#bed bug powder

[karlsten1]

Karlsten Products' Bed Bug Power: Infographic

With its powerful bed bug powder, Karlsten becomes a valued partner in the fight against bed bugs. Karlsten's bed bug powder is effective in eliminating these pests. The recipe, designed to attack bed bugs at their source, is the key.

[bedbugstore]

Bed Bug Powder: Diatomaceous Earth - A Comprehensive Guide [2023]

Bed bugs, those notorious nighttime pests, can turn peaceful slumber into a nightmare. For many homeowners in the United States, finding an effective, safe, and natural solution is a top priority. One such solution that's gaining popularity is diatomaceous earth, often referred to as bed bug powder.

In this comprehensive guide, we'll delve into what diatomaceous earth is, how it works, and how to use it effectively. We'll also explore where you can find it, including options at Home Depot and Walmart.

[katz-rambles]

hello! I see your taking requests so can i request arcane charaters reacting to the reader with a good singing voice? please and Thank you!

Of course! I'm a former choir kid, so now so is the reader, specifically a soprano.

(fluff, gn!reader, established relationships with the characters (separate), I think this is it!)

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚˚₊‧꒰

Jinx

• She's immediately in love with your voice, that's a given.

• Constantly asks you to sing for her, and if you do it's like she's in her own little world where it's just the two of you.

• When she puts on her music while she's tweaking with her inventions, if you start to sing along, she'll fold right then and there. She's in a trance.

• She purposefully keeps the music quieter than normal so she can hear you better.

• If she recently had an episode, you're one of the people she may go to afterward to help her calm down. Your voice is therapeutic to her.

"Whoa, toots. You never told me you could sing. Oh! We could sing together! Just you and me!!"

˚₊‧꒰ა 𓂋 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚˚₊‧꒰ა 𓂋 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚˚₊‧꒰ა 𓂋 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚˚₊

Vi

• A lot like her sister, she loves your voice. She would actually pay you to sing for her.

• Please do karaoke with her. It's one of her favorite things, and it also gives her an excuse to listen to you sing.

• If you two are laying in bed together, she may start to hum a tune, as a silent ask to have her sing with you, and you know this. Plus, who are you to deny her your beautiful voice?

• One of her favorite things to do with you is sing. You two could be working on your own little projects, and she'll turn on a good song, and you two will just sing together.

• Taken together, she loves your voice. She's not afraid to tell you that either.

"Oh, come on, cupcake. Your voice is.. angelic. Please, can you choose the song this time?"

˚₊‧꒰ა 𓂋 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚˚₊‧꒰ა 𓂋 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚˚₊‧꒰ა 𓂋 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚˚₊

Ekko

• Loves to hear you sing. Honestly, he also has an angelic voice (but don't tell anyone.)

• He will 100% sing with you. You two can harmonize amazingly. His voice is the perfect opposite to yours.

• He lays his head in your lap and just listening to you sign, or hum. Either way, he loves listening to you.

• If you sign to the kids, especially to help them calm down, he's head over heels. Immediately.

• After a long mission, you help him calm down by you both singing. It's so therapeutic for both of you.

"Thank you, bug. I mean it, you don't know how much I needed that. Your voice is amazing, thank you."

˚₊‧꒰ა 𓂋 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚˚₊‧꒰ა 𓂋 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚˚₊‧꒰ა 𓂋 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚˚₊

Vander

• Kareoke nights at the bar. The people love you, and so does he.

• If you sing ragtime, or anything similar, he asks you to have a certain day of the week or month dedicated to you performing live music.

• He enjoys listening to you. So do Powder and Violet. They all love to listen to you, especially after a particularly long day.

• If you two have a few drinks, he'll pit a record on, and you two will dance and sign for hours.

• He loves it when you sing while cooking. If you like to cook, it's so domestic. It's something that helps him calm down.

"Powder loves it when you sing for her, you know. She said so herself. She loves it, almost, as much as I do, darl'."

˚₊‧꒰ა 𓂋 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚˚₊‧꒰ა 𓂋 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚˚₊‧꒰ა 𓂋 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚˚₊

Grayson

• She's head over heels for you when she figures it out. Your voice is such an opposite compared to her raspy voice.

• She finds you entrancing, every nite you can, or can't, hit just fuels her love for you.

• After almost every mission she loves to hear you sing, it's such a comfort for her.

• Sometimes she'll place a finger or two on to your neck while you sing to feel the vibrations of your voice and to mess with you by pressing down to give you a voice crack.

• If you try and teach her how to sing, she'll actually fold. You're so sweet, and you always sound amazing. Please sign and let her dance with you.

"You sound so pretty, you know. I could never tire of hearing you, love."

˚₊‧꒰ა 𓂋 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚˚₊‧꒰ა 𓂋 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚˚₊‧꒰ა 𓂋 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚˚₊

Marcus

• Another one who falls head over heels when he finds out you can sing. It's such a simple thing, but it brings him so much joy to see and hear you enjoy it so much.

• Please sing to his daughter. If you do, he's getting on one knee and marrying you right then and there.

• He can't sing, but he tries. He's not off key or anything. He's just not the best at it.

• When, and if you feel comfortable singing to him, he's only focused on you. He loves it, and so does his daughter.

• If, after a long day, he finds you singing a lullaby to his daughter, I think he'd cry. He loves knowing that you care so much for her and for him.

"I heard you singing to Ren. She loves your voice. It helps her feel more at home. So.. thank you. We.. I don't deserve you."

˚₊‧꒰ა 𓂋 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚˚₊‧꒰ა 𓂋 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚˚₊‧꒰ა 𓂋 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚˚₊

Caitlyn

• Oh, where to start..? She's so excited when she figures out you can sing. Because not only can you sing, but you're amazing at it too!

• You two have kareoke nights, all the time. Her parents get annoyed when it's like two in the morning, and you two are tipsy and singing whatever songs you guys can find. But it's all in good fun.

• She's kinda off-key when she sings, but you don't mind at all. You're just glad she's having fun.

• Because she's a little off-key, it probably took some convincing to get her to sing with you. When you do convince her, she's still a little self-conscious about her voice, but when she hears yours, it's like all her worries just seem to melt away.

• You two seem to have the most fun when you're a little tipsy, though. That's when all your worries just seem to melt away, and neither of you can find a care to worry about anything other than each other's voices. If you offer to give her lessons, she'll actually cry, you're just so so sweet. She's so in love with you.

"Are you sure, my love? I know, you don't mind.. but isn't that just extra work. And besides, you're so good at singing, we're opposites! That just makes us better."

˚₊‧꒰ა 𓂋 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚˚₊‧꒰ა 𓂋 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚˚₊‧꒰ა 𓂋 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚˚₊

Viktor

• Oh my lord, he's fallen even harder than he already has. You just keep on getting better and better. He's convinced you're actually perfect.

• Please hum a little tune while you're both sitting in the lab, whether it's to calm you both down or just because you're bored, he stops what he's doing and gives you his full attention. Jayce wants to know your secrets.

• If you ever find him overworking himself, just promise that if he comes home with you, you two will put on a song of his choice and sing together. Nine times out of ten, this will work almost immediately.

• A lot like Vander, he loves to watch you sing while you cook or bake. It's such a wonderful sight to see when he comes home from a particularly rough day at the lab.

• Sit outside with him, and sing and dance the night away, with some star gazing thrown in here and there.

"You never told me you could sing. No, no.. please don't stop. You're wonderful, darling."

˚₊‧꒰ა 𓂋 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚˚₊‧꒰ა 𓂋 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚˚₊‧꒰ა 𓂋 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚˚₊

Jayce

• Heart eyes.

• Pretty, pretty, please come down to where he makes the hammers and find a beat within the hammer making with whatever tune comes to your head.

• He can sing, I'll die on this hill. He's amazing at it. He's just never told anyone. So there's a lot of you two singing to whatever song he can find to play.

• He enjoys writing little songs with you to sing together. It's your guys' version of a nice date, and you both love it.

• When you two are creating said songs, sometimes you two spice it up by adding some, impossible, theories inside the song, posing them as notes, and then giving them to Viktor to watch him freak out over the absolute terror he feels. You two also love to harmonize, you two are amazing and are constantly singing.

"Ooh! What if we do something about space not being real or a flat earth. He'll go crazy. Yeah, I know it's a little mean, but that's the whole point. Then after we can play some records together?"

˚₊‧꒰ა 𓂋 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚˚₊‧꒰ა 𓂋 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚˚₊‧꒰ა 𓂋 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚˚₊

Mel

• She's in love. She doesn't sing or hear people sing too often, only for the plays and occasional operas that are held.

• If you're an opera singer, she'll try her hardest to convince you to join the cast of one. She'll be your biggest supporter.

• She won't admit it to anyone, but she has, on multiple occasions, fallen asleep to listening to you sing.

• If you take her up on her idea of joining an opera cast, she'll be a little bit jealous that other people can hear your angelic voice.

• She sings. She's good at it, but she rarely ever feels the need to. That was until she met you. Now, if you offer to help her out with refreshing her skills with singing, you bet she'll almost immediately agree. She says it's so she can get better, but you both know it's just an excuse so she can hear your voice.

"You were amazing out there, love. You had the whole crowd entranced, really. I've never seen someone with such skill before."

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚˚₊‧꒰

[lovelettersforthedamned]

sex pollen with tasm?

Interlinked

--genre + trope: sex pollen, SMUT, fluff, nsfw.

--pairing: tasm!peter parker x afab!reader

--word count: 1.5k

--warnings: SMUT, unprotected PinV (don't even think about it), multiple orgasms, creampie, kissing, mentions of being sore, fluff at the end.

--gif credits: @tvandfilm

If you could live in this moment, you would. You’re sitting on Peter’s bed, faint rhythms of his music playing in the background. Having your laptop open, you were able to look through the work you needed to finish before the day was done. Having Peter next to you puts you in a state of ease. You knew he was right next to you, you knew he was safe. 

Peter’s spent the last hour or so working on new varieties of web fluid, mixing together different chemicals to see if anything would change. He already had a few things in a large beaker, swirling it around occasionally, when he mixed in a powder of some sort. The reaction caused a small ignition, causing you to look up from your spot on the mattress. “What was that,” you ask, looking for his reaction to gauge how severe this was. 

He rises from his chair, “I’m not sure, but let’s open the windows.”

You climb towards the windows of his room, pulling them open to let fresh air in, and whatever was in the air, out. You weren’t aware of this yet, but your skin was absorbing the particles in the air, and every breath you took allowed the unknown reaction to enter your system. And, of course, Peter was in the direct line of the reaction, causing the particles to make their way directly onto his face, the fragments fluttering onto his cheeks. 

Peter’s heightened senses caused him to feel the effects of the reaction much quicker than you. His pupils dilated, the hairs on his arms stand, and he starts to feel warm. Stepping away from the window, he looks over at you, and suddenly, he is hyperfocused on you. The smell of the perfume you applied hours ago is now flooding his nose, your heart rate has elevated, and much to your dismay, he also took note of the growing wetness in between your thighs. 

You’re the first to speak up, “Pete,” your voice is shaky with concern, “What’s going on? Why do I feel weird?”

He rubs his hands along his face, trying to come up with an answer, but the growing ache in his cock cuts him short, “Bug, I–I don’t know, but I need to go.” He doesn’t know what’s happening, but his now primal urge to get to you scares him. He needed to get away from you.

His answer only made you more nervous, “Wait! Baby, don’t leave.” You reach out, grabbing his hand. The touch between you two felt like waves of pure energy, you pulled your hand back quickly, rubbing the area that just touched him, “Please, don’t leave, I’m scared and I don’t know what to do, especially not alone.”

“I’m sorry…I just–I’m so confused, I–,” he’s cut off by a kiss. 

