#also learnt many new words today

[finelinefae]

rose [tattooH x innocenty/n]

synopsis: Harry's a tattoo artist who can't figure out the best way to say how in love he is with the flower shop owner next door

word count: 10.5k

content warnings: smut (first time oral f recieving, daddy kink, praise kink, virgin Y/N), brief mentions of violence

read part 1 here

this is a lot !! like a lot happens !! also everyone smiles a lot,, i can't help it they're happy

. . .

Harry had come to the conclusion that of all the things he had had to do in his twenty-six years of life - all the things he had to do and say to get where he was today - saying I love you to his girlfriend was proving to be one of the most intricate tasks he had encountered.

And it wasn't because he didn't love her. From the moment she stepped into his tattoo shop with determination and fear all intertwined into one expression right up until now, he was pretty sure his relationship with Y/N was the physical embodiment of what it meant to be loved and to love in return.

He had learnt so much about the sweet, pretty girl next door. From her little habits and small quirks that she didn't think he ever noticed.

Y/N loved wearing Harry's clothes. He had bought a new band tee from an online shop one of his friends had recommended to him. When the parcel hadn't arrived on time, he wondered if it had gotten lost in transit or they'd delivered it to the wrong address. He had emailed them once or twice to see its whereabouts only to find the Fleetwood Mac t-shirt on the body of his girlfriend asleep on his sofa when he came home from work. "But Harry, they're so soft and comfy!" She argued when he accused her the next morning. "Know that baby but I need clothes to wear." He was trying not to smile and pinch her cheeks when he caught a glimpse of her pouty lips. "But Harry-" He couldn't help but interrupt her with a quick kiss to her lips, "Can use some of my old shirts flower, y' can pick them out. C'mon sweet girl," He led her to his wardrobe and let her scramble through the box of his old shirts.

She loved being praised. Harry thought it was the cutest thing ever when he'd compliment her or tell her how good she was for him and her cheeks would turn a dusky pink colour. He'd often find himself kissing the crescent moon-shaped dimples on her cheeks whenever she'd beam up at him after he mumbled sweet praises into her ear, "M' good girl," He'd say, "Best girl, m' favourite flower."

She loved physical touch from him and him only. His favourite time of day was coming home after a busy day of working and finding his darling girl sitting up in bed, either reading or watching TV, waiting for him in his favourite soft, satin pyjamas she wears (he loved the feel of them under his hands whenever he held her). She'd make grabby hands for him as soon as she saw him walk through the door of her bedroom, wanting to touch him almost immediately. He'd kiss her a few times, run his fingers through her hair, stroke her cheek and brush his fingers over her arm. Even when they were walking through the streets of the town, Y/N would often cling to Harry - feeling anxious being around too many people. He'd comfort her with soothing touches, rubbing circles on the pulse point on her wrist to make sure she was okay.

There were so many things Harry had come to adore about his favourite girl in the entire world. From the way she'd look at him with big rounded eyes as though he hung up the moon and stars in the sky or knew the answer to everything she asked, to the way she'd melt under his touch whenever they'd do something even slightly intimate. He was so in love... He just didn't know how to tell her that.

Harry had never been in a serious relationship before so the idea of love didn't come easy to him. He had spent the majority of his life believing he was destined to be lonely, finding himself in one-night stands and never getting past the first date for lack of connection. He didn't know what romantic love looked like, felt like or even if it existed at all until he met his favourite flower. 

Moments would crop up where he could feel the first syllable spike the tip of his tongue but invisible hands wrapped themself around his neck as he tried to let the words out. Y/N would sit patiently, waiting for him to continue speaking, but he'd just end up kissing her, hoping he could communicate his words without saying them.

He wasn't quite sure what he was expecting when it came to saying those three simple words, words that carried so much weight between them. Maybe it was because he wanted the moment to be special and memorable for her, so he waited for the perfect opportunity to confess. But the anticipation was driving him a bit crazy.

It was very early Wednesday morning. Y/N was cutting up sheets of tissue paper since it was nearing winter and people would be out buying gifts soon for their loved ones. She had ordered a bunch of new seed packets and planned to make little gift sets to sell.

Harry was sitting at the workshop table in the middle of the shop. He was wearing his shorts and a black hoodie with the hood pulled over his head. He wore his worn-out, white Vans as if they were slippers, with the left shoe dangling precariously from his toes, threatening to slide off at any moment. His tired eyes tried to remain focused on counting the coins for Y/N's till since she always miscalculated and would have to go visit him for more money even though his shop was cashless which he reminded her every time as he slipped her a five-pound note from his own back pocket.

The shop was silent in the early hours of the morning as the two worked separately. Y/N enjoyed that she didn't constantly have to make conversation with her boyfriend for him to be interested. They were happy to just be in each other's company for as long as possible.

"Baby," Harry's raspy voice broke the comfortable silence between them. Y/N's head lifted naturally in response, "C'mere." He opened his arm out but his eyes were still trained on counting the coins.

Y/N smiled tiredly and walked over to him, tucking herself into his side and holding onto the arm that wrapped around her. He kissed the top of her head, "Didn't get to hold y' this morning, left me cold." He murmured against her.

"M sorry, H. It's always stressful when the season changes." She sighed, thinking about all the work she still had yet to do before autumn passed.

"S okay, just missed you is all." He hummed. Y/N turned herself so she was pressed against the worktop and looking up at him. She loved every version of Harry at all times of day but something about Harry in the morning made her swoon. He was so soft and cuddly, needy and grabby, she'd always have to pry his hands off of her in the morning so she could get to work on time.

Y/N grinned and leaned her head forward, past the hood of his sweatshirt, to kiss him. "Wanted to ask you if y’ would come on a date with me this Saturday.” He whispered, eyes still closed from kissing her.

Every eight weeks, Y/N’s shop would close for the entire weekend. Since her shop was open most days, she wanted to give herself at least some time off to look forward to. Harry knew that particular weekend was coming up because of how much she was looking forward to it so he made sure to free up his weekend too so he could take her out for the day. 

They had been on dinner dates and done a few other things here and there but there was only so much they could do in their small town. So as soon as he thought of the idea, he booked train tickets to take Y/N to the coast for the day. 

“Hmmm,” Y/N sighed, reaching into his hood to wrap her arms around his neck, his skin warm against her touch. “Where would we go?”

“S a surprise,” He whispered into her ear, his breath warm. 

“I’d love to go on a date with you Harry,” She replied, voice soft. 

“Yeah? It’ll be cold so you’ll need to wear a sweater.” He told her. 

"I only own sweaters," She rolled her eyes, pushing away from him so she could get back to work.

"Yeah, my sweaters." Harry teased.

Y/N narrowed her eyes, "Get back to counting those coins or you'll be fired."

"Yes ma'am," He couldn't stop smiling to himself as he carried on counting each penny.

. . .

The small train was busy on the way to the coast on Saturday morning but luckily they had managed to grab two seats next to each other by the window. Y/N insisted that they listened to one of the very many playlists she had curated for them both to listen to. It wasn’t long into their relationship that Harry had come to realise that music was one of Y/N’s love languages. 

He remembered when he first moved in and heard her music through the walls of her apartment as he bought his food shopping up the stairs his first night. The music played well into the night and he had planned to knock on her door and ask her to turn it down like she had done to him the day they had first met, but his ears caught onto her singing. He pressed his ear up against the door and listened as she sang to herself whilst dishes clinked together. She wasn’t the best singer he had ever heard but something about her soft voice soothed him, so he turned around and went about his night with the girl singing next door. 

Y/N pulled out her wired earbuds not long after they’d sat down and gave one of them to Harry. After Hours by The Velvet Underground started playing and Harry smiled to himself as he watched Y/N gaze out the window of the train. He reached for her hand which was covered by her fingerless gloves she had crocheted herself and intertwined their fingers together. 

The train pulled into the final station an hour later. Harry held tightly onto Y/N as people bustled to get on and off the train at the same time. The weather wasn’t perfect when they had arrived - slightly overcast and grey - but it didn’t stop Y/N from gasping at the sight of the ocean in front of her. 

“Harry look!” She pointed as the waves rolled into the shore. She looked adorable in her white hat and earmuffs, her white puffer coat made her look like a giant marshmallow. She was almost matching Harry, in his black puffer coat and green bobble hat. 

“Y/N! Slow down baby,” He called for her as he ran to catch up with her. 

They walked down the steps and onto the beach which was practically void of any people other than a few dog walkers. He was thankful he had told her to wear a thick coat since the wind was bitter and cold. Harry’s smile was so wide, that his dimples pierced each one of his cheeks as he watched her run around in her UGG boots and leggings. 

“Beautiful,” Harry whispered, hoping the words would get caught in the wind and blow straight to her so she could hear them. 

“It’s been so long since I’ve seen the sea,” She closed her eyes and inhaled the fresh sea air. Harry came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist. 

They walked side by side with each other. Harry held Y/N’s hand inside the pocket of his coat and every once in a while, she would stop to pick up a shell which she would pass to him to put in his other coat pocket. At some point, it started to drizzle down with rain but they carried on walking and talking along the beach. 

Harry would watch as Y/N ran up to the sea to pick up bits of sea glass and try to not get caught by the water. She looked adorable as she ran up the beach looking back at him with her woolly hat and giant coat swamping her. Strands of hair stuck to her damp, rosy cheeks as rain dripped from her coat since they had been out so long. He pulled out his phone and snapped a picture of her as she crouched down to look at something she’d found in the sand. He made a mental note to share it on everything he possibly could so everyone in his life would know how much he loved her, even if she didn’t know just yet. 

Harry swore he was going to tell her he was in love with her right there and then but his heart fell out of his chest when he watched her trip and stumble back onto the sand. “Y/N,” He rushed over, immediately wanting to check if she was okay, only to be met with her giggling and laying back on the sand like a starfish on land. 

“Lay here with me,” She patted the spot next to her. 

The last thing Harry wanted to do was get his new black trousers wet and dirty from the sand but he would do anything and everything she asked him to do so he fell onto the sand and laid right next to her. 

His pinky finger hooked with hers as they both looked up at the sky, “Are you happy flower?” He asked.

“I think this is the happiest I’ve ever been in my life,” She confesses and the words make Harry’s heart grow ten times the size. “I think spending time with you is when I’m the happiest Harry.”

When it reached past midday, Harry took Y/N to grab something to eat before they had to take the train home again. Their coats were dripping when they stepped inside the small cafe Harry had picked out for them. The kind owner had even offered to dry them both for them before they had to leave again. 

“Harry,” She gasped, “They do blueberry pancakes!” 

Harry smirked, not wanting to tell her that he had picked this cafe specifically because they made one of Y/N’s favourite foods, “Really? Tha’s your favourite right baby?”

She nods, “I’m gonna get that- ooo it even comes with the option of honey or syrup!” Y/N beams. 

By the time their food had arrived, they were well invested in conversation, “Was thinking of getting my ear pierced next weekend. One of my mates has free space and thought it would be fun to get a hoop or something.” Harry tells her. 

Y/N paused on chewing her pancake as she pictured her boyfriend with a hoop earring. She swallowed down her food before getting out, “That would be hot.”

Harry laughs at her bluntness, “Yeah?” He smirked, “You think so?” Y/N nodded, her cheeks tinged pink. 

Although they kissed and made out at any spare moment they could, they hadn’t really branched out from the time Harry had touched her for the first time. Y/N knew Harry was trying to be patient about it - he was a gentleman like that - but she was going crazy not having his ring-clad hands touching her skin, providing that ecstasy he had given her a glimpse of for the first time.  

“Y alright there flower?” Harry crooned, “Anything on your mind you’d care to share.”

Y/N shook her head, ridding them of her dirty thoughts, “M okay, H.” 

“Alright,” His eyes twinkled as he smiled at her, “You look beautiful by the way.”

“Thank you, Harry,” Her eyes softened, “And thank you for bringing me here today, I’ve loved being here with you.”

Harry parted his lips as if to respond, but found himself speechless, the words trapped somewhere in his throat. Y/N looked at him expectantly, her eyes silently urging him to express whatever was on his mind. With a sigh, his shoulders slumped, and he finally spoke, "I've loved being here with you too. I love every moment I get to be with you." Y/N beamed as Harry inwardly cursed himself for being unable to articulate the depth of his feelings. Yet, as he saw the radiant smile spread across Y/N's face, he couldn't help but feel a surge of warmth and contentment wash over him, knowing that his words were enough to reach her for now. 

After the train journey home, which took slightly longer than anticipated, Harry carried Y/N up to her apartment and into her bedroom where he slumped her down on her bed. Y/N hummed at the feeling of her warm, cosy sheets beneath her. “Comfy m’love?” He grinned, tugging the sleeves of his coat off so he was just in his white t-shirt and black trousers. 

“I’m so sleepy,” Y/N sighed, eyes closed whilst Harry tugged her shoes off as her feet dangled over the edge of the bed.

“Cause you’ve been running around all day huh? Could barely keep up with you half the time.” Harry briefly massages the souls of her feet after taking both her shoes off, knowing they were probably aching from running on the beach all day.

“But it was sooo much fun,” Y/N whined, her tired eyes peering down at Harry.

“Yeah, yeah, I know that lovie. Need to get y’ out of these clothes so I can put them in the wash.” He tugs on her leggings.

“Can you do it?” Y/N asks, “M too tired.”

Harry pauses, “Y’ sure baby? Don’t want y’ to be uncomfortable.” 

“M sure Harry, I trust you.” She tells him.

He smiles to himself as her words settle in the space between them. A smile curves his lips almost involuntarily, reflecting the quiet gratitude he feels towards her trust.  “Alright, lift y’ hips for me, flower.” He instructs and Y/N does as she’s told, lifting her hips so he can pull down her leggings leaving her in her pink lacey panties. 

Harry swallows as he sees the apex of her thighs. He hadn’t seen this much of her before and he could already feel himself harden in his jeans at the sight of her. “Think y’ can sit up for me flower? Jus’ so I can’t take your sweater off?” He tries to stop staring at her bare legs but he can’t seem to take his eyes away.

Y/N groans but does as she’s told, sitting up and putting her arms up so Harry can remove the sweater from her torso. Her eyes are still shut and Harry gently pulls the soft sweater over her head. 

When her eyes open, the first thing Y/N sees is Harry standing above her with his gaze fixed on her figure and she realizes this is the most he's ever seen of her yet. She had nothing but a vest and underwear to cover her body. Y/N was pretty sure he could see the curve of her breasts and the outline of her nipples through the thin, white material. 

“Harry…” she whispers, suddenly realising what was happening, how the temperature in the room had suddenly shifted.

Y/N shivered as Harry cupped her cheek and bent forward to kiss her. She leaned backwards onto the bed, resting on her elbows as Harry kept his hold on her cheek, using his other hand to place on her hip as he crawled on top of her. His hand was warm and big and his fingertips pressed into her skin sending a joint of electricity down through her body. 

They kissed and Harry groaned as Y/N uncontrollably rolled her hips into him, “Harry,” Y/N repeated, placing her hands on his chest.

“What baby?” He asks.

“I-I feel strange,” She confesses, not really knowing how to go about telling him what was on her mind.

Harry furrowed his eyebrows, “What’s wrong?”

Y/N shook her head immediately, “N-no nothing’s wrong. It’s just… Remember last time? When you…” she couldn’t seem to finish her sentence, too embarrassed to describe what Harry had done when he taught her how to touch herself.

“What about it?” He wonders, patience and curiosity on his face.

“I-I want to do it again but different.” She cringed at her words, “I mean, I want to try something new. L-like I want you to show me something new I mean.” 

Harry’s features softened, “Yeah? You want me to take care of you huh?”

Y/N nodded, relieved he understood what she was hinting at without her having to admit it herself, “Yes.”

“What do you want me to do baby?” He kisses down the side of her neck, Y/N’s head rolling to the side to give him more room to explore her skin.

“I-I don’t know,” 

“Oh I think you do flower otherwise you wouldn’t be asking for something new to try would you?” He sucks on the skin of her neck and she whines at the feeling. His green eyes meet hers as he lifts his head up, “C’mon sweet girl, tell daddy what you want from him.” 

Her mouth fell open and her heart beat erratically in her chest, “I-I need you down there daddy.” 

“Yeah? You want daddy to touch you down there baby?” 

“Y-yes daddy please.”

“Still so polite.” Y/N seemed to melt as he crawled down her placid form, he could do anything to her and she wouldn't mind as long as he was touching her in some way.

She suddenly gasped when she felt him blow warm air onto her nipple beneath her vest. “Can I lift your vest baby? Can you let daddy see these cute tits?” 

“Mhm,” She hummed, her body vibrating with excitement and nerves. Harry’s fingertips brushed the skin of her tummy as he pulled her vest up to reveal her breasts. 

“Fuck baby,” Harry groaned. “You’re so beautiful.” 

“Your shirt too!” Y/N insisted, feeling a little insecure as Harry was still in his white shirt.

Harry was quick to pull off his shirt to reveal his tattooed torso that Y/N had traced and slept on almost every night since they had met. Her hands were immediately on his warm skin as he kissed down the swell of her breasts. Y/N gasped as Harry gently pressed a kiss to her left nipple, sliding his other hand up to cup her other one, “See that? Y’ were made for daddy.” He said as her breast fit perfectly in his hand. 

“Daddy I need you,” Y/N whispered.

“Such a greedy girl.” He tuts, “Trying to worship you ‘n you’re just begging me to make you cum.” 

“N-no-” Y/N wanted to argue but Harry quickly kissed her lips before moving down her body. 

“Look at these pretty panties. Can already see you’re all soaked through them.” Y/N could practically hear the smile on his face. “Can I see baby?” 

“Y-Yes, daddy.” She swallowed back her nerves, even though Harry had already seen her down there, it was her first time experiencing someone be so up close. Y/N felt his fingers hook around the waistband of her panties until they were halfway down her thighs and waited for him to react.

“Fuck me,” Harry hisses. “Won’t ever get over the sight of this pretty pussy. Always manage to live up to y’ nickname, don’t y’ flower?” 

Y/N’s cheeks heat but before she has time to protest Harry leans forward and presses a kiss to her throbbing pussy. She snaps her thighs shut tightly and gasps, “W-what-“

“Shhh flower,” Harry kisses her knee and then gently hooks both her legs over either of his shoulders so she can’t close her thighs to hide away from him, “Daddy’s gonna take the ache away okay? Know you’ve been feeling all needy for daddy. Gonna do something that’ll help and put you right to sleep m’kay?”

Y/N swallows harshly and fists the fabric of the blanket beneath her. Her heart was racing and her belly was swirling with need and desire as she waited for Harry to do something.

He kissed the inside of her thighs, “You trust me?” He asked, waiting for her approval, “Because I’ll stop as soon as you say so, promise y’ that.” 

“Yes, daddy.” She said because she did trust him, wholeheartedly, “I trust you.”

“That’s m’ girl.” Y/N waited until she felt his warm breath blow over her pussy. His mouth pressed another kiss to her before she felt his tongue swipe across her slit. Y/N gasped at the unfamiliarity of it as he flicked his tongue softly over her to get her accustomed to it. His eyes looked up to see Y/N’s reaction at the first touch of his mouth. He smirked to himself as her breasts heaved cutely and her cheeks were flushed pink. 

“Harry,” she whimpered.

“S not my name flower.” He murmured against her. 

She tried to close her thighs but Harry’s head lay buried between them, licking and stroking his tongue against her. He wrapped both his tattooed hands around her thighs to keep them open, pressing his fingertips into her plushy skin. “Daddy,” she whined.

