I think it’s just ? peaceful ? not when it’s pouring out but when it’s just, to say, raining. I like watching it. it’s also something to do during the day when there’s nothing else to do.. it’s also not too hot when it’s raining. when it’s sunny out, it gets too fucking hot. 

04 : favourite season, and why?

the fall time, no question about it. it’s not too hot and not too cold ( most days ). I have a nice jacket and boots that are perfect for the fall time - they’re in some locker at the camp so no one steals them. the only thing I don’t like about fall is that the next season is winter.... yikes.

05 : food you miss the most from pre-ration days?

pizza uugh. and cheesecake. god I’ve been craving cheesecake since I found out I was pregnant and it fucking sucks that there’s none around. I also miss just regular every day foods / snacks. granola bars, noodle soup, garlic bread... nowadays we only have shitty salty crackers and cold canned foods. gross.

06: are you religious / spiritual?

I think my mom was probably religious but she didn’t force it on any of us. honestly, I think my dad would probably shut her up if she did... which sucks. but no, I’m neither.

07 : what is your greatest fear?

losing my kid.... but also having him... her? giving birth in the apocalypse just sounds absolutely terrifying. I can’t picture in my head what it’s going to be like when the kid comes. it’s going to be so.. different.

08 : what is your greatest desire?

to find my sister. that’s honestly all I want right now. nothing else in the whole entire fucking world would make me happier than to find her ALIVE and healthy.. or as healthy as one can be in the apocalypse.

09 : tell me about the best day of your life

it’s pretty lame but one of my greatest memories is when my sister and I went on top of our roof at like, 3am with a bottle of booze and ham & cheese sandwiches. she brought out her laptop and we just sat up there and watched movies until the sun rose. it was so peaceful. that was a few days before the outbreak, actually. I’ll never forget that night.

10 : what is your biggest regret?

I don’t want to say. being separated from my sister. god, I should have followed her. why didn’t I? I would be with her right now if I did. it was so fucking stupid. now all I have left of her is a goddamn scrunchie. so stupid.

[punishandenslavesuckers]

Sometimes your life gets ruined over a ham sandwich and that’s just how the fuck it goes. Outtake from our home game because this part made us all lose our shit. 

So a triton and a tiefling walk into a bar.

It’s cramped, kind of dark, and there are three reanimated skeletons sitting around one of the tables. They look super dead and super sad about being dead, just peering mournfully into empty drink glasses. There is also a bugbear drinking ale. (Alarming.) And a straight up fiend of some variety peering eagerly at them from behind the bar. (Also alarming.) The triton – who is generally ignorant about the interplanar ecosystems of the surface world – still kens that animated skeletons must be unusual and tightens her dainty and lady-like vice-grip on the tiefling’s arm.

“Ahh! New customers,” says the fiend in a voice that slopes strangely from word to word. “Welcome to the Salted Lich. I am the proprietor of this place—Dornias Voth. Please. Make yourselves at home and purchase a beverage.”

He puts a little flourish on the word ‘beverage’ for no apparent reason.

Blue smiles. Blue has a politician’s smile. She smiles like she smiled at the city guards she hoodwinked with her husband two days earlier. She smiles like it’s pageantry and carefully pulls her taller tiefling compatriot to the privacy of a far table where they sit and she – still smiling and talking somewhat strained through her teeth – says:

“I’ve been on the surface long enough that even I know that’s not normal.”

Rime could tell her, just straight up, that the thing standing behind the bar is probably the most dangerously malevolent thing he’s encountered in his whole life – a life that includes, in no particular order, mind flayers, murderers, and hobgoblin berserkers – but feels like she might wrench his arm off if he does.

So he just flags the proprietor down, casual as anything.

The fiend, upon closer inspection, is wearing a tiny pair of spectacles, perched on the end of a very long, dark, jackal-like snout. Rime nearly misses the nightly price for a room (three gold) because he’s staring at them. The fiend has very fine red robes, stands bi-pedal somewhere over six and half feet and whenever he – Dorias – speaks, the mouth certainly opens and Common tongue comes out, but jackal jaws shouldn’t be able to form consonants properly and he’s puzzled what magic it is that’s doing the work there.

Rime nods… then glances somewhat meaningfully at the pack of skeletons.

Dornias flaps a lazy hand.

“Friends of the previous owner. Sadly he cannot command them anymore, so I just let them hang around. They did not cause any harm. They simply sit there and remember when they were alive.” He straightens the tiny spectacles. “Sad. But… it is their fate.”

Rime hands over the three gold, casts Thaumaturgy, and a fabrication of his regular speaking voice originates from a point somewhere near his head.

“Do you have anything strong and… fun to drink?”