You were hungry for him, your lips devouring his. Peter didn’t seem to care, he needed this as much as you did. Craving more of his touch, your hands reach down towards the bottom of his torso. You slide your palms along the sides of his shirt, running them along the front of him, quickly undressing him in the process. As soon as you reached the top of his chest, you slipped the shirt over his head, tossing the garment over your shoulder. 

He unlatches from your lips, takes a breath, and mutters the last coherent sentence said for the rest of the night, “Will you let me have you tonight?” A smirk displays itself on your lips, and an eager nod gives him all he needs at that moment. 

Walking towards the bed, you stumble back blindly before the back of your knees are met with the bed, causing you to fall back onto the plush mattress. Peter stands above you, licking his lips as he places himself above you, caging you in his arms. Attacking your lips, Peter moves one of his hands to palm at the flesh of your hip, reaching underneath your underwear to make direct contact with your bare skin. 

You moan into his mouth, the skin-to-skin contact igniting a wave of pleasure to flow to your core. He takes note of your increased desperation for more of his touch, moving his hand from your hip to your aching clit, making small circles on the slick skin. Arching your back into his chest, you reach your hands up to grasp at his shoulders, the sudden pleasure shocking you. Peter unlatches from your lips to look at you below him, the sight making his cock ache with need. It only takes a few more circles on your clit to make you cum, but still, you needed more. 

You waste no time, pulling off every piece of clothing on your body, before you reach down towards Peter’s jeans, pushing them down as far as possible before Peter has to kick the rest of them off. There’s a silent exchange of glances before he lines up with your entrance. A quick nod signals to Peter that you’re ready. 

Lifting both of your ankles to rest on his shoulders, he finally pushes inside of you. The world around you stops. For a few seconds, there is a sigh of relief, the ache you’ve been meaning to satisfy has dissipated. You thought you found the cure, but the clench of your walls snapped you out of your relief. Peter seemed to realize this too as a moan left his lips, his head dipping forward. The desperation returned, and you needed Peter to move. “Baby…pl–please. Move,” you manage to mumble. 

He starts to sink into you further, stretching you out in the process. Every movement causes you to squeeze him a little tighter, and he doesn’t know how he’s going to last, especially with those whimpers leaving your mouth. He can’t stand to keep moving at this pace, every second spent not pounding you into the mattress is a second wasted. He needs you, desperately. Peter pulls almost all the way out, exerting a pathetic whine from you before he slams back into your entrance. The pressure of his cock dragging along your walls made you claw at his neck, the angle of your legs pressed against your chest making you see stars. 

You’re not sure how long he’s been fucking you, but your hips have started to become sore, and the number of times you’ve come is blurring between four or five times. The effects of whatever hit you earlier are slowly wearing off, but Peter hasn’t let up. If you had to guess, you would assume that his senses and increased stamina have allowed him to feel everything you felt, but increased tenfold. 

It’s gotten to the point where you know that Peter’s not even trying to make you cum again, he’s using you for his own pleasure, and that in itself is enough for you to cum again and again and again. His hips stutter and his brows furrow, you know he’s right there, he’s just about to cum, and it’s killing him. Bringing your hand up to hold his cheek, he snaps his eyes open, tears are lining his waterline. You pull his face down, connecting your lips together. The extra touch of your lips pushes him over the edge. As he finishes inside of you, he lets out a grunt into your mouth, this action alone making you moan back, the thought of him cumming inside of you lights a fire inside of you. 

Your lips detach from his, taking a deep breath before you feel Peter’s fingers reach up toward your calves, slowly bringing them down onto the bed. He guides them down, knowing that the position has led to soreness in their hips. When you feel the plush blanket touch your thighs, you finally are able to come to your senses. 

Peter comes down to lay next to you on his stomach, looking at your side profile. Closing your eyes, you feel the weight of exhaustion finally hit you. There’s no way you’re leaving this bed any time soon, and Peter knows that too. You don’t feel Peter’s warmth next to you anymore. Opening your eyes, you look over to where he should’ve been, then to the doorway. There he was, holding a glass of water, walking to your side, and placing it on the table next to you. 

Then, falling into the bed, he remains next to you. “Whatever you did for that web fluid,” your voice cutting through the silent air, “write it down, and make sure to put it somewhere safe.” 

You’re still looking up at the ceiling as Peter grabs your hand, raising it to his lips and giving you a kiss, “I will, I will. I’ll lock it up…only until you ask me to use it again.” Looking towards him, a stupid smile is firmly locked onto his lips, a hint of amusement in his eyes. 

You shake your head in disbelief, “Oh, like you won’t want to use it again next week.”

“We’ll see about that, bug.”

--author's note: this is my favorite smut trope, and i'm still awful at writing it LMAOOO. also what happened to these remaining blurbs??? my incapability to write smut blurbs is insane, but anyways i hope you liked it!!! also the gif??? i'm foaming at the mouth and ripping at these iron bars...don't forget to support your writers by liking, commenting, and reblogging!! KEEP SENDING IN ASKS!!! my inbox is open my loves! ok, bye ily<3

[thotsofadepravedwoman]

Bird bomb

Authors note: I have no idea what this is, I’m sleep deprived and thought of this and jotted it down. It’s probably ass, but if you want to see more, let me know.

Trigger warnings: mentions of nudity, possibly OOC!Damian, Nothing else really.

~~~

It was wrong, Damian knew it. His father would never approve. But something about her laugh, about how her long blue braids bounced as she tinkered with her inventions, something about how she giggled when she pulled that trigger had captivated him heart and soul. He knew if his father ever found out about her, he would lock her up in Arkham with her father for all intents and purposes. Damian knew Bruce would never understand. He just couldn’t risk it. He couldn’t take that chance. So he kept his escapades with her a secret.

“Birdie boy~” her singsong voice echoed around the abandoned warehouse she had transformed into her own personal hideout away from the prying eyes of Harley and Joker. She had taken him there the first time they met, before Damian knew who she was or who she was involved with.

Damian sat up on his elbows, the soft blankets and pillows piled on the bed sunk under the weight. “Yes, Habibti?” he called out, looking over to her work bench that she sat at, nothing but his cape covering her body.

“Should I swap the cores from nitrous to ionic for my firelights?” Damian knew she was only asking to confirm her own thoughts, after all, she was the expert on explosives.

“I do believe you were telling me earlier that Ion cores have a softer explosion, but a larger shockwave.”

“Ooooooo…” She trailed off, bobbing her head to the music in her head as she twisted the head off of the mechanical bug she had invented. “True, true, true…” her humming bounced around the warehouse.

Damian sighed, falling back on the bed, his head bouncing on the pillow. He wished he could stay here with her forever, away from the responsibilities of being Talia’s son, of being Bruce’s son, of being Robin. When here, surrounded by her graffiti and plushes and her endless string of new and improved explosives and demolitions, he was nothing, just Damian, her Damian, and she was just his Powder, not Jinx.

She giggled over her shoulder, her bangs falling over her eyes. “Oh, you big baby. I'll be back in bed in a second.”

Damian rolled his eyes, the fairy lights and candles illuminating the place bathed everything in a sweet, warm glow. “I haven't a clue what you speak of, my love.”

She bounced over to Damian, the cape falling from her shoulders when she reached the edge of the bed, leaving her naked, as was he. Damian threw his arm out, closing his eyes with a content sigh leaving his lips as she settled back into his side. Her braids fell over the side of the bed, his arm pulling her closer to his chest, still ever so slightly flushed from their previous activities.

“Whatcha thinkin ‘bout?” she asked, placing a gentle kiss to the underside of his jaw.

He sighed, weighing the options of telling the truth, or obfuscating, “How much I wish this could leave the confines of these four walls.” Damian looked down at her, watching carefully for her reaction, small relief washing over him when she smiled up at him.

“I’d love that, Dami.” She said, placing more chaste kisses along his jaw and cheek. “I'd love to see your fathers reaction.” Her giggles pulled the corners of his mouth up as he leaned down to place a warm kiss on her plush lips, still messy with the remnants of her purple lipstick.

“I would rather not lose you on our first outing, Habibti.” Damian tried to play his words off as a joke, the reality of his words still sticking on his lips like tar.

She shifted, sitting herself on Damians lap, her hands coming to rest on either side of his head, his gold chain hanging down from her neck. “I'd come crawling right back if I had too.” she placed a kiss on his lips, “You know i would.”

“I know, beloved.” He leaned up placing another kiss on her lips, his hands gripping her hips, his contentment pouring out of him in his every action. “Not even death could possibly keep us apart.”

~~~

“Where have you been?” His fathers words cut through the haze of Damians happiness like a knife, leaving behind only anxiety masked as indifference.

“Good evening, Father.” He sighed, pulling the domino mask from his face, the smudged black eyeliner around his eyes only serving to heighten the look of disinterest on his face.

“Answer my question.”

“I've been out on patrol.” Damian answered. It wasn't exactly a lie. He had been on patrol for an hour before he went to see her.

“Wrong, Demon brat,” Jason peaks out from his chair, a burger in his hand, “I was out on patrol, and I didn't see you once.” Jason points his finger at Damian, taking a bite out of the half gone burger.

“Then work on your observational skills.” Damian began removing his armor, placing it back into the case, stripping himself down to everything but the underlayer.

“Damian,” Bruce warned. He knew that tone of voice, he only heard it used once before with Jason when Bruce caught Jason intentionally killing people.

He rolled his eyes, sighing and turning to walk out of the cave. “Goodnight, father,” He shoots a glare over his shoulder at Jason, “Todd.”

“We will talk about this in the morning, Damian.” Damian had already entered the elevator, the doors closing before he allowed himself to lean back against the back wall, looking at his reflection in the door, catching a glimpse of a purple lipstick mark half hidden by the neck of his undershirt. The reminder of her making Damian realize.

He left his cape with her.

[goldenamaranthe-blog]

Apple Seed 19: STOP!!!

Charlie: Vaggie, where's the baby?

Vaggie: ........I put him down for a nap.

Charlie: .........He isn't in his crib......

Vaggie: ............

Charlie: ............

Charlie & Vaggie: AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!

Abuelita Carmine: *wearing Sammy on her chest in a baby harness and holding up a baby onesie* I think the powder blue one would look best on him.

Clara: I'm buying him little weapon rattles!!!

Odette: I'm buying him "Advanced Physics for Babies!"

Clara: .....Nerd.

Sammy: *giggles and chews on the harness*

Vaggie: *storms into the store, sees Carmilla with Sammy, and swipes him out of the harness* NO STEALING THE BABY!!!

Later:

Vaggie: *sighs in relief as she sets Sammy down on his play mat* I can't believe she kidnapped him....

Charlie: I mean. I can. He's adorable!..... *looks on the floor mat where Sammy was playing a moment ago* Vaggie..... where'd he go?

Vaggie: Huh? *looks at the mat* ..........

Charlie & Vaggie: NOT AGAIN!!!!!!

Lucifer: *putting Sammy in a duckies onesie with a duck hood* There we go! Such an adorable little duckie! Yes, you are! Yes you are!

Sammy: *squeals in delight as Lucifer gives him cheek raspberries*

Charlie: *bursts into Lucifer's room* STOP STEALING MY BABY!!!

Luficer: *shrieks*

Much Later:

Charlie: *crawling into bed after putting Sammy to bed* Fuck.... this.... day..... *faceplants into her pillow*

Vaggie: Agreed...... *pulls up her phone and opens up the baby monitor app* .........Charlie?

Charlie: Mm-hmm?

Vaggie: Where's the baby?

Charlie & Vaggie: ..............FUCKING HELL!!!!!!

