#and my sister is debating a name for the black one | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

musings-of-miss-j · 3 months ago

Text

the magician and the sparrow

a lyney x reader fic

notes: fluff fluff soooo much fluff, lots of plot too though and a sprinkle of angst to taste, set in the canon genshin universe but follows a fictional turn of events, they/them pronouns used for reader but they do wear makeup/skirts

author's notes: this was so much fun to write i fear also please don't hate the closing scene guys i'm so bad at romance

word count: 7045 bc i am simply incapable of anything less

⋆⸜ ⚘ ⸝⋆ .* ⚘ ⋆*⋆⸜ ⚘ ⸝⋆ .* ⚘ ⋆*⋆⸜ ⚘ ⸝⋆ .* ⚘ ⋆*⋆⸜ ⚘ ⸝⋆ .* ⚘ ⋆*⋆⸜ ⚘ ⸝⋆ .* ⚘ ⋆*⋆⸜ ⚘

You and the other members of the wandering troupe were always awake at the crack of dawn, when the watery sunlight spilled over the edge of the horizon and dappled every surface with a splash of muted gold, when the earliest and most ambitious of birds let loose their melodic cries. Similarly ambitious and hardworking, the troupe’s grandmaster and magician extraordinaire Lyney personally barged into every compartment on the train to make sure the entire crew was ready for the ridiculously early rehearsal he’d insisted on carrying out. You were less than thrilled with the prospect; normally the troupe’s mornings consisted of checking on props and skimming lines over cups of coffee, while a full-on rehearsal brought about a set of much more trying procedures. Like putting on the finicky, elaborate costumes and doing bloody stage makeup.

You stifled a yawn as you threaded your corset with red ribbons, tailored to match the troupe’s current colour scheme of reds, teals and blacks, your fingers constantly missing the grommets and making you considerably frustrated. With a curse, you dropped the corset and ribbons and muttered a simple spell under your breath so it would lace itself up while you struggled with the sheer black tights you wore beneath your skirt. Really, it was a miracle none of the troupe members had killed Lyney for enforcing such senseless appointments, and you were stewing over the inconsiderate nature of his scheduling when he knocked against the doorway of your compartment as you wriggled into the corset and tightened the lacings. You shot him a withering glare through your ancient, gilded mirror while you applied a swipe of lipstain. He grinned back.

Lyney and Lynette had started the wandering troupe, now known throughout the lands as Cirque Extravaganza, when they were only fourteen years old. They were prodigies, plain and simple, and they’d built themselves a considerable reputation and a proper troupe to boot in the past few years. You were one of the oldest members. After running away from the overbearingly aristocratic Lawrence family in Mondstadt you’d snuck onto their train and bartered with Lyney for passage to Inazuma; one of the rare moments where you appreciated your parents for forcing you to conduct political debates as a child. You were eleven years old on that fateful night when Lyney, only a handful of years your senior, threatened to throw you off the moving train. Now you were, and you quote, ‘an indispensable member of Cirque Extravaganza.’

“Lyney, I hope you’ve been told that you’re an utter ass for this,” you said, pulling on your gloves.

“By the nineteen other people on this train save for my darling sister, who called me a name I’d rather not relay in your presence,” he replied. He never really shrugged off the magician persona, you’d realised; even after a show, the instinct to sweet-talk and smooth over the rough edges of his words with fanciful phrases was always imbedded within him. A stark contrast to your own matter-of-factness; after spending a decade of your life weaving your speech with meaningless niceties you gladly embraced the chance to bluntly speak your mind.

“Your sister is the hero this troupe needs,” you muttered in response, sitting on the floor to lace up your shoes. They were probably your most prized possession after the diamond jewellery you stole from your parents when you ran away; the soles were carefully inscribed with a charm of balance to protect you on the tightrope, one of the first spells you’d ever written, and the laces you’d spun by hand from the finest spider silk that cost you a month’s worth of wages while chanting an invocation of grace that Lynette had taught you.

Well worth their weight in gold.

“Every day you awaken with the intent to wound my heart, it seems,” Lyney mourned. You didn’t miss the hint of amusement in his tone and the twinkling in his eyes; years of travelling and performing together left you as open to each other as books.

With a final tug, you tied the laces of your shoes into place. “Be grateful I only choose to wound it figuratively rather than literally.” You rose to your feet in a fluid motion that came as naturally as breathing, tipping the brim of Lyney’s top hat over his eyes as you walked past. He chuckled under his breath, watching you hop down from the train and scale onto the makeshift tightrope. The little clearing by the train tracks bustled with activity, from stunt performers swallowing swords, contortionists folding themselves into impossibly small boxes, vision holders shaping flames and water and crackles of lightning into beautiful patterns and illusionists practicing their tricks in front of mirrors, making horns grow out of their skull only to retreat moments after and pulling colourful handkerchiefs from their noses.

You stepped onto the tightrope and walked across it a few times to warm up, then began your newest routine while the mechanics of the troupe finalised the model stage. You heard Lyney’s voice calling out advice and instructions, Lynette close behind him tweaking costumes and props and correcting people’s forms as she strode past. They made a fantastic duo, and the Cirque Extravaganza flourished under their guidance. You used to wonder how a pair of fourteen year olds had such a remarkable grasp on magic and leadership, until on the night of Lyney’s eighteenth birthday when he got black-out drunk and revealed that this was part of their ‘training’ to become fully fledged members of the Fatui. You’d stared at him, slightly shocked but mostly worried that he wasn’t meant to reveal this information; to your dismay, he’d kept talking, explaining how their ‘Father’ adopted them before leaving them to fend for themselves once more to prove themselves worthy. He’d grabbed the ruffled sleeve of your old costume and pouted when you’d tried to leave before he could divulge anything more, and you found yourself powerless to resist his drunken pleas. You learned more than you’d wanted that night.

Now, a few years later, you sprinted across the tightrope with the troupe’s yelling and pacing back and forth stretched out below you. You heard Lyney release an ear-piercing whistle, and a flock of snow-white doves emerged from the trees, flapping their wings and chirping back at him. You paused mid-motion to watch them, frozen on the tightrope and eyes glazed with wonder; no matter how many times you saw Lyney pull this exact trick, you couldn’t help but be amazed. How you envied birds and their unfettered freedom; you could swing from a trapeze and dance across a tightrope all you wished, but you’d never have wings of your own to unfurl and take to the sky with. It brought a half-hearted, melancholy smile to your face as you watched the doves flutter across the achingly blue sky in perfect formation again under Lyney’s guidance. You still didn’t know how in Teyvat he’d managed to train them.

The rehearsal went off without a hitch. In everyone else’s opinion, at least; the troupe’s magician extraordinaire insisted that there were still a few wrinkles that needed ironing out. You had to resist the urge to throw your shoe at him when he asked why you did three flips in the air rather than four, and only refrained because they were too valuable to accidentally ruin.

“I’d like to see you stay in mid-air long enough to pull off four backflips,” you’d retorted, grumpy thanks to the post-session muscle pains. The dent in the back of your knees was redeveloping the mottled bruises that rarely faded from the press of the trapeze’s bar, and every inch of your body throbbed. You loved it. You hoped this would be the rest of your life.

“Ah, mon moineau, I’m but a humble magician!” He protested with a grin. “How could you possibly expect me to ever compete with your boundless grace?”

You groaned, lying back on the grass to stare up at the setting sun. Rehearsals were no joke; it had taken almost twelve hours.

“Shut up, Lyney. I’ll give you four flips onstage tomorrow. And a fist to your face right now if you don’t stop nagging.”

“So generous,” he replied, collapsing next to you on the ground. You watched the sky darken from blues to oranges to dusky purple, and he watched the same colours reflected in your eyes. Infinitely more beautiful than any sunset, he thought. The familiar snapping sound of his cards brought you out of your thoughtful stupor.

“Pick a card, any card,” he said in his stage voice, the one that oozed charisma and urged the listener to believe him, trust him and his magic. You reached over and pulled out a card from the deck without looking; this little ritual was something of a routine. While Lyney could easily find the card you picked with his magic alone, he liked to practice genuine sleight of hand in private, with you or Lynette. Lynette, while her magic wasn’t quite as flashy as Lyney’s, was much more skilled in sleight of hand than him and frequently criticised his technique. Sometimes Lyney just wanted a starry-eyed member of the audience to applaud him, and while you were resolutely unmoved by his charm he knew you enjoyed his little displays. So he graciously accepted your compliments when he correctly picked your card.

“The magician extraordinaire strikes again,” you remarked, propping yourself up on your elbows.

“Yet he can never strike gold when it comes to what he truly covet; the heart of his beloved.”

You cackled unabashedly; that was definitely one of his cheesier lines. With a bracing smack to his shoulder, you rose to your feet.

“You’re losing your touch, old man.” You stretched your arms above your head, then loosened your hair from its elaborate up-do and made your way to the train before night could fall in earnest.

“You wound me so, ma cherie,” he said, putting on a rather good show of looking distraught. Still, the amused twinkle in his eyes didn’t escape you.

Lyney was a chronic flirt, plain and simple. You supposed it came with the trade; magicians were masters of deceit, after all, convincing the audience to see what they wanted them to see and nothing more. Such a philosophy could be applied to many other circumstances; he could make people feel wanted, desirable, with a few well-placed honeyed words. Besides, Lyney liked flirting. He found it amusing, an enjoyable and effortless little pastime that he frequently employed to get what he wanted, whether that be an additional attendant for the night’s show or a dance partner at the latest ball. So you didn’t take it personally; Lyney was a chronic flirt who could flatter the sky into being red if he so wished but still couldn’t get you to blush. It irked him greatly, your immunity to his charm; but it made you all the more attractive. He’d tried to chalk it up to himself liking a challenge, and you presenting just that in the past; but deep down, he’d always known he wouldn’t be able to fool himself for much longer. Now the box of his feelings was starting to strain at the seams, and you still showed no signs of surrendering to his smooth, flattering whispers.

You smiled at him before sliding the door of your compartment shut. He was a goner. He’d been a goner for a long time, now, and Lynette took the liberty of appearing out of thin air to reinforce the fact.

“Lyney. Focus, you can’t afford to get distracted.” Twins they may be, in many ways Lynette was his polar opposite. Where he lured others into rooms of smoke and mirrors with his sliver tongue, Lynette was blunt and to the point, intimidating where Lyney was welcoming. Regardless, they employed different methods to achieve the same goal; trick the right people into doing what they wanted. Lynette raised her eyebrows in his direction. “Or confess and get it over with.”

Lyney sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Dearest sister. You make it sound so simple.”

“That’s because it is, and you’re just a coward,” she replied unapologetically, dragging him away. “Keep your head on your shoulders, this show is important.”

“Sometimes I forget I’m the older one because of how bossy you are,” he grumbled.

“Not my fault you don’t take initiative and live up to your position.”

He huffed and pinched her cheek until she slapped his hands away.

You slept like a rock and woke up to find the train on a new track; the one leading directly to Fontaine. Flinging open the window, you stuck your head out and relished the familiar sound of the turning wheels and grinding gears, taking in the sight of the lush countryside whizzing past. A contented sigh slipped past your lips, and you propped your elbows on the windowsill and your face in your hands to watch the rows of trees fade to clusters of bushes and miles and miles of flowers. A series of knocks on your door startled you out of reverie, and you grudgingly opened with it complete certainty of who you would find on the other side.

Lyney beamed down at you.

“Good morning, mon moineau.”

You covered your mouth with the back of your hand to stifle a yawn. “Morning, Lyney. When will we reach the city?”

“If old Jacques is right, then we should be eating the finest of Fontaine’s cuisine before noon.”

He was clearly excited; you could tell from the way he couldn’t stand still and the perpetual little smile on his face, one of the genuine upturns of his lips that weren’t merely for show.

“Someone’s excited,” you remarked, running a hand through your hair to tame the mess.

“Ah, can you blame me?” He chuckled, leaning against the entrance of your room. “Nothing compares to the Nation of Justice, truly.”

His enthusiasm was infectious, and you couldn’t help the little bounce in your step as you got ready. The show may have been hours away, but there was an infinite number of loose ends that needed to be tied before then. Lyney pulled his trademark deck of crimson cards out of nowhere, shuffling them back and forth absent-mindedly and exuding zeal and vigour; now that they were back in Fontaine, his father could perhaps see how far he and his sister had come. Maybe they’d finally be recruited into the Fatui. His heart hammered at the thought until his gaze landed on you, leaned over the shelf below your mirror and tying up your hair. A strand slipped out of the ribbon you were trying to tie it into, and he was seized by the urge to tuck it behind your ear. He would be forced to abandon the troupe if he was recruited. The thought had occurred to him, countlessly, endlessly, ceaseless and persistent and much more discomforting than he preferred; at some point between you mopping the floor with him in your very first argument where you bartered your way into the troupe and now, where he watched you get ready and predicted your next move without thinking from your tiny gestures and expressions, you’d wormed your way into his life and he wasn’t sure how he’d fare without you in it. The knowledge that you’d adapt without him just fine made it sting all the more.

“Lyney,” you said impatiently, meeting his eyes in the mirror. “Quit staring at me like I threatened to steal your wages.”

“Apologies, mon amour. I was entranced by your beauty.” Even after contemplating such a dizzying prospect as not seeing you again, complimenting you came so naturally. He firmly believed it was duty to do so, with how effortlessly you took his breath away.

“Flirt,” you muttered under your breath, half exasperatedly and half affectionately. It made his stomach swarm with butterflies and his brain cloud over with visions of you with him. Archons. You were ruining his life without even lifting a single finger.

“You know, getting to Fontaine was my initial goal when I ran away from home,” you remarked to his as you rummaged through the trunk of clothes by the foot of your bed. “I’m as far as I could possibly be from that life.” You tossed something in his direction, and he caught it without thinking. “I have you to thank for that.”

He opened his fist to reveal a delicate silver chain from which a teardrop shaped diamond hung. He looked up at you, incredulous.

“What… what is this?”

“A necklace, you numbskull,” you replied simply, pausing at the gilded mirror to brush away a smear of rouge from your face. You made your way to him, tugging him down by the frilled collar of his shirt to plant a kiss on his cheek. He was quite certain he caught a glimpse of Celestia when your lips touched his skin. “It’s my thank you. And your very late birthday gift.”

There really was no saving him.

“(Name), wait. You can’t- I can’t accept this.”

You laughed. Every last drop of his easy charisma had completely evaporated, leaving him hot and bothered and flushed to the tips of his ears. It was… cute.

“You think I’m stupid? You’ll be disappearing with your darling sister soon, won’t you?” You said, raising your eyebrows. There was a touch of glitter dusted across your cheekbone, probably from the previous day’s rehearsal. He wondered in a daze how it would look on his lips instead. “And once you’re gone, you’ll need something to remember the person you failed to charm by, no?”

“But- this is an heirloom,” he said, staring down at you. “You told me yourself.”

“Didn’t think you were so attentive.”

As if you could do anything without capturing his complete attention.

“Ma cherie, I-”

“Shut it, Lyney. Accept the damn gift. Maybe you won’t be whisked off after this show and you can sell it and treat yourself. Celestia knows you need a proper pair of stage shoes.”

He watched you disappear into the costumes compartment, utterly dumbfounded. Being members of a circus, savings were worth double their value due to the erratic nature of the amount and timing of wages. You’d given him a genuine diamond necklace. As thanks. As a birthday gift. Something in his chest wouldn’t stop fluttering.

Fontaine was stunning in every sense of the word, from the meandering streams slicing through pristine strips of greenery to the towering buildings and bronzed mechanical arrays. You understood why Lyney loved it so much, and even Lynette was smiling to herself instead of her usual impassive expression. This show would likely be the grandest one yet; Lady Furina was well known for her love of dramatics and the troupe was eager to impress. Performers, you’d discovered when you became one of them, thrived off two things: an audience’s avid praise and the thrill of a perfect show, and the Cirque Extravaganza was indeed extravagant enough to cater to both. Your life had been a performance, before, but without the inherent whimsy of stage lights and silk curtains and the sheer ecstasy of doing something that made your head spin and heart hammer. You performed for your parents, for other nobles, and unwilling actor on a stage you wanted nothing more than to burn down; the next best thing was yelling a good few obscenities at the cast you so despised then leaping off it, which you wholeheartedly did when you ran away. Nothing, not even the saccharinity of a certain magician’s whispers, was sweeter than the knowledge that you’d well and truly escaped the life in which you were forced to fill a role you had no interest in. Freedom was a drug you unreservedly savoured, waking up on a circus train with its taste on your tongue as the engine huffed and puffed, a place where tattered silk and velvet adorned every surface and the scent of passion and perfume hung heavy in the air.

You and the troupe made a quiet arrival through the gates of the city. The grand introduction would come later that night, when Lyney would take to the stage, captivating the crowd with his magic and mesmerising them with his charm as you and your fellow performers offered tantalising glimpses of your own tricks and left them with dazzled expressions and gossip to last at least a month or two. The familiar buzz of anticipation rushed through your veins as you prepared for that night’s show, and you welcomed it with open arms. The troupe’s yelling, the clattering of props and the faint sound of the classical music Lyney and Lynette always played before a show for good luck formed the cacophony of a chaotic circus, the top floor of the Hotel Debord thrumming with excitement.

Lyney waltzed through the open door of your room, wearing the black and maroon outfit he’d recently acquired and a wide smile.

“Well, ma cherie? How are you feeling?” He asked, leaning against the vanity as you perfected your hair and stage makeup. Superstitious as you were, doing these touch-ups in front of a mirror that wasn’t the old, gilded one in your train compartment was a little unnerving. You were so accustomed to seeing the ornate golden roses frame your reflection, the plain steel of this hotel mirror was… lacklustre.

“How are you feeling, magician extraordinaire?” You countered with a teasing wiggle of your eyebrows. “Looking awfully dapper, that’s for sure.”