Dornias remains unflapped by the spell usage. “Of course! Of course! I can offer you the Glabrezu Brew. Made from the blood of fallen soldiers in the Blood War?”

A pause.

Blue’s head tilts exactly one inch to the right.

“That… sounds violent,” says Rime, like you turn down a garnish on a side-salad.

“Ah. Then I can also offer Devas’ Tears.” Dornias beams with pride. “Made from the sorrows of one-thousand celestials.”

Another pause.

“Can I have a shot of rum?” says Blue.

“Maybe just a shot of whiskey,” says Rime.

“Do you have anything to eat?” Blue adds when the drinks arrive.

“I have been told that my sandwiches are worth killing someone over,” says Dornias happily, fingers steepled, ears pricked forward. “Not that you would need to. It is merely two silver…”

They order food. (Though Blue confirms no one did, in fact, die for a ham sandwich.)

Dornias stalks smoothly away on long digitigrade legs and goes behind the bar where he very rapidly puts together the ingredients for the sandwiches; he slices fresh bread from a fragrant loaf, lays thick slabs of ham, cheese, and lettuce, lovingly assembling and securing the layers with an olive-garnished toothpick each. Rime props his chin in two hands and absorbs Devil sandwich design with rapt detail.

Dornias reaches for a large glass jar on a shelf behind him. It glows somewhat ominously as he unscrews the lid… and from the briny depths of the jar a screeching voice issues forth, howling, “A THOUSAND CURSES UPON YOUR BLOODLINE. MAY THE DAMNED TEAR AT YOUR SOUL FOR ALL ETERNITY! I SHALL DROWN YOU IN THE RIVER –!”

Dornias pulls out two pickles from the jar, puts the lid back on, and sets both on the sandwich plates.

Blue, upon receiving her plate, kind of unsubtly bats the pickle away from the rest of her sandwich.

Rime casts Thaumaturgy and through it says, “Can I ask what the screaming pickle jar is all about?”

“Oh, is the previous owner.” Dornias fetches the jar and sets it down on the table where Rime and Blue can observe a human skull with jeweled eyes tumbling angrily around inside the jar.

In Infernal Rime says, “What the fuck?”

Dornias, also in Infernal, eagerly explains. “The previous owner bound me to this place as part of a convoluted plot to take over the city, kill the Masked Lords, murder the Open Lord in front of his children, then rule from here as part of his own dark fiefdom.” He says all this while drumming idle claws against the lid of the pickle jar and in the tone of someone recounting a fond anecdote. “Naturally, like someone who thinks of such a complicated scheme he forgot to assure the bindings that held me in place were secure. So, I tore the head from his body and put it in this enchanted jar.”

He pats the jar and the raging skull inside spins furiously and silently.

“But I have found I like customer service!” Dornias beams.“I like seeing the smiles on a patron’s face! So here I stay.”A beat. “Also the binding was good enough that I cannot leave.”

Rime glances at Blue who is smiling and nodding like people smile and nod when they don’t speak a lick of Infernal. Which, given the information just volunteered, is probably for the best. Rime goes on, brows arching upwardly.

“You stay because it’s fun?”

“Oh, well, I suppose with time, a bit of blood, some tears, a lot of sweat, I could probably get myself free but…” He sighs a happy sigh, gesturing widely to the bar around him. “Is easy life. You wipe the counter. You serve the drinks. A horde of pit fiends never bursts through and slaughters the people you are doing the accounting for.” Another sigh. “Is the good life.”

Blue, not understanding any of that, says, “Excuse me? One more shot.”

Rime kind of laughs, falling out of Thaumaturgy into spoken Common.

“So you don’t get a lot of customers, I assume?”

Beneath his question, the passive vocal aberration in his speaking voice puts a hissing reverb in each word. Like a second, softer voice whispering and rasping beneath Rime’s regular speaking voice. Rime’s grinning a little, visibly happy for an opportunity to speak aloud in strange but (weirdly) safe company. Dornias doesn’t bat an eye at the Infernal reverb, just nods thoughtfully.

“Ah, we do not get many clientele, but we are up and coming business. I am certain the chamber of commerce will welcome me soon.” Dornias nods. “It has only been fifty years.”

Rime grins wider, feeling a little of the tension winding out of his shoulders for the first time in a few days actually because, again rather unexpectedly, being a visible weirdo is creating an unprecedented bubble of safety. Who, even the Xanathar gang on their most irritated, is going to start trouble in a bar owned by a barely bound demonic entity with the skull of his summoner in a pickle jar?

The city watch was right -- this is the perfect place to lie low.

“Sounds like you’re winning an uphill battle,” Rime enthuses.

“Yes. As for your other question,” continues Dornias, “Yes, but not in seven centuries.”