Angel: *snuggled in bed with Fat Nuggets in his lap and Sammy cradled in his arm as he reads* Bears love flowers. And grass that tickles feet. Bears love honey because it tastes so sweet. Bears love bees and lots of other bugs. But what Bears love most are AUNCLE BEAR HUGS!!! *cradles Sammy and rocks him in a hug while blowing a raspberry of his cheek*

Sammy: *giggles and shrieks excitedly*

Charlie & Vaggie: *burst into the room transformed and holding weapons* STOOOOOP STEALING OUR BABY!!!!

Angel: *Screams in fear*

Sammy: *giggles and makes grabbing motions to Charlie and Vaggie* MA-MA!!!! MA-MA!!!!

[bigskyandthecoldgun]

based on this

steve's pov | dragon's pov

Steve had found Dragon hiding in a bush when she’d been a teeny, tiny kitten with mangy black fur and green eyes that took up basically her whole face.

She’d been so sickly, in fact, that the vet had warned Steve she might not make it. Steve had refused to give up on the kitten, though, nursing her back to health as best as he possibly could. Now, she’s an enormous, regal-looking cat that has a meow closer to a roar, a purr that makes her sound like a motorcycle engine, and breath so terrible it should be legally qualified as a hazardous gas. That is, admittedly, where Dragon had gotten her name. Steve had found her just after the events of ’84, and when Dustin came over to bug him for a ride to the arcade, he’d been all but obsessed with the poor cat.

“D’you have a name for her yet?” Dustin had asked, eyes wide with wonder as the kitten had scrambled up Steve’s pant leg and climbed up to perch on his shoulder, shaking and terrified at the stranger in their home.

“Nah. Figured I’d just call her, like, Midnight or something,” Steve had said with a shrug, to which Dustin had taken great offense.

Upon smelling the stench that had come from the kitten’s hiss, Dustin had declared her a fearsome creature with a breath weapon, whatever that means—a Dragon. So Steve’s got a cat that is incredibly clingy and a little stinky, but only when she opens her mouth.

And his cat is ruining his dating life.

The thing about Dragon is that she doesn’t like most people. She tolerates Robin, even when she’s sitting next to Steve, but other than that, she hates it when people get close to Steve. Dragon’s the most territorial cat Steve has ever met, and Steve can hardly go anywhere in the house without Dragon at his feet or on his shoulders. And balancing a cat as large as Dragon on his shoulders is not an easy feat. Dragon screams if Steve closes her out of a room he’s in and sleeps directly atop Steve’s chest. That cat is the clingiest creature on the planet, and Steve would die for her.

But Dragon despises people. She hisses at the girls Steve brings home, yowls when the door to Steve’s bedroom is closed, and swats at anyone that tries to so much as touch him when he’s on the couch. It’s absolutely destroying Steve’s chances at bringing girls home, and while most of his dates are content to bring him back to theirs, Steve’s getting a little tired of being kicked out of bed. At least when he’s at home, he can mope right away when girls turn down his offer of staying the night and leave early, rather than moping in his car.

And it’s not like he’s getting a ton of action lately, anyway. Now that the whole Vecna debacle is over, with Eddie and Max out of the hospital, the Party spends most of its nights together, so Steve hasn’t been going on too many dates anymore. Instead, he spends his time either on someone else’s couch or his own, and if it’s the latter, he can count on Dragon sitting squarely on his lap and everyone but Robin sitting a few feet away for safety purposes.

It’s a late afternoon in November, when he’s hanging out alone with Eddie at his house for the first time, when Dragon does something truly surprising.

She lets Eddie pet her.

They’re hanging out in the kitchen, Steve almost done with his cup of coffee and Eddie nursing a cup of his own mixed with an absurd amount of hot chocolate powder. The coffee in late afternoon is a peculiar habit of Eddie’s; he says it’s because it’s when his uncle usually wakes up, and they have coffee together, so Steve thinks it’s kind of sweet. It’s a really nice afternoon, chilly but not too cold, only slightly overcast so that it’s not too sunny but not too cloudy, either. The cool light makes Eddie’s hair look shiny, and the gleam bounces off his skin like a halo might.

“You know, I’ve been meaning to tell you how cool your cat is,” Eddie says, nodding towards the Dragon in question. Dragon hops up on the counter, then hops up on Steve’s shoulders, purring as she nudges the side of her face against Steve’s cheek. Eddie grins. “Dragon. A fitting name for a majestic beast.”

“I don’t know why she’s so unfriendly,” Steve sighs, reaching up to scratch behind Dragon’s fluffy ears. Dragon purrs even harder. Eddie snorts and reaches up to join Steve in scritching behind Dragon’s ears, but Steve takes a step back. “Woah, careful, man, don’t want you to get clawed.”

Eddie’s grin turns into a small, fond smile. “Cats don’t really like me, anyway, I don’t mind a little scratch or two,” he says, stepping closer to offer his hand up for Dragon to sniff.

Instead of the hiss Steve’s predicting, Dragon pushes her face against Eddie’s knuckles and continues to purr. “Holy shit,” Steve breathes, eyes wide, “she doesn’t do that with anybody.”

“She probably does that with you,” Eddie points out, and Steve gives him a flat look. The answering shit-eating grin he gets is unfairly endearing. “Nah, I get what you mean. But seriously? There must be someone else she likes. One of the kids? Some girl you brought home that happened to have cat treats in her purse or some shit?”

Steve groans and shifts Dragon into his arms, feigning annoyance when Dragon nuzzles against his jaw. It’s actually pretty cute. “No, this little asshole is ruining my chances of getting laid,” he says. “She hates everybody I bring home. She doesn’t even like the kids! The most socializing she’s ever done with another person before this is her letting Robin be next to me. Dragon tolerating a relationship? No way.”

Dragon lets out a loud meow and licks Steve’s cheek. “Well, maybe you just have to find somebody she likes,” Eddie says, scratching under Dragon’s chin. Dragon meows again and squints, chin tilting up to give Eddie more room to scratch. Eddie clicks his tongue. “Aw, see? She’s a sweet girl. I’m sure she’ll have a soft spot for someone other than yourself soon enough.”

Steve decides to play along. “Draggy,” Steve coos, “will you please let Daddy get laid? Be all sweet and good instead of biting people’s ankles?”

“I’m sorry, did you just call yourself Daddy?” Eddie sputters, looking mortified.

Frowning, Steve shifts Dragon so that he’s holding her like one might hold an infant. “Yeah, I’m Dragon’s dad, and she’s my little baby,” he explains. “Duh.”

“No, okay, wh—nevermind,” Eddie says, shaking his head. “My point is, even if Dragon hates the ladies, I’m sure there’s one lady out there for you she won’t hate.”

As Eddie pets Dragon’s tummy—her tummy!—Steve realizes that, yeah, there is one person out there that Dragon doesn’t hate.

Steve resolves that, if Dragon really doesn’t mind Eddie’s company, he should have Eddie around more often. The way Steve sees it, if Dragon gets used to Eddie being in the house and being close to Steve, she might open up to other people who are around a lot, like the Party, and then she could even learn to tolerate girls coming over. As much as Steve hates to admit it, Eddie Munson might just be the reason his dating life gets revived.

At the next movie night, the movie night that Eddie finally shows up for, when Dragon hops into Steve’s lap and everyone scoots at least ten feet away, Steve pats the seat next to him. “Hey, Eddie, c’mere,” he says, and Dustin openly gawks when Eddie’s able to sit right next to Steve with no roaring protests from Dragon.

“What the hell?! I’ve been in your house so many times and I’ve never been able to sit near you when Dragon’s around!” Dustin huffs, scowling at the fluffy bastard. “And I’m the one who named her! I’m practically her godfather!”

“I don’t know what to tell you, Henderson,” Eddie says, a slow grin spreading across his face, which can’t be good. “If Steve’s pu—”

“Nope,” Steve cuts in, slapping a hand over Eddie’s mouth, cheeks burning, “not gonna let you finish that.”

Eddie nods. “Very wise,” he says, muffled. “It was gonna be incredibly inappropriate.”

Satisfied with having stopped that, Steve moves his hand away, and Eddie knocks their shoulders together. To Steve’s shock, Dragon doesn’t hiss or swat, just snuggles further into Steve’s lap and purrs harder than she’s ever purred before. The movie starts up, and Steve watches Eddie reach over in the dark, usually a bad move when it comes to Dragon. But Dragon just lets Eddie run a hand over the top of her head, and Steve leans into his side, the two of them sharing a small smile.

After the movie, when most everyone else has gone home, Eddie’s still around, scratching behind Dragon’s ears. “You know, you should hang out here more often,” Steve tells him, and Eddie raises a brow at him. Steve tilts his head. “I mean, Dragon doesn’t get a lot of socializing in, so…it’d probably be good for her.”

Clearly holding back a grin, Eddie nods. “Sure. I’d love to come around more so Dragon gets some socializing in,” he teases, and Steve rolls his eyes, holding back a smile of his own. Eddie leans closer, smoothing his thumb over Dragon’s fuzzy little cheek. “She’s really cute. Has good taste in who she lets pet her.”

Eddie casts his gaze down at Dragon. His lashes are long and dark. He has really nice hands, too, and it’s easy to notice them as they run over Dragon’s pitch-black fur. “Yeah,” Steve says quietly, giving Dragon a pat by her leg, “she does.”

Eddie comes over way more often from then on, and Dragon gets somewhat clingy to him, which is kind of unbelievable, because Dragon’s never rubbed up on anyone’s ankles but Steve’s, but it’s a marked improvement. The only downside is that Dragon still hasn’t improved with anyone else, but Steve figures that’ll change sooner or later.

For now, he’s content to hang out with Eddie in his room, laying on the bed with Dragon sitting on his chest and Eddie laying beside him. “Little lady,” Eddie coos, almost nose-to-nose with Dragon, who purrs. “Sweet baby girl.”

“She’s a smelly girl,” Steve tuts, scratching between Dragon’s ears. He looks at Eddie. “I still can’t believe you’re the only one out of everybody we know that she likes.”

Eddie looks up at him, big brown eyes shining with mirth. “I dunno, I think it’s pretty believable. I happen to be very likable,” he says. And, to Eddie’s credit, Steve’s found that he kind of is. “And besides, cats have good judgements of character. I’ve been chosen.”

Steve raises a brow. “I thought you said cats didn’t like you.”

Face scrunched up, Eddie tilts his head. “Yeah…I lied. Didn’t want to make you feel bad if I did get scratched,” he explains.

That’s fair, actually.

Dragon meows, raspy and roaring as always, and she smacks her paw out at Eddie’s arm, using her—trimmed, because Steve takes very good care of her—claws to drag him closer. “She wants you closer? That’s crazy,” Steve comments as Eddie scoots into his space, their sides pressed together. “She must really like you.”

Eddie doesn’t say anything, but he does smile, soft and private, and Steve thinks it’s nice. It’s a smile he hasn’t seen before.

It’s pretty.

Even with Eddie and Dragon getting buddy-buddy, it still doesn’t seem to be helping Steve’s case with bringing anyone home. Hell, Dragon still isn’t even close to being civil with most of the Party, barring Robin, who actually got in a single chin scratch the other day. But Eddie and Dragon are getting along swimmingly, to the point where Eddie can actually pick Dragon up! Granted, it’s not for very long, because Dragon starts screaming about ten seconds in until Steve takes her from Eddie, but still. It’s insane.

“You are killing me, you little menace,” Steve tells Dragon one night while Eddie’s using the bathroom. “Why do you like Eddie so much, huh? I mean, sure, he’s funny and he’s nice, but it’s not like you can understand what he says, you don’t speak English.”

Dragon meows indignantly at him from her place on Steve’s lap, slow-blinking at him.

“Yeah, yeah, I see your point. Eddie is pretty great,” Steve mutters.

Dragon yawns and starts making biscuits on his thighs, then purrs.

“Okay, so he’s handsome, too, but I don’t see how that’s appealing for you, you’re a cat,” Steve huffs. He blinks, face flushing. “Well, that’s—it doesn’t appeal to me, either, I guess.”