He licks up her wet cunt once more until he finds her clit. Y/N jolts at the sudden attention to her sensitive bundle of nerves. His lips pucker against her tiny, pink clit glistening with arousal, a whimper eliciting from Y/N’s lip. He moves his tongue in circles around it before gently sucking on the small bud.

Y/N’s a writhing, whimpering mess beneath him as he licks and sucks on her clit, her wetness coating his chin. She bucks her hips against his mouth and quickly removes one hand from the bed to weave into his hair. Harry groans as she tugs on his curls, his cock leaking precum in his trousers, the vibrations going straight to Y/N’s clit. 

“Daddy, f-feels so good,” She mewls, continuing to tug on his hair. Harry ruts his hips against the mattress, in hopes he could get some relief as he continues his assault on her pussy. 

“Y' so fucking sexy Y/N.” He grumbled, unable to stop his attention from her weeping, little cunt.

Her thighs began to tremble as she felt the coil tighten in her belly. Harry’s hand removed itself from her thigh and slid up the bed to reach for her hand that wasn’t already in his hair. He intertwined their fingers as if comforting her without saying anything. 

He paused his assault on her clit, Y/N whimpering at the sudden loss. Instead, he flattened his tongue against her once more before dipping his tongue into her hole a little as if testing the waters to see whether she’d like it. Y/N’s back arched and Harry’s hand left hers to place itself flat against her tummy to hold her still, the cool metal of his rings made her shiver as they touched her skin. His tongue delved in and out of her, using his other hand to rub circles on her clit with his thumb.

Y/N’s mouth fell open, her head fell back and her legs turned to jelly. “Y close angel girl?” Harry murmured, peeking up at her to see her blissfully zoned out from his touch. 

“Feels s’ good daddy, s-so so so good,” She babbled her head lolling from side to side. 

“Wanna cum baby? Wanna make a mess on daddy?” He urged her, feeling her core clench. 

She jerkily nodded, “Mhmmm,” She hummed. 

“Lemme have it, baby, daddy worked so hard, lemme taste y’ cum.” He hastened his movements on her clit and continued to lick and suck at her pussy, “Cum f’ me baby.” He coaxed. "Can't wait to feel y' round my cock someday, practically begging to feel y' tight, little hole. 'm gonna be the first and only one to fill y' up, isn't that right? Gonna let daddy stretch you out and fill y' up. You're all mine, 'm favourite flower."

His filthy words set Y/N alight. She felt the coil snap as pleasure rushed through her entire body and filled all of her senses. Harry groaned, continuing to press himself up against the bed until he felt his own orgasm building too, his lips staying on Y/N as she came. He lapped up her juices, riding her through her orgasm and tasting all she had to offer for the first time. “That’s my girl baby, so good.” He cooed. 

Harry’s eyes rolled back as his cock released inside of his boxers, his head falling to the side and resting on the inside of her thigh as he breathed heavily, “Fuck,” He groaned, eyes rolling to the ceiling. 

The room was quiet other than the sounds of them trying to catch their breath. Harry kissed the inside of Y/N’s thigh and worked his way up her body, placing soft, spongy kisses on her bare skin until he was face-to-face with her. 

Harry grinned lazily, his eyes tired as he brushed the hair off her face. His heart stuttered; he felt himself losing his breath all over again despite having just come down from the high of his release as he looked down at his girlfriend. Her cheeks were flushed and her skin was glowing from the afterglow, tendrils of baby hairs framed her face and her eyes were hazy and soft as she looked into his own. 

“Thank you daddy,” She whispered to him. 

Harry pressed a kiss to her lips. Her legs hooked around his waist as he circled his arms around her to pull her in tighter, “You okay? Was that good? Not too much?” He wanted to make sure she was okay before anything else. He’d hate himself if he did something she didn’t like or didn’t want to do. 

“M okay,” She smiled, her voice tired. He kissed her once more knowing she could probably taste herself on his lips. “It felt good.” 

“Y’ made me cum,” He admits, feeling the discomfort of his own release in his boxers. 

“I did?” Y/N’s eyes widened, her lips parting in surprise. 

“Yeah, flower. That was so fucking sexy.” Y/N whined and tried to hide herself behind her hands. Harry chuckled at her reaction, grabbing her wrists to move her hand away and kissing her forehead before lifting himself from her. “Let’s get y’cleaned up.” 

Harry walked over to Y/N’s dresser to grab himself some clean boxers from the drawer he had curated from the nights he had spent with her. He also grabbed her some clean underwear and one of his shirts to wear to bed. 

In the bathroom, he got himself cleaned up and grabbed a cloth dampening it under the running water in the sink for his love who was waiting for him in bed. Harry paused at the door when he entered her room after he was met with a sight he longed to treasure in his mind forever. Y/N was lying completely bare on her bed. Her eyes were shut, her chest moving up and down and her hair was sprawled out around her. He didn’t know how he got so lucky with her, she was a living angel.

“C’mere flower,” He murmured, spreading her legs apart slightly and trying not to react to the sticky, glistening mess between her thighs. He placed the dampened cloth against her and calmed her down as she jolted beneath his touch from how sensitive she was. 

Once they were all cleaned up, Harry climbed under the blankets with Y/N half asleep against his chest. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head and ran a finger up and down the length of her spine beneath her shirt.  "Sleep now, flower," he whispered his voice a gentle caress in the quiet of the night. The warmth of his presence soothed Y/N to fall asleep. 

In the hazy blur of her consciousness, she murmured, words slipping from her lips without thought. "Love you," she breathed, the three words escaping her lips as effortlessly as a sigh, yet she remained unaware of what they meant. 

Harry stilled, his breath catching in his throat, “W-what?” But Y/N didn’t reply, instead, soft snores left her lips as she fell asleep beside him. 

. . .

It was the Friday after Harry had taken Y/N to the beach. Fridays were always busy at the tattoo shop so Harry was working away until the late hours of the evening. Y/N sat on a chair, her legs swinging backwards and forward as she played a game on Harry's phone. The sound of the tattoo gun hummed in the air whilst a bossa nova played over the Bluetooth speaker. Harry was still working despite the fact it was nearly time for Y/N to go to bed (She had a strict regime before bed which gave her exactly eight hours of sleep each night). He had promised her this would be his last customer as she waltzed into his tattoo shop, ready to go to his apartment together.

Harry hadn't mentioned to Y/N what she had unknowingly said in her sleep. When they woke up the next morning, he gently broached the subject, asking, "Hey, do you remember anything you said last night while you were asleep?"

Y/N, still rubbing the sleep from her eyes, just shrugged in response. "Not really," she mumbled, her voice heavy with drowsiness. "Did I say something strange?"

"No, not at all," Harry assured her, though inwardly, he couldn't shake off the weight of her words. "Just thought you might've had a dream or something." But even as he spoke, he couldn't shake off the lingering memory of her whispered confession, playing over and over in his mind like a sweet melody. 

"Y' holding up okay there m'love?" Harry checked in, working on the final few finishing touches of the tattoo he had been working on.

"Mhm," She smiled but Harry could tell she was getting sleepy from the way he'd caught her eyes fluttering shut when he glanced over at her.

"Can go sleep on the couch out front if you're feeling sleepy." He offered, wanting to make sure his girl was okay before he finished off the tattoo for his customer. He knew first-hand how grouchy she got when she didn't get her sleep.

"M okay here Harry," She insisted, thinking she was lying to him well enough over how tired she was. "Can I watch?" She strained her neck to get a better look at what Harry was doing.

"Course flower, c'mere," Harry pushed his chair forward to give Y/N space to stand behind him so she could watch over his shoulder. He pushed down on the peddle and continued the tattoo as Y/N watched over him.

"Does it hurt?" She wondered, watching the needle press ink into the customer's skin.

"Jus' a little sting but when you've had so many it's not so bad," Harry replied.

Y/N watched in fascination. She was not only impressed by the design Harry had drawn out and tattooed to the customer so effortlessly but also how brave people must be to have such a permanent mark on their skin. She tilted her head to the side, "I want one," She mumbled.

Harry paused, "What?"

"Nothing," She replied, quickly.

Harry had heard what she said but decided he'd bring it up when there wasn't another person in the room, knowing how shy she got around people she didn't know.

After completing the tattoo, he wrapped it up and chatted with the customer for a little bit. Meanwhile, Y/N browsed through his tattoo design sketchbook with a furrowed brow. Once the conversation was done, he shut the door behind the customer and turned the sign to 'closed.'

He walked over to his seemingly overthinking flower and kissed the top of her head, "Wha's wrong m'love?" He smiled softly, wrapping both arms around her and pulling her into his chest.

"Jus' looking H," She tilted her head back to look up at him, kissing his chin in the process.

"Didn't know we were telling fibs tonight flower," He teased, spinning her around in his embrace.

"M not lying," She hid her face in his chest because he always knew when she was lying and she was most definitely lying.

"Can you look up f'me baby just f' a sec," He murmured and looked down to see the prettiest eyes he'd ever seen, round and sparkling under the blue lights of his shop. "Woah," He whispered to himself.

"What's wrong?" A crease appeared in between her brows.

"Nothin' just...you're so pretty," She whined, nuzzling her face into his neck to hide her very red face. Even though it was hard to tell under the blue lights, he knew she was blushing. "Hey, no, can I have a kiss please?" He cupped the back of her head and pulled her away from the comfortable spot in his neck.

Y/N stood on her toes to kiss him, tasting the tinge of eucalyptus lip balm she had given him when he had complained of having sore lips from kissing her too much in the colder weather. "So y' want a tattoo?" He murmured against her lips.

Y/N pulled away, "I-I was just thinking but-"

"You're not sure?" She nods. "Don't have to get a tattoo today m'love, especially if you're not sure." Harry comforted her, seeing the uncertainty on her face. He kissed the crease between her eyebrows but her eyes were fixed on a tattoo on his upper arm.

"Where'd you get that?" She asked, her fingers skimming over the small design. It was a fine line drawing of a pair of angel wings with a flower in the centre between each wing. Harry had designed it not long after meeting Y/N and had only tattooed the design onto himself a few days ago.

"Jus' a little something I drew 's all." He shrugged, "Reminded me of you."

Y/N's lips parted like she couldn't believe what he had just said, "For me?"

He nods, "Wanted to have you somewhere on me at all times."

Y/N goes quiet and Harry gives her the time to think as he packs away his things to head upstairs. By the time he's finished, Y/N's tugging on his sleeve and looking up at him with rounded eyes, "I think I'd like a tattoo, Harry."

Harry bit back a smile, "You do?"

"Mhm," She nodded, seeming sure of herself, "But I want you to do it."

"Wouldn't let anyone else do it anyways flower." He pulled out the kit he had just put away, not feeling annoyed in the slightest because he loved this girl and would set up his equipment all over again even if she decided she no longer wanted the tattoo anymore.

Y/N shimmied up onto the chair and glanced over at him, "What are you wanting on you baby?" He asked.

"I want the same one as you please Harry," She says, referring to the tattoo of the angel wings.

He smiles, "Wanna match with me, sweet girl?" He kisses her lips quickly.

Y/N nods, beaming up at him, "Yes please."

"So polite," He taps her cheek before going to his worktop and drawing out a stencil with a careful hand.  Y/N sat in the chair with her feet hovering above the ground. She was fiddling with her fingers in her lap as she glanced around at the designs she had admired many times before when she'd sit and wait for Harry whilst he worked.

"M'kay lovie, where'd you want it?" Harry asked.

"Oh," She pursed her lips, "I didn't think that far."

"Didn't think that far?" Harry chortled, "How about on your arm?” He squeezed her arm softly above the crease of her elbow, "Won't hurt too bad if we do it here."

"Okay Harry," She nodded, trusting him implicitly. Harry wanted to smother her in kisses with the way she was looking at him like she would do anything he said without even questioning it.

Harry prepped everything, making sure he had all he needed to start the tattoo. He went a little slower than he normally would, wanting to give her enough time to make sure she was certain about getting the tattoo. He mixed up the ink and switched on the tattoo gun as Y/N lay back against the leather chair.

"Y' okay flower?" Harry checked again, expecting to get the same answer he had already gotten only for her to chew on her lip and scrunch up the fabric of the skirt she was wearing.

"M a little nervous," She admitted, blushing.

"Hey it's okay to be nervous," He cooed, dropping the equipment and rolling over to her on his chair. He leaned against the seat she was lying in so his face was up close to hers, he brushed a few strands of hair from her face and the feeling of his hands calmed the nerves Y/N was feeling. "It'll hurt a little bit. Some people say it feels like a little like a tiny scratch but you get used to the feeling."

"But what if you start and then I don't want it anymore because it hurts?" She realises she should have asked these questions before they had gotten this far.

"Tha's why you need to be sure you want it sweet girl. Don't wanna see you in pain either but it's a small tattoo so won't take long and it's on your arm which means it hurts a little bit less." Harry explained.

"Okay," She nodded, "B-but can you distract me a little? It'll help if you distract me."

Harry smiled, kissing her lips, "Can distract you any way you want, baby. Here," He removed the dog tag necklace he wore all the time without failure and handed it to her, "Can fiddle with this while I draw on you."

Y/N felt her shoulders relax a little as she felt the cool metal in her hands, "Okay Harry." His lips pressed against her forehead, "Okay Y/N." He grinned.

Harry pulled on some gloves and got the tattoo gun running. Y/N went stiff as the humming sound filled the room but she reminded herself of Harry's words and continued to play with his necklace. "Okay, ready baby?" He gave her one last kiss for comfort and then, when she nodded her head, the needle made contact with her skin.

She gasped as the tiny needle pricked at her skin. It wasn't as painful as she thought it was going to be but it wasn't comfortable either. She tried to relax but her muscles were all tensed up.

Harry tried to comfort her as best as she could. Whispering words of encouragement, "So good baby, y' so brave." He'd say and tell her it would be over in a moment even though a moment felt like an eternity in her mind.

"Is it over yet?" She was starting to feel the discomfort and was already waiting for it to finish.

"Almost angel," He cooed and finished up the final lines of the drawing. "There we go, all finished."

Y/N let out a long breath she didn't know she was holding and immediately her eyes flickered down to the tattoo Harry had drawn on her. She was in awe of how beautiful and intricate the design was and how quickly Harry had managed to draw it so perfectly. It was a perfect size on her arm, the angel wings matched exactly the same as the ones Harry had done on himself. She almost squealed with how happy she was with her first ever tattoo and how it was a permanent reminder of her sweet and loving boyfriend.

Harry grinned as he watched her face light up when she saw the tattoo, "'Y like it?" He asked, preparing the cream and wrap to put on it before she did something that would get it infected - they both knew she would do that if he wasn't careful.

"I love it, Harry!" She grinned, her smile lighting up the whole room.

Harry laughed at her happiness, "You're welcome baby." He applied the cream and wrapped it up before she could move anywhere. Instead of leaping out of the chair, she wrapped her arms around Harry and pressed her lips to his. He hummed, "Best tip I've ever gotten." He murmured.

"I kinda want another one," She couldn't stop looking down at her tattoo and taking in how pretty it was.

"Woah, slow down there flower, think you should wait a while until the next one." He repressed a smile. "But I'll happily draw up another one f'you."

"Okay Harry," She said, not really paying much attention to him.

"Alright c'mon, le's go upstairs. Wanna kiss you in bed if tha's okay." He quickly put all of his equipment away as Y/N gawked at her tattoo.

"I think I'd love that more than the tattoo," She sighed. Harry decided not to pull her up on the fact she was probably telling another fib. 

. . .

"Y/N is that a tattoo!" One of her friends, Shakira, spoke out.

It had been two weeks since Y/N had gotten her first tattoo and she still wasn't over how pretty it was. Every morning she'd wake up and look at her arm and tell Harry how good of a job he did.

"No wonder you're a tattoo artist Harry!" She'd say, to which he'd just smile and sit patiently as she rambled about how much she loved her tattoo and how she wanted him to draw her another one.

"Oh yes!" Y/N rolled up the sleeve of her pyjama shirt so her friends could get a better look, "Harry did it. Isn't it pretty?" She sighed, thinking of her boyfriend who she hadn't seen since this morning.

Y/N had planned a slumber party at her place a few weeks ago since she hadn't seen her two friends, Shakira and Layla, in forever. She'd known them since high school and were the only two friends she really had other than Harry who was also her best friend. 

Harry had promised he'd stay away and give her some much needed girly time. Although Y/N didn't like the idea of being away from Harry, she knew it was needed. He had some things he needed to do anyway and she wanted to give him space to do that too.

"Do you think he could do one for me?" Layla asked, her arm already littered with small tattoos.

"I can ask him for you if you'd like," Y/N offered, receiving a nod from Layla.

"What's it like being in a relationship?" Shakira asked, "I mean Harry seems the complete opposite of you, I'd never have pictured you together."

Y/N smiles, thinking back to their first interaction and how intimidated she was by him. Now she couldn't get enough of him, wanting to be with him and touch him whenever she could. "I know but Harry's... I don't know, he's not like how people assume. He's kind, caring and lovable. We have a lot more in common than most people think and even the things we don't have in common, Harry always listens to the things I have to say even when he doesn't completely understand."

"Awwww!" Y/N blushed when she realised she had been rambling too much again.

"You're so cute Y/N," Layla grinned. "And we're so happy for you. Harry seems like a great guy."

"He is," Y/N agreed, shyly.

"Have you said I love you yet?" Shakira smirked.

Y/N's smile faltered, "N-not yet..." She looked away from their gazes, "But I think I'm just waiting for the right time. Harry always has these moments where I think he's going to say it but he never does and part of me thinks he's still questioning it." Y/N admits.

Layla offers her a sympathetic gaze, "I'm sure he's just waiting for the perfect moment to tell you Y/N. Saying I love you can be a pretty big deal for some people."

"I know," Y/N nods in agreement, "And I'll wait for him, however long it takes."

Y/N spent the remainder of the evening gossiping and watching movies with her two best friends. Now and then, she would look down at her phone just in case Harry had sent her anything but nothing appeared other than a blank screen. She couldn't help but feel a little bit deflated that he hadn't checked in on her like he usually would but she quickly pushed the feeling away. Harry had other things he was doing, she'd see him later.

"Thank you for having us Y/N! It was so good to see you, we need to do it again sometime," Y/N stood at the door to say goodbye to her friends. It was nearing midnight and she wondered if Harry was in his apartment waiting for her.

"Thank you for coming! I missed you guys," Y/N chirped, she really did miss having her girlfriends around. She was so busy with work and spending time with Harry, that she rarely had time outside of those things. But after today, she was going to make it a priority to see her friends again.

"See you later Y/N!" Her friends waved as they walked down the steps from her apartment. Y/N smiled and waved until they were out of sight. She planned on calling Harry to check in on him and see if he was alright but a crash from his apartment halted her steps.

She paused, stilling herself so she could hear a little better. Another thud came from his apartment followed by a string of curses and something that sounded like a clutter of things falling on the floor.

"Harry?" Y/N called through the door but received no response. "Harry, are you okay? It's me, it's Y/N."

"Y/N," Harry's voice murmured through the door. Y/N relaxed a little at the sound of his voice but she was still worried about him. It wasn't normal for him to keep his distance from her like this.

"Harry, are you okay?" She rested her hand on the doorknob, preparing to open it so she could see him with her own eyes.

"I-I'm fine baby. Go t' sleep m'love. I'll be there in a little while," Y/N frowned when she heard him wheezing a little as he breathed between words. He spoke much too slowly compared to his usual drawl as though it was too much work for him to speak.

"Harry please, jus' wanna see you." She tries again, hoping he'll open the door.

"Promise I'll be there t' give you your kisses baby but I jus' need... a moment," Y/N's face fell.