Blue glances at Rime and Rime blinks, puzzled, “My other question?”

Your other question,” Dornias insists brightly.

An awkward beat followes. Long enough for Rime to suddenly question their own recollection of a conversation less than five seconds past and say, “Wait, what other question?”

“The one you asked in your other voice.”

Dead silence then.

Rime hears absolutely nothing except the sudden thunderous crush of his own heartbeat roaring through his ears. He stares up at the jackal-headed fiend standing over him. He can feel Blue looking back and forth between them, enough context clues suddenly tossed out in a shared language to imply things. Then, after a long, confused, then horrifying stretch of silence, Rime whispers:

“What?”

“You asked how long it had been since I saw the fires of Ivernas,” says Dornias. “Seven centuries.”

Rime switches back to Infernal. “You can understand my subvocals?”

“Yes?”

“What? I – I don’t— I’ve never met anyone who could –”Rime sputters for a moment then, doubles down. “I didn’t know it was SAYING anything.”

Dornias nods as though this is not surprising. “Difficult to understand if you weren’t part of a few small platoons of Glabrezu soldiers who crossed the River Styx to make their way into Ivernas, storm the Nine Hells, and destroy the multi verse.” He shrugs a little. “Uncommon tongue.”

Blue, becoming bored of Infernal conversations she’s not part of, pokes Rime in the arm. “Rime. RIME.”

“Hmm? Hmm?!”

She pouts. “What are you saying?”

“Uhh,” Rime says, glancing Dornias. “It’s an Infernal thing?”

“Are you okay? Blink twice if you need me.”

Rime’s tone softens a little. “I am okay.”

“Are the shots going to kill me?” Blue demands, face serious and inebriated. “Is he poisoning me?”

“Absolutely not.”

Blue immediately holds up one finger in Dorias’ direction. “Third shot sir! Thank you, Mister Friend.” Then she whispers to Rime. “Is he a whowolf too?”

Rime supposes she means ‘werewolf’ but just says, “No.”

And at that moment the main door to the bar opens and both William and Bian – returned from their second meeting today with shady and unscrupulous criminals for profit – enter the bar. They immediately and understandably freeze upon seeing the clientele. Bian’s large tabaxi eyes dart around the room, one fluffy triangular ear twitching a little bit, her tail flipping back and forth as she squints particularly at Dornis and the bugbear and the rage skull pickle jar. Then she’s looking at Rime the way you look to any bellweather for direction, and takes his relative calm as cue to be regular in here.

Will, meanwhile, goes for his sword.

“Ah,” says Dornias, holding up a hand. “Please no violence on the premise. I would hate to eject you.”

Blue begins to wave down her alarmed life partner, flapping a blue web-finned hand at him. “HUBBY. HUBBYYYY.” She might be drunker than Rime first picked up on. “Come sit down and talk to our friend.”

Will nervously drops his hand from his rapier, holding his palms open as he moves toward the table. He eyes Dornias the entire way there. “Uh, yeah. I’m sorry I… sorry?” Then in a lower voice to Blue,“What have we missed?”

Bian strides (unflapped by skeletons, bugbears, or demons) across the room. She yanks a chair over to the table beside Rime, then takes a seat backwards straddling it. Properly settled, she then promptly steals and eats the pickle off Rime’s plate. Rime stares. The pickle crunches satisfactorily between sharp feline jaws and she smacks, small pink nose wrinkling slightly but otherwise shows no ill affect from eating the pickle from the cursed skull jar. Rime, somewhat warily, slides her his whiskey shot as a chaser and turns back to Dornias.

Still in Infernal, he presses, “It’s a Glabrezu dialect—?”

Blue, whispering loudly to Will, demands, “Did you know he speaks Angry Tongue?”

Will glances at Rime, then back to Blue. “No. Did you?”

“No. But I didn’t ask.”

Bian keeps gnawing on the pickle, one ear rotating toward the voices, but otherwise appears to ignore everyone. Will and Blue continue to discuss Rime just loudly enough it kind of involves Rime, despite his being in another conversation entirely. Dornias is pondering his question, however, so in the meanwhile he hears:

“I didn’t know you spoke Fishy-Fish.”

Will sounds resentful.

Blue looks offended. “I am a fish. You speak in Ely-Elf don’t you?”

Rime, loudly, butts in at this point. “It’s Infernal, by the way. All tieflings speak Infernal.”

Blue lunges up dramatically in her seat, pointing at Rime. “YOU TEACH ME INFERNAL. I’LL TEACH YOU AQUAN.”

Rime, rather taken off guard by her volume goes, “Okay. Fair?”