Dragon gives him an inquisitive little mrrowp? in response.

Steve blows out a long breath. “Look, Draggy, you gotta find someone else you like. Eddie can’t be the only other person you can tolerate, it’s just not realistic,” Steve tells her.

Dragon roars.

Shushing her, Steve pets her to sweeten the deal of shutting up. “Yeah, I know, and I like having him around, too—”

“Talking to your cat about me, Stevie?” Eddie asks, bouncing into the room and sitting down beside him with a flouncy sort of flip of his hair. “Well, Madam Dragon, I do hope he hasn’t been slandering my good name.”

He’s using that silly cat-voice he does when he’s talking to Dragon, and it’s almost as endearing as the way Dragon rolls over to let Eddie rub her tummy. “I would do no such thing,” Steve says, feigning offense, and Eddie rolls his eyes.

“Miss Dragon, don’t listen to a word he says,” Eddie tells the cat. He glances over at the clock and frowns. “Ah, shit, it’s getting late.”

“You could stay here, if you want,” Steve offers. “Maybe Dragon’ll suffocate someone else in their sleep for a change.”

Eddie laughs, but he takes Steve up on the offer, heading into the guest bedroom in a change of clothes that definitely doesn’t make Steve feel a certain type of way about seeing Eddie in his one of his old swim team shirts. Though, the night is not peaceful, because a certain giant, annoying cat refuses to stop screeching at the top of her lungs. Eddie comes stumbling back into Steve’s bedroom, Dragon held in his outstretched arms, Eddie’s hands tucked under the cat’s armpits.

There’s a grumpy, slightly disgruntled look on Eddie’s face. “Please tell your daughter to stop screaming at me,” he says, placing Dragon on the bed, and Steve reaches for her to drag her into his lap. Eddie nods and turns to leave, only for Dragon to scream again, and he whirls right back around. “Oh my God, what?!”

Dragon gives a little chirp and trots to the edge of the bed, nosing at Eddie’s hand. “Draggy, let Eddie go to bed,” Steve says, his voice rough with what little sleep he’d managed to get between Dragon’s long and loud meows.

“Yes, Dragon, I need my beauty sleep,” Eddie says. When he turns to leave again, Dragon yowls and bites down—seemingly gently—on his hand, carefully stepping backwards towards Steve while she does so. Eddie looks just as bewildered as Steve feels. “Does she want me to stay here?”

“I have no idea. I’ve literally never seen her do this before,” Steve tells him. “But, like, you can, as long as it’ll stop her from screeching.”

Eddie blows out a long breath. “Honestly, I don’t even care at this point, I just want to sleep,” he groans, clambering under the covers until they’re laying face-to-face beside each other. Eddie smiles at him, then winces and scoots closer. “Sorry, ah—she’s pushing my back.”

Dragon gives a little mrrp of confirmation.

“I don’t know what’s gotten into her, I’m sorry,” Steve whispers, and Eddie just half-shrugs, eyes darting everywhere but Steve’s face. He looks uneasy. “Hey, man, if you’re uncomfortable staying here, you can sleep on the pullout in the den and I’ll just lock her in here, she’s got a litterbox and water in my bathroom, she’ll be fine. And you won’t hear anything down there, so…”

Eddie shakes his head. “Nah. Wouldn’t wanna put you through that torture.”

He gets slightly closer, and Steve’s face goes a little hot at the proximity. Their noses are almost touching. “She’s being a little douchebag,” Steve murmurs. “Ignore her.”

“She keeps pushing at my back,” Eddie tells him, sounding a little panicked. “Why is your cat so strong, dude?”

“I can take her out of the—”

Dragon lets out a meow so loud that it rings out for a few seconds after she’s done.

Eddie is clearly fighting a laugh. “Okay, so keeping her out of the room isn’t an option,” he says, and Steve chuckles. Eddie gives him a curious sort of look. “Hey…about earlier. What were you telling Dragon about me?”

Oh, just that you’re funny and sweet and, apparently, I think you’re really handsome, is what Steve probably shouldn’t say.

“Oh, just that you’re funny and sweet and, apparently, I think you’re really handsome,” is what Steve says, because he’s an idiot.

Eddie’s brows shoot up, behind his bangs. “I’m sorry, you think what?”

“That you’re really handsome,” Steve says, because, again, he’s an idiot.

Blinking, Eddie starts to frown. “Are you messing with me right now? Because if you are, that is not cool, Harrington—”

“I’m not,” Steve says. “I’m—I didn’t—I mean, Dragon really likes you, and cats are…a good judge of character, and you’re, uh—you’re pretty.”

The frown turns into a poorly-hidden smile. “I’m pretty?” Eddie echoes, lashes batting, and Steve can’t tell whether or not that’s intentional.

“You are,” he says softly. “You also make me laugh, and you get along really well with my cat, which—and I don’t know if you know this—is very hard to do.”

Eddie laughs, almost bashful. “I did say there’d be somebody Dragon had a soft spot for other than you, didn’t I?”

“The little menace is a matchmaker,” Steve mutters, and Eddie leans forward just slightly until their noses are touching. Steve reaches up to cup Eddie’s face. “Can I kiss you?”

“Absolutely,” Eddie says breathlessly.

Steve presses their lips together gently, moving slowly, and Eddie hums into the kiss, one hand on Steve’s waist and the other sliding up to his chest. It’s soft and it’s good, and Steve leans into it a little more, his fingers tangling in Eddie’s curls as he deepens the kiss. Unfortunately, Steve has to pull back for air, but Eddie’s smiling when he does. Dragon meows, much further away than Steve had thought she’d been, and the sound of her collar jingling grows quieter and quieter.

“Well,” Steve says, “I definitely found somebody she likes.”

“Safe to say, she won’t prevent you from getting laid anymore,” Eddie murmurs, his low voice sending a shiver down Steve’s spine. He gets this hesitant sort of look on his face, like he isn’t sure if he’s overstepped. “I mean, only if you want to—”

Steve interrupts him with a chaste kiss. “Oh, I want to,” he whispers.

The next morning, when they wake up tangled in each other’s arms, clothes littering the floor, Dragon is sitting on the edge of the bed with Eddie’s discarded shirt in her mouth, tail flicking back and forth, looking smug as ever.

[tadpolesonalgae]

Can’t Bring Myself To Hate You — Part 20

Azriel x Third-Oldest-Archeron-Sibling!Reader

a/n: I’ve been slumped over my computer like a living Fibonacci spiral—also, pretty sure I’ve proofread the first half of this but my memory isn’t that great so I’ll check in the morning (I should have been asleep about two and a half hours ago—I’m so sorry if there are errors)

word count: 7,869

-Part 19- -Part 21-

——————————————————————————————————————————————

It’s quiet. 

There’s nothing in your mind, and it’s quiet. 

No skittish thoughts, or fleeting worry. No frantic heartbeat to wake up to, nor an anxious tug of energy hurrying you along to get out of bed for fear of seeming lazy. It’s quiet. 

The sheets still smell faintly of gardenia, clinging to the delicate fibres relentlessly. How? Maybe it’s just lodged itself in your nose. 

There’s no sunlight this morning—it’s hard to tell the time. A slight outline presents itself on the edge of the mattress, beginning to slide down onto the floorboards. It’s watery and pale, hardly there. Is it warm? You can’t feel anything on your hands… 

You can’t feel anything on your hands. 

The curtains are open, and grey sky fills the window panes. Dark and deep. Probably not deep enough to signal a storm…it would be nice if it stormed though. It feels as though time has paused when it does. With rain so thick and heavy. The rain’s nice, sometimes. It waters things, and gives smells a new shade of depth. When it rains, you remember the shack. How the smell of damp was everywhere. In clothes, in hair, in sheets and furniture. 

These sheets are dry, though. Dry and warm, and keeping you wrapped up and comfy. Heat having sunk into your body, feeling so rarely soft anymore. 

A bell chimes in the far distance, metallic and sturdy. Counting to nine.

You’ve slept in. Wasted hours, already. Wasted, wasted, wasted, wasted away. Wasted away in bed. Throwing time out the window. Letting it slip between your fingers. Draining it out of sight, watching it gush far from your clutch while you sleep. Sleep all your time away. 

Wouldn’t that be nice. 

————

A bell chimes in the far distance, metallic and sturdy, clanging pain through your mind. 

Counting to eleven. 

There’s no point in getting up now. The good part of the day has gone. The early morning when it’s quiet and fresh, and sunlight weakly trickles across the horizon. Glittering upon the frost that’s begun to dust the morning cityscape. Heavy fog rolling off the Sidra, steaming in the early hours to smudge the nearby streets and houses in a dreamlike blur. Even if it bites, it’s a precious part of your morning, only occasionally daring to venture out into it. To walk the misty streets. It’s peaceful, and quiet. Not many folk are about at that time, most either beginning to wake up, or beginning to go to sleep. You have the streets mostly to yourself. 

Though with winter setting in, it’s getting dark. Darker in the mornings. Dreary and dismal, with rain softly spraying in the air as it floats down like powder. Only wet, and cold. Like walking through a fine mist, one that shimmers with iridescence if the sun catches it at the right time. Spiriting you away to another world entirely. Your Quiet Moments. 

The clock chimes a short succession of notes for quarter past. 

You sink into bed. 

Warm and welcoming. 

————

A bell chimes in the distance, metallic and sturdy. Three O’clock. 

It’s afternoon. 

Your head pounds when you open your lids, eyes straining with pressure, and they fall back closed. The light is grey—heavy grey—and cloudy. Droplets were on the outer winder pane.

Evergreen branches holding full pinecones. Damp and gleaming. Spiderwebs with dew drops jeweling them. Bugs crawling along the cracks of bark. Twigs snapping beneath human feet, the smell. Filling your lungs with fresh air, alone in the woods. The twigs might not snap any longer. The leaves might not rustle when you walk over them. Losing the weight of presence. 

The forest with the leaves of yellow, and red, and orange, sometimes capillaries of light green or brown shot through them. Silver bark that had eyes in it, branches growing out like nerves. The forest floor thick with earth, creatures scuttling about, water gathering in the small pools created by tree roots. Mushrooms growing from the underside of the forest floor, some a grey brown, others a chalky red with white drops speckling them. A few had been a murky green, with smaller fungi growing from the parent’s trunk. 

You should have taken it in more, gathered the details from real life instead of giving them form through the illustrations. If you ever get to go back, you’ll remember more. Pluck leaves from the forest floor and dry them out in a candle lit room, pressing them between the empty pages of a leather-bound book. Fungi have simple structures, and fae eyesight would surely lend you a hand—maybe you could manage an illustration of your own. They’re just shapes, after all. Then you could splash some watery colour over them, adding liquid to powdered pigment. Start a journal of some sorts. Of all the things you get to see. 

But you’d have to get out of bed to start, and it’s already three O’clock. 

You won’t be able to get anything done, now. You should wait until tomorrow. Then you can get up in the misty morning. Find an empty book somewhere. Feyre must have one. Could you borrow one? Wouldn’t that be fun? 

Fun. 

Anticipation filters through your blood. Something to do. Something to work on. Something to make. Something real, to keep. To remember things with. To look at when you forget. 

That would be nice. 

————

A bell chimes, ringing through your head. Six O’clock. 

Your mind is aching. Behind your eyes, between your brows. You’ve slept too long. 

Gods, you feel sick. 

You roll off your front, settling on your side, hugging the duvet closer. 

No—no. You’re definitely going to be sick. 

The duvet flies off you as bare feet slap across the tiles of the bathroom, making it to the latrine. You wait, knees pressing to the cool floor, arms shaking as you push your hair away. You don’t have to wait long, fortunately. 