He hid his blush behind a gloved hand, laughing. “Why, thank you. I never thought I’d have the honour of bringing you to my homeland. It makes everything all the more delightful.” That was the problem with Lyney; try to tease him with a borderline flirtatious remark and he’d return it tenfold.

“Hope it’s delightful enough to get you through this show,” you said, slipping on your shoes. “Six hours onstage is nothing to turn your nose up at.”

He shifted just behind you to glance at his reflection in the mirror, adjusting his top hat. Out of habit, you reached up and nudged its brim over his eyes.

“It will be the grandest show we’ve ever put on,” he declared with a grin, readjusting the hat. You shot him an amused look.

“Grander than last year’s show during the summer festival?”

Lyney groaned, hiding his face in his hand. You cackled; it was considered taboo to mention that. It had been an utter fiasco.

“Ah, why must you remind me of that, ma cherie? Surely it’s bad luck to mention disastrous events before such an important show as this one.”

“Performers’ superstition,” you muttered under your breath.

“As if you don’t paint your nails red for good luck!” He returned with a chuckle.

“You’ve infected me,” you deadpanned, grabbing the bow on the back of his suit and dragging him with you to the door. You refrained from telling him that red was your lucky colour because it was his trademark, and Lyney was truly the first blessing fortune had bestowed upon you. No doubt he’d never let you live it down if he found out. “Let’s go, magician. This audience won’t dazzle itself.”

And of course, the troupe did indeed dazzle the audience. Cards and confetti flew through the air, vibrant smoke from coloured flames hovered over the crowd, kittens and tigers leapt through hoops and then exploded into clouds of glitter, all while the orchestra played a hauntingly beautiful melody that echoed unnaturally through the Opera Epiclese’s soaring hall.

You did a fair bit of soaring yourself, on your trusty trapeze from one post to another then bounding over the tightrope as though it were a bridge miles wide with the air rushing past you and ruffling your hair, the ribbons tied to your wrists and ankles streaming behind you.

Lyney’s grand finale involved a tenuous dance with Lynette while dodging various pyrotechnics that flared up at random intervals across the stage, stepping through a wall of fire then twirling Lynette into nothingness with a flick of his wrist. From the rehearsals alone, it promised to be a magnificent trick.

One problem: Lynette was nowhere to be found. Or at least, that’s what Lyney wanted you to believe as he watched you perfectly execute the four somersaults you’d promised him and land directly- in his arms?

This wasn’t right. How did Lyney intercept your landing? And so seamlessly, without a single hitch, for that matter? (Quite simple. He’d watched you obsessively every time you rehearsed, terrified you’d slip, fall, topple off the impossibly thin rope and down onto the unforgiving ground. Your pride would never allow for a net, so Lyney took it in his own hands to make sure he could be your safety measure if the need ever arose, to make sure he could protect you from your own determination, your own certainty that you were truly unconquerable while metres up in the air. Sometimes he half-expected wings to burst from your shoulder blades, other times he nearly tore his gloves into ribbons from how hard he clenched his fists, frozen with dread and surety that this time your grace would fail you, that your balance would never come and you’d be yet another body bleeding through the chapters of the book that was his life.) No matter. You were here now, on the stage with the golden lights bathing the two of you in warmth, and most importantly, every eye trained on you. If practice and repetition were the bread and butter of any artist, then as performers improvisation was the layer of jam, the extra sweetness and embellishment that set the art form apart; and now, in this unpractised, unrehearsed position with Lyney’s hands on your waist and the audience’s attention on you and the still-present hum of adrenaline from the tightrope in your veins, you exhaled and placed your hand on Lyney’s shoulder. The opening stance of the dance. His lilac eyes met yours, and you gave him an imperceptible nod. The orchestra swelled once more, and you let yourself relax, muscle memory from hours upon hours in the ballroom of your family’s estate taking over. A searing flame surged up from the floor, and you twisted to only just dodge it. Another pillar of blazing red, dangerously close to Lyney’s top hat; he swept into a bow, hat off, as though inviting you to another dance. You curtsied in response, and the same flame missed your hair by half an inch as your head dipped down. Crackling sparks behind you; Lyney pulled you to his chest. A roaring fire to your right; you led him in a slow, purposeful circle around it. Red, red, red, raging and hot; sweat dripped down the back of your neck and smoke tickled the back of your throat. The audience gasped and cheered as you deftly side-stepped every last flicker, the sound mingling with the roaring inferno and the distant music from the orchestra; a trumpet note here and a skilful bit of piano there, and most of all, Lyney’s off-kilter breathing and faint panting for air. His touch seared your skin, more scorching than any fire. With a final gasp, he lifted you above his head as a tower of sizzling fireworks exploded from where you’d stood a moment before. A last quivering chord from the violin. Lyney’s face just inches from yours, sharing the same smoke-tinged breath. For a brief, horrifying moment, nothing; a curtain of blackness so deep and impenetrable you almost feared you’d never be found again. You supposed this was the part where he made you disappear. Sensations rushed back. Dimly, the eruption of wild applause and his chest heaving against yours.

Archons, he wanted to kiss you so badly. He doubted a more tempting dilemma could ever be presented to him. Before he gave in and crushed his lips to yours, he pivoted on his heel and bowed to the audience with a flourish. You followed suit, and the stage was soon littered with flowers. You could discern Lady Furina’s voice, high and clear, shouting ‘Bravo! Bravo! Magnifique! Enchanteur!”

The greatest of all performances, indeed, thrown in hopes that his Father would witness their accomplishments and take them back. So why was he so relieved that he didn’t glimpse her piercing, unmistakable gaze throughout the whole show? Why could he think of nothing besides your glowing eyes, your features softened then sharpened by the fire, the scent of your perfume mixing with the smoke?

Backstage, you picked at the singed ribbons on your wrists and ankles while the rest of the troupe hurried about, exhausted down to the bone and ashes in your throat. Eventually you gave up on a particularly stubborn knot, leaning your head back against the wall and sighing, only for Lyney to appear at your side and work at the ribbon with his nimble fingers instead.

“Are you alright?” He asked, propping your limp wrist in his lap.

“What happened? Where did Lynette go?”

“Answer my question,” he replied sternly, pulling the ribbon off your wrist and tracing the veins there with his fingertips.

“Answer mine,” you immediately retorted, stubbornness flaring. He chuckled.

“If you’ve got enough energy to argue I suppose you’re fine.”

“Well?” You demanded after a brief pause where you simply sat together in tired silence. “What went wrong with your trick?”

Surprise crossed his face. “Went wrong? I thought it was perfect.”

You lifted your head to shoot him an incredulous look. His fingertips continued to trace the network of veins snaking across your wrist.

“Lyney. You know what I mean. I wasn’t supposed to be involved at all!”

“Maybe it was meant to be, then,” he suggested with a wink. You groaned, running a hand though your hair.

“It’s impossible for you to take anything seriously, isn’t it?” He was inclined to disagree. There was nothing he took more seriously than your safety and presence in his life.

“Is Lynette alright?” You asked next, curling up and leaning your weight against him, tiredness rapidly setting in. Lyney held very still, afraid to make a wrong move and have your comforting warmth removed.

“She’s… she’s fine. Making tea, I suspect.”

You hummed in agreement, resting your head on his shoulder. “You’re not a very comfortable pillow,” you remarked. “You should eat more.”

“Anything for you, cherie,” he all but choked out, desperately flustered by the way you’d draped yourself over him. He could acutely feel every curve and dip of your body pressed against his. Was death by overheating possible?

You grumbled, pinching his arm. “Shut up, this isn’t the time for flirting.” Any time was perfect for reminding you how wonderful you were and how much you meant to him. “And don’t try to catch me like that again, it scared me. You’re not supposed to interrupt my routine.”

“I apologise.” “Damn right you do,” you retorted, pushing yourself off him and stretching. There was a very unsavoury pain in your lower back, and you hissed as the tender muscle strained. “So.” You turned to properly face Lyney, crossing your legs beneath you and grinning. “Was your Father there? In the audience?”

You were determined to be supportive, to share his enthusiasm at returning to the Fatui, even if your heart wobbled strangely at the thought of him leaving. He faltered in the face of you excitement. Were you that eager to have him gone…?

“…No,” he finally replied, his voice tinged with uncertainty. You misread the sudden disheartened sag in his shoulders and downwards tip of his mouth as disappointment, and rushed to somehow comfort him.

“Don’t worry. I’m sure word of your incredible performance will reach every ear in Fontaine. It’s only a matter of time,” you said, not unkindly. When his dejected expression didn’t budge, you sighed and pulled sharply at the bow on his shoulder to regain his attention. “Hey. Stop frowning like that. A pretty face like yours shouldn’t be ruined by premature wrinkles.” You didn’t tell him that seeing him so lost and hesitant made your stomach drop, or that the sight of his smile would bring one to your face. A magician who could make your heart disappear the moment he had it in his grasp didn’t need to know that.

“…Is it pleasing to you?” He murmured with a touch of his usual teasing, glancing back up at you while his fingers still lingered on your wrist, tracing an invisible pattern. “My face?”

“To me and every young lady within a five metre radius, I’d wager.”

“But especially to you?” Lyney pressed, smiling in earnest now. You had a terrifying way of doing that, flipping his emotions with nothing but a few sweet words from your lips, and he was quite happy to surrender his heart to your whims if it meant he could have these precious few moments where he could almost fool himself into thinking you reciprocated.

You sighed, turning slightly so you could lean your back against his side. It’d be better if he couldn’t see the way you blushed at your reply, so soft it was almost drowned out by the sounds of the troupe celebrating another successful show. “Yes, Lyney. Especially to me.”

(The troupe quieted down when they saw the two of you fast asleep backstage, propped against each other with your head on Lyney’s shoulder and his fingers loosely wrapped around your wrist. If several Kameras ran out of storage that day, then it was strictly an everyone-knows-except-you-two situation. The particularly adorable photos become a secret currency. Everyone wants the singular copy of the one where you’re both smiling gently in your sleep. Lynette smugly refuses to part with it.)

Life in Fontaine was so jarringly steady, an uninterrupted flow of café visits and wandering the countryside and tossing spare change into the Fountain of Lucine, fields of flowers and an endlessly blue sky forming a mild backdrop for picture-perfect moments. It was so different than what you’d grown accustomed to; the constant rush of being on the move, the train’s constant rumbling and puffing, haphazard memorabilia strewn across every surface and late night drinking and card games with the boundless night as your only witness. The first few weeks off the train find you and many of the other members with wobbly legs, unused to solid land rather than the shifting and swaying you were familiar with. Jokes about being akin to sailors are popular and repeated in every possible iteration during this time, and you were in such good spirits that you laugh at every single one.

As you’ve come to expect, the initial rush from yet another one of the Cirque Extravaganza’s triumphs in conquering a new stage quickly gave way to throngs of over-enthusiastic fans cropping up through the city streets, country roads and anywhere else you decided to venture. The little children are sweet and eager, and you regale them with clumsy attempts at sleight-of-hand when Lyney isn’t there, offering them flowers and candy that they gleefully accepted. Some, those who are sceptical about the validity of your skill, ask you to scale the nearest tree or lamp-post, or do a backflip, or some other trial to prove that you weren’t a fraud of some sort. You humour these requests, and any disbelievers leave in a state of awe with an autograph clutched in their hands. One girl, bolder than most with a grin bright enough to be on stage, asked for one of the ribbons you wore during the performance. Charmed by her confidence, you gave her the least singed one, and in that instance you also left with a piece of paper, one where she scrawled her address with a heart doodled in the corner. Lyney was oddly indignant when he found it, and sulked rather impressively all day until you dragged him to an ice cream parlour you’d heard word of even back in Mondstadt. It was, in a way, a tribute to your older sister Eula; the two of you would often daydream together about prancing freely about in a faraway place and eating desserts with no concern for etiquette or the reputation of your family. You wished you could share this experience with her, but she’d been adamant on staying and becoming a Knight. Although- you cut a glance towards Lyney, who’d ordered a blackberry and cherry mix that matched almost perfectly with the hues he was currently fond of wearing- this is nice too. You took the lift to the highest floor it could reach, then scaled the wall surrounding the city with considerable difficulty, ice creams in hand, to sit on the edge and admire the sprawling view of the water dotted with light from the stars.

Lyney hadn’t quite forgotten the overzealous advances you’d entertained, but being in your company in the City of Love, sharing laughter and smiles and anecdotes over treats every bit as saccharine as the affection he held for you was the most effective soothing balm against the sting of knowing your attention wasn’t solely devoted to him the same way his was to you. The moonlight helped, too; it added to atmosphere and greatly appeased his romantic side.

(You stole glances at him when he wasn’t paying attention, tucking glimpses of his relaxed expression away in your memory. It was nice to see your Lyney every now and then, rather than the magician extraordinaire of the Cirque Extravaganza.)

You reached over to steal a spoonful of Lyney’s ice cream, and he swerved away to avoid you so energetically that he nearly fell off the edge of the enormous wall surrounding the Court of Fontaine. You grabbed the hood of his cape to steady him before he could tumble down to a painful death.

“Don’t go falling off after all the trouble I went to get us up here,” you said, amused, and Lyney huffed indignantly as you smugly ate the bite of ice cream you’d managed to steal from him.

“I doubt the fall would be half as painful as falling for you, mon amour,” he smoothly replied, even having the unparalleled audacity to shoot you a wink as if he hadn’t been on the precipice of his demise mere moments before.

“That’s it, I’m pushing you myself,” you deadpanned, kicking his foot with your own where they dangled off the edge.

“You’re all bark and no bite,” he accused with a laugh. “You couldn’t survive a day without me.”

You levelled him with an unimpressed look, lifting a spoonful of ice cream to your mouth.

“Every day you astonish me with your sheer arrogance.”

He grinned, leaning forward to emphasise his next words. “You didn’t deny it,” he pointed out in a slightly sing-song voice. “Admit it, cherie.” Lyney’s heart hammered dizzyingly loud in his ears. This felt like such dangerous territory to tread, perched as high off the ground as you made him feel. Should he retreat, let your delicate waltz of quips and flirtations go on?

“Admit what?” You replied, trying to sound dismissive but failing when your breath caught in your throat as he inched closer. Surely you only felt dizzy because of the height. Surely it wasn’t because Lyney’s eyes refracted into a hundred shades of violet, stars reflected in their surface, or because he was so close a strand of his hair brushed your cheek. “You make it sound as if I’m a criminal on trial, about to plead guilty and confess.”

“Maybe you should confess,” he breathed, lifting his hand to your face. You watched his movements raptly, heart racing. “Archons know you’re guilty of stealing my heart, mon moineau, and there’s nowhere for you to fly away and evade your charges.”

Words died on your tongue when his knuckles brushed gently across your cheek, and your heart fluttered like the sparrows he was so fond of comparing you to. This wasn’t like his usual flirting, you distantly realised. He was seriously asking you to confess. His fingers twirled a strand of your hair before tucking it behind your ear, bringing you closer by the nape of your neck. You frowned at him.

“I am not verbally admitting to liking you in this lifetime.” He looked so crestfallen you could almost laugh. “They do say actions speak louder than words, though,” you added with a whisper, then carefully leaned forward to press a kiss to his lips. Lyney, to his credit, quickly recovered from his initial surprise and the overwhelming fact that you tasted like ice cream, then made shockingly swift work of trying to deepen the kiss by grazing his teeth along your lower lip, to which you responded with a choked yelp and jumping away. You couldn’t possibly fathom the effort it took not to grab you and drag you back to continue where you left off.

“Archons, Lyney!” You hissed, out of breath and red-faced, fingers carefully pressing against your tender, swollen lips. Lyney subconsciously licked his own at the sight, completely and utterly devoid of any semblance of shame, in awe of how the moonlight set you aglow. He marvelled at how easily it was to exasperate you as one of his hands moved to your waist, trying not-so-subtly to bring you closer again.

His grin could only be described as self-congratulatory. “What?” He asked, not even bothering to feign innocence. Before you had the chance to heatedly respond, he swooped in to peck your cheek, then your lips, flustering you all over again.

“The one time I try to be romantic and you ruin it by being greedy,” you lamented, shooting him a joking glare.

“You’ll have plenty more chances to be romantic in the future, amour,” he replied with a grin. “Just kiss me for now.”

“So demanding,” you breathed. “What makes you so sure there’ll be future chances, hm?”

“Come now,” he coaxed, tilting your chin up just so. “You know you can’t resist me.”

“Shut up, you arrogant magician,” you grumbled, then silenced him with your lips on his, because maybe, just maybe, he was right.

⋆⸜ ⚘ ⸝⋆ .* ⚘ ⋆*⋆⸜ ⚘ ⸝⋆ .* ⚘ ⋆*⋆⸜ ⚘ ⸝⋆ .* ⚘ ⋆*⋆⸜ ⚘ ⸝⋆ .* ⚘ ⋆*⋆⸜ ⚘ ⸝⋆ .* ⚘ ⋆*⋆⸜ ⚘

#how are we feeling about this one chat #genshin impact #genshin #genshin fanfic #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin lyney #genshin lyney x reader #genshin lyney fluff #genshin impact lyney #genshin impact lyney x reader #lyney x reader #genshin fluff #genshin scenarios #ARE THERE ANY TAGS LEFT BRUH

91 notes · View notes

sweetestcaptainhughes · 4 months ago

Note

hello can I do a 17 ❤️‍🩹 and is it possible to do it w/ jamie drysdale? if not then with trevor zegras 🙏🙏

ooo so I only did leprechaun man as a joke because I wanted MK (@chukys-mouthguard) to show the world that she calls him a fucking sweet potato. 😂😂 Plus no one has requested Trevor at all during this celly, so Trevor it is. Sorry you had to sit in my inbox all day, apparently my body decided to sleep the entire day. I had no idea where this was going and I'm debating if I lost the plot half way through but it's cute I think.

200 Followers Celebration

Overcompensating by giving compliments and being extra nice, but feeling frustrated all the same when their crush doesn't seem to notice their efforts.