“Anyway,”Dornias breaks in finally, still speaking Infernal. “Most Glabrezu speak Abyssal but a few were trained in other tongues. A bastarization of Infernal, Abyssal, lil bit of Celestial, some of the language of the Modrin but not much. Aaand I had to do their accounting for a few centuries.”

Rime likewise speaking Infernal, says, “Accounting? What? You said they stormed the Nine Hells?”

Dornias switches to Common then, sounding confused. “Yes! Have you—? Oh! I forget! Material Plane. I am sorry. I am so used to the Lower Planes where everyone knows!”

Blue raises her hand like she’s in class. “I’m not from this plane either!”

Dornias looks at her, eagerly, leaning across the table a little to grin at her. It’s toothy and worrisome. “I know! I have bought and sold some of your kind!”

Then he switches to Aquan and with a voice like a man drowning, launches into some kind of extended conversation with Blue in her native “fishy-fish” tongue. To her credit, her face remains a perfect, hospitable mask of rapt glee the entire time. Will, meanwhile, steals Blue’s ham sandwich from her plate and starts eating it. He gets about halfway through one bite before a kind of involuntary rapturous look of bliss crosses his handsome half-elf features and he kind of zones out. Both Rime and Bian stare.

“You okay over there, bud?” says Bian, shooting Rime’s whiskey.

“It’s a really good sandwich,” Will whispers.

Dornias suddenly swaps back to Common. “I’m sorry. I forget people of the Central Planes are not used to conversing about the Blood War. It’s struggles and strategies.” He looks around the table. “How much do you know about the Creation of the Universe?”

There’s a pause. Before Rime or Blue can volunteer something vague, Will – a man who only a few days ago called Bian a ‘cat-person’ and Rime ‘basically a demon’ and then failed to correctly identify his wife’s native tongue – immediately lifts his head and says (mouth full of sandwich), “Well, one time, in a bar…”

And proceeds to recount in detail the broad strokes of how the universe was created. At least, as told to him once by a raging drunk wizard in a tavern somewhere. While this is happening, Bian elbows Rime slightly, leveling a weighted sidelong glance at him that Rime interprets as a generalized, ‘Are we okay? Or should I be worried?’

Because she must notice, if nothing else, the anxious tail-lashing that Rime’s got going on around his boots beneath the table. A tell that other species with tails generally ken to more quickly than other races. Rime glances at her, allowing a slight nervous uncertainty knit his brow, then wobbles one hand back and forth.

Blue, staring at Will, says loudly, “I’m so into you right now. Wow. You know so much for a surface walker.”

And while Will looks pleased with himself, Dornias addresses the table again saying, “Anyway, in war there is always the middle Neutral ground yes? The No Mans’ Land as it were? Where all must cross and blood and mud and stabbing each other and bone sticking out of the dirt? There is where I live. On the River Styx. Or at least that’s where I used to.” Proudly he adds, “Now I live in Waterdeep. I am Waterdaviancitizen.” He beams. “I won the court case.”

The whole party stares a little.

“Anyway,” Dornias says, speaking to Rime suddenly, “your weird vocal tic sounds like Glabrezu shouting orders from other room, basically.” If he notices Rime’s horror that he’s saying this to the whole table, he doesn’t act on it, but goes on knowingly. “Facility with all languages means, uh, well, I speak all languages.”

Blue looks at Rime. “So… are you like… possessed? Is it like a possession thing? Do your weird voice whispers tell you to kill people?”

Rime, horrified, completely forgets Thaumaturgy and sputters, “No! I don’t even understand it.”

Blue nods sagely. “Good to know.”

Dornias adds, “Sounds like you have direct connection to Abyss.”

Rime chokes. “What?!”

Blue slams her palms excitedly on the table. “THAT’S SO COOL, RIME!”

“Wait. I’m sorry. Sorry,” says Dornias while Rime’s body goes cold all over. “I mean Nine Hells. Occasionally you get Glabrezu across both sides. Big mess. So yes, you have direct connection to Nine Hells in your vocal cords.

Blue is now drunkenly yelling, “THAT’S AWESOOOOME.”

Rime’s frozen, gripping the table edge. “I don’t know if that’s awesome.”

Blue giggles. “What’s up with the demon possession?”

“I am not possessed!”

“Oh… so it just kind of piggybacking on you?” Blue props her chin in her hand, frowning, puzzled at him. “Like it sits on your shoulder and says shitty things?”

Rime’s cantrip keeps half falling apart in his head so he just keeps, unable to stop himself, speaking aloud out of pure instinctive panic. “I don’t— I don’t know what – Dornias, as I’m talking is it speaking to YOU? And like… as I talk can it hear you and the conversations I’m having?”

Dornias says, “Uhhhhhh.”