It’s over quick enough. Over and done with. Relief settles through you—it’s over. Your mouth tastes awful, though, and you go to the sink to clean yourself up. Rid yourself of the flavour that’s stuck to your throat and tongue. It takes a while for that strange notch to go away—the one that’s always present after regurgitating, like there’s a lump of something lodged there that you have to swallow around. And each time it refreshes the flavour of your stomach. You grimace. 

At least it’s over, now. 

You hastily clean up the red droplets on the white porcelain. That’s new. 

You sigh heavily, exhaustion weighing on you. You and your now empty stomach. Whatever. You’re up now. Might as well stay up. No point in going back to bed. 

Thankfully your body is still sustaining its warmth from sleep, but it’s beginning to cool with so little maintaining it. Time to wash and dress, then. 

You stand at the wardrobe for what feels like an hour, trying to figure out what you’d like to wear. None of the colours are particularly appealing tonight. Maybe since it’s already evening you could get away with wearing something slightly cosier? Or why care at all—you’re going to cover it all up with a robe anyway. No one’s going to see what you’re wearing, you should go for comfort. 

But you still want to look nice. 

Your head hangs between your shoulders, eyes shutting briefly with exhaustion. At least you’re feeling relatively well-rested. There’s that. 

The missed appointment crosses your mind. Madja. Azriel. You were supposed to see both of them today. Did you sleep through both? And Bas. You were supposed to see Bas soon. Is it too late to go now? It’s too dark. And cold. Miserable. He probably won’t want you inside, either, so you’ll be on the doorstep for most of it, or maybe the entrance hall. 

It’s not happening. 

Is it too late to see Azriel? 

You don’t want to. Not so far into the evening. He’ll ask about the conversation with Nesta, and you’ll have to tell him, and you don’t want to. Your head falls again with fatigue. So much. So much to do. Should have done. You’re getting cold. At least the faelight is warm. Or looks warm. Yellow and orange on pale wallpaper. Your thoughts feel sluggish. 

With a sigh, you pull out a gown—grey as the skies—and shuffle yourself into it, pulling the strings taut so the fabric remains together without being tight. And pull a robe over it. Warm but polite. Put together enough. It doesn’t look like you’ve been asleep all day, then woken to throw up—that’s…enough. 

You go to your window, peeking out through the curtains, wondering if you’ll see any people in the street. At this time a few faelights might be lighting the street, two or three dimly shining a glow onto the cobbles, but for the most part the city is dark for the sake of the stars. It’s peaceful in a way, and makes you feel a little better about having wasted the light away. What good is the day in a city of Night, anyway? There’ll probably be an equal number of shops open at this time as there would at six in the morning. Maybe more, if you think about it. There’s some comfort. Maybe you can shift your schedule to fit the night. That way you won’t have the constant awareness of the day going by.

The sun is a pleasant accessory, but it shows the passage of time too obviously. It’s easy to tell when it’s early morning, when it’s midday, afternoon, evening. Maybe the night has the moon, and maybe the stars will eventually come to indicate time passing should you become well-acquainted enough with how they look, but you might be afforded some time to yourself, unaware of life draining away. Though that’s a very human outlook. 

Your brows furrow. 

Does the passage of time even bother immortals? Do they feel the need to hurry, and get things done? Having grown up without an end? What differences does it make, to live knowing you won’t die? 

————

There’s no one downstairs, and it’s quiet. 

Even straining your ears, you struggle to hear anyone—they must all be out. 

Maybe they’re having a meal at some evening restaurant. 

Maybe they’re having fun.

You tread over to the kitchen to make yourself some tea but find the room completely dark. The faelights are out, allowing only that faint grey light to filter through the— The curtains are closed. Huh. They must have left… Strange to draw the curtains though… On second thought, you don’t really feel like putting liquid in your stomach just yet. Maybe some plain bread would be nice. More digestible, too.

Taking your plated bread and butter with you, you head over to the living room, passing through the entrance hall with the stairs that lead up to the first floor, cutting through to the living room that also overlooks the front garden. You pause when you recognise Feyre’s shape on one of the sofas, a small, winged bundle propped up in her lap, cheek laying across her chest. 

“Feyre?” You murmur quietly, incase he’s sleeping. Deep, blue-grey eye lift heavily away from her baby, her palm stroking the crown of his head. Brows furrow over half-lidded eyes, “couldn’t sleep?” 

“No. I slept all through today, actually,” you reply, making to settle at the other end of the sofa, so you can balance your plate on the plush arm. “Do you know what happened with Madja? I don’t know what happened today—I guess I just really needed the extra sleep. I didn’t mean to sleep through it all.” 

Feyre’s brows furrow, her eyes squinting as she looks over to you. “It’s six in the morning. What are you talking about?”  

“It’s six in the evening,” you counter with equally furrowed brows. “I heard the bells go. At nine, eleven, three, and six.” 

“No, it’s definitely six in the morning,” she replies wearily, “everyone’s asleep, and the lights are off.” 

You blink, looking around. “It’s six in the morning?” She mumbles something that sounds like agreement. Pulls the blanket tighter around the both of them. Nuzzles at the top of Nyx’s head. “Did he wake up early?” You ask, trying to sound normal through the confusion that’s happening in your mind. Dreams can be so alarmingly powerful at times. 

“Mhmm. He’s probably missing his papa,” Feyre mumbles against his head, smiling faintly, pulling back to peer down at their baby, stroking his back tenderly beneath the blanket, habitually avoiding his still-developing wings. “Isn’t that right? Missing papa? He’ll be back today. He hates being away from you.” She kisses the crown of his head once. Twice. Brushes her nose against him, inhaling softly, still smiling despite the obvious fatigue and strain lining her features. There are half-circles beneath her eyes. Her skin taking on a slightly bluish tint in the corners of her eye-bags, shadow making them more pronounced than usual. 

“Rhys’ away?” You ask quietly, beginning to chew on your food. 

“Up in Illyria for the night.” She sighs, readjusting her hold on Nyx. You hum, not wanting to press her on it. You chew on more of the bread quietly, waiting to see how your stomach manages it. You can’t stop thinking about the strain in her features. 

“Is everything okay?” You whisper, glancing at her. “Are we…is it safe now?” 

“Rhys says there’s always a revolt brewing up in Illyria,” she mumbles without opening her eyes. “Says they’d love to stick a knife in his back one day. It’s the same with the Hewn City. A lot of strained ties after the war. We’re still dealing with the aftermath of it all.” 

“But no immediate looming threat?” You ask. Maybe the shadows are just making her fatigue more prominent that it actually is. Maybe you’re bothering her for no reason. 

You shouldn’t be asking her all these heavy questions right now. 

Her body stutters, and her lips have twisted down. A wet droplet shines on Nyx’s head.

“Feyre?” You whisper, shuffling closer. “Feyre, what’s wrong?” Her shoulders shudder under your arm, hand trying to soothe down her back. She sniffles, then tightens her hold on Nyx, hoping she won’t wake him. 

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” Feyre whispers against his hair. Another tear drips down her cheek, and you settle a little closer to her side. “I’ve got no idea. There’s so much to do, and so much to learn… Rhys says he can manage it… I don’t have to take on any more, but I can’t leave it all up to him.” Another tear falls, and her brows squeeze together over tightly shut eyes, the interior of her lower lip clasped between her teeth. 

You don’t know what to say to comfort her, so settle for remaining beside her, arm wrapped over her shoulders. She’s trying to keep her eyes squeezed shut, her brows knitted together tight, nose still grazing Nyx’s sleeping head. You’re thankful he hasn’t woken up. 

“Elain said…” you fumble, unsure. “Mentioned you might like to do something for your birthday.” Feyre sniffles, but you can pick out enough movement that looks like a nod. “Have you…is there anything in particular you’ve thought of?” 

She shakes her head. “There might not be time.” 

You glance at her, heart sinking slightly, hand rubbing over her shoulder. “There’ll be time,” you whisper, not sure where the conviction comes from. “What would you like to do though, if time wasn’t an issue?” Feyre doesn’t respond, her throat working silently. Your tongue flicks out over your lips, “what about visiting the coast? There are a few islands in Night Court territory, we could explore a few?” 

Her body goes rigid, brows squeezing shut tighter if possible, shaking her head. Her fingers tremble, and Nyx’s face scrunches in his sleep. You worry he’s about to wake. 

“Okay, a definite no to that one,” you murmur, forcing some lightness into your voice. “What about…just a quiet day at home? We could…stay in? And talk amongst ourselves?” Her shoulders begin to relax, but she shakes her head. “I don’t want…I like it…love it here, but…” 

“Just not on your birthday?” She nods. You nod back. “Got it. Somewhere outside? Or away a bit?” She nods again, and your heart begins to steady. You’re getting somewhere with this. 

“Okay…then how about…” Oh dear. This is what you get for keeping to yourself for so long. What would she like? 

The silence is stretching…you need to hurry up…think of something to do…something she’ll like that isn’t boring and generic…“Painting?” 

She seems to pause for a moment, and an instinct that isn’t something human urges you forward. “We could take turns? So you aren’t always the one in the chair working? I don’t know how good they’d be, but we could try? I’m sure we could manage some basic patterns. How hard could circles be?” A quiet, wet laugh escapes her lips, and you hold back an obvious sigh. 

“Harder than you’d think,” she whispers, sniffing again, raising one hand to wipe her nose on her arm. “Well then how about we each take turns trying to paint things, and you can laugh at how disfigured our basic shapes are, hm? What about that?” 

Feyre nods her head gently. “I’d like that,” she whispers, “as long as I can keep them afterwards.” 

“I’m not sure you’ll have anything worth keeping,” you mutter, half-joking, “but if that’s what you want…”

“I do,” she replies firmly, making you glance down at her in slight surprise. But then you nod. “Okay… Let’s do that.” 

In the back of your mind, you consider broaching the subject of borrowing—acquiring—a sketchbook, or journal of sorts, but she looks so tired. She looks about ready to fall asleep. That’s probably why she kept the lights off, so the both of them might be able to settle back down.

Her eyes have fallen shut, nose and mouth resting atop his head, keeping him close to her bare skin beneath. He looks like he’s sleeping peacefully. His wings kick in his sleep, and your lips twitch. 

As quietly as you can you stand from the sofa, untangling yourself, making sure to be silent as you make back for your bedroom, pausing a few paces from the sofa to look back at them. Feyre seems so tired, so small, bundled up in the corner of the sofa with her baby. 

She looks like your little sister again, in a way. 

Your lips open, the first of three words sitting quietly on your tongue, but… 

You don’t want to risk waking them. You don’t need to say it. It would probably come out too loud, anyway. 

It would be strange to announce it out of nowhere. 

You don’t need to say it. 

————

You made the mistake of falling back asleep, and now your head hurts. 

You don’t want to open your eyes, for fear of what the clock might tell you. 

If you were given another chance to restart the day, and wasted it again, you might just throw yourself out the window. 

Your brows furrow in disagreement, disliking the flippant thought. Your eyes open on their own, glancing to the clock, not giving yourself the opportunity to doubt anything. It’s about nine o’clock. 

You can work with that. You can get up now, and the day is still ahead of you. It’s not wasted, and you haven’t missed anything. 

Glancing to your side table, you spot a half eaten piece of bread on a plate. Your brows furrow tighter, fingers rubbing at your forehead—what was the dream part? Did you actually see Feyre? It’s all so foggy first thing in the morning. 

The plate’s there, it has crumbs, and it has bread on it. 

You repeat those facts in your head, slowly but surely driving away the haze that’s settled over your mind. Reorganising those events and sectioning dream off from reality. 

A heavy sigh falls from your lips as you glance about your bedroom. You’re still dressed as you were, and you feel fine—no churning stomach, no tingling skin…you’re fine. Breathing is coming easy to you, and while you fail to completely feel the scratch of the sheets beneath your fingertips, there’s enough sense still left in the skin for you to pick up on its softness. 