Trevor has been acting strange lately, you couldn't pin point what it was or when the turning point was but he definitely had a shift in his behavior. Trevor was one of those people in your life that you couldn't really tell anyone if they asked how long you have known him or when you guys first met. Both of your moms went to college together and you were destined to be cousins from that moment on. Except, Trevor and you never acted like cousins. Not in the same way you interacted with his little brother and sister. Not in the same way he interacted with your siblings.

Trevor and you, you both acted well like an old married couple most of the time. Two people that would do anything for each other, hell they would move the heaven if they needed but when it came to everyday life they bickered like they have been stuck with each other since the beginning of time. Jack and Cole constantly gave him shit for it back when they were all on the same development team. They both told him that he needed to make a move before someone stole his 'wife' from him. At the time, you remember Trevor telling you over FaceTime both of you laughing about it till their were tears in your eyes.

Now years later, you ended up in LA for work. Trevor was so happy he had someone with him, even though at the time he was already living in Orange County for years. He insisted on finding the perfect apartment in the middle of of your work and the rink. Which meant that both of your communites with traffic were a little over an hour. On the phone with him when he proposed the idea of a shared apartment you told him how insane he was being.

"Z no. It's insane for both of us to have such a wild commute. LA traffic is already insane and you know that. What happens if I accidentally sleep in one day and then I'm what 2 1/2 hours late for what." you try to reason as your folding your laundry, trying to deicde what to donate since you don't want to pay to lug so much across the country.

"fine then we will pick a place closer to your work. it's only fair anyway, you're there year round anyway." he decides, glancing at his phone for a second, while he continues to search on his mac for new apartments.

"No." you argue.

"yes Y/N I am not letting you live here by yourself okay. " Finally looking at you in the camera he seems your black dress your holding up, as if your debating if it's time to part ways with your 'slutty little black dress' that was your saving grace during college. But Trevor remembers it as the dress you wore with him to the go out to the bars, the dress you wore when he realized his friends were right he was madly and deeply in love with you.

"did you just put that in the donate pile?" he asks. Nodding your head yes, before you could speak he continues. "No you have to keep that one bee. " he begged.

bee a name only he could call you. a childhood name he started calling you because he said your words could sting anyone like a bee if you wanted to. what started as an insult became a name of endearment and one he only used when he really wanted something.

But now months later, as he's driving you home and your in that exact dress he begged you to keep all you want to do is for the ground to swoll you whole as you sit in his jeep. Glancing over at Trevor you see his eyes are clouded with anger, not sure if your mad at you or his teammate for flirting with you. As if he could read your mind, he brings his hand over to yours bringing it to his lips and lightly kisses it.

"I'm not mad at you bee okay." he says as he glances over at you as he comes to a stop. It's the first time he makes eye-contact with you since leaving the club almost 30 minutes ago, he sees that you're fighting back your own tears. "fuck bee don't cry." he whispers, deciding to pull over because the thought of continuing to drive while you're this upset physically pains him. As soon as the car is in park, he unbuckles his seatbelt, wiping your tears away with the rough pads of his thumbs. "I'm not mad" he keeps whispering like a promise until you finally shake your head okay.

"why did you punch him?" you finally ask.

"because he's a fuckboy and he doesn't deserve someone like you." the anger taking over in his voice again, you wince as if his tone of voice could physically hurt you, like his fist hurt his teammates.

"then who?" you whisper, suddenly feeling a boost of confidence you haven't in a long time.

"what?" he asks so quietly you can barely hear him over the hum of the music playing through the speakers.

"who do I deserve? because ever since I moved here you seem to have a lot of ideas of who I should date and shouldn't. I know we've known each other our entire life's but that doesn't give you the right to cock block me every chance you get Trevor!" by the end you are red in the face from your screaming confession.

"Y/N you deserve someone who will love you! Who knows you like the back of their hand. Someone who won't ever hurt you even if it's by accident. Someone who can give you everything you ever hoped for and more. Someone who will sit with you while you rant about the newest project at work or your new favorite obesession for the month. You deserve someone who will stay up late with you just to spend time with you because they missed you. You deserve someone who can give you the world. You deserve someone better than me and that little fucker isn't better than me." Trevor's face is one of pure shock . His eyes are wide, his mouth slightly ajar as he realizes what he just confessed.

"Trevor." Unbuckling your seatbelt so you can get closer to him, even thoguh you are already in a small space. "what if all I want is you?" you ask, leaning closer to him.

But he shakes his head pleading, "no you deserve better."

"no there isn't" you reason, taking your hands resting them on either side of his face, resting your forehead against you.

'what if I hurt you." he confesses

"you won't" leaning close enough that your lips are almost touching.

"you don't know that."

"I know that you doing nothing is hurting me more than you ever could hurt me by trying." His eyes snap open at your words. "please kiss me Z." That's all it takes for him to close to space between you both.

#200 followers celebration #nhl fanfiction #nhl fic #trevor zegras #trevor zegras fic #trevor zegras x reader #trevor zegras fluff #trevor zegras imagine #trevor zegras fanfiction #trevor zegras x y/n #anahiem ducks fic #anahiem ducks fanfiction #schwritingstz11

66 notes · View notes

skellymom · 1 year ago

Text

"Cup Of Caf"

The Bad Batch CROSSHAIR One Shot

Crosshair x NON GENDERED Reader (PLEASE put YOURSELF into this story! <3)

Background: Crosshair makes it to Pabu with all of his brothers and sister. Will he open himself up to another? What's his future there?

Word Count: 2.1K

Warning: Really none. This is sweetness, some angsty fluff, and character growth. Purposely wrote this piece for ANY reader! You can take this tale as friendship or the start of a blossoming love relationship. And, I purposely wrote NO GENDER/NO SPECIFIC SEXUALITY/POSSIBLY EVEN AGENDER into this story. It's about healing, sharing, growing, and decisions at one of many crossroads in life. Sometimes it's painful, but growth can be.

This One Shot is dedicated to Crosshair Fans, those of you struggling with hard decisions in life, loneliness, and to the amazing @lightspringrain whose art was one of my inspirations for this story.

(Her Etsy shop: https://www.etsy.com/shop/LightSpringRain Just placed my order for the holidays!

(Credit: Dividers by the talented @saradika)

The leaves of the Cascade Tree rippled lazily in the ocean breeze. Its boughs lifted just enough to reveal a man with a scarred head sitting under its canopy at the picnic table.

You were surprised to see someone sitting there at... “your” table. Not really yours, but no one else ever came down this far from the cliffs to watch the surf foam and roil against the shores of Pabu. Every morning walking down to enjoy your cup of caf before starting the day. Today, you were testing out a new mug, fresh off the pottery wheel: Jet black clay with metallic silver phases of the moon depicted in striking detail across its surface. Debated selling this piece, hardly ever keeping anything for yourself.

The man’s back was facing you at quiet approach. He side-eyed you suspiciously, scowling. Immediately recognized him as the newcomer to the island that arrived with his brothers and one sister. Phee Genoa gushed about the one named, “Tech”. She called him “Brown Eyes”. This was the “Grumpy Brother” and was already gaining a reputation as anti-social.

“Uh...hi.”

Silence and unchanging side-eye. He didn’t move from the spot and clearly wanted to be left alone.

“Ok, leaving.”

No reply. He turned back around to stare at the crashing surf.

The next morning you arrived with your fully vetted new mug of caf to find...The Grumpy Man back in “your” spot.

Kriff...what to do? This was awkward. While feeling rather put out and wanting to sit alone, you kind of felt for the guy. The gossip around town was he had been through a lot before arriving in Pabu.

Looking down at the untouched cup of caf: How many people, yourself included, came to this planet looking for solace and safety? How many of the residents of Pabu arrived with baggage before they healed and found community here? How long did it take to be comfortable with others again?

Your heart went out to the man all by himself sitting there. It was an amazing view and perfect place to be alone.

He turned, almost like he had heard your brain humming. Again, scowling over his shoulder. You stepped closer, but he didn’t budge and kept the suspicious side-eye. You approached the table and set the steaming mug next to him.

He seemed briefly surprised, with his features softening slightly.

“Good morning, have a fresh cup on me.”

You awkwardly walked away, leaving him alone with the caf. Heart hammering in your chest.

After closing the pottery studio, you decided to stop by “your” spot on the way home. The Grumpy Man was gone, but the mug was in the same position you left it. You assumed he thought it a weird gesture and refused to touch the mug. But you realized the coffee was gone and there was something in the bottom of the mug. Turning it upside down, a seashell fell out. A very pretty one too. It brought a smile to your face.

Next morning, you looked forward to engaging with Grumpy Man again. The black and silver mug was washed and filled with hot caf for him. Stopping at the local bakery you purchased a large cinnamon pastry on the way.

Grumpy was there. He didn’t turn when approached. You set the mug with the pastry perched on top of it next to him.

“Enjoy.” Walking away.

“Did you like it?” His voice was low, raspy, snakelike.

“What?” Stopping in your tracks and turning slightly to answer. “Oh...yes. Thank you.”

“Hmmm...”

That was all. He said no more and kept his eyes on the crashing surf.

You left and walked onward to the studio.

After close, you walked back to retrieve the mug. It was empty of coffee and now and contained freshly picked flowers.

This carried on for several weeks. Every morning you brought him fresh caf and something to eat. After all, he was skin and bones. Every day something different: a fat muffin, breakfast sandwich, fruit, grain-meal with honey, meats, cheeses, brunch cookies. It was a culinary journey of Pabu, as you picked up things from local shops, or even threw together items from memory of family recipes.

It was almost an obsession to keep this man guessing the food he would be eating. Local shopkeepers noticed you out and about more, enquiring about your sudden social spree. Tongues were starting to wag on the island. You didn’t pay attention to gossip and could care less.

Grumpy seemed to have a decent appetite. You were quite sure he was indeed consuming the food. Of course, he could have thrown it down the ravine to the fish and sea birds, and you would be none the wiser. It was obviously evident his man was thriving as he filled out, less bony, skin no longer a sickly pallor, and his hair was growing back. Hair as silver as the moon.

Every evening he would leave something in the mug as a gift. An unspoken thanks for your kindness:

The split egg of a sea bird, a marine fossil stone, polished sea glass, a cascade tree seed, feathers, bleached bones, a preserved Pabu Butterfly with striking iridescent wings. He even left odd items that suggested a sense of humor. The persnickety land crab attempting to fight you for the mug as its new home. The small octopus bobbing in the salt water filled cup...who inked you in the face.

Every day was a welcome surprise.

You sat the mug and Meiloorun next to Grumpy. There were two covered plates on the table.

He turned around to look you square in the eye. “Sit with me.” It wasn’t a question, but not an order either. “Please.”

This was surprising and you settled in next to Grumpy on the bench.

He slid over a plate and uncovered it: Two stacked grain cakes with a whipped dairy smile and two berry eyes. They were doused in rainbow candy sprinkles, sitting in a huge amount of sugary syrup.

“Wow...uh. I didn’t take you for a happy face kinda guy.” Suddenly regretting the remark and holding your breath.

He rolled his eyes and exhaled. “My sister made them. SOMEONE in town tipped her off that I’m not alone during my ‘Alone Time’.”

You burst out laughing. How could you not?

“Gets better.” He uncovered the second plate: Two cooked sea bird eggs sunny side up with strips of cooked meat centered below them. The “food face” was doused in ketchup to resemble a bullet hole to the head hemorrhaging blood. “I’m more on board with this design.”

You howled with laughter. Grumpy cracked a small smile.

“YOUR sister did THIS??? THAT innocent child?”

“Mhm...” He snickered. “Never. She breathes and farts rainbows. This is my brother's masterpiece.”

The rainbow remark had you roaring again. Wiping away tears. His delivery was so unexpected.

He handed you a fork. Now that ALL his face was visible, you noticed the tattoo.

He produced his own fork. “Let's stab out the eyes and feast upon their faces.”

“Wait!” You lifted the mug of caf. “First, we must drink the blood of our enemies and share the names of the victors.” You were feeling giddy now...never considered maybe taking this Imagined Breakfast Massacre too seriously.

It didn’t seem to matter to Grumpy. In fact, he was smiling.

“Y/N” You took a healthy sip of the caf and passed the mug to him.

“Crosshair” He gulped the caf, giving you a mischievous look.

From that morning on you brought the cup of caf to share and HE brought the food. His sister and brother would cook or bake for Crosshair and “his friend”. According to him, they were overjoyed that he had not been spending his quiet days alone. Then started incorporating his own ideas into the recipes. Crosshair would regale you with “Tales of the Kitchen” interactions with him and his siblings as they cooked. He shared secret ingredients, always asked your opinion on the recipes, and how they could be improved.

However, after the food was eaten and the chatter died he would stare wistfully at the ocean. Deep in thought, mulling over something. You would ask and he would deflect with another topic. Not wanting to push things, you let it go.

This sharing of food and caf carried on for several months. Sometimes you were able to get bits of information out of him: He was a military man before coming to Pabu and was in a special highly trained squad. You asked about his mother and father. He shrugged and said his parentage didn’t matter and that only his sister and brothers were important. You carefully asked about the scar on the right side of his head, now fully covered with thick, unruly silver hair. He glossed over it as an injury and no big deal. He deflected by asking you about yourself. This man was perfectly happy to talk less and hear you speak more. He listened intently and threw brief tidbits in and sometimes his signature “Mmhmm.”

Still, he seemed haunted by something and absolutely refused to talk about it. You sensed it never really left his mind and constantly grappled with something deep. Something he regretted with all his being.

You both sat at the table watching the surf, taking turns sipping from the mug of caf. The breakfast platter was eaten and empty. He was unusually quiet.

Then he finally spoke. “I’m leaving Pabu.”

“What?” You, shocked. It seemed so sudden. “Why???”

“I...” He sighed and looked down at the table. “Need to make amends for certain...things.” His expression was one of thinly veiled shame.

“Don’t know what to say...” Struggling for words. “How long will you be gone?”

“I’m not coming back.” His brows furrowed sadly. There was a lot of emotion, and you could see the difficulty he had expressing it.

Speechless, you stared ahead and watched the surf pull away from the shoreline. There would be no more shared caf and breakfasts with this man. The days of looking forward with anticipation to the mornings would end.

You both sat for some time in silence, listening to the waves. In...out...in...out...as if the island was breathing.

Finally, you felt his gaze. Turning to meet the saddest, deepest brown eyes. Such a pitiful yet touching display that hit you even harder in the gut.

“I’m...grateful to have shared the time we had together. I don’t say that lightly.” His hand slowly advanced palm up on the table begging to be joined with another.

You slid your hand in his and squeezed. “I’ll miss you.” Tears forming in your eyes.

He squeezed back, nodded, then let go. Getting up from the table he whispered “Goodbye.”

“Take this! I made it for you...even if I hadn’t known it yet.” You handed him the empty mug.

He took it with a look of surprise. Then he turned away before you could see the tears in his eyes.

But you saw them. You will never forget that.

Then he was gone.

You sat the rest of the day listening to the ocean breathe. Watching the sun make its progression across the sky, finally dipping below the horizon. You walked home under the stars of Pabu...one of them a low fast-moving light: A ship departing the planet.

Sleep was fretful. Finally frustrated with tossing and turning, you got up, dressed and walked to the studio. Firing up the lights, set the holo on your favorite “create playlist”, and sitting down at the potter’s wheel. Tonight, there would be a new design even if it meant staying up all night to mold, dry, glaze, and fire this creation. You threw yourself into the task, singing, and occasionally wiping away a stray tear.

The sun rose over Pabu. You washed out the new creation: A mug of blazing crimson red, raised relief of the sun, with a magnificent metallic gold corona. Fresh caf brewed in the studio. You poured it steaming hot into the mug. Then closed the studio for the day, leaving a message in the window when it would reopen, and proceeded down to “your” table.

You expected to be alone once again...however...there was someone sitting under the Cascade Tree.

She was blond, dark skinned and looked to be a young teenager. You could tell she had been crying.

“Hello?”

“Sorry...Just wanted some privacy. My brother would come here to sit and be alone.” She moved to get up.

“You don’t have to leave. Please stay.”

She spied the mug in your hand, and the pieces fell into place.

“You’re Y/N!” Her eyes widened. “He talked about you a LOT. He’s never done that with anyone before.”

Warm intense feelings welled up inside you. They spilled out across your face in a smile.

“What’s your name?”

“Omega.”

You set the mug of caf down in front of her.

“Well Omega, looks like I made this for you...even though I hadn’t known it yet.”

PLEASE like, comment, and/or REBLOG!

IF YOU WISH TO BE ADDED OR DROPPED FROM MY TAG LIST, PLEASE MESSAGE ME! Don't just comment as I might miss it. Thanks!!! <3

218 notes · View notes

starhvney · 7 months ago

Text

𝐒𝐔𝐁𝐉𝐄𝐂𝐓 𝟑 | 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝟒: 𝐄𝐌𝐏𝐓𝐘 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐒

𝐂𝐖: bullying, fighting, slight mention of blood (bloody nose)

𝐀/𝐍: me after writing this in one day :3 sleep? nuh uh

𝐖𝐂: 5,100 +

𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐓 ☆ 𝐍𝐄𝐗𝐓 | 𝐀𝐎𝟑 | 𝐅𝐈𝐂 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 | 𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐊𝐒

the morning air felt perfect against your face as you resisted falling back asleep while standing in front of aphmau’s house. the red door that distantly stood in your vision reminded you of last evening, when you felt much less calm than now.

you hold your breath as you slowly turn to look behind you, scanning the quiet street. the black vehicle no longer stood out against your vision, your eyes only meeting vacant asphalt where it had been before.

the early morning sun still felt cool as it reflected off the puddles on the ground, evidence of last night’s rainy storm. your lungs shakily deflate as you relax, focusing on the morning birdsong and distant cars passing on a main street nearby.

clearing your throat, you decide to just text aphmau to ask what was taking so long. your messages immediately pull up to last night’s conversation.

laurance: hey, i have to walk to school tomorrow cause my sister isn’t going

laurance: want to meet up and walk together tomorrow?

aphmau: yeah!

you: yeah for sure! meet in front of aph’s at 7:40.

laurance: cool, i’ll see you guys in the morning!

aphmau: goodnight!

you: goodnight guys :)

read yesterday, 9:20 pm

you hum to yourself, tapping your shoe against the sidewalk as you switch to your messages with aphmau.

you: i’m out front, you almost ready?

aphmau: yeah, so sorry! got distracted ><

aphmau: i’ll be outside in a sec

you: no prob!

it’s only a minute later that aphmau appears from her front door, hair bouncing as she quickly jogs down the steps and stops in front of you. her hair is down today, falling in light, natural-looking curls against her shoulder.