And then there is a very, very, very long pause. Rime can visibly see the ancient fiendish hesitate as if uncertain what to do. He’s trying to decide what to say. By the time Dornias finally moves again, Rime’s fingers are aching where he’s gripping the table. Dornias surreptitiously produces a piece of paper. Then he picks up a pen and writes something on the paper. That done, he flips the paper around for them to read:

IT SAID NOT TO TELL YOU.

Dead silence follows.

Bian breaks it by asking, deadpan, “So is it gonna kill us in our sleep?”

For a moment, Rime kind of fades out in a long buzzing silence where Rime is vaguely aware of Blue saying things and Dornias saying things and, weirdly, the thing he is most aware of is his own fingernails, blunt and digging into the wood beneath his palms. He can feel Bian kind of side-eyeing him, but can’t bring himself to look at her. The buzzing in his ears fades in time to hear Dornias promising to teach Blue a demonic dialect, but only after they kill a lantern archon and climb Mount Celestial on another plane of existence.

Rime plants a hand on Blue’s shoulder and says, “Blue. No.”

Blue doesn’t hear though, and is eagerly wooting, “Alright. Let’s go!” Just in time for Will to also grab her other shoulder and pull her back into her seat.

Rime brings up his hands and in deliberate Sign, he says, Do you understand me?

Dornias also brings his hands up and signs, Yes. I understand you.

Rime holds his gaze.

Have you ever encountered anyone else who has this affliction?

Yes. But specifically only those with powerful connections to the lower planes.

Can you elaborate?

Typically direct descendants of archfiends or demon princes.

So what would your theory be about me?

Dornias glances sidelong and Rime realizes Blue is pouting dramatically, glaring at their fast-moving hand-signs with the resentment of someone being left out of a conversation.

“Hmm, well let’s see,” he says aloud, moving suddenly toward Rime. “Red skin, horns…” He reaches up and taps one of Rime’s horns with a claw. “You have strong connection to Minaros. You might be distant child of Mamon. The Arch Devil of Greed. He through whose hands pass all coin and who sits unchallenged upon a throne of stolen wealth from all the multi-verse.”

Again. Dead silence for a moment.

Then Will, beaming over his sandwich plate says, “Hey! My kinda guy! I don’t have a faith, but I can get behind that.”

Then from the far end of the bar, the bugbear drinking from a bucket-like tankard wobbles around in his seat and burps, “Uh. Respect.” Then slurps his beer.

Rime jerks physically. “No!”

Blue is already shouting. “Shots for the four of us! And the bugbeaaaaaar!”

Cheering ensues.

Rime fumbling his Sign, tries to say something to Dornias who is eagerly pouring out more shots all around.

Dornias. Do you –?

Blue lays a hand on his wrist to get his attention, suddenly concerned and mildly wounded. “Are you not doing your shot?”

Rime stares wildly at her, then the shot glass, then her again.

He slams the shot mostly of pure Lliiran instinct and the sudden realization he’s not drunk enough for this and has not been for some time.

Blue somewhat fuzzily to Dornias, says, “Can I have another sandwich? My dog ate mine.”

Will shoots her a look, but she ignores him.

Dornias whizzes away to prepare another screaming pickle and sandwich while Bian and Will shoot their respective drinks and Bian steals Rime’s untouched sandwich. Rime sits, hands braced against the sides of his head, staring vacantly into the middle of the table until the new sandwich lands on their table and Dornias loiters again benignly by their table, delighted apparently by their general patronage.

Rime takes the opportunity to Sign to him.

So… the vocal tick is basically that someone has a two-way connection between me and this realm of hell and someone is speaking through it whenever I speak?

Dornias studies his hands, then says aloud, “Effectively, yes.”

“Fuck!” Rime cries, pressing one palm against his forehead.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” Donias waves a hand. “Is slightly incorrect phrasing. Someones.” A beat. “At this point I have detected six distinct voices.”

Bian levels a cool look in Rime’s direction. “You got major problems.”

Rime snaps his fingers, his cantrip rebutting, “I’m fine!”

Blue folds her hands on the table, leaning forward with a knowing inebriation. “You know… Tritons respectour ancestors. Just saying…”

“I don’t know that’s what this is!”

Blue just eats her new cursed pickle while Will somewhat desperately flicks sandwich crust at her in an effort to stop her declarations about Rime’s suddenly deeply strange vocal affliction.

Rime turns to Dornias and through the spell, asks, “Is there anyway to stop it?”

“Hmm, is difficult process. But yes. I could probably stop connection.” Then, before anyone can get excited about his, he adds, “But you would have to die.”

Blue, still very drunk, flaps a hand at the fiend while Rime stares, speechless in every sense of the word.