It’s nine o’clock. 

You groan into your pillow, feeling restless. What can you do today? The weather’s still grey, soft sprays of rain floating down from the sky, misting the air, and you think you spot the faintest trace of condensation in the corners of the glass window panes. Maybe it won’t immediately cheer your spirits, but you can try going outside. Even if it means wandering aimlessly for an hour or so, it’s nice to sometimes look at things and recognise them. Maybe you’ll even end up wandering your way to Bas’ house, or Nesta’s—though you’re not sure you’re ready to see either of them again, with the grey of your heart. 

Pulling a sigh into your lungs, you push up from the bed, dragging yourself to the door to head down the hallway to Azriel. He’ll’ve had his conversation with Mor by now. Will have more questions to ask you. Clarifications to make. It’s tiring. 

You’re tired. 

————

As usual, you knock on his door, entering when he calls, keeping the shawl wrapped closely around your shoulders, remembering how cold he likes it. 

You quietly walk inside, socked-feet pitter-patting across the floorboards, gloved fingers pulling the shawl a little closer.

Hazel eyes flick over to you, sharp and observing. You’d like to hide from them, sometimes, for fear of what he’ll see. “Did you get a chance speak with her?” He inquires. Like I asked?

“It’s barely been a day.” You take the seat at his bedside, organising your skirts carefully so they won’t crumple or wrinkle while you’re sat. “But yes, we spoke.” 

“I’m glad.” He’s watching you, a curve to his under eyes, a small upward tilt to his lips. “How was it?”

Your shoulders roll in an uncommitted shrug. “It happened.” 

A beat passes, and he glances out the window, gazing at the grey sky. “Did you find it helpful?” 

“Not particularly.” 

Hazel eyes move over you, wrapping you in their sight. “Change won’t immediately occur. You should give it time.” 

“You said I just needed to try speaking with her once.” 

“It might be better—for you—if you tried again.” His hands are resting by his sides atop the sheets. Wings pressed to the pillows. “What did you speak about?” 

“You said I just needed to try speaking with her once.” 

“And did you? Have an honest conversation with her, about her experiences and your own?”

The pencil has been moved from where it was resting yesterday, now caught between the pages of the notebook. There’s a mug of tea on the tabletop too, completely cold and untouched, an empty plate by its side. A different book besides the cup, this one with crisp, pale edges. 

“Did you?” He reminds, drawing you out of arbitrary thought. 

There’s a full glass of water, too. It has a hexagonal base, with the six sides made into the shape of small arches, before expanding into a circular top to drink from. The light filters through it, pale and bright, distinctly liquid-like. His eyes are on you, lips set in a line, brows resting as they normally might on his expressionless face. His hair has a slight curl over his forehead. 

You love this male. With his blank eyes and blandly set mouth. With his uncaring attitude toward you, and easy disregard for things out of his control. You have to love him, even if you can’t feel it right now. It’s just a numb patch. 

Even if your heart isn’t beating the way it usually does, and you don’t feel as skittish as you usually do, it’s easy to pick out you feel differently for him that for anyone else. 

Have you ever felt this way over someone else? No, you don’t think so. What is it, though? Is there a reason? He used to make you smile a lot more. He used to make you feel a bit like yourself again. Or perhaps, who you could have been if there hadn’t been so many downfalls in your childhood. 

Oh. 

You don’t want to be here right now. That’s what’s going on. 

Where would you like to be? In your room? No. With Feyre, then? Maybe, but not particularly. With Elain? Nesta? No, and no. The walk was nice though, over to Nesta’s house. Maybe just walking somewhere, in the cold. Treading through frost, and streets that look as shut down as your mind. Noticing things is nice. Seeing plants you recognise, and other architecture features you’ve read about in real life. That’s nice. Maybe a walk is what you want. It feels right. 

How long has it been since you’ve seen Bas? Two days? Can you see him today? Do you want to? It’s a nice question to ask yourself, at least. Do I want to? Do you want to see Bas today? Yes, that would be nice. But would he still be upset with you? He might still be upset with you. Do you still want to see Bas today? Yes, that would be nice. Why? You miss the smell of his home, a lot. The smell of rosemary, and freshly tilled earth, you think. Something like that, anyway. The smell of the outdoors, even if you don’t like it that much. 

Do you not like the outdoors? You like the colours of the streets under frost. It gives everything a slightly glacial, pale purple look. And it all sparkles. Even in the cold. You can appreciate the niceness of it, now you’re distant from it. 

You’re a bit like the frost, Azriel.

Hazel eyes blink. “I am?” 

“Yes I did speak with her. It was a bit helpful, in a way, but I didn’t like how inorganic it was. I don’t like scheduling appointments for my vulnerability. I’d prefer for it to be more spontaneous, and my own choice.” The fabric of your skirts have managed to wrinkle themselves. You release the material from the tight curve of your fingers. “But I liked it being mutual.”

His wings rustle faintly against the pillows, cold air breezing through the room. A latch clicks faintly as the window shuts. 

“It sounds like you enjoyed it a little. Why not try it again?” 

Because you said once. You said once, and then I could speak with you. 

Never mind.

You stand from the seat, pulling up your gloves. You turn from his bed. It would be nice to lie in bed. Beneath the covers, in the warmth. Wrapped in heat, with bare skin feeling the hitch of the fabric, the weight of the duvet. But it would be nice to see Bas. To walk down the quiet streets, where you’re free to observe at your own leisure, and take things in at a pace that suits you. 

You wish conversations with him were simpler, but you find yourself often leaving them feeling lost. 

He calls after you, but his voice sounds so far away you think you might have imagined it. Your mind playing games with your reality in order to cope. Whether or not he truly did call after you, you won’t verify for fear of it being false and turning around to nothing. So you keep going. 

You wish you didn’t have to speak with him. Wish you didn’t have to see him. Wish you didn’t have to look at him and be reminded of how effortlessly he can pluck at your heartstrings, so often stringing out minor chords instead of the light and skipping arpeggios that used to make you beam. You wish you never told him how you felt. It would have all been so much better if you kept your mouth shut. If you’d just seen how obviously he was interested in her. It was a stupid decision to make—how could you have hoped for it to end in any other result? 

It would be better to shut him out. You’re tired of always being the one with her heart in her hand while he keeps his far away from sight, somewhere you’ll never find. 

Why does it always have to be you opening up, when he gives nothing in return? 

————

“And how are you feeling this morning?” Madja asks with a smile on her round face. 

You manage a half smile in return, fingers curling in the duvet to pull it further up, hugging your shawl closer. “Good, for the most part,” you answer honestly. Your throat rolls, fingers playing with the fabric of the duvet sheet, “and you?” 

“Good,” she answers, taking her seat at your side. “Tell me, did you come up with anything you found suiting?”

The smile slips away, head dipping. “No, I…I don’t think I’ve been thinking much over the past day.” 

“You don’t think you’ve been thinking much?” Madja laughs, “I’m afraid we don’t have a choice in whether we think or not. The mind will always be active, whether you’re awake or asleep, it simply depends on whether you recall the thoughts.” Your lips remain in an undisturbed line but your nostrils flare with amusement. “I actually had quite a strange sequence of dreams this morning,” you begin, checking her face for approval before continuing. “I dreamed that I spent the day in bed, and the time kept on passing beyond my control. When I woke up I thought it was six in the evening due to the bells, but it was morning.” 

“The mind can convince you of strange things,” Madja agrees. 

A beat passes, and you shift on the mattress. “Madja, I…I’ve been experiencing some things that I…” Your lips tug down in the corners. “…that I don’t think…” 

The healer nods, understanding your hesitance to complete the sentence. “Can you tell me what they are?” The breath doesn’t come easily to your lungs, but it’s inhaled nonetheless. “This morning, when I woke, I experienced nausea—as I sometimes do…” Madja sits attentively, listening. “I went straight to the washroom, and I…” You make a slow tumbling-spinning gesture with your hands. Madja nods. “Then I…I cleaned myself up, but there was—…there was blood. On the seat, I mean, and I could taste it.” 

Madja’s expression remains calm, showing no signs of repulsion nor alarm, so you swallow, forcing yourself to continue. “Do you…” You cut yourself off—it doesn’t matter whether or not she knows you went to Autumn—that part can be forgotten. “I had some unpleasant sweats maybe a fortnight  or so ago, and…” You struggle to get the words up, heart pounding as shame and embarrassment try to strangle your throat shut. “…I saw blood then, too. When I visited the—…the washroom. It wasn’t my cycle,” you add on the end. You can’t look at her. 

“Did you feel any pain leading up to either of those occasions?” She asks, keeping the rhythm of her words steady. You shake your head. “And have you noticed any blood while visiting the washroom since then?” 

Heat scalds your skin. “I try not to look. But I don’t think so.” In your periphery she nods, but solemn quiet settles. 

Then she reaches out and touches your hand. “Don’t be afraid,” she tells you, squeezing. “People are with you.” 

You nod, unknowing how else to respond to the strange set of words. Madja smiles, but there’s something withheld from it. She sighs, shaking it off. “Now, let’s get started with that checkup, shall we?” 

You don’t speak as much as you usually do while her magic seeks out those bunches of tissue, purging them from your body. You’re thankful for the peace, in a way. Needing some time to come back to life after the mood that had found you this morning. Madja’s as gentle as she always is, careful and tender in her touch as that tingly magic warms your skin, sending targeted bursts deeper. She sits back, laying your hands to rest, then seems to change her mind, touching them again. 

“There’s no easy way to say what I’m about to tell you.” The gentle heat of her magic tingles at the surface of your skin, setting into your carpals, between your knuckles. “How much do you know about Magic Development Theory?” 

“A little,” you answer, searching her face. “I know it isn’t well researched among High Fae, and lesser so amongst faeries…”

“But you know it touches on the development of magic in correlation with physical and mental progression?” You nod. Madja’s lips purse, squeezing your hand gently. “You and your sisters came into magic…in essence, unnaturally. Your bodies didn’t go through the preparations most born-fae experience naturally—that is, the gradual deepening of power. That phase is a crucial part of development, and can cause irreversible damage if something is caused to suppress it. Of course there are exceptions to this—I believe Morrigan was rather unfortunate in that respect as her magic awoke all at once, and the High Lord had a similar experience—but they are by no means normal circumstances. Even if the awakening of power was abrupt, their bodies were prepared for the sharp exhaustion it would cause, while it’s likely that you and your sisters were not afforded that preparation due to your circumstances.” 

“So my body is…you think it’s damaged from two years ago?” You ask, strangely relieved there might be an explanation, even if it might be unpleasant. Just to know what’s going on with your body, to have a reason for night sweats and fevers and nausea and blood. Dizziness and delusion. “Perhaps not from your initial Making, but you’ve told me you’ve had trouble with your magic—that it took these years to manifest?” 

You nod. 

“And that it’s caused you pain in the past? Along with those two experiences you told me?” 

Blood drains from your skin, but you nod again.

Madja strokes her thumb across your knuckles, pushing that comforting warmth into your skin. “Being unable to release your Cauldron-given magic likely means to give it relief, it was infused into your own body. Whatever the Cauldron gave you—that is likely the reason you experience the pain you do.”

“Because it’s inside of me?” The healer nods solemnly. “And it’s— You think it may be irreversible by this point?” 

Madja’s throat rolls. “It is.” 

You swallow thickly, turning your gaze from her, staring instead down at the speckled and flaky skin of your hands. The dry scaliness of your arms. 

You turn back to her, looking feverishly. “It doesn’t hurt as much anymore… Might that not be a sign it can heal?” 

Madja pauses, remaining steady. However she forms her reply…it will matter to you, how she answers. 

Her eyes slide shut, mouth falling to a calm line before she looks at you again. 