"H-Harry you're scaring me," She said, quietly.

Harry was on the other side of the door, clutching onto his side. He was already hurting but hearing his angel begging to come in was killing him. He couldn't leave her out there. She looked the perfect remedy to his currently aching body when he looked through the peephole of his door and saw her already in her pyjamas, looking all snuggly and cute.

"Not tryin' t' scare you, dove. Please I'll be out in a minute." He hoped she would listen like she normally would. He needed enough time to clean up as best as he could so he could return to her- looking like the Harry she knew- but she wasn't having it, reminding him of just how stubborn she could be when she wanted to. 

"Harry, I-I'm gonna open the d-door. I have to see if you're okay," She spoke, clearly and carefully.

Harry looked down as the doorknob twisted. He wanted to twist the key and lock it to keep her out but he lost control of his own mind as he stepped back and allowed her to push the front door open.

He stood under the dim light of his living room. He had been meaning to get the lightbulb fixed but he'd been spending too much time at Y/N's apartment to remember.

Her eyes went from his feet all the way up to meet his face. Her lips parted and her eyes started to water, his heart ached at the sight. "No baby," He stepped forward, pulling her into him and holding her to his chest even though it ached to do so.

"H-Harry," She whispered, her voice cracking, "What happened?"

She pulled back and cupped one of his cheeks in her small hand. Harry's eyes fluttered shut at the sensation, he could have sworn every ounce of pain lifted from her touch alone. "Was out with a friend, you know, the one who deals," He explained, referring to Mike who Y/N had met. He didn't want to hide from her and she already knew he smoked weed regularly so it was no surprise to her when he told her he'd been smoking, "We pulled over so he could drop something off but I guess the customer got a little aggressive. He was probably on something but he was refusing to pay I think Mike said. I was in the car and all I saw was this guy trying to swing at him. I ran out to help him and we managed to get away before he had the chance to do anything worse but he obviously managed to get a good few hits in before."

Harry hadn’t remembered the last time he had gotten into a fight other than when he was a teenager just after his parents got divorced. He had managed to get a few punches in, making his knuckles all red and cut up, but he'd also been the victim of a few hits too. He had a black eye, a busted lip and a pounding headache from the impact of the punch he had received.

"Harry," Y/N choked on a sob, "Y-you could have been seriously h-hurt,"

"I know baby, I know." He cradled her head in his arms as she wrapped her arms around him, not squeezing too tight because she knew he was in pain. "But 'm here now."

Her eyes were red-rimmed as she looked at him, "You were helping Mike?" She asked.

"'s all I was doing baby, promise." He hated how worried she looked so he was willing to do anything to comfort her until she knew he was okay.

She pulled away, "W-where are you hurting?" She looks down as if checking him for any more bruising. He could see her visibly starting to panic, her hands shaking and her chest moving up and down rapidly.

"Hey, c'mere, c'mon now." He picked her up and brought her over to the couch, "M okay sweet girl, nothing to worry about anymore. Calm down f' me, please. Hate seeing you in a panic." He uttered to her, rocking her back and forth with her face buried in his neck. 

"You're all b-bruised," She whimpered, "Y-you must be in so much pain."

"Not anymore my love. Hmmm, my flower is here, takin' all m' pain away aren't you dove?" He kissed her shoulder.

"C-can I help you?" She whispered, eyes blotchy and red from crying a little.

"Wanna patch up m' bruises love?" She nods as if there was nothing else she'd rather do than be there for him. "Alright, le's go to the bathroom and y' can help me." He carried her to the bathroom and placed her on the counter near the sink. He grabbed a first aid kit from the cabinet under the sink and handed it to her. "Didn't know m' girlfriend was a little nurse." He smirked, a blush covering her cheeks.

Harry stood between her legs with his hands on the counter on either side of her. He watched her as she cleaned the cuts and treated the bruise covering his eye. He smiled when the tip of her tongue stuck out between her lips, "Be careful, I'll bite that tongue." He teased.

Y/N squeaked hiding her tongue away, but quickly composed herself, "You're not getting anywhere near my tongue mister." She sasses and Harry grins so wide, his cheeks hurt.

"No? You don't think I deserve a kiss baby? M in so much pain." He hides his face in her neck and presses spongy kisses on her soft skin.

Y/N giggles at the ticklish sensation, trying to push him away, "No, you can't, not until I patch you up and you stop getting into fights."

"Actin' like I get into fights every other weekend baby," He smirks, "Only f' you."

Her mouth opens and closes as she tries to figure out what to say in such a flustered state from his words. He takes the opportunity to kiss her, their lips pressing together under the low light of the bathroom. He hadn't seen her since this morning and had been missing her all day but knew she needed some time with her girlfriends without him smothering her. It didn't stop him from glancing at his phone now and then to see if she'd called him, just like she had done.

The small time they spent away from each other during the day made him all the more desperate to kiss her. He cradled both her cheeks in his hand, brushing his thumb over her cheekbones. She wrapped her arms around his neck and played with the baby strands of hair on the nape of his neck. "Missed you," She murmured when their lips parted.

"Missed y' too flower." He hummed, "Don't know what's wrong w' me to want you this bad." His hands travelled down her arms, his fingers brushing over her tattoo as he slid past it before he intertwined their fingers together. “Think m just a teeny bit in love with y’ to be honest.” He confessed. 

And suddenly they were both existing outside of their own bodies.

"W-what?" Y/N's eyes glazed over.

“Oh shit.” Harry cusses, squeezing his eyes shut, his face scrunching in frustration, “Wasn’t meant to be this way flower.” 

“Y-you love me?” Her bottom lip quivered, her brain not quite believing what she was hearing. 

Harry's heart was racing as he looked her in the eyes, "I love you." The words left his mouth and had never felt so right or so freeing. He couldn't understand why now of all moments was the time to finally say it but a piece of himself felt whole and all the pain from his body had left as he told her the three words that had been trapped in his throat for so long.

Y/N's mind whirred as she processed Harry's words. The air seemed to thicken around them, and for a moment, time hung suspended. She searched his eyes for any sign of hesitation, but all she found was sincerity and vulnerability. "You do?" She whimpered.

"Oh no flower, don't cry. Hate seeing tears in those pretty eyes," He began to wipe them away as soon as they fell from her eyes.

"I'm sorry," She blubbered, "I never imagined... I never imagined someone could feel this way about me," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Never thought I'd be in love either but here we are," He chuckled, "Love you so much, m'favourite flower." He rubbed their noses together.

Y/N's pouty lips sprouted into a beautiful smile, "I love you too Harry, more than anyone in the whole world."

"Y’ already told me that once before." He smiled, a mixture of adoration and a touch of amusement dancing in his eyes. 

“I did?” She frowned. 

“Mhm,” Harry nodded, “Before you fell asleep, you mumbled it and told me you loved me and when you woke up y’ didn’t remember.” 

“Really?” She couldn’t help but feel embarrassed knowing she admitted something so big in her sleep.

“Honestly,” Harry told her, “Think y’ were probably dreaming or something.”

“Is this a dream? Feels like it,” Y/N whispers. 

“S most certainly not a dream m’love.” Harry kissed her quickly, “Gonna love you forever I think.” 

She leant forward, running her fingers through his hair as his head fell back. He hummed at the feeling, biting on his lip to stop himself from smiling so much before burying his face in the crook of her neck - in the place he loved so much. "Promise." He whispered, lips ghosting her skin.

Their fingers traced lazy patterns on each other's skin, a silent communication between them. The room was filled with the hushed whispers of their love, as if time had slowed down so they could savour the sweetness of this very moment.

Y/N yawned which made the corner of Harry's lips turn upwards, "Y' done fixing me up now? Wanna go t' bed love?" She nodded, wrapping herself around him. He reminded himself to clean away the first aid kit in the morning, his priority was getting his girl some much-needed sleep.

She curled into him when they lay in his small bed, her head resting on his chest right where her heart was. She played with his hair and he ran a hand up and down her bare back underneath her pyjama shirt, "I love you," She murmured into the quiet.

He hoped she could hear his heart beat a little faster at her words, "I love you s' much, flower. With everything in me, gonna be mine forever y'are." He mumbled the words into her ear. 

Harry cupped the side of her face as her tired, glossy eyes looked at him with so much love and adoration, that he didn’t know what to do with it all. In the dimly lit room, they leaned in close, their breath mingling as their lips met in a gentle, passionate kiss. His hands found her waist, pulling her closer, while hers tangled in his hair. They explored each other's mouths, lost in the heat of the moment, their bodies pressed together. Each kiss was filled with longing and desire, igniting a fire between them that burned brighter with every touch.

“I’ve never loved anyone before,” Y/N whispered to him. 

“Really?” Harry smiled. 

“You’re my first love.” Y/N has to bite her lip to stop herself from smiling so wildly but Harry tugs her lip with his thumb and suddenly her smile is so wide her cheeks turn pink.

“You’re my first and only love.” He murmured. 

She liked that and she loved him. 

This was exactly where they were both meant to be —with the person who had become not only their first love but their forever love too. 

A flower tattooed to his heart.

[inkdrinkerworld]

Hiii i just saw your post prision Spencer post with sunshine reader and im soooo in love with it (and in love with him too tbh) could you please do a pt2? Have a nice day💕

spencer and sunshine!reader have set routines on office days and spencer likes flirting pt 1 of their story 🤭

“Spencer Reid, prepare to have your mind blown!” You announce as you walk into the bullpen, your Mary Janes clacking against the tiles. You’re in a skirt today, Spencer supposes it’s because it’s a designated office day- there’s only three a month, but every time there is one, you come in an outfit Spencer would never even dream of. 

Today you’re channelling your inner Elle Woods. He knows about her from Resse Witherspoon, but also from your innate love of the film and the fact that you forced him to watch it on the jet once. 

You’re wearing a pretty black skirt, a grey top and a baby pink blazer that matches the pink socks you’re wearing and your eyeshadow that he just about makes out behind your glasses. 

“With what?” He’s on his way back from the kitchen, your prized orca mug in one hand and his mug in the other.

This is your new routine; you and Spencer have coffee in the morning while you both work through your crosswords and then get started on filing away reports for the many serial killers you’ve either interviewed with Tara or put away with the team. It’s fun, and it’s always something to look forward to, especially on designated office days. 

These specific mornings, you have time for a game you’ve fondly named, ‘Making Spencer Try International Desserts.’

Spencer can smell your perfume, you smell like you always do- orange blossom, coffee and lavender. It’s intoxicating, the way the scent just floats into him with every move you make. 

“The season calls for it, so  I got pavlova. It’s a New Zealand dessert and I got it with raspberries, strawberries and a passion fruit syrup situation to go on top.” 

Spencer knows the informational side to everything in the world but he’s never tried some of it out, as you’d learnt on a night out for drinks, so you’d started the game as a way to help him get real world knowledge of fun things- the operative word being up for debate but he hadn’t objected yet. 

He clears his desk, making space for the two little boxes you have in your hand. “They’re a little sweet for breakfast, but you only live once.” You open up the boxes and Spencer is shocked to see the mini pavlovas and the fruit sitting beside it in a clear container. 

“Do you like these?” He asks, handing over your coffee to you and pulling his box towards him. 

“I do, but they’re more of a picnic food to share in my opinion. Like you need to be having a bar-b-que or a garden party to have the full effect of these.” Spencer isn’t surprised by your enthusiasm for the dessert- your little stories about every one you’ve shared with him is enthusiastic for how and when to eat them. 

You sneak into the kitchen and return with two spoons. “Okay, try to get a bit of everything on your spoon.” 

Spencer does as you say, a bit of the berries, the passion fruit and the shell of the pavlova on his spoon as he takes his first bite. You sit in anticipation, watching him chew and swallow like it’s the most fascinating thing a person could do. 

You try not to focus on the way his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows or the way his tongue pokes out to lick away some of the meringue at the corner of his mouth. Spencer catches the way your eyes widen at the action and suppresses a smile. 

“What do you think?” You busy yourself with setting up your own perfect bite, willing your body not to give away any of your fluster at being caught looking at him. 

“It was really nice, I like the different textures.” Spencer compliments, watching you take your own bite and letting himself smile when some of the passion fruit syrup and meringue stain your bottom lip. 

Without really thinking, his thumb comes to your face, wiping away the stain easily. Your breath hitches and Spencer feels it, his smile widening even more. There’s a moment where you both just stare at each other, your breathing filling the silence- you’re fighting the urge to lean in and kiss Spencer and he’s fighting the urge to lick his thumb. 

“You only pretend to be this coy man, don’t you Doctor Reid?” you ask finally, leaning back in the chair you’re in and crossing your legs. Spencer’s sure his brain short circuits for a moment, your thighs have been a source of his torture for months now, especially when you wear skirts and dresses. 

“You know you only call me ‘Doctor Reid’ when you’re flustered?” he tries changing the subject, leaning forward a bit to get a little closer to you. 

“You have a knack for topic evasion, Spencer.” he laughs, a soft, sweet sound and he shakes his head. 

“I have a knack for you,” you can feel your heart pounding in your ears, more so when Spencer’s fingers wrap around the arm of your chair and pull you closer to his desk. “Where’s your crossword?”

[n0tamused]

Genshi/HSR Characters as Dragons!

A/n: It has been a bit since my last dragon post, sorry my friends. Gotten a bit under the weather but I think that small reprieve has given me a lot of time to think of these designs! So I really hope you like them. Let me know what you think, or maybe who you'd like to see next in dragon form?

Contents: Diluc Ragnvindr, Sunday, Trailblazers(Stelle and Caelus) x GN Reader (separate), angsty hcs and also fluff, implied religious trauma in Sunday's hcs? Trauma in general.

Words: 2000

Diluc Ragnvindr:

-The esteemed Uncrowned King of Mondstadt is not only famous for belonging to a rich family and being top of the food chain in the industry, but also for possessing a power unlike any other. Dragons and dragon shapeshifters, although not unheard of or rare, have been scarcely seen since the cataclysm. Besides Dragon Dvalin, not many others are present in Mondstadt today

-No one exactly knows whether the Ragnivindr family had dragon people before, as the family seems to have kept their history to themselves, but if secrecy was their goal then what did bring Diluc to display his skill with claws and fang? Some speculate that it is not the Ragnvindr lineage that carries this power, but rather it is his mother that passed down the dragon blood onto her son. Diluc doesn’t talk about it whatever the case is. 

-Even in dragon form he is hard to mistake for someone else. He carries himself with power in every step and is always well kept. 

-Kaeya used to tease him when they were children, when Diluc didn’t have much control over his draconic form and when he used to stumble from being a kid one moment and being a small hatchling the other. Kaeya would pull at his tail only to get smacked by it. But the two boys were inseparable and trusted one another. Kaeya never spilled the secret of his red-headed brother’s abilities 

-Not even the childhood friends Jean and Barbara knew of the secret

-Yet, that dreadful night came when Crepus died, and flames soared so high and so hot that not even the rain could quench it. 

-It goes without saying that Diluc carries a lot of guilt and trauma from those days and for the first time in his life he found himself truly and utterly alone. He had no one. Crepus was dead, Kaeya betrayed him, Adelinde was just a maid, he couldn’t trouble her and he and any other friend he may have had in his youth have long since drifted apart.

-Grief turned to anger and that anger swallowed him, pushing him onward on the path of vengeance.

-Shneznaya had suffered much of his attacks - well, the Fatui there did, Diluc never risked harming a civilians, and he had saved quite a few hostages that the Fatui had gotten their hands on. In the land of ice, Diluc almost died as well once he came face to face with one of the Fatui Harbingers, and a dragon shifter at that too. He managed to live by the skin of his teeth, dragging his battered self into the snowy deserts that stretched on endlessly

-That incident ultimately sent him back to his home. He had learnt much and suffered plenty, it was time to let the winter turn to spring.

-Adelinde and Elzer had sent him many letters, he knew, he received most of them. Yet he never had the heart to respond to them..

-He came back a new man, scarred both in flesh and soul, yet a small piece of him was… content, maybe numb too. The cold of the nation Tsaritsa governs over certainly took its toll on him.

-If truth be told, he didn’t expect to return from the trip and he certainly didn’t think he’d ever form any sort of notable relationships in his personal life. He didn’t look for them nor did he particularly look forward to any either. His wound always felt too fresh to let anyone close

-Yet you just managed to do just that. Get close enough into this barricade he built around himself, and you helped put soft linen around his wounds, holding him close when he yearned for touch, leaving him be when he yearned for the cold.

-It took a while, but a rose in the wall of ice began to bloom. Flowers, no matter how delicate, always find cracks to grow in, even stronger than on solid ground.

-Diluc is quite protective of you, very much so, but he is not pushy with it. He understands boundaries and he himself is not a fan of always hovering over someone’s head or being in someone’s space. He does have his ears and good eyes, not just his own, that would alert him should any harm come to you

-You did find some of his feathers around the winery. At first you didn’t know they were his, so you just picked it up as it was still a rather impressive feather, yet it became even more precious once you learnt it belonged to him. Diluc didn’t understand why you’d keep it or regard it with so much admiration, but he wasn’t going to voice whatever protest he had that soon died on his tongue

-He reveals his dragon form to you even later, in the lush grass around the Dawn Winery during one dusky evening. Winter was coming so the air was chilly and breezy. You wanted to watch the sunset and to eventually stargaze, but Diluc wanted you warm while you did that, and soon his dragon form was lying behind your back, his warmth seeping into you and keeping you comfortable.

Sunday:

-Not every eye that is open is seeing, and not every eye that is closed is dreaming, so who are we to judge another? Sunday, the dragon in rule over the Land of Festivities, had long since ascended past a simple ruler. His current form alone demanded a certain form of delicate respect, a cautious one at that.

-No one remembers how he may have looked like before, if he had eyes or if those had been claimed by the Harmony or ▇▇▇▇

-Aeon of Harmony keeps their eyes closed, and in doing so rids themselves of any subjective thoughts. All are equal, and together we are stronger, such is the mantra of Harmony and Sunday was adept at putting that image forth. People were happy, people were content. 

-How many wings does Sunday have that are his own? Only two pairs. One pair meant for flight was crippled, cut short, and the other pair shields his eyes from the world. He now only moves and flies when THEY wish he flies, when THEY allow it, when THEY deem it necessary, and not anytime else. These wings are a burden and a blessing. They’re not his own but he hates to think they’d hurt him should he make some error - not that he would, he won't allow himself an error. No..

-Sunday inhabits his dragon form a lot of times, which, in a way, is also dictated by THEM. The only time he is human is when he goes behind the screen to listen to people confessing their bad deeds and their sins, bestowing his blessing and forgiveness unto them and guiding them back on the right track. THEY are merciful, he says, you have been forgiven.

-His words of advice and the action he took to ‘renovate’ the Land of Festivities(Dreams) have gained him much support and love and even many more followers where he previously had less. People generally did like the Oak family, they also loved his sister. She was the pearl of the Oak family, the sun, and he was the moon and the sea. 

-The colorful pair of horns on his head is said to come from the Harmony as well, it is THEIR blessing to Sunday, to look more formidable yet more approachable. It is THEIR gift. People know and people see this as a sign that he is the true leader they should follow. Many have become more easy to get to do certain things - most of them good yes, like behaving and upholding the rules while in the Dreamscape, but other actions came as hidden tactics from THEM to harvest the necessary power needed for the next step.

-Sunday has become lost in this grand scheme of things, and even the thought of the next morning became a thought too far to consider. He barely has time alone and to himself, he can never escape the eyes of THEM.