“i woke up late and didn’t feel like styling my hair,” she explains, patting down her loose strands when she notices your gaze directed on her head.

“it’s pretty,” you simply return, reassuring her with a smile and a nod.

she relaxes, muttering a “thank you,” before rubbing her eyes with a yawn.

“did you stay up late or something?”

aphmau freezes, before slowly nodding her head.

“uh, yeah… there’s this online friend i have. i accidentally stayed up too late with him playing our favorite game together.”

you make a small “ooohh” sound in return.

“that’s fun. have y’all been friends for a long time?”

“yeah! like, two years.”

“aw, that’s nice. what does he look like, what’s his name?”

“uhhh…”

you blink, staring at her expectantly.

“well, we don’t know what each other looks like… and his online name is fc.” she admits, pressing her lips together and tugging on a strand of her hair.

“…you’ve been friends for two years but you don’t even know each other's names? what if he’s some random old man?”

aphmau huffs, crossing her arms.

“well, i mean… i think it’s safer if we’re both anonymous. besides, we’re just friends.”

you hum, tilting your head in thought.

“yeah. i guess you’re right.”

aphmau bites her lip, eyebrows pinching together as she looks away in thought. she glances back at you hesitantly, like she was debating whether she should bring something up to you or not.

“what is it?”

“…i’m just nervous about the whole ivy situation.”

you sigh, biting your lip as you stare down at your feet in thought.

“she’s smart about how she’s doing it. no witnesses, holding the risk of our reputations over our heads. we need to find a way to get her caught without making it obvious.”

“morning!” laurance calls from behind you, his voice still a bit hoarse from sleep.

you turn to greet the boy, taking in his appearance. he seemed to have rushed this morning, the tie to his uniform slightly undone and hair still mussed from sleep.

“we’ll figure something out later,” you whisper to aphmau, to which she nods briskly.

“what’s up?” he asks, noticing your hushed voices and secretive formation.

“we’re having a secret girl meeting. without you.”

his eyebrows raise in surprise before he barks out a small laugh in amusement.

“fair enough.”

☆

you haven’t seen aphmau for most of the day since you parted from her at the school’s front doors—and it was something that was bothering you.

based on the smug tilt of ivy’s lips when she watched you walk into your homeroom this morning, you have a serious feeling she’s up to something, and you definitely prefer to be with aphmau when it happens.

does she genuinely not have anything better to do?

your stomach feels heavy as you enter the art classroom, especially when your eyes land on the kind-natured blonde who smiles and waves at your appearance. you feel bad at the tempting thought to ignore his welcoming face and sit on the other side of the classroom, just to avoid the wrath of the snake who now stays wrapped up in your thoughts.

your jaw sets in place, stubbornly throwing away the idea as soon as it enters your head. it’s not his fault, and you weren’t going to throw away your chance at a new friend group because of some girl’s crazy crush.

“hey guys,” you greet your small friend group, sitting between laurance and aphmau and leaning over to smile at garroth.

your eyes stay trained on aphmau’s for an extra moment longer as you lean back. she merely blinks, smiling calmly at your silent questioning. she hasn’t had any run-ins, then. good.

“ok, class. today we’re going to practice by doing a figure-drawing exercise. would anyone like to be a model for the class?”

you blink in surprise as aphmau’s hand raises, volunteering with an, “i will!”

“not as shy as i thought,” laurance notes as aphmau strides her short legs to the center of the classroom, hoisting herself up onto the stool.

“anxious but extroverted. an interesting combo,” you conclude his thought with a laugh as garroth scoots closer to the two of you.

the three of you start your portraits, your chatter quieting as you focus on the drawings in front of you. occasionally, garroth glances at yours and laurance’s pages, his lips forming into a pout out of the corner of your eye. you turn to look at him, tilting your head forward to catch his eye as he glares down at his paper.

“what?” you question him simply, your smile light and teasing.

his eyes nervously dart to you, unable to escape as you lean into his vision.

“ugh,” he groans, scribbling his graphite harshly against the page. “i’m just not good at art.”

he hides his work from you with his arm as you lean forward, trying to get a glance at his page.

“i’m sure it’s not that bad,” you encourage, lightly tugging on his forearm.

his ears turn red, barely hidden by the medium-length sandy blonde strands that curled around them. he sighs in defeat, lifting his arm to reveal the crude drawing underneath. laurance immediately giggles in amusement from beside you, his hand muffling the noise as he glances over your shoulder.

garroth turns to glare at him, and you deliver a light kick to the boy’s shin with a scolding look.

“no, yeah. it’s not that bad!” laurance says between laughs, before snorting as he looks down at the page again. “not bad at all.”

you pitifully glance back at garroth who was now blankly staring at his page, the corner of his lips turning down in an embarrassed smile.

“well… i see his potential. if he practiced-”

“aw, i think you’re too sweet on him,” laurance leans into you, ruffling your hair with a grin. “no need to lie.”

“don’t be rude! everyone has their strengths and weaknesses.”

laurance glances down at your page with a pointed look and raised eyebrows.

“funny, coming from clearly the best artist out of the three of us. no need to be humble.”

you sigh, exasperated at laurance’s teasing nature.

“yeah, you’re way better than i could be, even if i practiced,” garroth glances over at your sketch.

“well, i practice art a lot as a hobby. if i went out and tried to play baseball or soccer i’d probably never be on either of your levels. it’s not a bad thing, i’ve just never played.”

garroth purses his lips, still staring down your and laurance’s pages.

“can you teach me?”

“huh?”

“can you give me some tips on how to draw better?”

you blink, before nodding with a smile. “yeah, sure. maybe you two can teach me to play your sports as payment.”

he smiles, and laurance ruffles your hair once more before leaning off of you.

“sure, sounds like a good deal to me. speaking of, laurance, how’s the soccer team looking this year?”

“you play soccer?” aphmau questions, returning back to her place as garroth makes room for her.

“yep! i’m the captain this year.”

“woah, awesome!”

“yeah, and i haven’t forgotten about the schedule. i’ll give one to both of you when it comes out.”

“like you don’t have fan girls lining up to watch you already,” garroth rolls his eyes. “looking to add to your collection.”

“hey! this is different,” laurance pouts. “and you’re one to talk about fangirls.”

you make eye contact with aphmau, who gives you a look that says, “no, seriously.”

“and to answer your question,” he sighs. “the team is a mess this year. all our good players graduated last year. we’ll be lucky to make it through the season in one piece. what about you?”

“meh, it’s fine so far. dante’s been coming to practice and he’s not half bad. we might have a decent lineup.”

that was that gene guy’s little brother, right? you haven’t met him yet.

the bell interrupts your conversation, signaling the beginning of the athletics period.

“ok, class! be sure to turn in your drawings at the front before leaving. you’re dismissed. oh, and miss salome, you can turn in any drawing next class period so i can evaluate your skill level.”

“oh, okay! thank you!”

“ooh, real quick! let’s take a selfie!” aphmau whips out her phone, pulling you in by the arm and waving at the two boys to get in frame.

“hm? what for?” garroth questions, though still leans down, perching his head close to yours.

“ummm… cause we’re art buddies!” she shrugs, making room for laurance as he squeezes his face in the shot between our shoulders.

the four of you smile, and she clicks in a few pictures before letting the three of you go.

“those were cute. send me them, please!” you ask, leaning over her shoulder and gazing at the photos on her screen.

“me too.” the boys say in unison, and she joyfully nods at all of your requests.

“oh, here’s my number so you can send that to me,” he says, pulling a loose sheet of paper from his bag and scribbling down on it, ripping it in half and handing one to each of you.

garroth and laurance wave as your group splits apart by the doorway, leaving you walking with aphmau down the hall.

“where are you going for athletics, aph?”

“i think the off season kids are running on the track today. are you going?”

“actually, i was gonna practice volleyball today. katelyn invited me.”

“ooh, that’s fun! maybe i can skip out and watch…?” she wonders aloud, stopping in front of one of the girls' bathrooms. “oh hey, i need to use the restroom, mind waiting for me?”

you shrug, following her in and leisurely stopping in front of the mirror to check yourself out while she steps into one of the stalls. you notice her go in with her backpack, and you curiously stare at the closed stall door.

“oh, are you changing in here?”

“…yeah. i don’t really like changing in front of people, and all of the bathroom and shower stalls kept getting taken before i could get to them last week. that’s how i ended up alone with ivy and her group on friday—cause i had to wait to change.”

you hum softly in understanding.

“that makes sense. i usually face the wall when i change,” you purse your lips in thought. “if you want, we can start changing in here and walking to the gym together.”

you hear a sigh of relief as you hear her clothes shuffle some more and the stall door unlock. she comes out in the athletics uniform, tying up her hair in a ponytail and kicking her backpack out onto the floor in front of her.

“that would be awesome, you’re the best.”

you smile with a shrug, turning to the bathroom door when you hear it swing open. the smile immediately drops when you see ivy step in, her nose wrinkling at you as if she had just smelled something foul. her shorter friend–who you still haven’t caught the name of–silently walks in behind her, face still and emotionless as she looks the two of you up and down.

“well if it isn’t the two tramps trying to steal my man from me.”

you can’t help but scoff at her, stepping closer to aphmau and picking her backpack up, singing it up for her to grab. you feel a strange burning sensation in your chest, hands beginning to shake from anger.

“i’m not even going to entertain your petty jealousy. maybe if you weren’t so pathetic about your crush you’d actually be dating garroth, but instead you’re harassing his friends the first second he makes any,” you snatch aphmau’s wrist, dragging her past the two girls before they could block your way out and turning to the taller girl as she stares at you in disgusted shock.

“stop messing with us. unlike you, i don’t make empty threats.”

aphmau yelps as her hand slips from yours, her head snapping back as ivy’s polished fingers wrap around her ponytail.

you whip around, using the momentum to slide your bag off your shoulders and swing it around into the girl’s head. she lets go of her teary eyed victim, carmine hair flying out of place as she stumbles back.

her friend doesn’t seem too loyal about the situation, stepping back to the wall as she watches everything unfold with dispassionate eyes.

you don’t pay much mind to her, vision red as you focus in on the girl clutching her head as she turns her head back to you with an equally furious look on her face. you pull aphmau out of the way, practically sliding her across the tile before digging your fingers into ivy’s uniform shirt and using your leg to kick her knees out from under her, taking you both down to the ground.

“bitch.”

she lets out an irritated shriek, her hands flying up and catching you right in the nose. you groan in pain, eyes tearing up and giving her an opening to rip at the strands of your hair, her nails raking and scratching your cheek.

“stop!” aphmau calls your name, sounding worried and shaken.

you ignore her pleading voice, too focused on the strange burning and flooding sensation in your nose. gritting your teeth, you use one hand to hold her wrist from ripping a chunk of your hair out, sitting above her as you wind your other hand back and deliver a harsh slap against her face. her hand lets go of you, instead covering her face as you ball your fist, punching her head and pulling at her hands to try and get a better hit in.

“ladies!” a stern feminine voice pierces the hallway, causing you to freeze in place.

you turn with wide eyes to see mrs.hwit marching towards you all, her expression full of disbelief and disappointment.

“just what do you think you’re doing?!”

you immediately regret what you did, glancing down at the girl. her cheek was red from where you slapped her and her round bright blue eyes were filled with tears as she manipulatively blinked up in innocence at the teacher.

“mrs.hwit,” she blabbers, her demeanor completely different from just before. “aphmau attacked me again and got her friend to join in!”

“silence, miss veleno.” the stern gray-haired lady snaps, hands firmly placed on her hips.

you clamber back from where you sat on top of her, chest heavy when you realize what you just did sets in. you watch ivy flinch at the harsh tone mrs.hwit gave her, clearly unexpecting for this to not go her way.

“but—“

“this is the second fight you’ve been involved in, ivy, and from the looks of it you did a good amount of beating on this young lady as well. for goodness sake, her nose is bleeding. don’t play innocent.”

your eyebrows pinch as your hand gingerly comes up to your nose, a soft moan of pain leaving your lips at the dull pain. you retract your hand to see red smeared across it. now that the adrenaline has begun to leave your body, you also become aware of how the blood has begun to drip down into your mouth and chin, leaving a gross metal taste against your tongue. your cheek burns and pulses where ivy dug into it with her nails.

“i should give all four of you detention. this is unacceptable.”

you clamber up to your feet at this, holding your hand against your nose as it begins to feel strangely… tight? against your skin? what was happening?

“it was just me and ivy who fought each other, they didn’t do anything,” your words tumble quickly from your lips, guilt building in your chest as you finally glance back at aphmau.

she’s staring at the ground, bottom lip pinched between her teeth and eyes closed over with tears.

mrs.hwit sighs, going silent for a moment as her mouth twists in disappointment.

“then you and miss veleno can spend your time in detention after school today apologizing to each other. if this happens one more time it’ll be an in school suspension for a whole week!”

your heart drops, and you fight off the tears pricking your eyes at the woman’s harsh tone.

“yes ma’am…”

“now i want ivy to come with me right now to explain herself, and i will be talking to you,” she looks at you pointedly. “before your detention starts.”

“now alex and aphmau get on to athletics right now. and you… go to the nurse for your nose if it’s bad enough. come along miss veleno.”

ivy clambers up in shock, holding her cheek and turning to send you one last glare before following after mrs. hyria who was now furiously marching her way down the hall. you groan again, wiping away your nose and turning to look at aphmau again.

at the other end of the hall you catch that delinquent boy from the park—gene—staring right at you with an impressed smirk on his face. he silently laughs to himself before disappearing around the corner.

“um… what?” she glances down at the empty hall before turning back to you. “are you okay?”

her voice is shaky and stuttered, and you sigh as you wipe the blood from your face, nodding with a groan.

“yeah… sorry, i don’t know why i reacted like that.”

she shakes her head, waving her hands in disbelief.

“no i—i mean—“ she stutters, before sighing. “thank you for defending me. maybe she’ll leave us alone now?”

you turn to where ivy’s friend was before, only to see she must’ve quietly left the scene when you weren’t looking.

“i hope so. hey, go on to gym class. i don’t want you to get in trouble for sticking around. i’ll talk to you later.”

aphmau hesitates. “are you sure you’re okay?”

you nod, hunching over your bag and slinging it back over your shoulders.

“yep.”

she nods, glancing at you one last time before running off, the little charms on her backpack clinking along with her. you sigh, rolling your neck as you slowly make your way to the girls’ locker room.

your eyes tear up as you process what just happened, holding back a sob as you finally make it to the door, rushing inside.

you didn’t want to go to the nurse. you didn’t want to see anyone right now.

you let your backpack fall down onto the tile floor, stepping in front of one of the many sinks and leaning forward into the mirror to assess the damage done to your face. your eyebrows pinch together when you look back at your reflection, nothing really amiss except for the blood still smeared across your nose and your hair tangled and mussed.

grabbing a paper towel, you run it under the water and use it to wipe the blood from your face. your nose only had a slightly dull pain as you pressed your fingers against it, and what should’ve been deep welts on your cheek was only a slight red irritation. ivy had dug her hand into you, you should’ve looked a lot worse for wear than you did right now.

“…the hell?”

“oh, there you are! what are you doing?” katelyn questions, appearing in the mirror behind you and taking in your ruffled hair. “did you fall asleep in class or something?”

“uh, yeah... sorry,” you nervously laugh, glancing back at your unmarked face one more time before turning to her. “i’ll change super quick and be out there.”

she stares at you for a moment, frowning at your reddened eyelids and the glossy look in your eyes. she shrugs her shoulders after you don’t say anything further, and turns to walk back out of the locker room.

“alright, me and the ladies will be waiting for you on the court.”

☆

“got it!” you call, running up to the net and jumping, slamming your hand down onto the ball.

katelyn whistles as it lands in bounds in the back end of the other side of the court, concluding the last exercise of practice. the light cheers of teony and nicole–who was a close friend of katelyn’s–follow. everyone crowds together at the center of the court, clapping and putting their hands together.

“lady phoenixes on three!” katelyn announces.

“one, two, three, lady phoenixes!” everyone chants, before tiredly retreating back to the locker room.

“you’re pretty good!” nicole comes up to you, her dark copper hair falling out of her high ponytail.

she stood shorter than the rest of the team and even just slightly under your height. she played the libero position, and was pretty impressive with her diving and saving skills from what you saw. her eyes were a brilliant shade of gray, outlined by thick black lashes. freckles dot along her face like constellations, gathering mostly along her nose and cheekbones.

“thanks,” you smile, your mood feeling much lighter than it did at the beginning of the period.

teony and katelyn follow up behind her, the former coming to your side and wrapping her arms around your shoulders. despite her hard work all practice, she still managed to have her fruit-scented perfume stuck to her skin, the sweet smell invading your nose.

“seriously, it’s too bad the season has already started,” the chestnut skinned girl rested her cheek against your head, her chime-sounding voice.

katelyn nods, humming in thought as she rests her hand against her hip.

“yeah… do you want to come to practices during the athletics period? if you keep improving i bet you could get on varsity next year.”

“seriously?” you ask in surprise.

“yeah, you were seriously crazy with your spikes. you should think about it, we’d love you on the team,” nicole pipes in.