“Do you just mean killhim?” She makes a kind of psssh/gargling noise of unimpressed-ness and jerks a thumb at Rime. “Because I can do that too.” She seems to realize how that sounds once said aloud, then mumbles, “I wouldn’tdo that… but I could.”

Dornias, trying very hard to be helpful, explains, “Process would specifically involving killing, removing heart, filling with lead, removing vocal cords, stretching them around an axe, and using it to chop up rest of body before burning in a fire from the Nine Hells.”

Blue is getting paper out of her bag. “Should we be taking notes?

Rime, very softly says, “No.”

Dornias is still explaining things. “Even after you die, connection will probably persist and eventually tear where devil soldiers will pour through into this plane of existence.”

Blue is scribbling on her piece of paper. “So definitely take notes. Can you go through that process one more time?”

Rime tries again, just once more, with shaking hands to Sign: Are you saying that I could be a portal? You said monsters could come through? What?

Dornias nods absently. “Yes, but will probably take long time. Unless you suddenly experience an enormous amount of negative energy passing through your body or alternatively someone held you down and ritually sacrificed you make it happen.” A little shrug then and a wave of the hand. “Buuut rare occurrence.”

Blue looks sincerely at Rime. “I wouldn’t do that to you,” she promises with liquor-muzzy fondness. She pats him on the arm. “But if you ever die, don’t worry, Imma un-portal you.”

Rime gets up. Rime can’t hear anything but a low roar. It might be his speech cantrip going out of wack. It might be his pulse in his brain. It might be the panic overriding every other process for receiving sensory data to his higher order thoughts.

Either way, he can’t hear a damn thing. He just kind of… stands up at the table, looks around… then runs. Bolts straight out the front doors, slamming his palms against the wood and knocking them wide open  into the street outside. He hooks around the door on the right so he can fetch up hard against the tavern wall and, for just a moment, fall apart. He stacks both hands over his mouth and just… smothers the noise that tries to rush out of him. He strangles that like a kitten in a bucket and leans, breathing hard, against the wall.

Around him, people are passing idly by. Overhead, the sky is cold, autumnal, and clear. He closes his eyes and for the first time since leaving home, he regrets not leaving the other half of his sending stones in Secomber because more than anything, anything, anything right now… he’d bleed just to hear something familiar. He mouths over and over silently against his fingers, “It’s okay. It’s fine. It’s okay,” until the shape of the lie is like braille against his palms.

Rime opens his eyes. He won’t speak aloud again for a while.

[in-this-light-on-this-evening]

99 Question Tag

@your-basket-case tagged me - thank you so much dear!!! I'm a giant sucker for tag games, so here. WE. GO.

1.DO YOU SLEEP WITH YOUR CLOSET DOORS OPEN OR CLOSED?

Actually it's always half open because I need that air to circulate hah!

2. DO YOU TAKE THE SHAMPOOS AND CONDITIONER BOTTLES FROM HOTELS?

Only if I like the smell.

3. DO YOU SLEEP WITH YOUR SHEETS TUCKED IN OR OUT?

Tucked in! How can you sleep with sheets tucked out omg?

4. HAVE YOU STOLEN A STREET SIGN BEFORE?

I WISH

5. DO YOU LIKE TO USE POST-IT-NOTES?

Hm not really. I usually keep a big notebook/notepad on my desk and I fill it with things to remember, drafts, etc

6. DO YOU CUT OUT COUPONS BUT THEN NEVER USE THEM?

We don't have as a big coupon culture here in Italy as it happens to be in America but sometimes I do!

7. WOULD YOU RATHER BE ATTACKED BY A BIG BEAR OR A SWARM OF BEES?

Bear.

8. DO YOU HAVE FRECKLES?

No but I wish I had them!

9. DO YOU ALWAYS SMILE FOR PICTURES?

For selfies yes, for other pictures not so much.

10. WHAT IS YOUR BIGGEST PET PEEVE?

I have to many, honestly, but I guess Cancelled Culture and psycho stans are the biggest at the moment.

11. DO YOU EVER COUNT YOUR STEPS WHEN YOU WALK?

Maybe.

12. HAVE YOU PEED IN THE WOODS?

Yes. Traumatising experience.

13. HAVE YOU EVER POOPED IN THE WOODS?

You insane? I'm too scared of pooping in the woods.

14. I think I deleted this question on accident.

Lost in time and spaaace!

15. DO YOU CHEW YOUR PENS AND PENCILS?

Chewing pens and pencils? In this economy?

16. HOW MANY PEOPLE HAVE YOU SLEPT WITH THIS WEEK?

3 with my imaginary lover.

17. WHAT SIZE IS YOUR BED?

I think it's an European King sized but I'm not 100% sure. I WANT THE CEASAR ONE.