-He hates to trouble you. You two have drifted apart it would seem, yet from time to time Sunday would find you visiting him, wishing to give him company at least for a little while. And silently he prays he can indulge you - he wants to, he misses you, your warmth, your presence, your voice, your touch. He is welcoming to you. You have an idea of what’s happening: stress, work, duty - it is a response that he offered one too many times, but there was more, something you couldn’t dig up. It was a thorn in your side, you couldn’t get it out.

-So you sit with him, sharing some words and stories over dinner, tea and cakes. Other times you lay with him, his ear to your chest, listening to the gentle drumming of your heart, a lullaby that is the last thing able to have him sleep soundly.

-He dislikes for you to see him in his dragon form, he considers it broken although it looks angelic in the eyes of the majority, but as it is the form he is found in a lot of the time it is unavoidable. Yet you are the only person he allows to touch him, besides his sister. 

-Touch him, pet him, do as you wish. He is there for you.

Trailblazers:

-Double trouble, Baseballer of the Cosmos, the Nameless, the…*looks at smudged ink writing* Yes, the esteemed Trailblazers!

-You may have heard many stories about them, but once you get a look at them in reality, you’ll see just how amazing they are. The world is vast, yet they seem to shock everyone with their…otherworldly appearance.

-They both claim they weren’t like this before - they were two different people, but now they’re not and they do not remember how it all came to be this way. It is odd, but they’ve gotten used to it.

-Despite the appearance, Stelle is the more aggressive of the two and usually packs a more meaner bite, headbutt or a nastier scratch of the claws. Caelus is more shy, despite him looking more scary, he is sheepish and a tad bit more naive. But both of them are determined to get to the bottom of their story and to get back to their own bodies. The stellaron within them also seems to have something to do with their current predicament. 

-There were times where they were glad for it, as they could provide each other with company and comfort, their heads nuzzling their cheeks together or tangling their necks when they go to sleep in the dragon form. 

-Going in human form is rather complicated, neither of the two like it as one would have to be “dormant” while the other roams the world. The dormant one is able to hear most of what goes on outside, but they’re stuck roaming the subconscious like a heliobi - roaming through hazy memories and corridors. They have gotten used to each other's company so much that it is odd to be “alone”.

-They both love the express a lot and their significant other - which also puzzles them as to how they even have one to begin with.. but alright, they’re not arguing against it nor are they dissatisfied. It is funny how, at times, one of them can get sassy with the other when it comes to dates and things, sometimes even jealous. 

-But it is cute, and it works out in the end.

-At times there are situations where it would be better for either Stelle or Caelus to go (battle - Stelle; something more diplomatic - Caelus), so the two can switch back and forth if really necessary

-Their tail in dragon form is something like a beaver tail, although much fluffier. It can pack a nasty hit if you’re unfortunate to be on the receiving end of their attacks..

Size chart:

Ⓒ n0tamused. Do not repost, translate, edit, and/or copy any of my works. Likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated.

Tags: @moonlitreveri3 @lexidraws2 @drowning-in-cabbages @creationsabyss @grimulf-of-the-wilderness @st4rrl1ghtwastaken @the-inquisitive-constellation @voiddance @the-bilkush @fictionally-attached

+ @not-the-darknight (hope you don't mind the tag on there! <3)

[theladyofbloodshed]

TRUE NORTH

A @nestaarcheronweek bonus chapter of Hunt x Nesta for my own self-indulgence.

Read the rest of the fic on AO3.

How beautiful life in Lunathion was. It had been almost a year since Nesta Archeron had tumbled from the sky and landed in an unknown world. There had been many challenges although they had lessened with the progression of time. Nesta could work a television, a washing machine, and even a printer when it was behaving. She loved the city. She was made for it. There were so many opportunities for her to seize. Such things used to be impossible. Kept by her father, kept by Rhysand then Cassian. Nesta could make her own choices. And none of them involved dangerous situations.

Nesta hefted her tote bag higher on her shoulder as it began to slip with the weight of the books inside. She rotated between education and pleasure with her reading. Her enrolment to Crescent City University was paving the way for her future, and Nesta was committed to receiving the highest possible grades. They had been set a new assignment. It wasn’t due for three weeks, but she would make a dent in it that evening. She had learnt that she was not like many classmates who left the essay until the night before where stress chased them to the word count. Nesta preferred order and peace.

A sudden gust of wind blew her hair then heavy boots landed behind her. Warm hands seized her wrists and pinned them behind her back.

‘You are under arrest by order of the 33rd.’

‘Oh really?’ she asked. ‘What’s my crime?’

‘Being too beautiful. Distracting an officer from his flight. I nearly flew into a building.’

Hunt Athalar released her hands so Nesta turned to face him. They had met almost one year ago in this very spot although his black hair had hung to his shoulders then. Hunt had since had it cut at her request and he was all the more handsome for it.

‘Tell me, Umbra Mortis. If I was driving a vehicle and the sight of a handsome malakh meant that I crashed into a lamppost, who would be at fault?’

‘You, as the driver of the vehicle.’

Nesta made a noise of agreement. ‘Then, I think this is a you problem rather than a me problem.’ 

Hunt touched her cheek. ‘Your beauty is everybody’s problem. If I catch Tristan Flynn looking at your legs again, I’ll snap him in half.’ Hunt kissed her playfully with a nip at her bottom lip. ‘And don’t get me started on that dog on the sunball team.’

‘Ithan,’ she corrected. ‘And he was only explaining the boundary rule.’

‘Yeah, well, I can teach him about boundaries.’

She rose up onto her toes to kiss him. These displays of affection were no longer strange or made Nesta feel like she was playing as somebody else. It was natural to seek Hunt out to kiss. Love wasn’t shied away from in Lunathion - and she didn't want to hide hers either. She was so proud of Hunt. Proud to be at his side.

‘Did somebody pluck out a feather today? You’re very grumpy.’

‘I just missed you,’ he murmured, squeezing her so tightly that Nesta’s bones creaked. ‘How was class?’

Together, they walked along a stretch of restaurants, trying to decide what to grab for lunch, while Nesta spoke of her morning’s lectures. Choosing a major had been difficult when she had so little knowledge of the world that was now her home. Her heart was drawn to history, but there were too many gaps that she was at risk of sounding a fool if she did not know the basic history of Lunathion, so she’d settled upon it as a minor. Literature was her major, so Nesta had to pinch herself still that she could read as part of her education.

They tucked into their lunch outside of a café near the Istros since spring was offering them a taste of warm weather. It also allowed Nesta the chance to catch a glimpse of the otters that she loved so much.

‘I wish I had a Mer penpal so I could see them more often,’ she lamented before reaching across the table for one of Hunt’s cheese covered fries.

‘The only Mer I know is Tharion Ketos and there’s not a chance in Hel he’s exchanging love letters with you,’ Hunt scoffed.

When Nesta reached for another fry, Hunt tapped her fingers away. ‘You do this every time, Starlight. No, I’m only having salad then you reach for the best bits of my food.’

Nesta formed a fist with her hand then rested her chin upon it, gazing upon her angel.

‘Don’t look at me like that.’

‘Like what, Orion?’ Nesta crooned, purposefully making her voice sultry.

Hunt released an exasperated sigh then plucked a fry from the plate. ‘Here. This one has the most cheese.’

With a satisfied smile, like the cat that got the cream, Nesta gobbled it down. ‘You’re too good to me, you know?’

Hunt did not share her playing today. He grimaced then pushed his plate towards her. ‘Micah cornered me today.’

The blood in her veins stilled. Any dealings with Micah meant bad news. Although Nesta had left Prythian for good with an eye-watering amount of riches, Hunt – her beautiful Hunt – hadn’t wanted Nesta to use that money on him. It was for her, he said. For her future. It paid for the small apartment and her university fees, but most of it was sitting in a safe in the wardrobe. Hunt’s debt remained looming over both of them.

‘I hate that man.’

His hand slid into hers, squeezing once. ‘Five names tonight.’

It did not matter how many names Hunt eliminated, Micah would never release him. There would always be more names added, more lives for Hunt to end. He carried all of them. There had been days where she lost him, times where Nesta thought she might never have her Orion back from the darkness.

‘After my shift, I will need to fly some distance. They’re not in this city. Don’t wait up, okay? I’m sorry, Nesta. Tomorrow, I have the day off.’

There were no promises of plans for the next day because Hunt’s mood could be anything from morose to catatonic to furious. He’d never let his temper out on her, but when anger filled his chest, Hunt preferred to be alone so would take himself off to the barracks and lock himself into his tiny room. It was kept for him, because – officially – he was not allowed to live anywhere else. Three nights a week was the maximum he could be away from the Comitium as a slave to Micah. They still had to be careful about Nesta’s presence too since she’d appeared from thin air. It was only thanks to Ruhn and his friend, Declan, that Nesta existed at all in Lunathion. Ruhn’s money and Declan’s forgery skills had created Nesta a fake identity along with a fake fae family who lived on a farm in the middle of nowhere if anybody asked.

‘Lunch break’s over,’ Hunt said glumly.

He paid for their food – as he always did, despite his pitiful wages. He was reluctant to ever use the pile of jewels and gold that Feyre had given her in her escape from the House of Wind. If she needed something for university, Hunt liked to buy it for her. A winter coat? He’d gone shopping with her and insisted upon taking care of her in all ways, including financially.

‘I miss you already,’ she said, bringing her arms around his shoulders. Hunt nuzzled close to her, the smell of storms upon his skin. She could have held him there in the street for an eternity. There was so much kindness in him despite everything. Hunt could have clutched to his past, used it to shape his destiny, but he bucked against it and chose to try and be good. She hated Micah with all of her being. That damn archangel killed her own angel a little bit each time he gave another name.

‘Let me look at you.’ Hunt’s dark eyes swept over her face then he offered a closed-lipped smile. ‘Warm the bed for me tonight.’

With a swift kiss, Hunt departed. Air surged towards them as his wings spread out then pulsed together to lift him off of the ground.

Nesta watched him go with a hand against her chest. The weather was fine and Nesta should have gone home, cracked open the windows and sat at her desk to start her essay. But she could not take the sadness on Hunt’s face. Orion Athalar, who had risked so much for her, who would move the stars if she asked him.

She pulled out her cell. It was the same one given to her by Ruhn Danaan although she’d deleted the photos of Tristan Flynn’s manhood long ago from the photo album. Now, it was filled with pictures of her and Hunt, their meals, their adventures, their attempts at snapping photos of otters who never sat still for long. Sometimes, she still had pop-ups for busty fauns in her area although she'd realised it was false.

‘Good afternoon. Here is Nesta Archeron.’

She heard the sigh from the other end clearly. ‘Sweetheart, when you call me, it shows your name. You don’t need to tell me each time.’

‘May I come to your home?’

‘What’s happened? Are you okay? Where are you?’ Ruhn’s voice changed from the careless male to one who did care. Ruhn liked to hide behind different masks of party boy and heartbreaker, but there was a good heart beneath the exterior. 

‘Yes. I’m near the Istros, not far from the River Gate.’

‘Oof. Getting a bit close to dog territory there. Tell you what, Nes, I’ll come pick you up – stay put – and you can drive us to mine. See you in five.’

Ruhn arrived with a minute to spare and honked the horn then laughed when it made Nesta jump. He kept the engine running as he hopped out of the driver’s seat, planted a kiss on her cheek, then gestured for her to get in.

‘It’s quite busy. It’s lunch time.’

Ruhn slid into the passenger seat then folded his arms. ‘You’ve done this loads of times now.’

‘Yes. At night. When there are less people for me to mow down.’

‘You know where the brake is and you have the quickest reactions of anybody I’ve ever met.’

Somehow, with coaxing from Ruhn and gritting her teeth, Nesta managed to drive them across the city. There was no joy in driving, although there was freedom. She had her driving test booked then would be able to hire a care with Hunt so they could take trips further afield. He liked to fly her, but it wasn’t always practical with bags or in bad weather. He had threatened her with fishing trips when she had her license though.

Ruhn was opening the door for her, before Nesta could blink. ‘You know, Flynn’s here. He’ll think you’ve come especially to see him.’

Nesta took the hand he offered to exit the car then followed him up the steps to the house. The smell of stale cigarettes and alcohol always affronted her senses and today was no different.

‘Luna bless me, the goddess herself is here,’ called Tristan Flynn from the upstairs landing.

He wouldn’t try to embrace her or kiss her cheek as Ruhn did. Not because of the Umbra Mortis. But because he’d tried once and Nesta nearly broke his neck with the force of her slap. She had more power than those from this land. She could move faster than them, with more strength. Once, Hunt had arm wrestled her to see and when she had focused, she had won.

‘I need to speak to you, Tristan. Both of you.’

That had Ruhn’s brows pulling together. He pulled his cigarette packet from his pocket, but one cocked eyebrow from Nesta had him tucking it away again.

While Ruhn went to make coffee, Nesta tried to find a surface in the living room that seemed clean. With a wince, she perched upon the arm of the couch that Tristan sprawled on.

‘Be thankful there isn’t a blue light. You’d never step foot in this house again.’

‘Will your parents arrange a marriage for you soon?’

‘Why? Are you interested?’

Nesta gave him a sarcastic smile. ‘I’m merely wondering how many more females there are in Lunathion that you and Ruhn haven’t had your sordid way with.’

‘Definitely one,’ he replied, giving her a heated look that she did not reciprocate.

Spirals of steam rose from their cups of coffee. Nesta would need to put on a brave face to drink it because she doubted the mugs were particularly clean. Still, Ruhn was trying. He flitted into her life frequently to check in, almost like a big brother she supposed. She was grateful for him – although she wished they would clean their house more. Or pay somebody to clean it.

‘I would like to purchase Hunt’s freedom. He doesn’t want me to.’

‘How the hell would you have the money to do that?’

‘I have it. Let’s leave it at that. I cannot be the one to purchase him, however. We know why attention cannot come to me.’

If anybody dug too deeply into her identity, they would realise it was false. There could be no spotlight pointed at Nesta.  Hunt had likened their situation to a house of cards. He’d built one to show her how flimsy and fragile it was. If the Asteri knew who she was – what she was – then it exposed Prythian too.

‘So, you want us to make a bid for the infamous avenging angel. My father will have my balls, Nesta.’

‘Not you,’ she said then turned her gaze to Tristan Flynn. ‘Tristan, you care little for your family’s opinion. You have so much money in a trust fund that it won’t be out of the ordinary to pay such a sum.’

Tristan remained in his casual sprawl but Nesta made out the faint thrum of his heart, faster than it should be. ‘And what am I meant to do when I purchase him? Have him clean my room? Smite my enemies?’

‘You free him.’

Ruhn shushed his friend when he burst into false, riotous laughter at her expense. Laughter, Nesta could take. She had been locked in a house with no way of leaving. Forced to follow a man who tended to her misery rather than ending it. The week she had spent in Lunathion had been the best of her life – good enough for Nesta to take a chance on a forever here – all thanks to Hunt. She owed it to him to give him the life he deserved.

‘To sweeten the deal, I will use my magic for you. Three times.’

That had both of them pausing.

Deals were lofty things and fae in this world took them as seriously as they did in Prythian.

‘Give us a sec, Nesta,’ said Ruhn, as he beckoned for Tristan to follow him out into the kitchen to discuss it.

She sipped at her coffee which was better than expected although her stomach was in knots. If Flynn refused, there were only two other options. The first was to make the bid herself and lay everything on the line. The second was akin to slavery in itself. There was another rich and powerful fae in this city, but she doubted the Autumn King would ever agree to purchase Hunt without forcing her into a marriage with him or his son. It would be miserable, but she had contemplated it on the nights where Hunt came home empty and broken. On the nights where she held him to her in the bed to keep him from falling apart, Nesta had wondered if she would ever be able to explain that she would marry the Autumn King if it meant he was no longer a slave. That his happiness meant more to her than hers ever did.

The two males returned. Tristan’s eyes raked over her face then he said, ‘Two uses of your magic – but a free demonstration of it now.’

Although Nesta had given it up to save her sister and nephew’s lives, a kernel remained. For flame, a kernel was enough to spread. She had not made the Drop as they did in this land. Their power had its hands tied behind its back whereas hers, her magic that she’d never wanted, even in its smallest form was so much more than they could produce.

***

All Hunt Athalar wanted was to be home. The sight of the building had his heart beating again. It was on the third floor in a shitty building with an elevator that rarely worked but Nesta had made it a home and she was so glad to have a place of her own. She was so thankful for everything where others would find misery. Because of her, Hunt’s heart kept beating. It retreated to a place that was empty and dark to try and hide his feelings, but Nesta had a way of bringing it – bringing him – back to life.

The light was on in the lounge and the sound of the bath being filled greeted his ears. Their hamster, Smudge, one of Nesta’s whims which he’d had to indulge, ran on its bright orange wheel. He poked his finger through the bar as a greeting then continued on before it could chomp at his skin.

Nesta met him in the bathroom doorway, her arms coming round his neck before Hunt could even spit out a hello.

‘Why is it that the minutes pass unbearably slow without you? Then they race to catch up when you’re home?’

She kissed his cheek before Hunt could warn her against it. Although he wore his helmet when he worked for Micah, blood had a way of still splattering up his chin and onto his cheeks. The blood had never unsettled her. She seemed to compartmentalise that part of him and not let it affect her judgement of the rest of him.

‘Hop in,’ she murmured, gesturing to the bathtub before turning off the taps.

A mountain of bubbles grew at one end and she’d even lit candles. It was better not to use the brighter overhead light because the bathroom had mouldy seals that the landlord was dragging his feet over to replace and it made them more visible. Hunt wished he could give her a better life. Nesta deserved so much better than a cramped one-bedroom apartment. It sat near the human district which made it dangerous for her. She waved away his worries. Said it was strange to have somebody who worried over her – which only made Hunt more devastated.

Hunt took her hand. His throat was closing up, but he had to tell her these words before he sunk into the dark. ‘I love you. So much.’

Nesta brought his bloodied hand to her lips and kissed the back of it. ‘Do you want me here or to be alone?’

He swallowed. ‘Here. Please.’

The darkness reached out its claws for Hunt. Half-way through washing his body, Hunt shut down. It seemed like too much effort to continue. The darkness had teeth that pressed to his throat, holding him there.

I want it to end. I want it to be over.

A hand slipped down his back then searched through the bubbly water for the sponge. Hunt screwed his eyes shut with embarrassment that once again he needed his damn girlfriend to wash him. He hated himself. Hated that this was the life he offered Nesta. And she thanked him for it. How bad had her life been before that she was grateful for a fucked up slave and a crap apartment?

‘Keep your eyes closed now,’ she said, her voice close to his ear.

Nesta tipped his head back to wash his hair. He dreaded to think what colour he was turning the bath water. It was better not to think of the lives he ended. He’d force himself into the endless dark rather than face what he did for Micah.

‘I’m going to fluff you up like a chicken,’ whispered Nesta, as she took his hand and tugged for him to stand.

By now, Hunt knew how to navigate the bathroom with his eyes closed. It made it easier if he kept them shut. He couldn’t take a mirror. Couldn’t bear to see hollow eyes and despair staring back at home.

A towel was rubbed down his body then back up. The click of the hairdryer sounded then a blast of hot air was shot towards his wings. In these moments, Hunt tried to divert his sorrow towards good memories. They were few, but most involved his Starlight. Her discovering what a hairdryer was. The first time he’d let her blow-dry his wings. The ensuing laughter.

How Nesta could be with him, he didn’t know. Hunt did not deserve her.

She paused her task to make little cheeping noises then continued lovingly running the hairdryer over his wings until they were completely dry.