She hands you the full glass from your bedside.

“Will you let me try and show you a precious silver lining?” 

————

You can hear the rain from outside, pelting against the ink-black window panes. 

Night has fallen. 

You’ve decided you won’t yet attempt to digest your earlier appointment with Madja—that you’re magic will cause you pain until you die…to never be able to use it properly without that lacerating burn…to be well and truly useless after all… 

Face it tomorrow. 

And yet tears are rising again. 

If you just hadn’t been so scared of it. If you hadn’t subconsciously locked it up so thoroughly. It’s stupid to think that—you didn’t even have any choice in it. 

But if things had been different and you’d be bolder… If you could have been more like Feyre in the woods, or Nesta with her silver flames… If you weren’t so inherently afraid, on such a subconscious level. 

You could have lived and thrived. Explored whatever the Cauldron gave you. And now it’s forever cut off from you. 

You’ll never be able to save anyone with magic like this. 

It’ll never have meant anything. 

————

Three whisper-quiet knocks are landed to your bedroom door, and you pull your head up from the desk. 

You don’t rise from your seat. You don’t want to move. 

Nobody knows you’re awake. You’ll happily pretend you’re asleep. 

Seconds tick by, and you wait with a spiking heartbeat to hear whether they’ll knock again. You don’t know why, but you feel like it’s Feyre. Your little sister stood outside that door, hoping to be let in. After you’ve tried to shut them out for so long. Well, apart from Elain. 

Your lower lip wobbles, vision turning blurry. You’re in a rather regretful mood, apparently, un-helped by the rain outside. It would be nice if these moods didn’t plague your mind so frequently and intensely. If your mind would let you be happy. 

Something hot and wet drips down your face, and you wipe your cheek, blinking away the remaining wetness. 

You think back to this morning, when you nearly told her you loved her. 

You could have died without her in the woods. You probably all would have. You could have easily died in the Cauldron too—they didn’t know what they were doing. Could have died during the war, if they’d aimed the Cauldron to the camps instead of the skies. Life isn’t guaranteed…

The seat is pushed back from your haste, striding across the room and opening the door outwards, those three words trembling in your mouth. 

Marginally widened, dark hazel eyes peer down at you, having narrowly missed having a door flung into his face. You jolt with recognition, hurriedly drying your eyes. “You aren’t Feyre.”

He pauses, assessing your state before shaking his head. “I’m not.” 

You sniff, quickly pulling yourself together. Your brows pinch as you take in the tall Illyrian. “You aren’t… Are you allowed to be up an about?” 

“Technically, no.” 

“Then…?” You think back to this morning, and want to shrivel into the floor. Then Madja passes through your head. You swallow, standing straighter. “I…wasn’t okay to speak this morning,” you admit, remembering how you’d left before even answering any questions. Azriel dips his head, “I thought not.” 

Your stomach sinks. “Do you…are you wanting to speak now?” 

He blinks once. Shifts on his feet. “You weren’t at dinner this evening.” 

“Were you?” You ask in surprise. 

He nods. “You should try to eat. To help you recover.” He pauses, then adds. “It helps a lot. To eat a full meal, sometimes.” 

“I know. I just— I think I fell asleep again.” 

“You’ve been sleeping well?” 

You tilt your head from side to side. “I’ve been sleeping a lot? I couldn’t tell you whether it’s good though…” Azriel nods his head, and quiet begins to settle in the darkened hall. How late is it now? 

“You seemed in a low mood this morning.” He says after a few beats of silence. You swallow. “Yes…I think the recent weather might be just…you know…” 

He nods. “I know.” A few more beats pass. “You seem awake?” 

“…I don’t want this conversation, right now,” you say, averting your gaze. You’re far too tired, far too drained…but if he insists you’re not sure you’ll be able to turn him away, wanting more than ever his quiet company. 

In your periphery however, he shakes his head. “No, it’s not that.” He assures, then pauses. 

“I said you could speak with me, if you tried reaching out to Nesta.” You incline your head by a fraction to look at him, not skilled enough to mask your doubt. “You told me you didn’t like how inorganic it was.” 

You don’t know where he’s going with this, but you nod your head. You did say that. And it was true. 

Azriel nods his head. “Will you come with me?” 

————

The chill of midnight sets your teeth on edge, but the fleece keeps you warm as does the thick, woollen scarf you have wrapped around your neck and shoulders, and arguably the lower portion of your face. 

He’d flown you out quite a way from the River House—to a part of Velaris you don’t recognise—and yet seemed to have chosen to not go directly to his destination, leaving time for walking. Not that you mind of course, but you turn it absently over in your mind. 

The smell of rain is fresh on the cobbles, droplets of water dripping down the wrought iron of lanterns, weighing the lush green of long leaves until the droplets slip, relieving its end of the weight and catapulting back to its original height. Puddles accumulate in the narrow dips between the cracks in pavement, every colour made brighter, fresher by the gleam of rain. Vivifying colour and scent, life brimming at the surface, adding layers to smells. Walking past an alley, you see a small, speckled bird fluttering its feathers in one of those puddles, bathing itself in quick shivers, tiny eyes squeezing shut in pleasure before shuddering out a spray of dirtied water, now happy and clean. 

While lamps aren’t uncommon, most parts of Velaris are without light during the course of the night. Letting starlight spill over the paving, basking in the moon’s lonely glow, fae eyesight having no need for the aid of candles as humans would. Here, the night sky is bright and beautiful, scattered full of tiny, glittering specs, like millions of miniature sequins cast to the heavens. Some stars glow like gemstones, like diamonds—big and bold, and demanding attention away from the surrounding scatter; others are peaceful and codependent, relying on the smaller sparkle of others to build into a complexity created by a myriad of stars. 

Rainwater still trickles heavily, the splash of droplets echoing between buildings, small streams gathering as the water courses through the streets. You allow the droplets to fill your mind, their trickling splash, their content and syncopated rhythm keeping you listening, unable to predict the next pattern—how it’s an ever-changing, ever-evolving piece. 

Up ahead you can spot warm light spilling out onto the cobbles. It’s noticeably quieter in this part, and you wonder if it’s more residential. If he’s flown you far enough away from the shopping areas. 

“Up here,” he tells you, nodding to the warmly lit area. 

There are no doors, just some stout, rectangular, navy pieces of fabric hung from the threshold of the ceiling’s entrance, hanging in a single row like bunting. Upon each dark blue piece seems to be the side-shop’s logo, embroidered in pale white thread, kept within a neat circle. It’s startlingly small, compared to others you’ve seen, looking more akin to a bar in its layout—high-stools pushed close to a raised table, the kitchen immediately behind…and smelling delicious. 

Your stomach makes some interested noises. 

He had mentioned the destination was food-related, but you’d imagined something bigger, more closed off…not a walk-in, first-come-first-served sort of place. You suppose the thick layers make sense now, with how there are no temperature wards on the place; no indoor seating, seeing as the establishment doesn’t seem to have any doors. 

Teeth nip at the interior of your lip, glancing at what you can see of the interior—it looks pleasantly lit, two fae behind the raised table, with three others on the far end. There would be space for you to sit, without disturbing them… “I’m not sure I’ll be able to finish a meal…” 

He nods. “They have containers you can take food away in.” 

You glance back inside, chewing on your lip. Then you nod.

You hadn’t recognised anything on the menu, but Azriel seems to have visited before. A few times, by the friendly tone spoken between him and one of the cooks. A few minutes later a black, red, and gold, lacquerware bowl had been set in front of you, filled with more than a few things you haven’t so far had the chance to try. It seems to be comprised of a mouth-watering smelling broth, a selection of steamed veg, and half a well-boiled egg, it’s yolk still slightly runny, along with something string-looking. You’re presented with a pale white spoon, decorated with blue ink strokes that make up the petals of flowers and vines—to drink the broth with, you’d guess. 

“Smells good, doesn’t it?” Azriel nods to the bowl. “The taste is even better.” 

Hesitantly, you dip the different-looking spoon—almost more like a miniature ladle—into the broth, blowing on it gently, before raising the steaming liquid to your mouth, taking an experimental sip. It’s pleasantly spiced, the juices from the seasoned veg likely playing a part in the depth of flavour, and most importantly, it’s hot. “It’s good,” you murmur, smiling faintly as you finish the small ladle’s-worth, refilling it swiftly. It’s only once you’ve practically polished off the bowl, encountering a little difficulty with the utensils in your gloved fingers, that Azriel disturbs the peace that you hadn’t realised had settled. 

“You looked like you enjoyed that.” You nod, lightly drying your lips with the paper napkins, the logo of the walk-in this time printed in a warm red, matching the accent of the bowls. “I loved the broth.” The light catches in Azriel’s eyes, and he nods. “The broth is good.” 

You glance down at the lacquerware bowl, wondering if you might be able to get the last few drops of liquid from the circumference of the bottom if you tilt it and let it gather. You might have done so if you weren’t feeling pleasantly full for the first time in a while, no worries of nausea to be found in your body. Just warm satisfaction. 

A good meal for a shitty day. 

“It would be easy to have one of those picked up for a dinner,” Azriel mentions on the way back, after having paid. You’re walking at a dawdling pace, unrushed so you don’t get indigestion and spoil the heavenly state of your stomach. You hum, but your eyes feel heavy, despite having slept so much already. 

He doesn’t push it, allowing the comfortable quiet to settle, with raindrops still dripping in between buildings, splashing into puddles. You’re happy to let it remain quiet, your mind feeling pleasantly empty. No skittish thoughts, or fleeting worry. No anxious tug of energy telling you to hurry along in case you’re wasting time. 

There’s little in your mind, save for the warm spice of the broth, and it’s quiet. 

It’s peaceful. 

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[luxurychristmaspudding]

Weightless | On Call

summary: your curtains are closed, truck silent on the drive. today of all days, you shouldn't be alone.

pairing: neighbour!frankie morales x f!reader

ratings/warnings: 18+, MDNI. dual pov. loooots of angst. active grieving for a dead parent. a very soft frankie. vibes are better in the next chapter lmao.

wc: 2.1k

an: my grandad was a man who loved flowers. today marks seven years since we lost him. he was gentle and kind and so talented.

have some forget me nots, which are in my garden and now also in your hands. for @morallyinept's flora and fauna challenge. for anyone you may also miss <3

When the time came Just like you are He was weightless In my arms

- weightless, elbow

series masterlist | main masterlist

Your house is quiet.

Quiet like Frankie has never heard. 

There’s always some kind of noise. A record turning, the hum of your voice. The TV on, windows open to birdsong. But today, there is nothing. 

His legs are heavy. Heart heavy, fingers shaking, wrapped around the bag of groceries he’s brought. He’s taken two steps in through your front door, and now he doesn’t know what to do. 

He watches the dust motes swim in the sun of your hallway. Shifts on his feet to look through into the living room. You must be upstairs, but to call your name in the silence of the morning feels like too much. Invasive. Cruel. 

Instead, he swallows and takes the remaining strides into your kitchen. Breathes in the fresh smell of your plants, the familiarity of your spice rack in the corner, the spread of miscellaneous stuff that he’s rarely seen tidied away. He gently places the bag of groceries on the counter before opening your cupboards for a vase. 

Once he finds one, he fills it with water and trims the stems. Forget-me-nots and white carnations. Something simple. Remembrance and love. Bright and pretty. No lilies. They only remind you of the funeral.

He’s biding his time. Trying to tamp down the nerves swirling in his gut, the somersault of his heart in his chest. He knows from the gaps left in his own life that today will be hard. And he wants to make it easier for you. He just hasn't worked out how.

He knows what works for him. The long hikes, the pull of a bottle. In murkier times, many years ago now, the sharp taste of powdered gums. Knows what works for the boys. The days with drawn curtains, video games played in the gloom. Tequila and memories shared across barbeques. Even his parents - honorary pastel de choclo, flicking through photo albums. But for you, he’s not sure. 