18. WHAT IS YOUR SONG OF THE WEEK?

Hm, I'm still losing my mind over "Almost (Sweet Music)" by Hozier but I just discovered the new James Blake's album and that, as a whole, is a big mood for this week as well.

19. IS IT OK FOR GUYS TO WEAR PINK?

Bitch yes?

20. DO YOU STILL WATCH CARTOONS?

Sometimes.

21. WHAT IS YOUR LEAST FAVORITE MOVIE?

Hm, nothing comes to my mind at the moment.

22. WHERE WOULD YOU BURY HIDDEN TREASURE IF YOU HAD SOME?

I can't tell you. It wouldn't be hidden anymore although:

23. WHAT DO YOU DRINK WITH DINNER?

Diet coke or water because I'm too broke for wine.

24. WHAT DO YOU DIP A CHICKEN NUGGET IN?

Nothing. I die like men.

25. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE FOOD?

Sushi, pizza, pierogi, carbonara, tomato & corn salad, fried mozzarella, tiramisù.

26. WHAT MOVIES COULD YOU WATCH OVER AND OVER AGAIN AND STILL LOVE?

Stardust, Dead Poets Society, Mean Girls, Little Miss Sunshine

27. LAST PERSON YOU KISSED/KISSED YOU?

A guy that broke my heart last year.

28. WERE YOU EVER A BOY/GIRL SCOUT?

Yes!

29. WOULD YOU EVER STRIP OR POSE NUDE IN A MAGAZINE?

If I wasn't an ugly potato... yes.

30. WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME YOU WROTE A LETTER TO SOMEONE ON PAPER?

2 years ago, I think.

31. CAN YOU CHANGE THE OIL ON A CAR?

32. EVER GOTTEN A SPEEDING TICKET?

Who do you think I am? A redneck?

33. EVER RAN OUT OF GAS?

No.

34. WHAT’S YOUR FAVORITE KIND OF SANDWICH?

Rye bread + thin spread of cream cheese + lettuce + thin slices of chicken or smoked ham + tomatoes + red onion + pickled artichoke

35. BEST THING TO EAT FOR BREAKFAST?

Granola. Dry. Straight from your hand as if you're a starving horse in disguise.

36. WHAT IS YOUR USUAL BEDTIME?

00:00-01:00AM

37. ARE YOU LAZY?

I'm not lazy. I procrastinate.

38. WHEN YOU WERE A KID, WHAT DID YOU DRESS UP AS FOR HALLOWEEN?

Back in time Halloween wasn't a thing in Poland, so unfortunately I didn't dress up.

39. WHAT IS YOUR CHINESE ASTROLOGICAL SIGN?

I'M A HORSE.

40. HOW MANY LANGUAGES CAN YOU SPEAK?

3: Italian, Polish and English

41. DO YOU HAVE ANY MAGAZINE SUBSCRIPTIONS?

Nein, but I'd like to get Wired subscription.

42. WHICH ARE BETTER: LEGOS OR LINCOLN LOGS?

What are even Lincoln Logs... Did Lincoln harvest the logs himself, though?

43. ARE YOU STUBBORN?

Yes and no. Depends on the situation.

44. WHO IS BETTER: LENO OR LETTERMAN?

My tit.

45. EVER WATCH SOAP OPERAS?

Not anymore.

46. ARE YOU AFRAID OF HEIGHTS?

Not really. But if I find myself on the edge of something high without a fence, I'll probably panic and casually fall down.

47. DO YOU SING IN THE CAR?

Do I sing? No. I PERFORM.

48. DO YOU SING IN THE SHOWER?

Only when I'm home alone.

49. DO YOU DANCE IN THE CAR?

Yeah, sometimes when the inspiration and the right bop kick in.

50. EVER USED A GUN?

A glue gun.

51. LAST TIME YOU GOT A PORTRAIT TAKEN BY A PHOTOGRAPHER?

Does the mugshot for the drivers licence count?

52. DO YOU THINK MUSICALS ARE CHEESY?

Depends.

53. IS CHRISTMAS STRESSFUL?

The concept by itself isn't stressful. My family tends to ruin it with the overdramatic stress.

54. EVER EAT A PIEROGI?

BITCH THAT'S MY MOTHERLAND'S MEAL WE SNIFF THAT SHIT LIKE COCAINE.

55. FAVORITE TYPE OF FRUIT PIE?

Apple, rhubarb, pear.

56. OCCUPATIONS YOU WANTED TO BE WHEN YOU WERE A KID?

Doctor, fashion designer, archeologist, paleonthologist...

57. DO YOU BELIEVE IN GHOSTS?

Yes. I've had paranormal experiences and I'm still not over it.

58. EVER HAVE A DEJA-VU FEELING?

Very often.