In bed, Hunt still couldn’t open his eyes. He was doing a mental count of all the places that he had shown Nesta and how many more he still needed to show her to provide a different avenue than sorrow. They still hadn’t been to a theme park. Nesta wanted to see a musical too. He’d teased her about fishing trips. It was hope that would lead him out of this. Hope and Nesta.

‘You are better than all of the stars, my Orion.’

Dawn brought with it a light drizzle that gave Hunt a headache. Last night didn’t weigh as heavily on him although he’d hardly slept. Nesta’s warm body slipped away from him with the promise of a hot coffee in bed. He truly didn’t deserve her.

One of his t-shirts skimmed her thighs as she returned brandishing two mugs. She had decided months ago that she was not a coffee person. She could only drink it when it was pumped full of syrups and topped with cream, so opted for tea to wake her up in the mornings now. Her blonde hair fell loosely to her shoulders. Hunt had nearly wept when she’d decided to have it cut, but it made her happy and was easier to manage at the shorter length.

‘Hey, handsome,’ she said, setting the mugs down on his bedside table before perching on the edge of the mattress. Nesta’s fingers pushed his hair out of his face. ‘I missed you yesterday.’

‘I told you not to wait up.’

There was a fierce look upon her face. He’d seen it once or twice when she heard sneers from brave humans or cocky wolves.

From the small drawer, she pulled out a cheque. In a terrible hand, Micah’s name had been written as the recipient.

Tristan Flynn.

‘What the fuck is this?’

‘I went to speak with Ruhn and Tristan yesterday. He will purchase you from Micah on my behalf. The jewellery from my sister will-’

‘No,’ Hunt said sharply. ‘No.’

‘Orion,’ she began.

‘No, Nesta. We’ve talked about this. I am not having you give up all of that money for me. I’m not having it. And don’t ever owe Tristan Flynn or his family.’

He wanted to tear up the cheque.

Hunt’s eyes snapped to Nesta’s face. ‘What did you do? Flynn won’t risk his neck for anyone except Ruhn and Declan. What deal have you made with him?’

A sudden horror washed over Hunt as he imagined another tattoo upon her skin like the star on her back that hadn’t been fulfilled. Fae were pricks. All of them – except his one. They weren’t selfless, weren’t altruistic. No, Flynn would have bargained to get what he wanted. There was no way he would do anything without gaining something.

Nesta folded her hands in her lap and looked down at them. ‘Two uses of my magic whenever he requests it.’

He pressed a hand over his mouth. If Micah got a whiff of her powers, Hel, if the Asteri did, Nesta would become their weapon. They already ran the risk of somebody looking too closely at Nesta as a result of his association with him. This was too much. Hunt scrubbed his face with his calloused hands. ‘Fuck, Nesta. Why did you do it?’

‘You cannot think why?’ Her fingers grazed along his jaw. ‘You are the most important person in my life, Hunt. How can I watch you break a little more each time Micah sends you away? You changed my life. You saved me. Why can’t I save you?’

His eyes fluttered closed at her touch. Would it ever not immobilise him? It had been so long since anybody had touched him simply because they could not stop themselves from it. To be touched without malice or to be used was special.

‘Nesta,’ he breathed.

His Starlight straddled his lap on the bed, their hot drinks forgotten for now. She brushed the tip of her nose to his then her lips sought his. ‘I don’t want to spend this day arguing. It relies on Micah being willing to sell you anyway.’

‘I appreciate the lengths you’d go for me. I’ve never had that before,’ admitted Hunt.

Not with Shahar. Their relationship was never more than blowing off steam of desire or an outlet when the tunnel narrowed on them. They were a leader and her general for the majority of time, until one of them nearly died then the sex was animalistic. Shahar knew he was an asset. It wasn’t a gentle love. It wasn’t like this. He couldn’t imagine Shahar wanting to lay beside him and giggle over videos of chimeras. But, Hunt wouldn’t be the male he was now without that history. It was because of Shahar that he sought a peaceful life with Nesta.

‘There isn’t a path that I wouldn’t walk for you. You saved me, Hunt. Everyday, I am a little more like me because of you.’

Hunt leaned forwards to kiss her again.

‘I’d say we have about four minutes.’

‘Until what?’

Hunt grinned. ‘Until my coffee is too cold to drink.’

He rolled her from him easily then hauled the t-shirt she wore up over her ass. He smacked her there then kissed the same spot while Nesta buried her face against a pillow with laughter.

‘How would you like it, my lady?’

Nesta pushed up from her stomach with her elbows to glance over her shoulder at him. ‘By my calculations, you have about three and a half minutes now.’

‘Four thrusts it is,’ he teased.

Everything with Nesta was great – but the sex was magnificent. He didn’t know if it was because she was fae, or from another world, or just because she was her. Hunt couldn’t have enough. In the year since she had fallen from the sky, they’d tried every position possible twice over. Fast and rough, unyielding and teasing, soft and slow. They had a whole draw stuffed with toys and handcuffs, and anything else she had wanted to try out. All of it was a gift. Any moment with Nesta was.

His hand went around her middle, hauling her ass up in the air.

‘Make those four thrusts count,’ said Nesta.

Four was if Hunt was being generous. The sight of her, his beautiful girlfriend on her knees, face down and the rest of her exposed to him already had his composure unravelling. Nesta was a goddess.

He tapped his cock against her entrance.

‘Don’t tease.’

Hunt fought back a grin. He licked his fingers then smeared them at her entrance, but he found Nesta already wet. His cock was heavy in his grasp as Hunt guided it inside. It had Nesta giving a small cry as she adjusted to the size. That little noise had Hunt screwing his eyes shut. If he even looked at her now, they’d be on a total of zero thrusts and he’d be lost.

Nesta was tight and wet, the warm grip had Hunt short-circuiting. With his hands braced on the headboard, he gave a final moan and filled her.

While she showered, Hunt made them breakfast. They’d worked out that pancakes were far cheaper to make at home so he had become the appointed pancake master. She preferred them thin so she could roll them up and eat them quicker.

‘What are we doing today then?’

Nesta drummed her fingers upon the table. ‘A re-match, since I’m feeling generous.’

‘Try playing with the bumpers down from time to time, Stargirl. We’ll see who wins.’

Lunathion offered a world of opportunities. There were always new places popping up across the city. Nesta only cared for one place. The sticky bowling alley that he’d taken her to on her first week in the city. There were three places to bowl, but she still said that one was the best. They went so often that Hunt had purchased them a membership so they could bowl for free.

Her style had shifted over time as she explored the various shops. Jeans were a staple, but at home – where she was more comfortable – Nesta would slink into sinful yoga pants or steal his clothes. Heels were not allowed in the house; she’d worn them a couple of times and declared them torture devices. She slid about in front of the row of glow-in-the-dark balls.

 ‘You know, I think bowling shoes are the most comfortable to wear,’ she noted.

Hunt couldn’t hide his laugh. ‘A shame you resemble a clown in them.’

‘You still haven’t taken me to the circus.’

‘You’re welcome at the Comitium anytime.’

An eyeroll met him then Nesta slid her arm around his shoulders to peer at the small screen. The corners of her mouth ticked up at the names he’d given them for that day. Hunt liked to choose new ones based on their jokes and laughter from that week. Once, she’d shot cola out of her nose mid-laughter so he’d dubbed her The Snorter for bowling. Today, he’d opted for a relic of their first week together where she’d introduced herself to Isaiah and Hunt stuttered over his own introduction.

‘The Um and The Bard?’

‘It has a nice ring to it,’ he said, kissing her cheek then slapping her ass as a sign to take her turn.

Nesta had racked up the most wins, but she had hollow victories using the bumpers. Hunt played without them – the proper way.

There were a bunch of kids bolting around and birthday parties were being hosted. It was a noisy place to be with squealing, music, and pins constantly knocked down. The floor around the benches was always sticky from spilled soda. It had taken Hunt a long time to realise that Nesta liked this place because it was so different from anything she knew. She’d once told him that it was like using a sword except nobody was hurt. She could release her frustrations and anger safely by rolling a heavy ball at some pins – and at the end of it could get a milkshake rather than muscle pains.

Hunt was finally winning two games to one when Nesta disarmed him entirely.

‘I wish I could go back to Prythian sometimes.’

He chewed the skin around his nail to give him time to think of something to say in return. The Harp remained in Prythian, with only maybe one of Nesta’s sisters capable of wielding it though she doubted they would try. The Horn was another issue in itself. As far as the city knew, it was still missing. They had tried to destroy it, but even with Nesta’s diluted magic, it could not be destroyed. Ruhn Danaan kept it in a thick safe in his basement – although it had randomly made appearances in their apartment of its own accord. In those instances, Hunt would stuff it into a bag and fly it over to Danaan’s place. It had once teleported to Nesta’s handbag when they were out for a picnic. If she wanted to go home, the Horn was still there to be used.

‘We can make it happen,’ he said, voice fighting a losing battle not to reveal the devastation overcoming him. ‘A small toot then we can move you back there. I can help you pack what you want and-’

‘Orion Athalar, what are you wittering about?’

Wittering? He’d never been accused of such a thing.

Hunt struggled to look at her. This was a conversation that he knew would happen eventually. He didn’t know it would be so soon though. Nor did he expect it to happen in a fucking bowling alley while a kid screamed at her dad for ice cream.

He scratched the back of his neck. ‘I know I can’t give you the life you deserve. I just want you to be happy wherever that is – and if it’s not there then-’

‘Hunt,’ she said on a sigh. Nesta’s fingers sought his face. Tenderly, she ran the tips down his cheek. ‘Oh, my Hunt. I have sisters, a nephew, and friends there. It’s natural to think of them – to miss them. Sometimes I would like to see them. There is no desire in my heart to ever return there. Do not think for a moment that this life with you is one I do not want. You are better than all of the stars, Orion.’

He bent to touch his forehead to hers, the edges of his panic receding.

‘I wish I could see Emerie and Gwyn simply to show you off. I want to show them this male that I found for myself who is so wonderful and fun and everything I could ever want.’

‘I’m not that great.’

Great at killing, sure. Great to have as a general in an uprising, yeah. But Hunt had little else to offer. A bastard malakh who was a slave. Hardly a prize.

‘You are,’ insisted Nesta. ‘I am so proud of you. Proud to be yours.'

'Why?'

Nesta's lips sought his. The kiss was a slow smoulder. 'All of my life, somebody else has steered the ship or I've been lost in storms with no control. I never felt like me. I didn't want that to be my life. It wasn't my purpose. Wasn't where I belonged. This is the first decision I made for myself. I have weathered many storms, Hunt Athalar, because they led me to you. All of those storms were a sign. You are everything, Orion. You are my true north. My home. My heart. My everything.’

[1v6]

Eggs from Another Basket 1/2 [G/T]

[Word count 848] Part 2/2

There is a story behind every individual, even gods. Perhaps one that involves eggs.

Dialogue focused. I tend to put little dialogue in my works, so I figured some practice would help. Enjoy.

-----

The larger being looming before him picked at his dinner with his fork, idly stabbing at the various meats offered to him, not paying attention to the much tinier man sitting before him. The smaller man lightly shuddered, trying to ignore the scene. The god had the power to do this to him and his people if he wanted. If this is the strength displayed if he was not focused, imagine the power he could wield if he were malicious.

Yet, the god was not.

Instead, he invited him to dine together. He looked at his meal, delicately cut from the god’s own portions. He took a bite. Meat was a rare delicacy for the common people, not especially expensive, but would be costly to eat daily.

Somehow, his life changed. Now, chicken, beef, pork, and mutton made regular appearances on his plate every day. He was like a toad getting to feast on a swan.

He did not deserve this kindness.

He was just doing his duty, as the god’s servant.

Today, the god himself looked distracted. He always was, though at least he would still attempt to make conversation every dinner. He did not like it at first, the looming presence always made him feel a primal terror deep inside him.

He never realised how silent it was when the god stopped talking.

It seems that it was finally his time to make conversation, whether he enjoyed it or not.

“You look upset,” his small voice piped up.

Upon hearing his words, the god gently set down his cutlery without making a sound, and his gaze turned towards him. Waiting for him to continue.

“Do gods feel sadness too?”

“I told you already, I’m not a god,” the god sighed. 

“You are one to me.”

How could he not be one, with all the might he possessed within his powerful body?

“You’re just a bit smaller than me, we’re not all that different.”

Nonsense. He was barely the height of his finger. The difference is very substantial. How could he use this excuse over and over again, every time he pointed it out? His hand alone could crush buildings, that is very much a feat a person like him could not perform no matter how hard they tried.

When he at last learnt to speak to the god while reining in his fear, one of the very first questions he asked him was the name of the god’s race, when he insisted he was not a god.

A human, he had answered then, and he learnt that gods were as mortal as he was, only with much more power to shape the world to their liking.

Which could be considered a god’s power.

“Technically, you’re the one much larger than us,” he stated. Yes, size is relative. The truth is also what the majority believes too, though. That would mean he is the larger one, as there is only one of him believing they are smaller, and many of them believing he is larger.

Nevertheless it was a topic he no longer wanted to continue, as it would eventually lead nowhere.

They both knew this. It was time to change the topic.

The smaller person stood up from his smaller table and gave a deep, mocking bow. “So, my Lord Almighty Human, what brings such melancholy to an existence such as you?” He flashed a grin, and sat down again to continue eating his meal.

The god smiled wistfully, stars in his eyes. “Nothing. I simply miss home.”

It took a second for him to register what he said. It did not even occur to him that the god once had another life before he simply appeared to his people one day. How did he live then, before being thrown into this new life?

What was his story?

“A…home?”

The god nodded.

“...What was your home like?”

The god frowned a little, puzzled by his question, perhaps? “It wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. I lived with my family, and we talked, ate, spent time together, things like that.”

He looked at both of their dinner plates. “What do you usually eat back home, then?”

There was a pause. He seemed to consider his answer, before replying, “I guess eggs were a common dish. My family weren’t the best at cooking, but eggs were easy enough to prepare, so we had eggs quite often.”

“Eggs?” He questioned.

“Eggs, round things from a—”

“—No, I know what eggs are, thank you very much.”

The god chuckled a little, then reached out to him with a finger as tall as he was, gently ruffling his hair. “Why did you ask then?”

“It was an unexpected answer,” he retorted back, pushing his finger away. Two hands lost to a finger. “Besides, who knew you eat eggs?”

“What’s surprising about me eating eggs?”

“... Nothing.”

He finished his meal, and requested to leave, saying his duties require him elsewhere for tonight.

Much to the god’s disappointment.

He knew, but no attempt was made to stop him.

He simply wished him goodnight.

[lokideservesahug]

Unfounded Opinion

-°•°•°•°•--•°•°•°•°--°•°•°•°•--•°•°•°•°-

Pairing: Josep 'Pepe' Maria Martí x gn!reader

Notes: Haven't written for Pepe before and don't know how many of you read about him but here we are regardless.

Warnings: None, Youre kind of a hater but that's about it!

Summary: You shouldn't be so irked by the guy who took your old seat. So what is it about Josep Maria Martí that grinds your gears?

-°•°•°•°•--•°•°•°•°--°•°•°•°•--•°•°•°•°-

You watch the F2 race with an Eagle eye. You know as well as anyone that your friend and old teammate, Ollie Bearman has a seat for next year. Heck, even his new teammate Andrea 'Kimi' Antonelli has one. So you've long since learnt to not keep an eye on him at the start of the race and instead just check in on him periodically. Your attention is turned to the back if the grid, a place that you find your attention drawn to quite frequently as of recently.

Pepe seems like a nice guy. Scratch that he appears to be so incredibly lovely. Even your old competitor (and teammate in a different sense as you both raced for Red Bull) has messaged you saying that Pepe is lovely. And that's saying something because depsite how nice Isack is, he can get very hot tempered when on track, and you'd seen people be at the wrong end of that far too many times to count.

So why on Earth, if all of your friends liked him, did you feel a certain twinge of dislike for him? You hadn't even had a proper conversation with the guy and yet here you stood, quiet resentment coursing through you as you look at the man that took your spot in the Red Bull F2 livery.

Pepe's starting near the back of the grid today. And depsite him clearly having talent, he's had such a poor season this year. Too many 'wrong place, wrong time' occurrences or just strokes of sheer bad luck. And you know that if what you say ypu feel is true, you should be happy at his misfortune!

You push down the conflicting emotions and focus on the now changing lights. 3,4,5 and the minute the lights go out you feel a pit in your stomach. You hardly have any time to question why though when the one of most horrific crashes you've ever witnessed happens in front of your eyes. You gasp, hand flying to your mouth.

You stare at the replay. The same tragedy replaying over and over again like a broken record. Repeating in the same way that you'll sure it will also repeat in your dreams. Without thinking you bolt up, you race to the Red Bull pit wall, you spot Isack and walk over to him. You don't even get a word out before he's sending a string of broken French and English curses. You're to used to his behavior so you don't pay it any mind. Well that and you're kind if focused on something else entirely. Someone else... Not that you'd ever admit that of course.

And if by magic (or by reading your mind,) Isack understands the war waging in your mind. He raises an eyebrow and smirks. You give him a suspicious look "What?" His smirk just widens. "Nothing, I just thought you hated him." You tilt your head and go to respond but the sound of increases hustle behind you makes you turn.

There, somehow relatively unscathed stands Pepe. You let your eyes linger on him for a moment (and the way that the Sun catches his face, making his eyes shine a gorgeous colour, one that you're sure you'll memorise). You shake yourself out of the thoughts if dreaming of a colour until the end of your day's. How corny. You turn back to Isack only to find him walking behind you, grabbing your arm to pull you with him as he walks.

He adresses Pepe in a way that can only be said by a teammate that truly cares about their counterpart. "How are you mate? That looked horrible." Pepe let's out a dry laugh and you let the melodic sound wrap around you as if it were a warm embrace.

Wait a minute...

No, no, no, no, no, no, no!

No!

Oh gosh you can't be thinking like this. You can not possibly be thinking about caring for Josep Maria Martí. You barely even know the guy. You nearly groan aloud out of force of habit but stop yourself. You, however must have imagined stopping yourself as Pepe's eyes finally meet yours. You give him and embarrassed smile and small nod. He just gives you an uncertain nod and his eyes linger on your form for a moment longer before he turns to make eye contact with Isack again.

After a few minutes of them talking, an engineer approaches Isack to let him know he needs to get into the car. Isack bids his goodbyes and a small "Glad you're alright." to Pepe and just smirks at you. You watch Isack's retreating figure ans then slowly turn to Pepe in realisation. "Are you not going to the medics." Pepe smiles slightly and shakes his head. "I did but they said I was alright." You shake your head. "Well that's a lie. No one could have a crash like that and still be alright. Are you sure they checked everything?"

Pepe just gives you a soft grin and nods. His eyes however are drawn to something behind you as his eyes meet the camera not far behind your head. He acknowledges the camera and you turn away slightly, as if trying to convince yourself that your one moment of concern for the Spaniard wasn't just caught on camera for millions to see. You try and instead focus your attention down the pitlane to see the other drivers get in their cars when you hear Pepe's voice. "Thank you for checking." You turn to him and give him a tight lipped smile (that feels far too sincere for your liking).

Before the two of you can let the moment last any longer however, an engineer wraps Pepe up in talks of the new race start. And you duck away to the side of the safety barriers, trying to become invisible to the masses.

☆-☆-☆-☆-☆

"You two looked cosy..." You look up at your phone to give Isack a confused look. "A) How did you get in here and B) what are you talking about?" Iscak just grins and tosses his phone next to you on the bed. You pick it up and scroll for a moment. Looking at a thread of tweets containing both photos and comments about you and Pepe earlier today. Youjust groan, you were only around him for all of a gew minutes and that's what the cameras decided to pick up? "You've made many waves online today. And now everyone is talking about you and shipping you!"