“for sure, sounds like fun!”

“cool,” katelyn nods, nudging your arm with a smile. “i am kinda glad we don’t have after school practice today, i’m tired.”

“seriously, i’m gonna go home and take a nap,” teony sighs lightly, releasing you from her embrace and stretching out her limbs.

the four of you gather your things in the locker room, but the girls turn to you in confusion when you turn to walk further into the school instead of going along with them to the exit.

“hey, where are you going?”

“oh, uh… i forgot something in one of the classrooms. i’ll catch you guys later.”

teony makes a small noise as if she has remembered something important, dashing back to you and pulling her phone out. she hands it to you, the sunflower charm attached to the pink phone dangling in the air.

“here, put your number in and i’ll share it with kate and nicki, okay?”

“oh, sure!” you smile, quickly tapping in your contact into the cheery girl’s list.

after you finish she waves goodbye, walking off with the other two out the doors.

that’s if i still have a phone after i get back home today.

you find the doors to detention, thankfully not finding anyone you know in the hallways on the way like aphmau had just days before. you step inside, immediately landing your eyes on the girl you had taken down in the hall just about an hour earlier.

her eyes dart to yours, mouth curling up as she glares at you. any sorrow you might’ve felt for her earlier leaves at her ugly expression. you stare her down, tongue rolling against the inside of your teeth as you sit as far from her as possible. you’re not sure what face you’re making back, but she’s the first to break eye contact, face faltering into a peculiar look.

before you can take a seat, the clicking of mrs.hyria’s shoes makes her presence known in the room. you turn around, getting a ‘come hither’ finger wave from the woman instead of words.

great.

you two quietly make it into the hall, even going as far as turning the next corner so you wouldn’t be eavesdropped on.

“now before you go explaining yourself,” she starts, taking a heavy breath. the maternal aura she gives off sends a lump straight into your throat, especially in this situation. “you know my daughter is lucinda.”

you look up at her with confused eyes, nodding slowly at her words.

“now, i’m not one to necessarily take sides in these situations. however, from what i’ve seen, and from what i’ve heard from lucinda and her friends, i can tell you’re a good girl,” her voice lowers to a whisper. “and i wasn’t born yesterday. i know when girls are being sneaky.”

she crosses her arms, lifting her reading glasses off her head and readjusting them in her hair.

“next time something like this happens… i can promise you telling an adult will end up much better for you than handling it yourself. do you understand what i’m saying?”

“yes ma’am…”

she opens her mouth to continue, but leans forward with a confused hum.

“did you go to the nurse earlier?”

“i—no ma’am.”

one of her hands gingerly touches your cheek, as well as brushing along your nose and under your eyes.

“strange… no swelling? not even a scratch mark? it looked like she broke your nose earlier.”

you blink. so it wasn’t just your imagination.

“i guess it looked worse than it was.”

“now, what’s happening?”

you gulp, looking nervously around at the hall for any eavesdroppers.

“um… just petty drama that aphmau and i were dragged into. it’s really ridiculous.”

“boys?”

you sigh.

“yeah. jealousy, and not on our part.”

she hums, rolling her eyes.

“but, mrs.hwit?”

“yes…?”

“i—“ you hesitate, stuttering in your words. “aphmau and i don’t want to be known for… you know, all of this in our first week. can you not get ivy in any more trouble for this?”

“what?”

“i mean… if she does anything else i will definitely say something. but if she knows i said something now i’m afraid words will get passed around school no matter how it plays out,” you clear your throat. “and i have a feeling she won’t pull something like that again.”

her lips flatten against each other, and she reaches up a finger to rub one of her arched, thin eyebrows with a deep exhale from her nose.

“alright, i understand where you’re coming from. i’ll sweep it under the rug this time, but if you get into another fight you will also be in very deep trouble.”

“yes ma’am, thank you.”

“alright, now go do your homework or something,” she dismisses you, exasperatedly waving her hands for you to move along. “i’ll see you tomorrow in class, dear.”

☆

“why on earth did i get a call from the school saying you were in a fight?” mom stands waiting for you in the doorway, eyebrows raised in disbelief.

you release a tense sigh, dropping your bag onto the floor of the entryway.

“because i got in a fight.”

“did you win?” your dad calls from the living room.

“yep.”

“good.”

your mom throws up her hands in utter disbelief, turning her head to glare at him through the doorway as he sits in the living room.

“what? you know she wouldn’t have done that if she didn’t have a good reason.”

she crosses her arms, turning to look back at you. a second passes before she makes a confused face, stepping closer to you and inspecting you with her hands on your shoulders.

“well the school made it sound bad, but you don’t look like she got a single hit on you.”

“yeah well, she did. it was the strangest thing, actually. my nose bled everywhere and she scratched me really badly on my cheek, but it almost immediately healed up… like nothing happened at all. isn’t that weird? even the teacher thought my nose was broken, but i’m fine.”

she freezes, back straightening as she looks down at you with a frighteningly strange look on her face. was it almost… horror? you realize that whatever your dad was tinkering with in the living room had also gone eerily quiet, as you look up at your mom with equally widened eyes.

“…what? why are you looking at me like that?”

she seemingly snaps out of it shaking her head.

“oh no, that is weird. it must’ve looked worse than it actually was. you’ve always had a… really great immune system.”

“yeah, i guess.” you mutter.

she suddenly clears her throat, retreating further back into the house.

“so what was the fight about?”

you sigh, repressing a groan as you prepare yourself to explain everything all over again. when you finish, your mom is staring at you dumbfoundedly.

“why didn’t you tell me this?”

“cause it’s so dumb that i didn’t think it would even get to this point. and by the second week, no less.”

she raises her eyebrows, nodding.

“yeah. this story makes this ivy girl sound really silly.”

“that’s what i’m saying,” you toss your arms up, before beginning to retreat upstairs for a much-needed shower.

“well next time—“

“tell an adult. i will.”

“or just beat them up worse than last time.” your dad hollers after you.

“do not do that!”

©starhvney, 2024. please do not steal or repost my works as your own

tag list: @orinlin @pain-in-the-ashe @youmake1mistake @thenyxsky (sry i forgot to tag you last time ><)

#aphmau mystreet #mystreet x reader #mystreet #aphmau #x reader #phoenix drop high #aphmau pdh #pdh #reader insert #fem reader

69 notes · View notes

romiantic · 1 year ago

Text

SPIDER SIS !

→ READING: older sister!black!reader

→ GENRE + WARNINGS: fluff + the n word is said

→ A/N: not to be confused, 1610!miles will be in red and 42!miles/miles g will be in purple. also y/n will perceive to be around my age, so 17-19 years old at the time of this writing !

— being the eldest sibling/older sister is quite…chaotic. from the birth of your baby brothers to now, you’ve never known peace cause it’s always something with one of the two. miles g is arguing it’s you over the tv remote or miles is lost in his math homework

— cause of his smart mouth and pettiness, arguments with miles g would be a daily thing. from sun up to sun down this boy will find the most minuscule thing to argue with you about. one time he blamed you for missing his favorite show like it wasn’t 100% his fault….

— whenever you and miles g are arguing, miles would stay out of it and hang out with his parents. he never takes sides, since he loves you both equally, but he does try to hear both sides of the story. sometimes he’ll try to play peacemaker but it just….rarely works

— this nigga miles g is such a snitch omg. he wouldn’t snitch on miles often but you, he running to the nearest parent. majority of the time, you would have to bribe him to not saying nothing

— even through the chaos, it’s a loving essence with the two. through the fights and arguing, they both have deep love for their older sister, they wouldn’t trade you for the world. also, these two are veryyyy overprotective over you, sometimes too much

— anybody talk shit about any of you three is gonna get hit or flat out cussed out by you or miles g. especially miles g, he doesn’t play those games about his siblings and will buck at anybody, friend or foe, he don’t care

— if you have a crush on someone, please don’t tell either miles cause miles is gonna tell miles g and miles g will find their entire identity like he works for the CIA. don’t let it be a boy either cause miles g will watch that boy with daggers in his eyes

— the boys have put a lot of their trust in you! they feel like they can tell you anything and almost any secret, unless it’s too embarrassing

— when it’s not chaotic in the morales household, you guys are usually chillin in the living room either watching tv or doing your own thing. if anime is playing on the tv, all three of you subconsciously hop on the couch and watch it together

— watching anime together is one of the times you love hanging out with your brother the most. all three of you are huge anime nerds (the worst is miles g), so sitting around the couch to start a new anime or catch up on an old one is quite fun and peaceful. also, anime is a frequent conversation, a lot of debates happen and one too many spoilers from miles

— when you were younger, you used to help your mom wash the boys hair. if your dad was at work, which he more than likely was, your mom would ask to help wash and style one of the boys hair while she did the other. it was fun watching the toddler miles splashing water and throwing bath toys at each other

— miles g loves stealing your food and doesn’t give a single damn about it. if you doordash some food, don’t let miles g peep it or grab it for you cause he will steal something. you know what’s funny? he’ll steal your food and judge you for the food you bought like it was his money spent on it….

“why am I missing three tenders? there’s supposed to be eight”

“yeah n/n, that shit was dry as fuck. don’t order from that restaurant again”

“nigga- did YOU buy it?”

“I’m just sayin that I wouldn’t waste my money on no shit like that”

— all three of you have the most ridiculous nicknames for each other and it would be something that happened in y’all childhood. y’all even have code names if y’all talkin shit about each other

— the sibling group chat would go crazyyyy, but not all the time. usually it’s tiktoks, y’all talkin shit, or some fight video that happen in school. more than likely miles g was instigating the fight

— for miles + miles g 19th birthday, y’all got matching spider tattoos and miles g got a matching nose piercing with you !

— when the boys were first born, they had their ears pierced and y’all parents would try to get matching earrings for the three of you. but majority of the time it wouldn’t work cause miles g refused to wear small hoops or a pink earring, even if it was sorta boy-ish

— miles g was the first to learn cuss words in Spanish, so he would teach miles about it. miles was clueless and didn’t know about they were bad words until rio popped his hand and punished him about it. poor miles :(

— when it comes to relationships, the boys always run to you before running to your mom. they would describe the girl and ask if you know her. if not, you would find her info and become a wingman for your baby bros

⭑ another long set of hcs, sigh

⭑ was this me mostly projecting being the oldest/big sister ? maybe !

⭑ lemme know if y’all want a part 2 cause I have so much to say for big sister reader 🤭

𝐕𝐎𝐓𝐏 💗: Psalm 100:5

SPIDERMAN: ATSV MASTERLIST + MAIN MASTERLIST

#* 💭🎧 ⌗ 𓏲 „ ˋmia is writing !#x black reader #x black!reader #spiderman atsv x black reader #spiderman atsv x black!reader #miles x black reader #miles x black!reader #miles morales x black reader #miles morales x black!reader #earth 42 miles x black reader #earth 42 miles x black!reader #prowler miles x black reader #prowler miles x black!reader

194 notes · View notes

itsangelicasworld · 3 months ago

Text

*･῾ ⁺ Welcome to My Bridgerton Life 🌺 .*

📚 ˗ˏˋ DESCRIPTION .ᐟ

Dearest Gentle Reader, As the new social season makes haste in its arrival, the ton is abuzz with fresh new debutantes sprouting along the marriage mart. Yet, amidst the collection of glimmering rare jewels, one young woman outshines them all. Lady Angelica Sinclair—the only daughter to the Earl and Countess of Ashbourne—has made her grand entrance into society, and is already drawing the eyes of many eligible gentlemen. Whether Miss Sinclair will secure a match worthy of her esteemed lineage or chart a more unconventional course remains to be seen. But rest assured, dear reader, as she navigates the treacherous claws of high society, all eyes will be upon her. I'm literally SOOO in love with this reality. I scripted out a lot of discrimination and such, so this is exclusively a reality where I get to dress up and have messy relationship drama🤭. I also don't have a S/O for this one, so we'll see who I end up with, if anyone

🦢 ˗ˏˋ ABOUT ME .ᐟ

NAME : Angelica Isadora Luciana Sinclair

NICKNAMES : Angel, Issy, Lucy

AGE : 20-years-old

LANGUAGES : English, Spanish, French, BSL

PRONOUNS : She/her/hers

ETHNICITY : Black and Hispanic

MBTI : ENFJ-A

PERSONALITY : Lively, outgoing, comedic, rebellious, educated, poetic/artistic, open-minded, empathetic, playful, hopeless romantic

HOBBIES : Writing (prose and poetry), acrylic painting, debating, gardening, sculpting, dancing, astronomy, harp, pianoforte

VOICECLAIM : Hayley Atwell

📜 ˗ˏˋ PARENTS .ᐟ

My parents are Valerie and Manuel Sinclair, or as society calls them, the Earl and Countess of Ashbourne. They're basically like the Gomez and Morticia Addams of 19th century London🤭. My mom is where I get most of my personality from; she's incredibly free-spirited and intelligent but also very sophisticated. My dad is far more easygoing and is where I got my passion for art from. He's mainly there to offer endless support for his wife and daughter🛐. My family lineage is one of the most well-known and affluent family lines in London, because I'm the main character actually <333

🐝 ˗ˏˋ RELATIONSHIPS .ᐟ

My family and the Bridgertons have been friends for years, so I have a specific relationship with all the siblings, but for brevity's sake, I'll only list out the important ones and my connections with non-Bridgertons!! GREGORY: Me and him are the same age in this reality, so we've been friends ever since birth. He's so much fun to hang out with. He loves to make me laugh (especially in serious situations), so we're always joking around. I LOVE GREG HE'S GREAT KATE: SCREAMING CRYING I LOVE KATE SO MUCH😭. She's the big sister I never had. We just connect so well, with both of us being very independent and witty. She also offers REALLY good advice BENEDICT: I grew up with two parents who held really high value in art, so it's a no-brainer that me and Benedict connect over that. He's the most unserious person I know asides from Gregory; he's really playful and I love him for it PENELOPE: Pen is a really sweet girl with a big personality. We used to clash heads a lot because of her attitude (not to mention the whole Lady Whistledown incident💀), but after her and Colin settled down, she matured significantly, and our little squabbles died down. We talk the most about literature and poetry, she's very skilled when it comes to writing

⌛ ˗ˏˋ OUTRO .ᐟ

I'M SO EXCITED TO SHIFT HERE HUHYGTFRG. I'm really looking forward to all the balls and elegant dresses I'll get to wear. NOT TO MENTION THE RELATIONSHIP DRAMA?? I'm gonna turn this whole reality into a soap opera. As always, feel free to send in asks about this reality!! <33

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ𝘂𝗻𝘁𝗶𝗹 𝗻𝗲𝘅𝘁 𝘁𝗶𝗺𝗲 *+:｡.｡ ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ. . . . . ╰──╮

#shiftblr #reality shifting #desired reality #shifting community #shifting antis dni #quantum jumping #shifting #reality shifter #shifting realities #bridgerton dr #shifting to bridgerton

40 notes · View notes

ssa-neeks-prentiss · 2 months ago

Text

Whumptober day 6!

Note : This is now a series! It'll be my first one :D

Word Count : 1k

Alexithymia : The inability to express your feelings

You were reading when Anderson rushed into the room.

"There's been another victim. With another note. It said 'Eleanor. You ran from me. And because of this, prepare for another trial.' It was signed this time with Vixen."

"Vixen is the name for a female fox."

Spencer explained. You paled. You knew who had done it. You looked around the room. How do you reveal you know it without revealing who you are?

You paused for a moment before sighing aloud, making every turn to you.

"Fuck it."

They were surprised and Derek joked.

"Didn't think ya had it in ya to swear N/N."

You glared at him.

"Now it's not the time for jokes.."

You took a deep breath in.

"I know who it is. And what family is being targeted."

They all stared at you in surprise until Spencer made the connection.

"Your family is what the murders are about."

You nodded.

"The trials were something my family had faced for centuries. It's why my family is so large. Each generation has to have at least 9 children before the next 30 years or.. The Vixen comes after them. It sounds like a fairytale. I know."

You thought back to the trials and you shivered. The agony you and your siblings had been put through.

"Let me guess, it's been 30 years?" Derek murmured. You nodded.

"And there's only been 2 kids."

They all grimaced and nodded.

"So what are we gonna do?"

You stared at them.

"You are gonna do nothing. This is between me and my family."

Derek snorted.

"Like hell we're not."

You were surprised. You through they were just going to agree.

"What?"

"You're not doing this alone." Spencer added. You were now double surprised. Normally, Spencer was timid and shy. But now he was determined. Determined to held you..

You smiled and looked down.

"Okay."

Spencer smiled.

"Okay." He repeated.

"Now. What in the supernatural bullshit are we dealing with."

Derek interrupted and you laughed before shaking your head and turning serious.

"There is a lot of things that exist that you wouldn't think did. Things that completely go against science and everything you know. But you've got to trust me. And trust that everything I say is real. Got it?"

You got murmurs of agreement and nods. This was really happening. They trusted you. You smiled again.

"Okay. Now, first things first, stuff like vampires, werewolves, ghosts? They exist, but not like how society depicts them in movies and TV series."

"What are the trials?"

Spencer asked and you paused. The trials. You flicked back to one certain memory.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

You heard your siblings calling your name. But you couldn't take it. You were so close.

"Y/N! C'mon!"

You couldn't do it. And your siblings realized too late why. You heard your sister, Maisie, cry out your name.

"Y/N!"

Then you heard your cousin, Celeste.

"Crap! She's injured! Someone come help me."

And that was all you heard before blacking out. It was an injury you had managed to hide for almost a week but then the blood loss had gotten to you.

When you were waking up after promptly fainting. You realized you were in your bed and safe. You didn't know how you had survived. Did the others come get you? You heard your name being called again.

"Y/N!"

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

"Y/N!"

You snapped out of your daze as Spencer clicked his fingers in your face. You frowned and shook your head.

"Yeah?"

"You spaced out. Are you okay?"