59. DO YOU TAKE A VITAMIN DAILY?

No. I die like men.

60. DO YOU WEAR SLIPPERS?

Yes!

61. DO YOU WEAR A BATH ROBE?

I don't have any but I would like to wear one of those super cozy and soft ones!

62. WHAT DO YOU WEAR TO BED?

Hmm, depends. Now I'm wearing a hoodie, leggings and socks because it's cold as fuck.

63. WHAT WAS YOUR FIRST CONCERT?

I'm pretty sure it was DeMono, a Polish band. I casually saw them with my parents when we were on holiday back in 1997.

64. WALMART, TARGET, OR KMART?

I'M NOT AMERICAN BITCH. TESCO.

65. NIKE OR ADIDAS?

Both actually!

66. CHEETOS OR FRITOS?

What the fuck are FRITOS? I've never tried them, so I can't answer lol!

67. PEANUTS OR SUNFLOWER SEEDS?

BOTH. I'm a sucker for NUTS.

68. EVER HEAR OF THE GROUP TRES BIEN?

Of what now? Is this another American thing I'm not aware of because of my ancient and unbothered European nature?

69. EVER TAKE DANCE LESSONS?

Nein!

70. IS THERE A PROFESSION YOU PICTURE YOUR FUTURE SPOUSE DOING?

I don't care, really. I do care about them doing what they love and want to do. If they'll be happy about it, so will I :')

71. CAN YOU CURL YOUR TONGUE?

Sí, señor!

72. EVER WON A SPELLING BEE?

We don't have this in Europe asdfkgkf

73. HAVE YOU EVER CRIED BECAUSE YOU WERE SO HAPPY?

Kind of.

74. OWN ANY RECORD ALBUMS?

I have regular cd's but I would love to start a vinyl record collection.

75. OWN A RECORD PLAYER?

Not yet!

76. DO YOU REGULARLY BURN INCENSE?

I used to but I don't do that anymore.

77. EVER BEEN IN LOVE?

Yes but nobody loved me back.

78. WHO WOULD YOU LIKE TO SEE IN CONCERT?

QUEEN. On the more possible side: Andrea Boccelli, The Struts, George Ezra, MORE HOZIER, The Killers, Arctic Monkeys... The list goes on!

79. WHAT WAS THE LAST CONCERT YOU SAW?

HOZIER. It was a magical experience, I love him so much, I want to cry 😭♥️

80. HOT TEA OR COLD TEA?

Both.

81. TEA OR COFFEE?

Tea.

82. SUGAR COOKIES OR SNICKERDOODLES?

Both.

83. CAN YOU SWIM WELL?

Avarage just so I don't die sucked into the abyss.

84. CAN YOU HOLD YOUR BREATH WITHOUT HOLDING YOUR NOSE?

Wait, people CAN'T do that? What dysfunction do you have? It's literally so easy?

85. ARE YOU PATIENT?

Yes, very much but in the last couple of years I've started slowly losing my shit in certain situations.

86. DJ OR BAND AT A WEDDING?

Band.

87. EVER WON A CONTEST?

No. I'm an avarage bitch that thinks she's more than that but the truth is that I'm not a winner.

88. HAVE YOU EVER HAD PLASTIC SURGERY?

Does the surgery on my toe count?

89. WHICH ARE BETTER: BLACK OR GREEN OLIVES?

BLACK

90. CAN YOU KNIT OR CROCHET?

Not yet but I will learn at some point!

91. BEST ROOM FOR A FIREPLACE?

Living room.

92. DO YOU WANT TO GET MARRIED?

If I meet the love of my life then yes. The bar is too high, though, so I'm not sure if that's gonna happen haha!

93. IF MARRIED, HOW LONG HAVE YOU BEEN MARRIED?

/

94. WHO WAS YOUR HIGH SCHOOL CRUSH?

His name was William and that was the most embarrassing moment of my life because a bitch that considered herself as my "friend" told everybody that I had a crush on him. When he got to know it, he basically humiliated me in front of the entire clique, if not the whole school. I hate him ever since and it's been already 10 years or so.

95. DO YOU CRY AND THROW A FIT UNTIL YOU GET YOUR OWN WAY?

No.

96. DO YOU HAVE KIDS?

My dog is my son.

97. DO YOU WANT KIDS?

Kids? In this economy? On this planet? Just for my liking? Absolutely fucking not. That would be a crime and absolute torture for them and I don't want them to suffer as I do.

98. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE COLOR?

Black, emerald green, gold, yellow, purple.

99. DO YOU MISS ANYONE RIGHT NOW?

Freddie Mercury.

I tag: @santonicababy, @chaotic-pansexual, @songparade, @fossa-poplitea and everybody else who wants to do this! :’D