You groan and flop back onto the bed and groan in to the duvet. Isack just chuckles and you look u to send him a harsh glare. "Not helping." Your frustrated words only serve to make him laugh harder and you let your head fall back onto the duvet. "Everyone needs to shut up. I me he's so..." Isack raises an eyebrow, curious as to your next words. You've made no secret if your distate for the Psnaiard over the last fewonths. Yet he's never quite been able to squeeze and exact reaso why out of you. "I..." You look for Isack before rolling your eyes. "Don't need to explain myself to you. Isack just groans and this time you smile at his frustrated demeanor.

☆-☆-☆-☆-☆

"Good luck out there." You turn behind you, the familiar voice that you can't quite place catching you off guard. "I- thank you." You stutter briefly as you meet Pepe's eyes. Not at all expecting him to be here, let alone wish you good luck. The surprise must be evident on your face because Pepe looks down with a bashful smile which also makes you feel a bit guilty. "Where are you watching from?" Pepe looks up at your obvious attempt at civil conversation for the first time. "Just the Red Bull garage for practise but Red Bull said Isack and I can go in yours or Max's on race day." You glance down at the floor, the thought of Pepe in your garage feeling far too civil for your liking, conjuring up far too many thoughts of Pepe in civil, domestic and even romantic scenarios. "You can stay in mine on Sunday of course."

Your heart beats wildly in your chest at your brazen words. And if you'd have blinked you'd have missed the small flash of shock across his face and signature grin finally being aimed at you. And gosh you hate to admit it but it makes your stomach flutter slightly. "You want your first experience here to be one of victory of course." Pepe let's out a low chuckle and you try to ignore the warm feeling that the sound brings you. His eyes meet yours again and you nearly feel yourself get lost in them until a call of your name interrupts your moment. You thank the intrusion of one of your engineers however and you give Pepe a small smile and mutter "It was nice to see you." Before scurrying away, not bearing to see his reaction.

Isack approaches Pepe and slaps him on the shoulder. Pepe's grin and softened eyes change as he squints and turns to his teammate . Before Pepe can even mutter a word, Isack cuts across him. "You're hopeless mate." "I don't know what you're talking about!" Iscak just laughs at his friend's words and walks futher into the garage. Leaving behind a confused and blushing Pepe.

-°•°•°•°•--•°•°•°•°--°•°•°•°•--•°•°•°•°-

Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed!

As always, likes, reblogs and especially feedback is always welcome!

Taglist: @nikfigueiredo @mysoulispainted @leclercings @d3kstar @hiireadstuff @a-beaverhausen @nichmeddar @lozzamez3 @stinkyjax @marymustdie @littlesatanicassholebitch @mehrmonga @insanedeathwish @ems-alexandra @a-disturbing-self-reflection @cherry-piee @thatgirlmj

[ashthewaterghoul]

Mushy May Day 1: Sleepover - Phantom&Copia

Prompt list by @forlorn-crows can be found here All my Mushy May will be shorter stories and can also be found on ao3 :) Words - 860

    The gripped bottoms of Phantom’s bat slippers shuffled across the floor as the plush wings flapped with each step. And each step made their heart flutter with excitement because tonight – just like many nights before – Phantom is sleeping in with their Papa. Well, he is technically Frater, but to Phantom he will always be their Papa.

    They smiled at all the people they usually saw on their nightly walks up to Copia’s chambers, their fluffy pyjama pants and Jack Skellington hoodie on with their blanket and plushie for the night in hand. While they did have their own key for the room, the door was unlocked as always as they reached the Imperatorial Suite and they let themself in.

    “Ah, il mio pipistrello!” Copia said with a smile, arms already open that were instantly full of Phantom.

    “Hey, Papa.” They said as they tucked their head under his chin and nuzzled against his chest, inhaling that thick, comforting scent of stale tobacco and parchment paper.

    “How was your day?” He asked softly, burying his nose into their hair to smell their cosy lavender shampoo.

    “Meh… Long and warm and smelly.” They pouted as they recounted the horrors that is kitchen duty meeting their autism.

    Copia listened to every word as if they would become the new pages of the next Unholy Scriptures, and Phantom would become the idol of his worship. The human then went on to describe his day, sparing as many of the boring details as he could while still letting there at least be a couple things he could talk about. Phantom stared up at him with a wagging tail and eyes full of stars shining brightly for their Papa.

    “What are we eating tonight?” Phantom asked.

    “Your favourite.” Copia smiled.

    Phantom blinked, “Raw Hellbeast heart?”

    “No, scusa,” Copia chuckled softly, “Your human favourite.”

    Phantom smiled as they realised it was their Papa’s incredible spaghetti Bolognese with cheesy garlic bread. It was a simple enough dish but Phantom adored it and whatever Copia put it in to make it the best dish they'd ever tasted made it even better.

    “Fuck yes!” They celebrated, their nose scrunching up and down in what must be one of Copia’s favourite stims to see of his bambino.

    He booped their nose and took their hand to sit them down at their seat at his table – carefully chosen purely on the ability to cross their legs on top of the chair there and not get any glare on the TV – and brought them their plate and favourite Coke.

    “Thank you, Papa.” They smiled.

    “Of course, bambino.” Copia said, kissing the top of their head before taking his seat – the one directly next to Phantom – with his own glass of wine and dug in.

    Copia knew that Phantom often enjoyed silence while they ate, as a way to decompress from their days, and so he left the TV and his record player off. Copia had also learnt how to appreciate the silent company and found how it helped his own anxieties to know he didn’t have to force himself into unnecessary chatter while with his kit.

    Phantom insisted on washing up as Copia was the one to cook, and they had done this dance too many times to try and fight again his little Quint’s determination.

    Copia went to sit on the sofa to scroll through the movie choices. “What do you want to watch? We have the, ehh… new Nosferatu?”

    “I already watched that today.” Phantom smiled.

    “Okay, but that is not an answer, pipistrello.” Copia chuckled, knowing that was just Phantom sharing part of their day, not saying they didn’t want to watch it again.

    They laughed as they dried their hands and snuggled into their Papa’s arms, bringing their bat plushie under their chin and blanket over them both. “I wanna watch it again.”

    Copia’s finger was already over the play button as he smiled and held his kit in his arms, one of their hands on their plushie and the other kneading against their Papa's tummy.

    Phantom’s day must have took more of a toll than they realised because not even half-way through, as Copia was going to get up for snacks, he realised that his kit had fallen asleep on his chest, lulled by his heartbeat and breathing.

    “Ah, cara. You are so cute like this.” He whispered as he gathered them into his arms and carried them to his bed that the Ghouls had long turned into a nest for how many nights at least one of them is with him.

    After gently setting them down in the nest, he climbed in next to them and brought them into his arms once more, placing the blanket over them both and the duvet on top to help stave the chill of the old stone walls.

    With the plushie still under their chin and even unconsciously knowing they were with their Papa, Phantom slept blissfully and peacefully. And neither human nor Ghoul woke up once or saw any of the nightmares that often plagued them.

    They always knew that the other’s arms would be their home, no matter what.

[nentenkoneko]

for the fic rec, maybe tiger ACTUALLY being and alien?? and hes trying to learn like human culture by playing football and interacting w ppl and thats why hes so fucking fast

Words CANNOT DESCRIBE how much I cackled when I saw this pop up in my inbox. This is peak cinema.

It also made me think about a character that would slot very well into this crack-fic; paranoid alien-hunter Klaus. Klaus is onto him being an alien, Tiger knows Klaus is onto him, Tiger thinks it’s hilarious type shit.

Tiger is less ‘learning human culture’ and more ‘he’s already learnt human culture and how to blend in, but sometimes things slip through/or he does stuff on purpose to fuck with Klaus’ because I kinda figured, working with canon and all, that Tiger’s already been around on Earth long enough to establish the ‘norm’. I also didn’t know where I’d even start with Tiger learning new things lol. 

No TWs for this. Just a typical crack-humor fic with some swearing.

—

“–Yeah, and is it true Twisting Tiger’s an alien?”

Tiger grins. He brings his hands up to his face, waggling his fingers like makeshift antennae, “Can I park my flying saucer on your soccer pitch?”

—

Twisting Tiger.

Is an alien.

And now– listen! Listen, okay– he’s not saying that for the sake of saying it. This isn’t another one of his ‘delusions’, as the team lovingly puts it, this is real. Klaus knows Tiger’s an alien. He really knows! Even if the others laugh him off, think this is some made-up fairytale he’s spinning, he knows it isn’t. He knows the truth.

That news report in the paper? It was shabby, yes. Poorly written, yes, but he’d read it over, and it had pretty good points! Tiger was an inhuman force of nature. He has physics-defying hair. And it’s blood red, for crying out loud! That’s weird! That’s not normal! That’s inhuman.

Twisting Tiger is an alien. And he’s sleeping in the room just across from him.

That ‘joke’, earlier today. When Joe had the question that had been buzzing under his skin since that news article came out. Is it true Twisting Tiger’s an alien?

Tiger’s response was no joke. It was a real, genuine question played off as a joke. He had been asking to land his UFO on their soccer pitch- like a vampire asking for permission to enter a house. He didn’t know that was the same for aliens, but it was clear now that it was. 

When no one had bothered to say yes and invite him to land his saucer, Tiger’s laugh had slowed into a soft, casual giggle, but his eyes- they’d roamed. Eyed up all of them. As if he was checking that they were laughing, and not second-guessing his apparent slip-up. 

Klaus had laughed along- he’d have been stupid not to, after all. He’d closed his eyes when Tiger’s lizard-like gaze pierced into his own, feigning wiping tears, blending in with the rest of the crowd.

He couldn’t let Tiger know he was onto him.

Not yet.

—

So.

Klaus thinks he’s an alien.

The mere thought had Tiger snickering into his pillow.

After all their years together, this is what caused the switch to flip? A crappily-made news report? The photo of ‘alien him’ was just a picture of him saturated green; the antennae were a stock-image, and his eyes had just been photoshopped bigger. It was a load of crap! And yet that ‘load of crap’ had been the thing to work.

He’d expected Klaus to come to this conclusion much, much sooner. The guy was the team’s detective– he lived for crime thrillers and science-fiction novels. He’d had long-since figured Klaus would be the one to sniff him out first.

But this long? Seriously?

I can’t let Tiger know I’m onto him.

Unfortunately for Klaus, one of Tiger’s many added bonuses of not being human was the fact he could mindread. Even from behind several heavy doors. Klaus’ head was especially easy to gain access to, out of all his team members. His was scattered and loud, like, constantly. It was hard to not listen to him- his thoughts took up the whole room sometimes. In an amusingly horrible way, that was; it could either be like listening to a train actively derail, or the most in-depth, scarily-accurate theory about something Tiger had ever heard in his life.

This, however, was neither. 

Because firstly, it was a joke. He didn’t need permission to land a god-damn flying saucer anywhere. He wasn’t like a vampire– vampires didn’t even exist. Ghosts do, and demons do too, for the record, but vampires? Nah. Nope. Still just a myth, unfortunately- he’d double checked himself after learning about them from Grimm FC. A true shame, if you asked him; Vlad would be ten times more intimidating on the pitch if he actually was a vampire.

Secondly, his hair? It was gel- could Klaus seriously not tell he gelled his hair? He’d watched him gel it before, many, many times before. What kind of amnesic, dementia-ridden illness had ravaged this man’s brain? And the colour? He dyed it- you know, like normal people do? Did Klaus never question why his eyebrows were black? Because, maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t a natural blood-redhead? His own actual species didn’t grow bright red hair. They had typical, natural shades just like the rest of the galaxy. Humans weren’t as special as they thought they were.

And thirdly? 

Hm. 

Well, he had no other points, really. All he had now was an issue on his hands. A mild one, granted, but an issue nonetheless.

Klaus was… He was persistent. When he wanted to be, that was. Usually, Tiger appreciated his bounds of endless energy and child-like determination, but his apparent new obsession with him could definitely prove to be an issue.

But, on the contrary, it also might not be. For where Klaus had persistence, he lacked… Well, he lacked brain cells, to put it bluntly. Klaus could be smart, but he typically wasn’t, and that was that. 

Either way, he needed to act normal. Just enough for Klaus’ week or two obsession period to calm itself down, at least, then things could go back to the way it was. 

Yeah. That didn’t sound too hard. Right? Hell, maybe he could even mess with him a little.

—

He didn’t even mean to mess with him, but the next morning, here he was. Messing with him.

The team had gathered early for pre-match practice, yawning and stretching as they jogged easy laps around The Sultans’ pitch. The grounds were immaculate, as expected from the richest team in the league, every blade of grass identically trimmed like it had been cut with nail clippers. It was a beautiful, peaceful place to train, even if most of the guys looked too groggy to appreciate it.

Staying overnight in places this fancy tended to lull the body into a sort of vacation-mode. Or maybe, Tiger thought, casting a look toward Shakes and North dragging their feet like zombies, some people had simply stayed up too late exploring endless hotel lobbies. Or in El Matador’s case, it was probably more shop after shop than anything. The man’s bank account was probably as drained as that poor guy looked right now.

He, on the other hand, was in his prime.

While the others blinked at the sun like hungover cats, Tiger was loose, focused, stretching and jogging with the ease of someone built for movement. 

Which, to be fair- he was.

His species thrived on minimal rest. Had adapted to it millennia ago. He didn’t need more than a few hours, biologically speaking- not that he’d ever listened to that, though. He’d grown fond of sleeping in, of curling up under warm blankets and pretending he was just as tired and soft-limbed as the rest of them. There was something nice about naps. Comforting. Warm. Human.

But this morning, he was sharp. Limber. Muscles humming with restless energy. He was excited for the game later this afternoon, after all. He was always energised on match days.

Even with his restlessness, he kept himself reined in. He always did.

Stretching was where he had to be careful- he had too many extra tendons. Hidden joints, muscles; little evolutionary tweaks that gave him a range of motion human bodies just weren’t meant to have. Over the years, he’d learned what he could get away with through trial, error, and several panicked teammates yelling things like “Your shoulder’s not supposed to bend that way!” or “Oh my God did you break your leg!?”

Long story short, he knew the acceptable boundaries.

He started with casual, basic stretches- calves, thighs, hamstrings. All slow, familiar movements anyone could do with ease. Once he was ‘loosened up’ he then eased into deeper poses. He took a lot of inspiration from yoga, when he stretched. The poses helped scratch some of his itches when it came to not being able to use more hidden parts of his alien self. He’d learnt a lot of the techniques through watching videos; he especially liked the ones where the instructors looked like they were folding themselves in half like a piece of paper, but somehow kept a casual, happy smile on their faces the entire time.

Arching backwards, vertebrae flexing one by one, he leaned until gravity tipped him over, hands catching the ground, absorbing the fall with practiced ease. He lifted into a smooth handstand, his legs swinging up and over his head in a graceful arc, momentum carrying him forward, gracefully.

Then he dropped. Into the splits.

And not just a casual, yoga-guy-on-Instagram kind of splits. He sank into it, legs pushed so far apart they nearly flattened against the turf. It was gymnastics more than yoga at this point, but it felt good. This kind of stretch helped reach muscles of his that humans didn’t even have- ones he never, ever got to stretch out. He leaned into it happily, pressing down on his knees to curve them inwards towards the grass. It probably looked a little odd, but nobody had to be looking that closely at him, right–?

A sharp, strangled wheeze from behind him told him otherwise.

Tiger glanced over his shoulder and found Klaus standing a few feet away, completely frozen. His eyes were wide, horrified. Luckily, his eyes didn’t seem to be on the unnatural curve of his knees- instead, his gaze was sitting... between Tiger’s legs. Klaus’ own legs were crossed over one another tightly, in a way that suggested the sight had caused him physical pain down there–

Oh. Oh. Right, humans had sensitive groin areas. This probably looked really, really uncomfortable.. He tended to forget that, sometimes. There was a lot to remember, okay? He was trying.

Easing up on the pressure against his knees, he flashed Klaus a smile. “Hi.”

Klaus didn’t respond- he simply turned and walked away. More so waddled away, actually, kind of like a penguin. It was as if he’d actually been struck down there.

Tiger blinked, “Uh… Bye?”

—

“Supa Strikas aren’t doing too well, Mac.”

“You don’t need to tell me, Brenda– it’s clear to see! Something needs to change on their end, and soon, otherwise this’ll be a clear win for The Sultans.”

“So much for positive commentary,” Tiger couldn’t help but mutter under his breath, painfully dragging his body up from the stadium floor.

He winced at the dull throb against the curve of his back. His attempted sideswipe had gone wide, his timing off. By the time he was upright again, the ball was already speeding down the field, right into Strikas’ defence. He spat a sharp curse in Japanese.

Fast. I need to go fast. He pushed off his back foot. Catch up, catch up. This is your fault if they score, catch up.

The world blurred. The crowd was a smear of noise. The ball was his target, and Zahir– well, Zahir was just an obstacle. The Sultan’s captain moved like smoke and silk, threading between defenders with cold precision. Blok was bearing down on him like the solid tank he was, but Zahir wasn’t interested in brute force. Instead he twisted, he slipped, and Blok stumbled past with a frustrated grunt.

Zahir smirked, confident enough to wink at the man as their paths crossed. The goal was opening. Bo stood at the ready, arms outstretched and face clenched in focus.

But Tiger was faster. He was always faster.

“Twisting Tiger’s appeared out of nowhere!”

He didn’t think. He didn’t even need to. He let his instinct guide him.

He dropped low, palms slapping painfully against the turf. His leg whipped around, a blur of motion, grazing the ball with just enough force to tear it from Zahir’s feet. The Sultans’ captain barely had time to react before Tiger had already spun, redirecting the ball back out towards the midfield with a sharp, strong kick.

Rasta was there, as expected. He caught it, pivoting swiftly on his feet as he turned and pushed forward. Joe was quick to the change in direction, his shoes skidding against the ground as he moved to follow, hot on the Captain’s heels. The crowd exploded into a deafening roar.

“What a dispossess! That looked insane– Tiger’s doing the defenders’ job for them!”

“It looked inhuman, Mac! That was incredible work by the midfielder!”

Shit.

Tiger froze for half a second as he moved to sit up. That… that had sounded a bit too impressed. Were they playing it up for the cameras? Or had it really looked that unnatural?

Whichever it was, he wasn’t about to risk it. Forcing a few exaggerated pants, he held a hand to his ribs as if winded, buying himself the illusion of recovery. Sweat dripped down the side of his face- forced, not natural. He hated sweating, but it worked a charm in his little world of pretend. 

The sun blotted out as a shadow cast over him. Blok loomed above, expression hidden behind his hair. A large hand reached down, palm up. Tiger took it gratefully, letting himself be gently hauled to his feet like a baby deer finding its legs. “Brrztl.”

That he was sure meant something positive. Cool maybe. Or nice job? He wasn’t too well-versed in Brislovian. It was one of the more tricker languages the Earth had to offer. Regardless, he gave a small, grateful smile and nodded. “Thanks.”

“Dude, that looked nuts- you good?” North jogged over, sweat clinging to his forehead and hairline. “You saved our asses. Coach would've skinned us alive if we’d let that bastard through again.”

“I’m good. I think.” Tiger coughed once, lightly, then pretended to stagger slightly. “Didn’t know I could run that fast. Wow.”

North barked a laugh. “Humble as ever.” He reached out and gave his shoulder a firm squeeze, steadying him. “You’re a force of nature, man. That was top-notch.”