You smiled and nodded.

"As great as I can be when there's someone hunting down your family. But anyway, the trials. They're cruel, grotesque things."

You frowned and debated internally before giving up and lifting your trouser leg. They gasped as you revealed a long jagged scar that ran from the beginning of your ankle up to your hip.

"This was the best injury there's been in the trials for a while. To put it bluntly. Most don't escape. My generation was lucky that we all..."

You frowned. How could you forget.

"That only one of us didn't make it."

Your voice was cold again but they understood. Obviously someone had died in the trial. Someone you were close to. They decided among themselves to just let it go. It was a traumatic event for her if the that was the best thing that had happened in centuries.

You looked to the floor. You were revealing your entire life story. Something that you had hidden so very carefully for years. It's was all unravelling when you didn't want it to. You were just beginning to trust everyone. You had wanted to reveal it in your own time... Which was preferably never, but oh well. Life is harsh. You knew that much. Everyone in the BAU knew that much.

The team collectively frowned. They knew it was getting to you but it was weird seeing Y/N Y/L/N so.. Vulnerable.. Normally you were calm and collected, an asset in times of chaos. But now it was the greatest chaos and you were apart of it.

"Let's get going. I can show you my.. House.. And my family."

You spoke before grabbing your file and standing up. The others swiftly followed you, it was the end of what would've been a normal shift anyways, so they grabbed their stuff and followed Y/N to the car park.

You frowned. It was weird. Knowing you were introducing your team to your family. Kind of like introducing a blood family to a found family. They were both your family in some ways. You had gone through trauma with both and you had had most members of each family cry on your shoulder. You loved both families.

But you thought introducing them wasn't a great idea. Especially when you were coming unannounced. You didn't have time to go and warn them. You wanted to get to them as quickly as possible and make sure they were all safe. Even if you knew they were. Just to be sure, right?

#whumptober 2024 #no. 6 #criminal minds #fanfic #mentions of violence #bau x reader #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds x y/n #bau!reader #spencer reid x reader

29 notes · View notes

candywife333 · 1 year ago

Text

Fish-wife or No Wife

Summary: Did Jungkook have a wife? The rumor mill had been churning for years, divided on this one topic. He was a successful worldwide pop star who was always seen with a different lady on his arm, as he flitted from country to country enjoying his prolific career. The reason for the lingering suspicion was a cryptic social media post showing a picture of 2 kids who shared the same exact eyes and smile as him. So in fact, if he truly did have a wife, who was she? And why had the public never seen her? Perhaps she didn't wish to be seen.

Description : famous pop-star/idol jungkook x chubby y/n , might be two-shot or trilogy

Disclaimer: The character of Jungkook shown in this fanfic does not accurately represent Jungkook's true personality or actions. Please treat this story as fiction.

Trigger warnings: mild voyeurism, dub-con (still debating on this), rough sex

Part 2- https://www.tumblr.com/candywife333/733312853462974464/fish-wife-or-no-wife

I looked out the window, joyously peering at the bevy of daisies and pink carnations crowding outside. As usual the entire mansion I lived in with my two kids, Iro and Mari, remained peacefully quiet except for their occasional tinkling laughter floating downstairs. My babies, aged 4 and 7 were having their tutoring sessions at home. The tutor, a sweet girl by the name of Lim Nara frequented our house to teach them math and science. They loved her as did I.

For the perhaps millionth time in the past 6 years, I patted myself on the back for the wise decision I had made. Marrying Jungkook was the smartest choice I had ever made. We had a marriage of convenience that the general public had no knowledge of. He had proposed marriage to me when he was left with Iro, still a baby at the time, after a one night stand with a foreign model.

I had always desperately wished for children, even as a I had worked a pretty rigorous career in PR for HYBE. Being 25 at the time, I wanted a life of leisure after working all throughout high school and college to support myself and my sister, Wei, when my parents had succumbed to loan sharks and eventual death at the hands of alcohol.

One night I had been getting ready to head home when Jungkook, the notorious play boy pop-star had stumbled into me as I was exiting the building. He had a baby in his hands, who could've been not more than 1 year of age. I didn't realize that I would meet the love of my life that night. I was arrested in place by the little chubby baby with fat rolls all over his little thighs and miniature arms, with soft curly black hair, a round face resembling that of the full moon, and big black eyes that sparkled with happiness and love.

I remember the day as if it were yesterday. Shocked at bumping into the pop star with a little baby I had jolted in surprise, "Are you alright Jungkook-ssi? Everything ok with you? Do you need any help?" The indefinitely reserved man had expressively opened his doe shaped eyes as far as he could and stuttered in a manner unlike his usual, "Could you please take care of this baby for the night? I will pay you. I have to be at a fashion event which goes on later this night. And even though I tried contacting the baby sitter, she is not picking her phone up right now".

I was shocked for a few seconds at this sudden plea for help. I didn't even know Jungkook that well, except for a few meetings in which PR employees were required to iron out some rules about social media engagement for him and the rest of the members of BTS. Partly still paralyzed in bewilderment and a sudden unworldly connection with this beautiful little bundle of fluffy giggles and flailing chubby limbs, I took the baby from him, "Sure Jungkook-ssi. I don't mind watching the baby for the night."

Jungkook know his request had been odd and rather rude as Y/N was an entire stranger. However, he couldn't decline this event. It was a prelude to a bigger calvin klein shoot that would take place later this year in Tokyo. And he had to be there. Anna , baby Iro's mother, had left him on his doorstep in the most callous way, jetting off to Madrid for a different photo shoot with her modeling agency.

He had made the stupid mistake of not using protection that night, and had wrought the consequences. Jungkook stared at Y/N briefly, assessing her. Even though he knew she was not in a relationship, she looked like a mother. She was the type of girl who you knew would take care of babies and nurture them. She was curvy , with luscious thick hair cascading down her back and a very warm face. The quintessential girl next door. Nothing dazzling or glamorous to look at, but sweet and friendly. Like a neighborhood librarian. Or the girl next door who you could ask sugar from.

All the members of BTS knew she was the fixer upper of the PR time, very skilled at her job and aware of what she had to do to avoid bad press. Extremely efficient but kind, human in a way that they had not seen in years, even since their debut. Jungkook was at a loss for what to do and he had been coming to the agency to look for his manager. Yet, to his great luck he had found Y/N.

The next morning he had popped up at Y/N's apartment to take Baby Iro. When the door opened, he noticed Baby Iro giggling and playing with pokemon stuffed plushies in a corner as Y/N made something that smelled like sweet rice congee. She was dressed in a pink satin robe that concealed yet hinted at her lush frame. Her hair was in a bun as she ladeled him a bowl with a plate of cooked salmon and seaweed soup.

"Please eat, you must be exhausted from the shoot". As she walked over to Baby Iro, placing him on her lap as she persuaded him to take a bite of congee, Jungkook had the brightest idea. "Y/N, would you marry me?" Y/N almost fell off the sofa shocked at his sudden abrupt proposal. She chuckled in disbelief, mouth frozen in confusion, "What do yo mean Jungkook -ssi? Is this some type of prank?"

Jungkook ran over to hold her soft hands in his. He rambled, eager to get out his explanation before she put him outside his door on his way, "I need someone to look after Iro. With my lifestyle and the way I want to live, a baby does not fit into my plans. But I do not want to abandon my flesh and blood. If we are married, I will gaurantee you a third of my wealth written in a pre-nuptial and whatever else you would like. We would keep your identity hidden. Please consider my proposal. We can have a marriage of convenience, written out in a contract. No feelings, just business."

I stared at him in shock at his boldness and audacity. As the request filtered through my brain, I realized it for the great opportunity it was. I wouldn't have to serve a man, but would have all the privileges that came with being married to such a prominent star. He would barely be in the house, jetting god knows where with god knows who. And I could have wealth, peace, baby Iro and a baby of my own. Everything I yearned to have since I was a little girl. Babies of my own and money. Money that would not trap me into a desolate life. I could pay for Wei's college and set myself up for a stable life.

Measuring my words carefully, I solemnly uttered, "If you want this to happen, I want complete anonymity and my name written into the pre-nuptial with the amount you suggested. My only other stipulations are that I have a separate house for me and Iro, away from you. I need to ensure Iro has a stable upbringing without having to see models and other stars come in and out of the house constantly. The last condition is that I would like to have your child. We can do this through artificial insemination in a clinic. I have always wanted a house with children and if you intend on asking something this big from me, I intend to do the same. You and I will never engage in sexual intercourse and will keep this strictly a marriage of convenience. You will visit the kids at least once a month. I have no other say in what you do with your life, and wish you follow the same boundaries with me".

He sat there shell shocked at my quick rejoinder to his preposterous proposition, chewing on his lip ring , bangs occluding his dark eyes, pondering my requests. His voice reverberated through the room with finality, " I agree. You have a deal. I will have my lawyers draw the papers and that is what we shall do." We had a civil ceremony the next day itself, taking less than 15 minutes for the signing of the papers. He had looked disinterested and barely spoke through the ceremony.

After this interaction, I didn't see him till 2 months later. I had shifted into a beautiful house resembling a gargantuan cottage placed in Jeju near the coast. It was exactly what I had been hoping for, a home, away from the pollution of the city. He had written a third of his wealth into the pre-nuptial, which would be used at my discretion. The first thing I did was to pay off Wei's tuition for university and any debt our parents had left us.

I took a decent sum of what he had written in my name and invested it in many other tiny resorts in Jeju, making sure that the money would multiply. My kids and I would be set for generations. That was the aim. Iro was growing day by day, from a chubby little baby who giggled and snorted at the swaying daffodils and baby turtles that washed up onto the beach near the house, to a healthy glowing kid, friendly and happy, intelligent with a beautiful voice reminiscent of his father.

Jungkook kept his promise and showed up for a fortnight once a month to visit Iro the first year. The year after, his visits decreased. And with each passing birthday of Iro, the visits dwindled even further. He had kept his promise of providing sperm for artificial insemination, and as Iro turned 4, I had Mari. Wei came to help me during that time and we both watched Iro. The nights together were beautiful. Wei would help me cook all my favorite dishes and desserts, as we relaxed with house staff in the evenings, setting up beach promenades and tiny little parties for Iro and baby Mari.

My life became exactly as I envisioned it. Born on Christmas, Mari showed up as a mischievious chubby little tot into the world, breaking the glasses of the doctor who had delivered her. She was ridiculously strong, turning over entire flower beds even at the age of 2, learning to walk ridiculously quickly. Breastfeeding her was a travesty. She would tug at my nipples impatiently with her teeth sometimes , forcing the milk to enter her mouth.

My babies and I were living the dream. Jungkook stopped showing up a month before my delivery. He never saw Mari or Iro. From tabloids and news, Wei and I gathered that he was too busy hanging out with his members, attending parties and fashion events, living the busy pop star life. The tabloids held sensational titles of his new paramours, a new one close to every month. The women were so beautiful, otherworldly compared to me. I stayed healthy but curvy, thick thighs and butt, with a plusher stomach. The only drastic change to my body were the big boobs that had been blessed from pregnancy, that grew to be 2 bigger cups.

I had loose skin, and cellulite, and slightly droopy breasts. But I was happy and peaceful. I had everything I could ask for, taking care of my babies, stacking our money continuously as I wrote novels under a pseudonym. My romance novels were popular, and I had a book signing lined up next month in Seoul I intended to take the kids to as well.

Just as I was booking tickets for Seoul, I received an invite from Jungkook's secretary, "Hello Ms. Y/N. Mr. Jeon Jungkook is requesting you attendance for a banquet that is happening in his main residence. His parents will be attending and he would like to introduce the kids to them. Please promptly be there in the next 2 weeks at 9 AM. Thank you."

Well I guess the kids and I would be going sooner than I expected.

#chubby reader #bts x reader #jungkook x reader #bts x plus size reader #eventual smut #self love #angst #smut #jungkook x chubby reader #jungkook fanfic #bts #bts fanfic #curvy reader x jungkook #whipped jungkook #dubcon

129 notes · View notes

lunareclipse39 · 3 months ago

Text

The Princes' Whore

Finally, Aemond and Daemon agree on one thing: their desire and obsession to conquer Princess Sameria Martell, the Dornish beauty with rumored Valyrian descent, and a unique gift.

Warning: Smut, violence, swearing and graphic descriptions

Aemond

This is single-handedly the worst day of my life. I am to marry, not to my beautiful little sister Alyonna, but to a Dornish princess by the name of Sameria. She is the niece of Prince Qoran Martell, and daughter of Aran Martell, younger brother of Prince Qoran. I have never seen this princess, though they say Dornish women are renowned for their beauty, and their promiscuity.

"The Princess Sameria is almost here, Aemond. Be kind, be courteous, and attentive." My mother spoke, as we stood in the courtyard of the Red Keep, waiting for this Dornish girl to arrive.

I sighed. "Why am I even to marry her, anyway? Dorne has declared neutrality, so I do not see why this marriage is necessary."

"This marriage is not to secure an alliance, but rather to maintain the Martells' neutrality, to keep them from changing their minds and joining the war, and joining Rhaenyra's side." My mother explained.

I rolled my eyes. A guard screamed, "Princess Sameria of Dorne has arrived! Open the gates!"

The large, iron gates creaked open, as an elaborate carriage carried by the famous Dornish sand steeds marched through, more sand steeds riding behind. My poor sister Alyonna would have wanted to see this, but she is busy with her history lessons with her septa, and I am glad she is. I do not want her to see me court this princess.

The carriage came to a stop, the sand steeds, in all their bright white splendor, neighing at the sudden halt. A knight of House Martell opened the carriage's door, and held out his hand for the princess I presume. A golden tan hand grasped the hand of the knight, and a young woman carefully stepped out, dressed in a dark red gown embroidered in copper, and as her gaze lifted I nearly gasped. Princess Sameria was indeed an exotic beauty, her dark chocolate curls framing her heart-shaped face and bringing out her sapphire eyes.

"Princess Sameria of House Martell, it is a pleasure to finally meet you." My mother smiled.

"My Dowager Queen, I thank you and King Aegon for your welcome." The princess spoke, her voice velvety, and curtsied.

"This is my son, your betrothed, Prince Aemond Targaryen." My mother introduced.

"My Prince." The princess curtsied.

I offered her a smile. "My Princess. The rumors of your beauty do not do you justice." I flattered her, not an ounce of sincerity in my words, but hopefully she'd be foolish enough to believe them.

The princess turned pink, and smiled. "Thank you, my Prince."

I offered her my arm, her orange fragrance reaching my nostrils. Yes, Dorne, especially Sunspear, is quite known for producing blood oranges. I led her inside the Keep, her eyes admiring her surroundings.

Sameria

I am to marry Prince Aemond Targaryen, second son of the late King Viserys I Targaryen, brother to King Aegon II, although who truly rules the Seven Kingdoms is being debated, or more like warred, between two factions of House Targaryen, known as the Greens, King Aegon's faction, and the Blacks, Queen Rhaenyra's faction. It is all so stupid. Personally I do not care for this war, as does the rest of Dorne, so you may be wondering why I am marrying Prince Aemond.

My father insists we have the blood of Old Valyria in our veins, that we are descended from the extinct House Belaerys of the Valyrian Freehold, and that I must marry into our ancestry through the Targaryens, and perhaps even claim a dragon of my own. My father is crazy, but so am I for agreeing to this. I believe my father, strangely enough, and both of us speak High Valyrian fluently, as well as Dothraki, due to our many travels to Essos, where both languages are spoken in just about every city, but especially the Free Cities: Myr, Volantis, and Lys. Volantis is my favorite.

I was on my way to King's Landing to meet my betrothed, and we were almost there. I was accompanied by my cousin, Aliandra, whom I like to call the little fireball, my older sister Nerissa, and my brother, Ardan.

"I hear Prince Aemond caused the war." Aliandra spoke.

"How so?" I raised my eyebrow.

"They say he killed his nephew, the Prince Lucerys Velaryon." Aliandra gushed.

I snorted. "Please."

"No, she's right." Nerissa chimed in. "I heard the same rumors. Aemond chased Lucerys on his dragon through the skies of Storm's End, trying to get him to pay for taking his eye out."

"What a gruesome tale." I said, horrified.

"But no less true, or so they say. Honestly I do not blame Aemond." Aliandra shrugged.

"Killing Prince Lucerys was excessive, don't you think?" Nerissa gulped.

"Maybe, but I also did hear he never got punished, so Aemond's anger is understandable." Aliandra shrugged again.

We suddenly stopped, and I heard someone announce our arrival, followed by the sound of gates creaking open.

"We're here!" Aliandra squealed.

The carriage moved again, then stopped, and the horses neighed. One of our guards opened the door, beckoning me to step out. I grasped onto his hand and carefully stepped out of the carriage onto the courtyard of the famous Red Keep. I looked around, then my eyes met those of Prince Aemond, my would-be husband. He is terrifyingly handsome, the eye patch covering his wound making him look all the more intimidating.

Dowager Queen Alicent greeted me warmly, and introduced me to Aemond, who was rather cold but polite. He complimented my beauty, and I thanked him. I took his arm as he led me inside the Keep, while Dowager Queen Alicent introduced herself to my party, and welcomed them. They'd be staying with me for tonight, but would leave tomorrow afternoon.

"Is this your first time in King's Landing, my Lady?" Aemond asked.

"No, but it is in the Keep." I nodded.

"Do you like King's Landing?"

"I do, actually. Not more than Sunspear, but I do like it. It has its charm." I shrugged.

"And what is its charm?" Aemond wondered.

"It's lively, the people are kind, and there's a fair amount of entertainment." I said.

"Yes, and it's also filthy, especially Flea Bottom, and a lot of the people are dirty." Aemond scrunched his nose in disgust.

I gulped. "Well, you can't really blame the poor for not having access to cleanliness."

Aemond scoffed, about to retort, but that is when his demeanor changed suddenly. His face brightened, a wide grin stretching across his lips. I followed his gaze to a beautiful young girl, no older than thirteen, with wispy silvery white hair, round, bright violet eyes, her royal blue and gold-embroidered gown billowing with her as she ran towards Aemond, enveloping him in a hug.

"Aly!" Aemond purred, as Aly pulled away, turning to me.

"This is my betrothed." Aemond tightened, and swallowed. "Sameria Martell, a princess of Dorne. My Lady, this is Alyonna, or Aly, my little sister." Aemond introduced.

"It is so nice to finally make your acquaintance, princess. Word of you has gone around and no one can shut up." Alyonna gushed, beaming.

I grinned. "It is nice to meet you too, my Lady."

"Princess." Aemond corrected.

"It's alright. I am a lady, dear brother." Alyonna giggled.

"Apologies, princess." I blushed.

"No need to apologize. My brother is simply uptight." Alyonna teased.

"Am I?" Aemond frowned.

"Yes." Alyonna mocked. "Are you showing her around the Keep?"

"Indeed, sweet sister. She is to be my wife so she must know her new home. Where's Aerys, anyway?" Aemond asked.

"Training with Ser Criston." Alyonna shrugged.

"I see." Aemond turned to me. "Aerys is the youngest brother, and twin to Aly here."

"I look forward to meeting the rest of your family, my Prince." I nodded.

"Right. Aly, I will finish showing the Red Keep to Lady Sameria here. I shall see you at the banquet."

Aly smiled and nodded, running off. "She is lovely." I spoke.

"Yes, she is." Aemond nodded.

I was shown the dining hall, the banquet hall, the library, the armory, and of course, the throne room. The Iron Throne loomed menacingly in the distance, making me gulp. I dislike the sight of it. Such thing is the source of many tragedies and suffering, like right now.

Aemond proceeded to showing me his late father's chambers, where a model of clay about the Valyrian Freehold stood on a mahogany desk, making me beam.

"This is amazing! Who made this?" I wondered.

"My father, before he got sick and died." Aemond said bitterly.

"Oh. I am sorry." I looked down.

"Don't be." Aemond shook his head.

I see Aemond disliked his father, and thought it best not to ask questions. Not now anyway. I nodded. "Your father was quite a skilled potter. These figurines are very detailed."

"Yes. If only his skill at pottery had transcended into his reign, then perhaps we wouldn't be in this mess." Aemond spat.

"I take it you do not like your father." I mumbled.

"You're wrong. I hated him." Aemond shrugged.

This is getting uncomfortable. "I am sorry to hear that."

"Don't be. It is a good thing he is dead. He preferred to be shut inside here tending to his figurines and obsessing over Old Valyria than to his duties to the realm." Aemond said bitterly.

"He would have gotten along with my father then." I shrugged. "My father is also obsessed with Old Valyria, even claims our line is descended of Valyrian blood, the reason he agreed to our marriage in the first place. Right now though, his obsession has transpired to the Empire of the Dawn."

"And do you believe it? That you have the blood of Old Valyria?" Aemond mused.

"Not really, no." I admitted.

"And why did you agree to the marriage?" Aemond asked.

"Well, I am a highborn lady. I was bound to marry sooner or later." I said simply.

"You could have married a Dornish lord, or any lord." Aemond crossed his arms.

"Yes, but why have a lord when you can have a prince?" I winked.

Aemond did not return my grin, but his eyes did shine with amusement.

"Shall we? I will show you my chambers, then yours." Aemond extended his hand.

I nodded. Aemond's chambers were dimly lit, the decor quite dark and solemn, but he did have a beautiful view of the capital. We then stopped in front of a jade green door.

"These used to be Rhaenyra's chambers, but now they are yours. I do think you'll find them spacious and accommodating enough." Aemond said, pushing the door open to reveal a most spacious room indeed, furnished with a bed big enough for two people, the covers and decorative pillows emerald green in color with gold embroidery. The headrest and bedposts were made of dark oak, and I did have a large, arched window overlooking the gardens and the sea in the distance. My trunks had already been brought inside, making me smile. This was the room planned for me all along.

"Well, this marks the end of our tour. Do get ready for your welcome banquet, my Lady." Aemond kissed my hand and dismissed himself.

I blushed, and smiled. Perhaps marriage will not be so bad. Aemond may be cold and stern, but I believe a softer, more caring side of him lies beneath, shown towards his sister earlier. In time he shall show me the same side.

I opened my trunks, which were overflowing with my belongings. I will miss Dorne, and Sunspear, but I understand I am a highborn lady with noble duties, one of those duties being marriage, and later, heirs. I gulped. I am not sure I want children yet. I brought many dresses and gowns with me, as well as shoes, undergarments, and jewelry. A knock on the door startled me, and I yelled "come in!".

Nerissa stepped inside, marveling at the room. "You were given quite the room, sister."

"I know." I shrugged, choosing a gown for the banquet tonight.

"I shall help you get ready." Nerissa offered.

I smiled. "Of course."

I wore a cobalt blue gown, held by a copper necklace as the rest of the fabric flowed down, reaching my ankles. Nerissa slid two copper, snake-like bracelets up into each one of my arms, and then I slid my feet into copper sandals. She led me to the vanity, as I sat down and she brushed my hair, letting it down and adorning it with a wreath of sun roses, a flower unique to Dorne, but specifically Sunspear. Sun roses are gold, dark pink, and orange-hued, creating a dance of sunset colors in them. They are beautiful, and smell so nice.

Nerissa bathed me in blood orange mist, and I was ready.

"You look beautiful." Nerissa smiled.

"Thank you, sister."

Aemond

The banquet was ready, as all of us gathered in the dining hall, waiting for the princess Sameria to arrive. She did after a little while, wearing a most revealing dress that complimented her sapphire gaze. I see Dornish fashions are of a... never mind. Sameria will have to start dressing more modestly, and more like a princess and not a whore from the bowels of the capital.

My brother greeted Sameria, a brazen smile on his lips and lust shining in his eyes. Of course my brother will lust after the Dornish princess. He better keep his hands to himself and not humiliate me in public.

"Tonight we welcome the Princess Sameria Martell, as she will join our family soon by marrying my brother, Prince Aemond. May your union be one of love and laughter, and bring forth many heirs." My brother joked, making the others laugh.

"Let us toast to their union, and of course, to the princess." My brother raised his cup.

We all followed suit, drinking and setting our cups down.

"I thank you, King Aegon, for your most warm welcome. I am counting the days I pledge my love for Prince Aemond in sight of the gods, and that I finally join your beautiful family." Sameria smiled, turning to me.

I smiled back, not looking forward to our wedding day at all, and glanced at Alyonna. My beautiful, darling, sweet sister, whom my heart beats for. I have protected her since she was small, she has been my constant companion, she is meant for me, and I for her, and I would sooner burn every last bit of this world than see her marry another man. I will never forgive my mother for forcing me into this marriage. She knows of my feelings towards Alyonna, but dismissed me and insisted two sibling marriages cannot happen at once, due to fear of the gods. Fuck the gods I say.

The feast commenced, and I watched Sameria, who sat in front of me, chat with her cousin animatedly. Mother blames me for starting this war, and it is the true reason she is punishing me by forcing me to marry the Dornish girl. Her excuse of not wanting to anger the Seven is nothing but a farce. I still say fuck the gods. Nobody has ever been punished by them for misbehaving. They certainly didn't punish Lucerys for taking out my eye. No, I had to do the punishing myself.

Musicians came in, carrying lutes and a harp with them. My brother stood up as soon as music started playing, and he held his hand out to Helaena, who gleefully accepted. My mother and grandsire Otto watched them with amusement, and knowing how much Aly loves to dance, I stood up from my seat and offered her my hand.

"Care to dance, sweet sister?" I asked.

"Absolutely." She grinned, taking my hand as I led her near Aegon and Helaena.

We danced, slowly at first, then increased our speed a little. The music came to an end, and we all cheered.

"My sister here is an exceptional dancer. Sameria, show them. Go on." Nerissa beckoned at her sister, who blushed deeply and shook her head.

"Don't get all shy now. You dance very well and you know it." Nerissa nudged her sister, who sighed and nodded, standing up.

Alyonna went back to her seat as I hesitantly offered my hand to Sameria. The music resumed and we started dancing. Sameria was in fact a great dancer, moving along the music as though she could feel it, leaving me to look stupid alongside her. I am just not a dancer, only with Aly am I one.

The music stopped again, and everyone cheered for us. "Any other talents we might know in your possession, my Lady?" My brother wondered.

"Yes, your Grace. I am an accomplished cook, even more so than dancing." Sameria replied.

Impressed eyes went about, but mine were more curious. A noblewoman who cooks is certainly unusual. Helaena stood up from her seat, turning to Aly.

"Aly, dearest, you should bless us with your singing tonight. The princess Sameria and her companions would love to listen to you sing."

I smiled. Alyonna has the most beautiful, ethereal voice there is, and radiates the purest, most goddess-like energy when she sings. Aly stood up, and whispered something to the musicians, who nodded. 'Maiden, Mother, Crone' started playing from the stringed instruments of the musicians, soon joined by my sister's sweet, melodic voice. I closed my eyes, smiling. I could listen to her sing all day.

Aly finished singing, as all of us broke into applause. I stood up and hugged her, kissing her cheek.

"That was beautiful." Mother smiled.

"Your voice is a gift from the Seven themselves, darling." Grandsire complimented.

"Indeed it is." I agreed.

Sameria

After the feast, or banquet, was over, we all headed to our respective chambers for bedtime. As I walked towards mine, I heard the muffled voices of King Aegon and Aemond in the throne room. With my curiosity peaked, I hid behind a pillar, spotting King Aegon lounging on the Iron Throne, with Aemond sitting next to him in the seat of the Hand.

"Why are you even complaining? She's beautiful, and exotic." Aegon slurred, clearly drunk.

"I know she's beautiful, and exotic, but no woman compares to my Aly. She is a goddess personified, and meant to be mine." Aemond said, playing with the tips of his hair.

My eyes widened in horror, and a strange feeling bubbled up inside me. I had heard of the Targaryens' incestous practices, but to hear it firsthand... disgust welled up inside me.

Aegon laughed. "Brother, please. Marrying sisters is boring and devoid of life. Just look at me and Helaena."

"That is because you never make an effort to bond with our sister, your Grace." Aemond said sarcastically. "I bet if you did your marriage would be much different, and enjoyable. The bond Aly and I have is different, indescribable, but feels like home."

"You're being stupid, and ungrateful. What I'd give to have such an exotic woman as my wife." Aegon scoffed.

"If you like her so much you marry her." Aemond retorted.

"I would if I wasn't married to Helaena." Aegon shrugged.

"Besides, Dornish women are known to, you know, have sexual adventures before marriage." Aemond crossed his arms.

Aegon grinned. "Even better! You get a woman with experience. I bet the princess Sameria is a wild cat in bed." He winked.

I nearly gagged, and clenched my fists. I was listening to the king, or king presumptive, and his brother, my betrothed, say disgusting things about me. Even worse, my would-be husband was in love with his sister.

#house of the dragon #hotd #aemond targaryen #daemon targaryen #fanfic

21 notes · View notes

irenesweirdpinkstaff · 4 months ago

Text

Goth Songs for the Ghouls :)

Phantom: Mi Amour, Mi Vampira by DECIETS

Rain: Cascade by Siouxie and the Banshees

Swiss: Floorshow by Sisters of Mercy

Aurora: Cassandra by The Naked and The Dead

Mountain: The Hanging Garden by The Cure

Dew: 92 Degrees by Siouxie and the Banshees

Cumulus: This Corrosion by Sisters of Mercy

Cirrus: I’m the Woman that Killed Jack The Ripper by Scary Bitches

Aether: Scopes by Bauhaus

Several of these are just because i think they would like them, and others are because of how i see them personally. Not all of these are great or super accurate to what the song is about, but more what i feel it is about. (and how i’ve been able to interpret them)

Mi Amour, Mi Vampira is just a song Phantom would constantly have on repeat sorry guys.

Cascade is one of my favorite Siouxie and the Banshees songs. It is a sad song. Rain strikes me as a sad song person. The lyrics are also kind of off putting: “My chest was full of eels/Pushing through my usual skin.” i feel that Rain’s whole vibe just screams this song.

Floorshow is a fun song, with very interesting vocals. the song mostly describes a group of people dressed in black with makeup who are dancing. Swiss is known for his shimmy so… Floorshow. Coincidentally, also one of my favorite Sisters of Mercy songs.

Cassandra is a song about a religious girl, but it is the darker side of religion. it is a song about religious trauma. I mostly just see Aurora vibing with the song, not necessarily relating to it. *this song does describe abuse at least the way i see it

The Hanging Garden is one of my favorite The Cure songs. the lyrics describe monsters in the garden. The song itself seems to be describing a nightmare. overall, fun song.

Dew’s is kind of obvious, 92 Degrees starts off with a monologue saying most murders are committed at 92 Degrees (really bad summary). The song describes sort of heat stroke, and maybe a mirage sort of thing. it’s a good song. I was also debating choosing Souvenirs of Surgery by Specimen for him, i think it’s again obvious why. however, i think the song isn’t particularly right, but still a good song :)

Cumulus’ is a song with very beautiful vocals, and she has very beautiful vocals. also, it’s just a very fun and dynamic song in my opinion.

I’m the Woman that Killed Jack The Ripper is a really good song where the person described by the singer is a vampire who kills Jack The Ripper. Cirrus is a badass and she would totally love this song as well as every Scary Bitches songs. you might know their most popular song Lesbian Vampyres from Outer Space.

Aether's is a goofy song because Aether is goofy. Scopes just names a bunch of words that include scope, including: telescope and microscope. i think he would generally enjoy Bauhaus cause their music is so fun but also unique.

i could probably do a whole list of songs for some of them, but here’s what i came up with, as a goth who happens to like ghost as well

#nameless ghouls #shit ghosting #mountain ghoul #aether ghoul #phantom ghoul #dewdrop ghoul #cirrus ghoulette #cumulus ghoulette #swiss ghoul #aurora ghoulette #rain ghoul

28 notes · View notes

pet-genius · 8 days ago

Text

Excerpt from a SSHG fic that mostly exists in my head

A while ago I wrote, and then abandoned, a SSHG fic called "Soulsavers". I still think about it a lot, and so today I wrote a scene that could fit in it. The premise of the fic is that Hermione travels in time to try to talk young!Snape out of becoming a Death Eater, and they gradually develop feelings for each other. In this scene, the Slytherins at the breakfast table debate an editorial on the Daily Prophet:

Hermione would have been almost perfect, if she had not been so fucking clueless, Severus ‎thought. He shoved aside her inexplicable strokes of near-omniscience, along with the ‎knowledge that, had she been at this school since the start, she'd probably want nothing to do ‎with him, like all the other girls. “Oh, can you believe this utter bollocks,” she said, slamming ‎the Daily Prophet on her half-eaten toast.‎

"Finally, she's getting some sense into that head of hers,” Black remarked. “It's absurd to ‎think our society isn't under threat, even if most of them are just shaved monkeys.”‎ But Severus suspected that Black was merely projecting. Hermione gave Black a cold look ‎and mumbled something about “see how you talk in five months”. Regulus was too busy ‎admiring his own voice to hear her, and Severus already knew he wouldn’t get a straight ‎answer. Hermione turned to him, and asked, “Are people really dumb enough to believe ‎atomic bombs are because Muggles steal magic?! And this is how they justify all this idiotic ‎purity stuff?!”‎

Severus asked himself again, for the thousandth time, what were they teaching them in Australia, and stared into his tea. He knew Muggles, and as far as he could tell, wanton destruction is exactly what they would do with magic.

“Well?!” She demanded.

“Doesn’t it make sense, though? Suddenly, they can do this, and even they don’t fully understand how it works, innit?”

“You can’t expect me to explain how atomic bombs work! They’re the ones claiming Muggles stole magic, they can prove it! How were they even supposed to do it?!”

Severus shrugged. However the Muggles had come by atomic weapons, they still had, so wasn't it only right for them to be contained?

“And look at what this… this… Oh, the writer of this editorial is a Malfoy, of course! So how does suggest enforcing his ideas? You kill all the Muggle-borns, new ones will keep turning up!”

Severus glanced at Lily, who was giving Potter the cow eyes as he read out of the same editorial. “Dumbledore wants us to learn from them. He wants us to let their children mix with ours with nary a thought for preserving our identity,” James orated, exaggerating even his own pomposity.

Preserving our identity… Funny, that. There seemed to be nothing left of the Lily he loved so much, who could see her sister and his father for what they were: resentful, obsessed with their own weakness, believing it entitled them to treat their magical kin like the dirt on their shoes.

“Our secrets and our powers corrupted in their unworthy hands, whilst the Ministry wrestles with the minutiae of the Dark Artifacts Regulation Act,” the older Black continued, and still Lily looked at Potter with naked admiration. Such courage, such chivalry, mocking Dumbledore’s critics in Dumbledore’s own school.

“That's easy, Granger,” Regulus interjected. “You know it was Godric Gryffindor who insisted that the admissions book include every magical child. We could, you know, just have someone alert us when a new name turns up, if they're not born to a proper family. That's what the Trace was originally for, you know.”

“Not according to Hogwarts: A History,” Hermione rebutted. Another issue of hers, she could never help correcting people. Sadly, Black had deep roots in their society, and he reminded her in no uncertain terms that he had a headmaster's portrait in his living room and that she would do well not to correct her betters.

What an ass, he could hear her think, and quietly assented. Even an ass, though, was better than an inveterate criminal.

“Not everyone are as psychotic about it as the Blacks, mate,” Avery said. “Don’t scare our half-blood friend here, you know we want him to join. We don't need to kill their babies, we don't have to stoop to their level.

Severus could feel Hermione tense up, but he could not understand why. Nothing Avery’d just said was false. “We could just... have a separate school for them, to teach them respect for our ways. Then if they prove themselves, their children could study here.”