“Bratzle brot,”

“Stop it-” Tiger couldn’t help but smile, ducking his head, “You’re embarrassing me.”

“Don’t lie, you enjoy the attention.” North teased, a hand ruffling through his hair. “You soak it up more than El Matador does sometimes.”

“I do not!” 

“Oh you so do.”

“After his earlier save, it seems Twisting Tiger’s decided to call the game quits!”

“Come on, Tiger! One save doesn’t make you a defender– stop hanging out with your backline!”

North snorted. “They’re right, y’know.” He chided with a tut, “You’ve caught your breath. Time to buzz off and go do your job- slacking’s totally more our thing.”

“Ha ha.” Tiger rolled his eyes, throwing up his hands in mock-surrender, “Alright, I’m going, I’m going.”

—

Tiger had been wandering back from the water fountain when he’d heard it.

“I’m telling you, guys!” Klaus’ shrill, panicked voice echoed through the corridor, “It’s true! It’s really true!”

Ah. So much for subtlety, then. Seemed like just because Klaus didn’t want Tiger to know he was ‘onto him’, it didn’t mean the rest of the team were spared his crazed conspiracy rants. Lucky them.

His insane save during the match probably hadn’t helped much… If anything, that’d probably just put more coal into the burning fire that was that man’s delusional brain.

Wandering a little closer to the semi-open door of the changing room, he slinked into the shadows of the closest wall, folding his arms lazily across his chest as he listened in.

“You seriously believe that dumb news report thing?” That was North’s voice, flat, yet laced with amusement. “C’mon, dude. That pic was made in IBIS Paint or something. I could’ve made something better with my eyes closed.”

There was a chorus of light snickers- Blok’s rumble of a chuckle, Cool Joe’s sharp bark of laughter. Even Rasta let out a little snort, “You can’t seriously be thinkin’ Tiger’s an alien, man.”

“I don’t think it,” Klaus huffed. “I know it. Forget about the newsletter- didn’t you guys see him today? How he ran? Moved? That wasn’t normal!”

“Like how you ‘knew’ Joe was a cyborg?” Shakes giggled, electing to ignore Klaus’ ‘facts’, “Or when you thought Bo was a werewolf?”

“What about the time he thought I was a vampire?” Eagle Eye’s voice sounded a mixture between fond and amused, “The only proof you had was that I slept ‘like a vampire’ during the one night we shared a room.”

“Guys?” Klaus’ voice grew louder, attempting to hover over the rising voices, “Are you even listening right now?” “–Still had him convinced for months.” North cackled. “Remember the bulbs of garlic he used to wear around you?”

“Hello!?”

“–He used to spray me with holy water he bought on ebay too.” Eagle Eye chuckled, “It came in one of those little plastic spray bottles- it was kind of cute, honestly–"

“Forget about all of that! I’m right this time!” Klaus butted back in, “And I’ll prove it. I will! And when the mothership comes down and Tiger’s on it, waving at us with all seven of his arms, don’t come crying to me!”

This, of course, only served to make the team laugh harder.

Klaus’ thoughts seeped out into the hallway, loud and pouty. Why don’t they believe me? They’re not taking this seriously at all. This is a very serious matter! There’s an alien among us!

Tiger stifled a snicker.

Maybe Tiger wiped their memories… Maybe- maybe he’s controlling them right now, forcing them to try and throw me off course. I know I’m right- I’m onto you, Tiger!

He wasn’t even doing anything! Klaus was spiraling all on his own, he had absolutely no part in this madness. 

Yet. He had no part in this madness yet.

Shifting his weight, he leaned closer, tilting his head to peer around the door.

Klaus was standing in the middle of the group like a preacher mid-sermon, wild-eyed and gesturing dramatically, while the rest of the team tried their best not to collapse laughing. 

“I’ll prove it– you hear me!” He ranted, “I’ll prove it, and I’ll save us all! Then you’ll be thankful! You’ll all be thankful!”

“Whatever you say, man.” Shakes chuckled, “Whatever you say.”

“Gah!”

Tiger drew back just as Klaus stomped over to the door, yanking it open with frustration. 

That frustration was quickly replaced with a -very manly, mind you- scream of sheer terror.

“Hey Klaus.” Tiger grinned up at him, “Whatcha talkin’ about?”

“I-uh-I-” Klaus’ throat squeezed, making a weird, odd little squeak sound. Kind of like a startled rabbit. Or a mouse. That was probably more accurate. “Somethi-nothing- uhm, I- scheiße-”

“You alright there?” Tiger tilted his head innocently, “You look a little pale, my Earthly companion.”

The rest of the locker room howled in laughter. Poor Klaus only freaked out more. 

He’s onto me! Klaus’ thoughts screamed at him, He’s going to silence me! Drag me to his ship and dissect me! Oh lord, this is the end! 

Tiger leaned in closer, lowering his voice for only Klaus to hear. “I won’t dissect you.” He whispered with a toothy smile, “Yet.”

Klaus’ jaw dropped comically as he reared backwards with a surprised; “What the fuck-!?”

—

Klaus had run off after that, sprinting and ducking behind one of the corridors winding through The Goliath's halls like he was a character straight out of an episode of Scooby-Doo. Cartoonish wails and screams included, of course.

And Tiger hadn’t seen him since. 

Granted Tiger hadn’t seen anyone since. That was Friday. It was the weekend now, and they’d long since travelled back to Strikaland. Everyone was off doing their own thing, as they typically did, but Rasta, ever the social one, had invited the team to a barbeque at his place, and Tiger absolutely couldn’t say no to a good meal. Especially if it was one of Rasta’s- his food was out of this world. Pun intended.

And neither could Klaus, apparently, because as Tiger wandered into Rasta’s living room, there he was, sitting on the couch in all his paranoid, conspiracy glory.

Dressed head-to-toe in layers of black, he wore a thick, crumpled tin foil… Hat? Helmet? It extended past what Tiger would define as a ‘hat’, covering part of his jaw and cupping around under his chin, but looked far too shabby to be some sort of helmet. Whatever it was, it was accompanied by a brand new, fresh garlic bulb, hung from a thin piece of string around his neck. A little notebook was resting against his thigh, a hastily scribbled title across the front of it. ’Alien proof’, it read. 

And in his hands sat a– was that a gun?!

No, wait, pause, not a gun. Well, technically it was a gun. Both a gun and not a gun. A nerf gun. It was a nerf gun. Spray-painted a weird mix of greens in some crappy attempt at mimicking military camo, it was clutched tight in his shaky fingers. 

Fingers which had raised and took aim at him as soon as he entered the room.

Tiger said nothing.

Klaus said nothing back, but his sweaty fingers tightened against the plastic toy ever so slightly. He can’t read my mind now, because of the tin foil. His thoughts, as loud and unmuted as always, seeped into his ears, He’s trying, I know he is. I was ready for you this time, Tiger!

He blinked. 

Klaus blinked back.

He knew Klaus had some serious issues, but this was a whole other level.

“Be careful.” Klaus finally decided to break the silence, cocking the gun like some sort of western gunslinger, “It’s loaded with blessed foam.”

Tiger quirked a brow, “Blessed foam? Blessed by who, exactly…?”

“I emailed a priest.” Klaus replied, his voice deadly serious. “And paypaled him five bucks to bless them over a video call.”

“Well…” He blinked once more, “Does it work on aliens?”

I don’t think so, “Yes.” I don’t even think the priest blessed these right… “It does.”

“Uh huh.” Tiger nodded, “So… Are you gonna shoot me with it, then?”

Klaus looked visibly uncomfortable now. “Yes— no- maybe?” He stammered, “Just- just don’t come closer and I won’t have to, alright?”

“I’m literally just here for the food, dude.” Tiger couldn’t help but grin, raising his arms up in mock surrender, “Alien or not, a guy’s gotta eat.”

Klaus squinted at him suspiciously. “I’m not sure I believe you, Außerirdische.”

Tiger chuckled. “Do you think I don’t eat or something?”

“I think you do more than you let on, that’s for sure.”

“What is that even supposed to mean–?”

Click.

An orange-tipped foam dart soared through the air in a high, powerful arc, slamming into his chest with the power of… Of a feather, honestly. Bouncing off of his chest, it did a little aerodynamic twirl before it hit the floor with a weary, pathetic plap.

Both of their eyes instantly moved to stare at it. An awkwardly long silence followed.

Tiger sighed, shaking his head sadly. “Honestly wish it’d killed me at this point.”

Klaus shrieked, pelting more foam bullets at him as he bolted upwards, sprinting like a madman for the patio doors, “Rastaaaaa-!”

“Rasta! Bo! Bo!! He didn’t even flinch!” Klaus wailed, throwing the gun once closer, his hands childishly grabbing the nearest body for safety- Bo, in this case, who didn’t even budge an inch despite being clung to like a human shield. “I shot him and he didn’t even flinch!”

“Wait, what–?” Rasta instantly turned from the grill at that, looking mortified, “-you shot someone!?”

Klaus pointed a trembling finger back toward the house, where Tiger had now casually situated himself, hands in pockets as he watched the whole mess unfold. “I hit him with the blessed foam!” He cried, “And it didn’t do anything!”

Bo’s brows raised now, this time in confusion. “Blessed foam?”

Rasta groaned softly, clearly already sensing where this was going. “Klaus…”

“He’s immune to holy artifacts!” Klaus sounded on the verge of tears, “And that proves it- that proves it! He’s an alien!!”

Bo and Rasta shared a look. The look in fact. It was often a look the duo usually reserved for El Matador and El Matador alone, but clearly they’d decided amongst themselves it was time to add alien-hunter Klaus to the list.

Bo sighed, reaching down to peel Klaus off of him like a strip of velcro, lifting him up by the scruff of his shirt so they were eye-to-eye. “Tiger’s not an alien, Klaus.”

“He is!” Klaus flailed his arms wildly, “Why won’t you believe me!”

“Aliens aren’t real, Klaus.” 

“They are!” He wriggled and writhed in the man’s grip, twisting about until he could point directly at Tiger’s smug face. “He’s right there, Bo! Right there! Look at his face!”

“He’s a lost cause, brother,” Joe called from over by the pool, “Just duct tape his mouth shut and let nature take its rightful course.”

“Not a bad shout.” North snickered from beside him. “Some quiet would be nice.”

“Klaus.” Bo sounded so, so tired. “If I let you go, will you promise to keep the conspiracies to a minimum–?”

“If you get go of me he’ll kill me!” He wailed, “He said he was gonna dissect me!”

“Tiger!” Rasta scolded, sounding less like a friend and more like a dad of sorts, “We don’t say things like that to people.”

“I was joking!” He laughed, raising his hands up in mock-surrender, “I’m sorry, Klaus, I didn’t mean it.”

“You read my mind!” Klaus accused him, “You knew I was thinking it, that’s why you said it! Admit it!”

“I did not!”

“Did too!” 

“If he admits it,” Bo sighed, “will you shut up?” 

“Yes!”

“Tiger, please just admit you read his mind–”

“I didn’t read his mind!” Tiger barked. Then, catching Bo’s deadpan look, he gritted his teeth. “…Fine! Fine.” He muttered with a huff, “I ‘read your mind’, Klaus.”

“I knew it!” Klaus shrieked, pointing triumphantly, wriggling even more in Bo’s grip like an excited puppy. “I knew it! You’re an alien! A mind-reading, soul-sucking, spaghetti-brain alien from— from– uh-” He sputtered, “somewhere in space! Mars, probably!”

Tiger looked to Bo and Rasta with a flat expression. “This is your fault."

—

Inspo mainly from Klaus-centric episodes such as ‘On Klaus inspection’ and ‘Klaus encounters of the nerd kind’.

Not my best work as I struggle to write stuff like this, but I gave it a shot. Also been super busy with irl stuff but I wanted to still take some time to write something for you. Sorry if it’s crap lol <3

Additional scene I half drabbled up for you also;

…

“You were right, Klaus.”

He paused, frowning, “W-what?”

“I said.” Tiger’s eyes glinted in the dim light. Like an animal’s. “You were right, Klaus.”

“You’re an-” Klaus cuts himself off, taking a shaky step backwards. Tiger instantly fills that gap, keeping close. He gulps. His voice trembles. “You’re an alien.”

“I am.”

Klaus’ eyes were as wide as frisbees, his jaw slack, “Why are you telling me this..?”

A low, devilish smirk spread across Tiger’s lips. He leaned in closer, his breath a whisper, “Because no one will ever believe you.”

—

[yanderedrabbles]

congrats! Ur work has rlly paid off

If ur not uncomfortable(if u r pls ignore), how'd u do it? I've started out at the same time and dont even have quarter the amount u have which rlly bums me out and makes me want to stop posting

One totally simple secret- I post a TON. Like almost every day.

The only month I didn't post almost every day was January, and while I don't have a screenshot of my activity, my notes absolutely plummeted. From about 2000/day to about 400/day. It took the whole of February and most of March to get them back to my pre-hiatus levels.

Let's look at the stats:

I didn't post a new fic yesterday or today and you can see how my notes tanked from around 2000 to about 1000 in just a day.

POSTING FREQUENTLY IS THE BEST WAY TO GROW!

I'm sorry to yell at you gorgeous, but it's true. While I put a ton of work into variety and into improving my craft, the biggest factor has been posting frequency. It keeps me on top of common tags and recommendations, so new readers are a lot more likely to stumble on my stuff. It keeps my current readers engaged. It's the main way I've gained followers.

Okay, we got that out of the way? Let's get into some of the more nuanced practices that boost reach.

You can see that my fic length varies a lot. There are plenty of posts under a thousand words, but also a few topping ten thousand.

I think that having variety keeps things interesting for my readers. Most of us don't have time to sit down and read a 10k word fic every day, but we still want to have our yandere fix. That's where my shorter stuff comes in.

I think having variety in length also draws in new readers. You might be skeptical about reading a 12k word smut if it pops up on your dash and you have no clue who the author is, but you're probably down to read the quick 600 to a 1000 word drabble. And if you like it, you might just check out more of my stuff! Yippee!

I also aim for variety in style. Let's look at some of my more popular posts:

Yandere Best Friend

Yandere Greek Champion

Yandere Yakuza

Yandere Fairytale

Did ya notice anything? All four are pretty popular fics on my blog, and they're all VERY different. In length, in formatting, in the approach to storytelling.

Variety is the spice of life! Have fun with your writing, experiment, take risks. If it doesn't work, then at least you took the chance and learnt something. Your readers are not going to complain, I promise.

Editing is also a must. You're almost always going to miss a typo or two - they're like mosquitoes in summer, they somehow always manage to slip through the cracks - but a fic should be pleasant to read. If I see five typos in the first paragraph, it's a bit of a turn-off. Most apps have a built-in spell check, and I've recently been experimenting with Grammarly. Even just doing a final comb-over before you post makes a huge difference.

Tag your stuff too! I have my go-to set of tags that I usually use on my posts, but I'm always on the lookout for new tags that are applicable to my posts. How else are people going to see your stuff? How else will Tumblr know to recommend you? Use tags babe, I promise they don't bite.

Oh, and don't forget to ask for feedback either. Beta readers and writing groups are the backbone behind so many famous real-world authors. Your Tumblr moots will be happy to skim over your stuff and give you some pointers. We're all in this together, and that means striving to get better together.

And finally, I'm always trying to learn more about writing. All the tips and tricks behind it. All the ways I can make my stuff just a little better - my dialogue a bit more snappy, my prose a bit easier to read.

My go-to writing guy is James Scott Bell. Especially Voice - the secret power behind great writing. James is funny and easy to read, so I HIGHLY recommend his books on writing. Currently, I'm reading How to Write Pulp Fiction and it's soooo helpful. Am I actually getting better as a writer? That's debatable, but I'm constantly putting in the effort and I think my readers can sense that.

"But Val, I can't write every day! I've got obligations, work, school, a hundred different things to get done! Hitting 2k words daily just isn't possible for me!"

I hear ya kid. But guess what? I couldn't clock 2000 words a day at the beginning either. But I forced myself to sit down and write as much as I could between all my other obligations. Over time, you'll learn to write faster. You'll learn to push through all the small worries holding you back. You'll learn to optimise your workflow so that you clock an easy 1k in an hour.

Every little bit counts. Even if all you can spare is 300 words a day or half an hour of editing, it adds up. By the end of the week, that's already a 2.1k fic ready to go.

I used to think writers were just insanely talented and naturally creative. And I have no doubt so many are. But it takes practice and patience to improve.

We all get those moments when we ask ourselves if we should even bother. What if I'm a total hack? What if I'm the worst person to put paper to pen since the author of My Immortal? What if what if what if -

Stop. Just keep writing.

Don't listen to those voices. If you do, you won't write anything at all, and how are supposed to improve if there's nothing to improve upon?

Sometimes, it's like a kick to the jaw to see another writer doing well. Why isn't that me? What are they doing that I'm not? I deserve it just as much as they do, so why am I not getting the same amount of notes?

Don't even bother entertaining thoughts like those. Take a deep breath and then keep writing. You have your own voice and style that your fans love. Your only competition is with yourself.

There you have it. Simple as it gets.

I promise you, you're an author worth reading. You have fans who love you, who can't help but scream when you post a new fic. Just keep putting in the hours and it WILL pay off.

[whencyclopedia]

The Home of the Fish

The Home of the Fish is a Sumerian poetic monologue, most likely from the Ur III Period (2047-1750 BCE), in which the speaker tries to coax various fish into a newly built home. The meaning of the poem depends on whether the speaker is sincere in his or her invitation or has actually built a trap.

According to some interpretations (including that of scholar Jeremy Black), the speaker is a fisherman who has constructed an elaborate trap he then tries to entice the fish to enter. This interpretation casts all the praises of the speaker in a sinister light as they are only being used to lure the fish into the trap. Another interpretation, however, gives the speaker as Nanshe, the Sumerian goddess of social justice and divination, who also presided over water and aquatic life. The fish, in fact, was one of her symbols. If the speaker is Nanshe, she is sincere in her praise of the fish and her welcome to the home she has created for them.

Both interpretations cite the final line of the work – "Just you come to me! Nanshe, the queen of the fishermen, will be delighted with you" (C17) – in support. If the speaker is a fisherman, Nanshe would be invoked in her capacity as his patron goddess – who cared for those who caught fish as well as the fish themselves – and, if the speaker is Nanshe, it would not be unusual for the goddess to refer to herself in the third person as this is quite common in Sumerian poetry. The goddess Inanna, for example (Nanshe's sister), refers to herself in this same way in some works.

It is up to a reader to decide who is speaking and what their intentions are, but both interpretations, relying on the same words, can be equally valid. The work was part of the curriculum of the edubba ("House of Tablets"), the Sumerian scribal school and would have been used to help students memorize the names of different fish and their defining characteristics. The poem is among the more popular works of Mesopotamian literature today and seems to have also been in its time based on the number of fragments discovered, beginning in the 19th century, in the ruins of ancient cities throughout Iraq.

Commentary & Summary

The poem was most likely composed around the same time – c. 2000 BCE – as The Debate Between Bird and Fish, The Debate Between Sheep and Grain, and the other literary debates which were popular during the Ur III Period. Shulgi of Ur (r. 2029-1982 BCE) made literacy a priority in his kingdom and so established more scribal schools and commissioned more works for the curriculum. Scribes in ancient Mesopotamia learned their craft from a young age (possibly beginning at eight years old) through their early twenties, progressing from simple to more difficult compositions. The Home of the Fish would have most likely been included in the texts toward the end of a student's education when one was expected to be able to memorize and copy intricate works.

This probability is suggested by the names of the fish and their characteristics that appear throughout as scribes were expected to be well educated in all disciplines. Black writes:

Many different kinds are specified and are described in vivid and probably humorous terms. Mostly the varieties cannot be securely identified with modern species, so here their names are left in Sumerian. There is an intimate lexical relationship between the names of the fish enumerated here and those in the traditional list of fish, one among the many word lists which had been learnt for centuries by apprentice scribes in Mesopotamian schools. This strongly suggests that the composition had been adapted for school use by incorporating extra pedagogical material. (240)

The poem, if the speaker is understood as Nanshe, would have also underscored the goddess' care for the creatures of the waters of Mesopotamia as she has built them a new home where they will be safe from predators and could therefore be considered a song of praise. If the speaker is a fisherman, the work would still function as a praise song, as Nanshe would have inspired the fisherman to create his elaborate trap.

The poem begins with the speaker announcing a "new home" for the fish, and throughout Segment A, it is described as a place of safety to which all fish should come quickly. The house is described as a haven to which all are welcome – in keeping with Nanshe's role as a protectress of refugees and the homeless – and the fish are encouraged to bring all their friends and neighbors. Lines A45-67 reference Dumuzid and Acimbabbar Suen – a fertility/underworld god and the moon god, respectively – both having to do with transformation. The earlier lines (A25-33) encouraging the fish to enter quickly before the night comes, in some interpretations, may be referencing stability (the house) in the face of change (the water) – the concept of transformation from the world of mutability to that of unchanging eternity.

In Segments B and C, the speaker notes how, in this new home, the fish will be safe from birds who carry them off in their claws, and the work concludes with a call to hurry because "time is pressing" before ending with the ambiguous line, "Nanshe, the queen of fishermen, will be delighted with you", the pivotal line in interpreting who is speaking and what their intention might actually be.

Continue reading...

[yuzukahibiscus]

Serika Toa's Final Press Conference Q&A

(Note: When I started getting into Takarazuka, Kiki is one of those siennes whose bright smile and adorable humour drew me in. It was later when I checked out her lead performances that I found how much sincerity and love she has for each character to showcase a vulnerability and versatility that related to many. Here's a translation of her press conference, and congratulations to her graduation from Takarazuka! :)

Source from Sponichi Annex and the Takarazuka homepage (link will be expired later), pictures from Nikkan Sports and Sankei.

Serika Toa's message

I've graduated from Takarazuka today (on April 27). I am overwhelmed with gratitude to everyone. I feel lonely to be leaving from Takarazuka, a place where I have learnt so many, but I'd like to embark on my life in my footsteps in the future.

―― What is Takarazuka to you?

(Before this conference) I knew that this question would be asked, and had wanted to think of an answer. But at that time, (graduating) didn't feel real to me and before I knew it, I was working hard every day on the next rehearsal. Now I will say, that it is the most sparkling place in my life, that's what Takarazuka is to me.

―― Moving on, what is it that you want to try in the future?

I'm going to start thinking what I want to pursue in the future. I love learning, so I'm going to find something to learn.

―― Why did you choose the black tails for your final costume?

Back in the Grand Theatre, when I wore the black tails to deliver my speech, my fans (wrote to me / told me) that I looked perfect in black tails, and also because there weren't many scenes where I wore black tails in the performance, so I wanted to appear in black tails before everyone again.

―― You're no longer going to play an otokoyaku anymore.

It's true that this marked my end as an otokoyaku, but I'm always thinking of achieving breakthroughs - such as how to approach my role sincerely, or what I want to present in a performance as a stage performer.

―― The sayonara show included songs, in which their lyrics conveyed your thoughts. What message do you have for the audience through the last song "Future Revolution"?

As said, I chose my favourite songs which best expressed the words I wanted to convey, and those became the setlist for the sayonara show to send my messages that I have yet told the audience. 'Future Revolution' of "Die Rauber" represents...my wish. The song was so compatible, that I wondered if it was written to be performed in a sayonara show. The lyrics 'With everyone's smiles, a new world is born' are so grandeur, and it was the best song that best showcased our motivation of how we wanted to perform on stage. I sang this song (with my members), because it would be great to convey this feeling to the audience.

―― The troupe leader (kumichou), Matsukaze Akira had said, that she had been watching you over as someone glamorous and reliable.

I am very moved to hear that. Kumichou is one year more senior than I am, but she's someone who can see through me for who I truly am. I am very glad to hear these words from kumichou.

―― Are there any regrets you have in your 18 years of Takarazuka career?

I'd say... I don't have regrets. (These 18 years) has been really fulfilling and satisfying, and that's the best feeling to have.

―― What were you thinking when you saw the audience holding up the penlights?

The penlights turned blue when I sang Star Troupe colours, and pink when I sang Flower Troupe ones... and I resonated deeply with the fans. Truly, this is all because of my fans in Takarazuka. It was because of the fans who supported me along the way, that I could continue to work harder. I am nothing but thankful.

―― Do your flowers today carry any significance?

There's no special meaning to it - I just thought they would look fabulous with my black tails. I hope that you could watch me to the end as an otokoyaku, so I've chosen orchids and callas.

―― Any plans for marriage?

(She smiles) About that... I don't have any plans yet, yeah.

―― Any words for your juniors?

I've learnt so much from you all and I am only grateful. I have so many words and thoughts I want to convey to you, but I'd like you all to stay healthy and energetic, and enjoy the stage the best you can.

[redbecomesher]

GRACE UPON GRACE E:12

Ministering To Others

Hi y’all, today we are going to talk about ministering:) as Christian’s we should preach the world (Bible) to unbelievers because it allows God to open their heart to Him and just be more educated on Jesus. We are going to talk about 1. What is ministering 2. Leading by example 3. Speaking with love not judgement 4. The power of testimony 5. Trusting the Holy Spirit 6. How and Where To Minister. <3

What Is Ministering?:

You might think that ministering is only for priests, but it’s actually for every type of Christ follower, whether you’re a priest or regular man/woman who loves God! Ministering is so beautiful because it’s lovers of Jesus spreading His love. You don’t need anything to minister, it’s not even a job, it’s a type of conversation with unbelievers in all types of places, never get nervous or embarrassed of the reactions you might get, because it could lead to them thinking about your interaction later in their day.

Leading By Example:

Just living for God in Godly ways is enough to lead by example, others seeing your “Jesus Glow” can make them think about opening the Bible or pray because you look so happy and fulfilled. It’s so important as Christians to not just preach about living for Christ but actually acting out our words so we don’t look hypocritical.

Speaking With Love, Not Judgement:

I see so many beautiful preachers go to the colleges or parades/events on the internet like e.g. Nicolas Bowling or Cliffe Knechtle, to spread the word of God and answer unbelievers questions. But sometimes I come across preachers who are aggressive and looking for an aggressive debate, which isn’t going to lead anyone to Christ, but maybe further away. When you minister, it’s important to have grace by speaking with kindness, listening, non judgement and sharing your testimony, so they feel comfortable in your presence instead of scared.

The Power Of Testimony:

Sharing how and when you encountered God is so powerful! They show God’s work in a real and personal way. When we share our testimony, we aren’t just telling our story—we’re revealing the love, mercy, and transformation that Jesus brings. Your testimony is hopeful to others that need to hear to believe that God can help them too, also people may argue about theology, but they can’t deny your experience with God. So when you share, share honestly (no sugar coding), focus on Jesus, keep it simple and trust the Holy Spirit to guide you while speaking. Never underestimate your testimony. Even if you think it’s small, God can use it in a big way. Your testimony could be the light that leads someone to Jesus!

Trusting The Holy Spirit:

To trust the Holy Spirit is to rely on God to guide your words and actions. Ministering to others can feel overwhelming. But God never intended for us to do it alone. The Holy Spirit is our guide, giving us wisdom, strength, and the right words at the right time. We need the Holy Spirit because we shouldn’t rely on our own understanding but on the Holy Spirit who is our teacher. Another reason is, the Holy Spirit gives us spiritual gifts like e.g. wisdom, discernment, teaching, and more to equip you.

Where And How You Can Minister:

• At Home: Minister to your family by showing Christ’s love, praying together, and leading by example.

• At school or Work: Your kindness, patience, and willingness to share God’s truth can be a testimony to those around you.

• In Friendships: Encourage and pray for friends, and be a light in their lives.

• Online: Social media, blogs, or messages can be powerful ways to spread the gospel.

• Church: Leading Bible studies, mentoring new believers, or teaching children’s ministry.

• Community: Helping the homeless, visiting the sick, or volunteering in community programs. Or praying for others, whether in person, over the phone, or online.

I hope y’all enjoyed and learnt something new with this subject, God bless you and remember God loves you! Read you bibles,pray and worship Jesus today:)

MATTHEW 28:19-20

“Therefore go and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, and teaching them to obey everything I have commanded you. And surely I am with you always, to the very end of the age.”

2 CORINTHIANS 5:20

“We are therefore Christ’s ambassadors, as though God were making his appeal through us. We implore you on Christ’s behalf: Be reconciled to God.”

COLOSSIANS 4:6

“Let your conversation be always full of grace, seasoned with salt, so that you may know how to answer everyone.”

1 PETER 3:15-

“But in your hearts revere Christ as Lord. Always be prepared to give an answer to everyone who asks you to give the reason for the hope that you have. But do this with gentleness and respect,

[deceit-and-knowledge]

(ooc: XD Hehe!)

Glad to hear you're feeling better, Mage Truthless, and also understandable with the wretched time of pain. *they shake their head.* Take it easy today.

And I'm so glad you loved the dress and enjoyed your time with it..! *anon cheers.* And sounds like someone else was quite enjoying it too? Hee hee! *they giggle.* It's yours to do as you please. I can repair it to an extend if something should happen or make a new one. So don't fret about it. As long as it brings you joy.

Oh? He does? That's wonderful..! I'm sure it helps him relax a bunch..! How about you? Perhaps some massage can help you relax in turn?

Hmm... I really relate to the feelings of stress and having too many ideas and things I want to do. I often find myself with choice paralysis... Or overwhelmed so much I end up doing nothing, but sleep all day.

HOWEVER- I do find it easier to deal with if I write my idea's down on a list..! That way the idea's and tasks aren't flying around in my head like a whirlwind, but are tangable words on a piece of paper- *they suggest, for a second time, to a barer of Knowledge, and offer a lined noteblok and a pen.*

We also tend to get stressed about all the things we don't get to do and forget to celebrate the work we manage to get done. Having a list to check off is a good reminder of our achievements. - Umbrella Anon

t: *huffs*

f: speaking of! I learnt more about this "fucked up heat".. apparently your belly really really hurts....

t: yeah.. I only told him that..by the way..

f: I know my stomach hurt a bit during my heat .. but the pain was more in my hips...

...I wouldn't mind a message but.. ahem..

t: i massaged him ONE TIME and pure vanilla cookie thought we were up to "stuff" because sage is a bit...loud.

f: never again.

t: never again.

f: I actually already have a list of everything but that never usually helps.. *he summons a comically large cvs pharmacy length scroll of things he wants to do*

[ladylokianna]

Can you tell me more about "Aem? I've been looking for you"

Sure!!

It's part of a long fic i have been writing about an oc of mine, Aerenys (Nys), which is Aemond's wife.

This particular excerpt is set immediately after Viserys' death and Aegon's attempted escape. She finds out about the brothel thing and she, somehow jealous and prey of an emotional turmoil (she find out that morning that she is finally with child after having tried for almost a year after their wedding), confronts Aemond.

Aemond shifted his sight from Aegon and Ser Criston to her: she seemed happy and impatient to let him know something she must have wait the whole day to share, but this weren't the right moment.

*

"Aem? I have been looking for you all day." smiled Aerenys, on the threshold of their shared quarters. "I need to talk to you very urgently."

"I will come to you as soon as i can, just wait for me in our chambers. Please, go."

"Oh, poor, poor princess." chuckled Aegon, evidently drunk, propped up by Ser Criston and one of his men. She could smell the stench of cheap wine even from that distance. "You, here waiting for him, while he fucks up half a brothel! What's her name, Aem? Sibyl, right? Or was it Sissy... or whatever the fuck her name is..."

"Take His Grace to our mother's chambers as requested." ordered Aemond, visibly angry.

"You should have let me go away when you had the chance, you moron. Now good luck with that." was Aegon's whispered retort.

It was a pleasant day for her, full of news and new hopes for the future.

It was.

Aemond shed his cloak, planning to take a bath to get rid of the dirty feeling the Road of Silk left on him.

"So you have been with her?" was the question Aerenys greeted him with.

What a day. Viserys' death, Aegon's attempt to flee and now, this.

"No, I've been to her, that's different. Cole and I went to retrieve Aeg-"

"...I needed you today, I needed to talk to you and you were with that woman?" interrupted Aerenys.

"Why do you deliberately twist my words? Why do you believe Aegon and not me?" he asked her. It was not like her to behave like that. "What's going on with you today?"

"What's going on is that she gets the best of you and I'm left to make do with the remains." Aerenys said. "And I am tired."

"The remains?" repeated Aemond, unable to believe those words. He seemed offended, but so was she. And she did not intend to continue to act as nothing happened for the sake of peace.

"She clearly has you. She has your soul, she has your mind, she has everything of you, she has what I will never have. I have nothing but an empty shell, what you allow me to see and touch when we..." she blurted out, freezing on the last word. She would have liked to spout one of the many bad words Aegon like to use, but she was not used to that kind of language nor did she want to use it. Especially not with Aemond. "...and now, I finally understood a lot of things."

Of course, she knew very well that their marriage was not like her parents', theirs was the result of an agreement between the families for political advantage, but for some absurd reason for her it had never been just duty, for her it was also love: she had learnt to love him, to accept his nature, that cold heart of his which, she realised at that moment, she had never had any chance of breaking through, let alone entering and staying in.

"No. The thing that you don't understand is that it take awhile for me to trust people and to allow myself to open up to them. I am opening up to you, and it is not easy. But if you talk like that, you have understood nothing about me and we need to sort it out."

*

Thank you for asking and sorry for the delay 🫠

[astrunaria]

NOEL LORE DUMP

Good news to the readers: I finished another WIP in school the other day!

Ermm... this is a guy I've actually done really dirty when it comes to fleshing him out despite how important he actually is to my lore. I finally decided to work on him because he might be important to my book's plot yet (but not really sure) so uhh surprise! New Astrunaria lore character just dropped! (I've been neglecting him for a year I'M SO SORRY NOEL)

This is a very worldbuilding related character so I urge you to have read the Skimishers lore here he'll become a bit more clear as a character

NOWW

Backstory??

It’s been a long time since Noel’s truly had a proper companion. There was a group once, but that was a long time ago already. Nowadays he typically spends his days in his studio, working away at artworks for his wealthy clientele. It wasn’t always like this, but it’s the lifestyle he prefers. A peaceful one.

He knows he’ll have to change soon, however. He’s been Noel for 6 years now, but soon enough, people will start suspecting something. His frequent clients will start to realise how odd it is that he doesn’t seem to age.

He thinks about that woman often. The woman who found him and took a chance on his weak, burning body all those years ago. The woman who saved him from his “gift”, and allowed him to lead the life he does today in the first place. He assumes she’s most likely passed now, but he regrets not having learnt much about her. The only thing Noel remembers her by these days is by the words she left him in parting…

“Everything deserves a chance at living, so I earnestly urge you to go and seek out your new destiny yourself, Virgil.”

MISC FUN FACTS

He wants to master as many things as possible so that killing’s not the only thing he’s good at. Things he has already mastered include: sewing, cooking, forging, riding on horseback, a couple of foreign languages, sailing, illusions, puzzle making (almost) and art (also almost)

Hates wearing shoes, he never got used to it lol only wears them on really special occasions

The earring he’s wearing is self made he’s very creative

Refuses to be violent again

Really likes bows. He always keeps the sleeves of his coat rolled up so he sewed the little bows on the rolled up parts (there’s also a bow on the back but you can’t see that very well

Worst of his burns on his back because that’s where his wings are in his animal form his burns also kinda messed up his hairline but he covers that up with his bangs

SPEAKING of burn scars most of the time he uses illusions to cover them up to blend in (he's honed his magic to be that way)

[viburnt]

Heyyy loved your Izuku story, made me want to request one with the prompt "How could I do that to him/her?" Maybe someone is flirting with adult Izuku but he already has a partner and is very loyal OR maybe having an interview where the host makes a joke/insinuation he should go and take advantage that he is famous to meet many more people

Whatever you prefer 💖thank you

I hope I managed to convey the feelings you expected, Anon! Have some loyal dog Izuku *smooch* Also Pro-hero!Izuku is a smart crowd pleaser, he knows how to play his cards and outsmart malicious people. Also you didn't specify any gender so I went with gender neutral.

-Viburnt

𝐈𝐳𝐮𝐤𝐮 𝐌𝐢𝐝𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐲𝐚 || 𝐓.𝐕 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐰𝐬

— Welcome, everyone! Today, we're here with Japan's latest big shot and number one pro-hero, Deku! We are so excited that you were able to have some time for us, darling.— The model serving as a hostess said, her body language exaggerated, and her outfit provocative to gauge higher ratings for the show.

Izuku hadn't really planned to participate in the program, but after you convinced him to do so, he agreed; you'd always supported his career, so you encouraged him to engage with his fans often.

Izuku just wished it had been with a less slimy host, feeling uncomfortable with the frequent lascivious looks the model would throw at him.

—Thank you for having me.— The man said with his classic charming smile. —It's a pleasure to be here with you guys.

—Say, Deku, you've become quite an icon lately. Your popularity is almost as high as mine!— The woman joked, eliciting a slight laugh from the live public. —Have you grown used to being a groundbreaker?

Midoriya bashfully looked at her, feeling her eyes checking him out from head to toe as she spoke.

—Well, the hero life is a difficult path, I have to admit that.— He started, trying to formulate an answer that would suffice. —But it's something I love, and I'm trying to be the best at it.

The model nodded in understanding, allowing her hand to roam to the muscles of his arm.

—Absolutely! We are very alike in that aspect, you know?— She commented, giving a slight squeeze to his biceps. It was getting on Izuku's nerves. —It wouldn't be too far-fetched to be together as a couple.— He heard her say with a wink, the audience having mixed reactions to her blatant flirting.

—Don't you think we'd make a picture-perfect power couple?

Midoriya felt disgust towards the hostess, feeling overwhelmed by her constant indecency. "Talk about basking in reflected glory," he thought, wishing he could get away from her.

—Haha, well, I appreciate your interest, but I'm afraid I'm not available.— He answered with an unfaltering grin; even if it hadn't been long since he had first debuted as a pro-hero, he'd learnt a thing or two about managing his looks while facing the public eye.

The model pouted, pressing the matter even more.

— Just think of the headlines! We could be an 'it' couple.— She added to her desperate attempt to convince him. —Besides, wouldn't you prefer to change your old partner for a brand new model? You'd be the envy of your colleagues.

The public awkwardly laughed at the hostess' behavior. It was funny the first time, they'd guessed, but after a while, it just felt uncomfortable– Even they could sense the uneasiness in Izuku through his charismatic facade.

—How could I do that to them?— Midoriya answered, shaking his head. —I love my partner; they are the best. I wouldn't trade them for anything in the world.

A loud wave of clapping and cheering soared after his answer, moved by the vulnerability and sweetness behind those words. Izuku swore he'd heard a man scream "I love you" at him.

—Hey, baby, if you are watching the show like you promised, wait for me for dinner.— Izuku said to one of the cameras, referring to you as he took his leave from the scene.

For a few weeks, the whole interview fiasco had spread on every social media platform, but every single post had one thing in common: they all agreed that Izuku was loyal to you.