“Or we do nothing and let them blow themselves up,” a more practical minded younger Slytherin suggested. “Or take their babies and raise them like useful servants, without access to wands, of course,” Matilda chimed in.

The conversation turned to the many ways the Muggle-born question could be dealt with, and Hermione grew pale beside him.

“You can't possibly want to join them, Severus! Listen to them!”

Didn't he? He was wiser, now, than he was at 11. His desperate attempt to cling to Lily had failed long ago, not before costing him years of isolation from the other Slytherins. Of course he would have wanted for it all to be different, for the world to be simple. But it couldn't be. And Severus loved magic too much, and knew the muggles too well, to be that much of an idealist.

“It's rule or be ruled, Hermione,” he said with a shrug. “What makes you think the muggles or their children would rush to help you?”

Hermione had a peculiar (and aggravating) tendency to be very certain of herself, as regards what was right or wrong, and what Severus could or could not possibly want, and then crumble at the first sign of resistance. For all her fiery opposition, he expected her to have a better counter-argument than “But if you believe that, how is the world ever going to change?”

Who said he wanted to change the world? What if he had just–finally–understood it, and how he could thrive in it? And why did Hermione seem so convinced it was down to him how the world would turn out?

There was no use denying it, though. He liked that she made him feel important. He buttered his own toast and smiled at her, and she smiled wanly back. She was almost perfect, and it was far more than he had hoped for not so long ago.

#severus snape #snape fanfiction #sshg fanfiction #snamione

12 notes · View notes

zentriii · 7 months ago

Text

Kiyoomi scrunches her nose. She’ll never get Motoya’s obsession with plants. It was fine when it was just succulents, those are easy enough to take care of, but flowers fucking reek.

It’s not a bad smell per say, but it’s stupidly strong in this shop, even with her mask up. They’re pretty at least, she’ll give them that.

She’s debating between the pretty blue flowers and the silly, warm yellow ones. Motoya should have never trusted her judgment, how’s she supposed to resist the urge to tease her for always being in a yellow coloured team? At least Kiyoomi can say she’s escaped it in the Black Jackals cause gold isn’t yellow.

“Is there anythin’ I can help you with?” A pretty blonde girl in a red apron asks. Kiyoomi nearly jumps out of her skin, where’d she come from?

“Um, can I get these?” Kiyoomi points at the two, ready to bolt out of here because Employee Girl is way too gorgeous for her to not make a fool out of herself. Her palms are sweaty and she’s so grateful her mask is covering half her face.

The girl leans in way too close to Kiyoomi’s space and reads the labels, “Cornflower and fressia? I can put them together for you but d’you wanna check out the white freesia’s instead? They’d be real pretty together.”

“Yeah, sure.” Kiyoomi could be asked for her credit card information right now and she’d hand it over no questions asked. What did she ask her for again?

“Great, they’re over this way.” Employee Girl walks away and what else is Kiyoomi supposed to do but follow?

The flowers they stop at all look the same to Kiyoomi but she holds her breath as the girl talks about a few different ones, pointing them out and saying stuff about how pretty things look prettier together. Her name tag reads “Miya O.” A pretty name for a pretty girl. She wonders what the O stands for.

“That sound good?”

Kiyoomi nods, Miya’s voice sounds great in fact.

“Well you’re in luck! We finished our orders for today so I can put it together for ya right now but please submit a request a few days in advance next time. We’re pretty busy during the afternoon so ya picked a decent time to come in.”

Miya picks a few different flowers and the blue ones from before – the cornflowers – and heads to the back. Kiyoomi wants to protest but she’s just a customer and Miya’s an employee doing her job.

Miya peeps her head out after closing the door. She bites her lip before calling out, “Can I ask ya for a favour?”

“Uh, sure.”

“If ya see a girl with my face try an’ clock in, tell her she’s s’pposed to be in bed right now. My sister’s a bit of a workaholic, I stole her name tag this mornin’ for her own good.”

She assumes Miya means that she’s a twin but that’s not fair to her at all. She’s just a girl. Kiyoomi only hopes she won’t have to see the two of them together. One pretty girl’s bad enough for her heart as is.

The time passes by in a blur. At one point she’s keeping a vague eye out for Miya’s clone to walk in while looking at the different flowers; the next she’s being given her bouquet, paying for it, and waving bye to the prettiest girl in the world.

Oh well, it’s not like she’s the main character in a yuri manga.

Kiyoomi drops off the flowers at Motoya’s. She’s supposedly too busy taking care of her sick girlfriends to make the trip herself. Kiyoomi wonders if that excuse is just bullshit since it’s been months and she’s still not met Osamu and Rin yet. Unfortunately, Motoya’s apartment’s stuffy and reeks of sickness so maybe there’s some truth to Motoya’s words.

Maybe.

“You got the flowers?” Motoya closes her room door behind her, thankfully right before a loud sneeze is released by one of her definitely real girlfriends. Well there goes that bet Kiyoomi had going with Yachi.

“Yeah, I still don’t get why you can’t have a normal hobby. These things die in like, a week.”

Motoya fusses over the flowers for a bit, making them nice and pretty in a clean vase that held her last bouquet. “One, Samu gets all blushy when I give her flowers and two, I just like them. It’s low stakes responsibility that forces me to have my shit together.”

Kiyoomi snorts. Motoya’s always had her shit together, even if it looks like a mess on the outside. Her cousin is one of the most ruthlessly competent people she knows.

“Hey Kiyo, where’d you get these by the way?” Motoya asks cutting the store tag off a stem.

“Doesn’t it say there?” Kiyoomi asks. “Miya’s Boutique I think.”

“Well whichever employee rang you up left you a little something.” Motoya tosses the label to her with a smug little smirk.

Kiyoomi wants to shove her hand into her face to wipe it off, but Motoya would lick her first and she doesn’t want to think about where her tongue’s been, sick partners or not.

She takes a look at the what Motoya meant and pretends like the name and numbers aren’t sending a rush of blood straight to her face. She carefully tucks it into a pocket while maintaining eye contact with her menace of a cousin. Motoya can smell the smallest twinge of embarrassment in a crowd and she is not to be trusted to mind her own business.

She laughs at nothing, like the airhead Kiyoomi’s always known her to be, but there’s something unsettling in the knowing glint in her eyes. Kiyoomi firmly ignores it: if it isn’t acknowledged, it isn’t real.

“Oh this is killing me, Kiyo you’ve gotta come over next week. Please I think I’ll die.” Motoya abandons her flowers in favour of hanging off of her arm and giving her stupid puppy eyes. “You can bring whoever left you their number. Actually, please bring them, you’ve gotta.”

Fuck, how’s Kiyoomi supposed to say no to her puppy eyes.

“Fine, but fat chance I bring her over.”

Motoya sniffs hautily, like Kiyoomi’s doing her a great disservice. “You’ll regret it.”

“Doubt it,” Kiyoomi sighs, hoping future-her doesn’t give in to Motoya’s ridiculous demands.

She leaves with a halfhearted wave, feeling preemptive disappointment in herself because she knows Motoya’s not going to let her go so easily. Whatever. She’s got better things to spend her energy on.

How many i's in a “hi” is too desperate to send?

#woaw i called atsumu pretty so many times. i had to replace a few w other words but you alr know femtsumu's the prettiesttt #anyways she's neither a msby member or an official employee of miya's boutique but a secret third thing !!#also she 100% lied abt orders for the day being done and rushed to finish everything she had left lol. she's equally down bad ehehe #toya's gonna have a laugh when omi walks in w atsumu hanging off her while snos and skts have a spiderman meme moment #alright those tags out of the way #HAPPY BIRTHDAY GAIA MY BELOVEDD #woke up saw it was your birthday and wrote this for you my fellow fem skts lover <33 #it's absolute nonsense plot-wise but since it's me writing it. it's cute and incredible and everything ever :D #also if there's mistakes here shh. i was editing while watching suna beeing yeeted and omi get kidnapped on [ ]'s stream on the server #okay real tags:#haikyuu #haikyuu fic #miya atsumu #sakusa kiyoomi #sakuatsu #maz writes #my fic

39 notes · View notes

laylawatermelon · 5 months ago

Text

I didn't like the dinner scene... Or the progression of Buck's relationship.

Let's talk about it!

I've been lurking and waiting to form my full opinion (away from my buddie mind) and I will compare the two.

I came in the fandom rather late and before season 7 aired. Buddie had been the consensus ship let's say.

I want to talk about these things

Bi buck

Bi buck episode

The aftermath

The rise of tommy

The fall of tommy

Buddie and BuckTommy relationship

The wheel

As a fan and a writer I recently started doing in depth analysis for my favorite TV shows to challenge myself and learn the trade I'm eventually going to work with.

I'll start with my problem/observation with the hamsterwheel --> bucktommy relationship --> separation of Buddie --> differences between the relationship.

First the hamster wheel I truly believed that when he mentioned having to work hard and it being new and different I really expected something special.

Now as a Buddie before this happened I was like OMG its happening. All the way up until the last part of 7x04 (where i promptly blacked all the way out) and that Buck was going to work for Eddie.

In the case of the preview and marketing they did in fact put a beautiful buddie shaped blanket over the whole thing and pulled it away for a new ship.

Now it would make sense some fans would be mad. Most people have an otp. That doesn't change with anything.

Buddie was still very prominent with all the female love intrests so it became confusing to me with the response but I'll get back to that in a minute.

The kiss (which he didn't ask before and it was really sudden / can argue Buck was okay with it cause hot guy duh but still a lil mehh) was quick. It felt very hamster wheel like he's jumping into something new.

Then subsequently in the other episode called you don't know me aka the BUCK!! date where a closeted joke was made (funny in tv but not in real life).

Granted Buck could've handled it better but he literally brain melted. Your straight (?) friend catches you on your literal first date with a man in secluded past of town. Yeah I'm taking myself outside for a sec.

The Evan thing also applies. On screen we haven't gotten a denounc

ement of the name Buck and what it means. I don't know it feels like two separate lives if I think about it.

He's Evan with him but Buck with everyone else (this is very convoluted).

That name thing has been and will continue to be debated. 🤷🏾‍♀️

The hamster wheel sped up expeditiously when he invited him to his sister's wedding. Right after Eddie stated he is rushing too fast.

(Which Buck also does due to ✨abandonment issues✨)

Then the bachelor party where he didn't dress up.

I know people made real life excuses but the things is I'm a canon more than a fanon person.

(yes buddie isn't canon hypocrisy ik but WAIT)

What I mean by that is that I take what characters say and do at face value. That information forms my opinions of them.

Unfortunately there's been about 7 years and all couple parallels with Buddie so my brain was like yep, that's canon.

When Tommy was being discussed at first (and now) I'm still saying as that he's a blank sheet that the fans who've wanted Buck to be in a loving reciprocal relationship so that's being projected on him.

So that equates to him being a let's say "out of character" personality in the online space.

I said in an episode analysis that Tommy's interested and not invested and I stand by that until the show proves other wise or writes their relationship on a deeper level.

Fanon Tommy's character would've worn a costume, hell they might've been the ones matching.

Because he's that dedicated and invested.

In canon, he didn't even come up with a simple enough reason and just brished it aside.

Now once again the you don't know me and writing wise it's significant that Buck's not acknowledged as Buck, and his lover isn't allowed to call him that. They're cooking something.

Idk what it is or if it's burning or not. But it's cooking regardless.

Deep conversations. Honesty with Eddie.

Tommy. Redirection and minimization. (and a smidgen of jealousy)

I also had some qualms about the sexualization of Buck's character or the minimization or common theme of Buck being used/useful.

They make it a poetic irony that the man who failed to be useful in saving/being savior baby then be used throughout his adult life.

Whether that be a substitute/donor for his older brother, a fantasy or story for some, or a quick fling/easy relationship the writers haven't fully gotten him out of the hamster wheel.

(but they're cooking ik it. Im praying. Im hoping. Please be cooking!!)

The writing of the relationship is failing it. Unless it should be like that.

For the rest of the topics I was talking about the bi buck episode and how much it meant to TV.

As we still know, Hollywood/American TV is a global thermometer let's say and tends to be discussed/acknowledged/distributed worldwide. As a result when certain things are done in the shows it can be a milestone.

I can admit I overlooked some things (as I am an avid hunter of media especially HAPPY! queer stories being told of POC and otherwise) so I can sometimes forget how impactful/important certain things are for the American/world audience to see.

Like henren, a black lesbian couple with a kid! Married! Both incredibly successful in their respective jobs.

Like that alone could be a TV show honestly.

That's why when Bi Buck happened I was happy. (I legitimately blacked out because I didn't see or hear the preview right after 🤣🤣 I was distressed when I came to)

But honestly I am still happy and proud that it happened.

I didn't get the significant of the extent of visibility of having a male (later in life is important!) come out or be acknowledged as bisexual.

Granted in cannon the word hasn't been uttered or expanded on but they head a rough 10 episodes so I'll give em some slack.

But as a viewer and a writer I see how important it is to have it happen and the significance of it through real life stories and anecdotes and for that I am happy for that party of the relationship. 🥺

I won't take that moment away from them. Was it perfect (including all the other stuff afterwards?) No.

But was it necessary and messy and awkward like real life? Absolutely yes and I love it.

This is peak TV I tell you. (I've never blacked out like that to TV before so that was a first🤣)

But on a real note I was excited (and neutral towards Buck and Tommy being together).

I still ride the Buddie ship all start for to the context clues (slutty dangerous barbell scene anyone??) that it may be confusion on his part or at least leaving the door partly open for Buddie.

(it really could be just gauging the audience reaction)

I won't really talk about the second half of Buddie sexual identity because that either deserves it own post and has to be expanded on.

(Eddie i beg. The women of the world DON'T need you right now. Be a beautiful centerpiece. Do not traumatize the women of la no more. Take care of your son. Don't go through treacherous roads. Take the journey elsewhere. I beg!!!)

But on a serious note I noticed the quick turn I would say on the characterization/head canon of Buck's love interest.

I find it interesting that for female counterparts there hasn't been such a response. (I have heard about Buck Taylor riders though)

(this is my inner thoughts. Very hot. 10/10. My soul was pleased. Couple? Awful. Friends? Brilliant. Taylor motives? Nah you can't be round me with all that sneaky stuff)

But her character was the most expanded on.

But with Tommy, most of what's stated about the relationship at the beginning was headcanon.

I think where the shows heading is to show the incompatibility between them.

Tommy's scenes so far have been casual, smooth and easy.

He doesn't mind a quick date. He doesn't want to dress up for the theme. He'll be there but it's not too important to fuss about it.

The deleted scene is avoidant (which may become a character trait about emotions) to deeper conversations. We see this reflected as well when they're at the dinner after Bobby's finally pulled through (and Buck lost his son😭😭 I'm not even on no shipper shit that's his baby😭😭) and he starts to be vulnerable.

I expected it to lean more towards a heartwarming or honest conversation but one again he shuts it down.

What I think they're going to do with his character/have been doing is show that he's avoidant to confrontation.

(i could argue that for his friend he might do more because the Eddie flying things still throws me for a loop in comparison to how they're portraying their relationship)

But I stick by the interested not invested point.

With the little screen time they've had to develop his character they've shown that it's not really endgame they're just incompatible. 🤷🏾‍♀️

Comparing the Buddie and Tommy relationship the investment/support becomes a bit evident.

Not matching with Tommy. Incompatible.

Matching with Eddie. Compatible.

Deep conversations. Honesty with Eddie.

Tommy. Redirection and minimization. (and a smidgen of jealousy)

Now you can argue (as a writer in gritting my teeth as I type this) if they do go down the route of his love "changed" me, it it's a possibility to write him becoming a better partner through love or sum.

As Buck is very emotional and he can get him to open up be more serious as he sees him taking it seriously.

As a buddie that killed me!!!!! but as a writer i had to speak up.

Anyways... If it goes that route I'll hate it a little. Hare it and like it seesaw kind of (look ik potential when i see it)

The hate part is that once again it'll be uaed/hamster wheel/i have to prove or gain your love or show that you appreciate me.

Like it cause who doesn't like a good you changed me by being yourself?

I'm a hater through and through. 😤

Tommy as a character I was neutral on at first. I'm still lukewarm about the relationship itself but the character is falling into the same old box all love interests get.

Not enough character but more than enough sex.

Regarding Buck's relationship they're always a give and take, Buck ending up being more of a giver (I'm not defending no white man for his mistakes though he do be doing some things side eye worthy).

But because the love interests are just that and not fleshed out characters, they end up not being able to stand on their own and be interesting enough outside of the one off appearances.

With the exception of Karen my love, my sweetness.

But most of Buck and Eddie's love interests can sometimes be reduced to props to move plot along/give character development.

(which as a writer i didn't hate as it's a multi lead drama series but..... If they want a long term partner to be introduced they can write it like Karen)

I can think of many scenarios and ways to actually make the character less off-putting to some.

Examples: more enthusiasm/effort actually being put in (or maybe that's where the statement Buck had to work for it applies? That Buck had to work for his love ??? I'm speculating now), being more straightforward, the jealously not being brought up like twice now.

Sirens are blasting with that one 🚨🚨

(The characters actions being vetoed off screen doesn't help either. It also applies to a lot of problematic things that sweep under the rug. Only the queer characters cheating? Violence against each other? Goading into drinks? Kissing/cheating? Manipulation?.... Eh it's drama but the cheating storylines and the characters it happens to makes me a lil 👀...)

All in all me and my homegirls not pleased.

I ain't been swayed anywhere and the way the wind in this writing ain't blowing nowhere.

#911 abc #eddie diaz #evan buckley #the writing is failing this in the show #or succeeding who knows #911 fox #lgbtqia #tv shows #long post #yap session #911throwbacktuesday #i like to debate #idk if it's obvious #this is a thread of consciousness #buddie #imma wait for season 8 tho 😙😝#I'm invested now #i still ride for my buds

22 notes · View notes