Once he’s happy with the way the flowers are arranged, he takes off his shoes. He leaves his cap on the counter, and pads up the stairs.

It’s still quiet. You’re not in the bathroom. No reason for you to be in any other of the rooms. He holds his breath and raises his knuckles against the wood of your bedroom door.

He knocks, softly - once. Waits for an answer that doesn’t come, but pushes it open anyway.

‘Bug?’ He says gently into the morning sunlight.

You’re swaddled in bed, still in your pyjamas, eyes red and swollen. You sit up slightly with a watery smile as he edges in, managing a crackled hey, Fish.

A sharp lump rises in Frankie’s throat. Something about seeing you upset has always hurt; the same kind of ache he gets in his chest when Lucia or his mum cries. His eyes flick from yours to your bedside table, to the picture of your father settled on top of it. Frozen in time, his smile is wide - just like yours. Greying hair, a little more chin fat than he would have had as a younger man. A younger you tucked into his side, his arm slung over your shoulders. Your arms around his middle, squeezing, laughing. Fuck.

Frankie’s heart shoots out the bottom of his legs and skids across the floor. He looks you over, and your chin wobbles. Too much. Too vulnerable. The smile drops, your face cracks. Your mouth clamps shut with a snap of teeth, and a fresh wave of tears begins to pour down your cheeks.

Frankie feels his own expression crumble, and he’s at your side before he can even think for his feet to take him there. Perched on your mattress, arms around your shoulders to pull you close. Shushing like the gentle in and out of waves, lips pressed to your hot forehead. 

You’re tense, so tense. Breath coming in choked hiccups, shoulders up to your ears. Hands gripping the sheets. There’s another pull in Frankie’s chest.

‘Stop trying not to cry,’ he murmurs, ‘I can feel it.’

You release a ragged breath, a heartbroken cry as you cling to his sleeves. Like you're being ripped apart. Like you're being drowned.

‘I’m sorry,’ you gasp, ‘I’m sorry.’ 

Frankie shifts you further across the bed so he can fit next to you, shaking his head. 

‘Don’t be sorry. Why should you be sorry?’

‘You don’t have to be here,’ you choke, ‘It’s okay. You don’t have to stay.’

Frankie closes his eyes. Leaving you here is the furthest thing from his mind, a notion that wouldn’t even cross it.

‘I want to.’ He says.

You nod, curled tight to him. He can feel dampness seeping through his hoodie, and he sits back against the headboard, cradling you to his chest. His heart is beating so fast. You can hear it, the conch of your ear pressed to the cage of his ribs. You try to focus on it, try to think of nothing else. Try not to think of this day four years ago. The weightless feel of your father in your arms in the last minutes of his life. How you held him when he could hold you no longer.

‘What do you need, baby?’ Frankie asks.

The streams of tears, the bow of your brow, serve to split his heart in two.

‘I don’t know.’ You whisper.

So Frankie holds you closer, like he’s afraid you’ll disappear.

Unwittingly, he’s answered the question for you. For the last four years, you have needed to be held like this. Needed to be held together by someone who is not yourself, someone who can shoulder the weight of the grief you have carried alone for years, just for a moment. 

You lose yourself to it. To the warmth, the smell, the comfort. You let the flood come, you let Frankie rock you. You ask him how Luc is, and he understands the need to hear about life outside this room. So he tells you about her arts and crafts, her newfound dislike of mac and cheese, what she wants for her birthday. The daisy chains she's been making, the sweetpeas they're growing in their garden. And it’s wonderful. It reminds you of the good of the world, that it keeps spinning, that there is love out there even when it feels lost to you. 

If there is something out there other than life, you hope your dad is in it. On a deck chair with a beer on the beach, a little basket of fries delivered to him every so often. He’s smiling, laughing. You hope he’s still around, because the idea that he’s not is too big, too great to face. It’s too lonely. Too terrifying to be alone in this world, no anchor, no tether, a family with their backs to you after you’d told them who you loved, too far in the distance to turn back to you with outstretched palms. An ex-fiancée who simply didn’t love you enough.

But he’s here, you feel. Here in this moment, watching from somewhere above. Mixed with the fabric of now like clothes in a washing machine. A spiral of colour and feeling. Pink, purple, blue, green. Love, joy, heartbreak, loss.

Orange. Orange and white is what Frankie can see. The warmth of the sunlight, the pale of your sheets. You’re far away but safe in his arms. He wants you there always. Wants to be wherever you need him.

He thinks of this day in his own life, four years ago. The tiny, warm body of his baby in his arms. Weightless as you are now and yet so heavy, the two of them fighting sleep in a nursery elsewhere in Florida. He can still smell her hair, still hear the way she’d babble, the way she still fit tucked into one arm. He swallows, hard. Holds you tighter still, thumbs rubbing your shoulder, your side. There is so much of his daughter’s life to see. He can’t imagine having it cut short. Can’t imagine knowing it would end soon, counting down the days as his body wasted. The milestones he’d miss, the moments and memories. The stories and people she’d introduce him to. It doesn’t bear thinking about, her out in the wide world without him to guide or protect her. And he knows you’d hate it, but he’s sorry. So sorry that that’s the life you have, that you don’t have him to turn to anymore. And he’s sorry for your dad. For him to have missed who you are now, to miss who you will be. 

He presses another kiss to your head, hoping to convey this. This nebulous thought, this strange feeling.

‘He wrote letters for me,’ you whisper into his neck. So quietly, voice strained to breaking as you force the words out. ‘For birthdays. For jobs. For my first home. For my wedding. For a first child.’ You try to smile, but it’s flattened with a broken breath. ‘He thought of everything. And I read them again today - the ones I’m up to - but it’s like - it’s like his voice -’ you cut yourself off, burying your face in your hands as you try to calm down. ‘Sometimes it’s like I can’t hear him properly anymore.’ 

Frankie strokes the back of your hand, and it drops easily. He holds it in clammy palms.

In the cold days after your dad passed, through numb dissonance you had googled everything to do with grief. The stages, the remedies, the processes. What you forget first.

Voice. There would be a day, before anything else, when you wouldn’t be able to remember how your name sounded spoken by his lips. When you couldn’t remember the texture of I love you spoken in his tongue.

Frankie knows this. He googled it after Colombia, when the weight of every body he’d seen or carried seemed to settle on him. It had comforted him. He didn’t want to remember shouts and screams, couldn’t stomach the memory of Tom’s orders rattling through his brain. But he feels so desperate to take this from you, to retract and hide what you know. So useless in the face of so much hurt, so much loss. Even when he knows the best he can do is sit here in it with you. 

You press your free fingertips into your eyes. 

‘I’m so scared, Frankie,’ you whisper from behind the dark in your head. ‘I’m so scared I might forget him.’

Frankie’s seen the simplicities of grief before. Knows them intimately. Knows the horror of these realisations, understands as he presses his lips to your hairline and you shake in his arms. He loves you too much to lie.

So instead, he tells you a truth.

‘I’ve got you. I’ve got you.’

When the light turns from golden to white, the sun a little higher in the sky, you disentangle yourself to blow your nose. You manage a laugh as you do it, muttering a bashful ew as Frankie watches you, still stretched out on your mattress. Any other time, and your heart would be hammering in your chest at the sight. But now, it’s all the comfort you need. 

He stands, stiff, stretching his arms to the ceiling before gathering you briefly in his arms again. 

‘You okay?’ He asks.

‘Better.’ You say, brushing a curl from his forehead.

His eyes are so warm, so gentle. 

‘Breakfast?’

You hum, offer him the best smile you can. A sludge of guilt slops in your stomach, but you try to swallow it.

‘Thank you. I’ll be down in a bit.’

When he’s downstairs, listening to the sound of your shower, he unpacks his grocery bag and begins making a stack of pancakes. Blueberry, banana, strawberry, chocolate chip. Syrup enough for you to taste through the salt at the back of your throat. Methodical, mechanical, more focused on listening for your movements through the floors of your house. The shutting off of the water, the soft thunk of your drawers. Your footsteps heavy on the stairs, down the hall. You appear in the doorway, hair washed, eyes red, cosy in sweats and a t-shirt. He smiles at you, and you smile back. It’s small, but it’s a start.

You move closer, and he takes you under his arm as he turns the stove off. You wrap your arms around his middle.

‘Thank you for the flowers,’ you say, quietly. Frankie follows your eyes to the bouquet arranged in the vase. Forget-me-nots, white carnations. ‘Thank you for not getting lilies.’

He smiles, kisses your forehead. Wonders whether he could leave a mark simply from doing it so often, so you’d always feel safe.

‘No problem.’

He guides you towards the table, pulls out the chair and makes sure you’re settled. Makes sure you have your coffee, your pancakes. The smell of the flowers is sweet, something blooming in your stomach. You trace the outline of them before you, the simplicity, the thought. Frankie asks what you want to do for the rest of the day. You deflect the question back at him, and he smiles.

‘Anything.’

‘Anything?’

You raise an eyebrow at his mhm.

‘That’s dangerous.’ You say with a wry smile.

Something in Frankie’s chest lifts. There she is.

Later, when Luc is tucked into your side and you’re tucked into Frankie’s, you’ll wonder how you can ever repay him. The kindness he shows you, the patience.

You only hope that you will, someday. Promise it, head leant against his shoulder.

Even if it takes the rest of your life.

[bakuliwrites]

MC Falling Asleep on M6's Lap (Baewatch)

It's been a hot minute since I posted anything and, unfortunately, I don't have the brain power to do any new content. But I figured I would post a headcanon from my old blog. Someone had requested this a long time ago and I loved writing it. The idea was so cute! I love the Baewatch tale and the bonfire scene at the end is so fun. So, here you go! Also, updated my banners just to try out something new :)

Asra is more than prepared for you to fall asleep on his lap. In fact, he can sense your exhaustion before even you can. He gives you a knowing smirk at your first yawn, leans back where he’s seated in the sand, and offers up his lap for you to lay your head in.

“I’m not sleepy,” you insist, crossing your arms indignantly. But his lap looks pretty inviting. Within minutes, you’re conked out, head cradled by Asra’s legs. He tenderly runs his fingers through your hair, smiling softly down at your slumbering form.

When it’s time to leave, he gently rouses you from your sleep. “MC,” he whispers, carefully shifting you in his lap, “It’s time to go.” Groggily, you rise. Hand in hand, you and Asra walk the length of the beach, back to your room, where you get some much needed rest, snuggled up in his arms <3

You’re already resting your head on Nadia’s lap when you feel the first twinge of exhaustion. Your eyes start to droop, though you try desperately to keep them open. You want to watch Julian’s magical fire display, but you’re just so tired.

Nadia discovers you’re asleep when she looks down to see if you’re enjoying yourself. She smiles to herself, moving a strand of your hair aside that’s fallen in front of your eyes. She thinks you look positively adorable. So adorable, in fact, she feels suddenly compelled to pinch your cheeks (but refrains, not wanting to rudely awaken you).

When it’s time to go, Nadia lays a soft kiss on your forehead and whispers your name. She guides you back to your room, holding you close and keeping you warm in the chilly night air. She makes sure you have everything you need before snuggling up beside you in bed<3

You’re dazzled by the multicolored lights flashing before your eyes, changing with each powder Julian tosses into the fire. There’s so much joy floating around the campfire, you find yourself feeling utterly relaxed. So relaxed, in fact, that you lay your head down in Julian’s lap and pass out.

Julian’s too busy showing off his magical powders to notice you’ve fallen asleep, at first. But when he finally does take notice, he makes sure to quiet down. He rubs small circles on your back, gazing thoughtfully down at your peaceful face. He’s glad to see you so restful.

When it’s time to go, he doesn’t bother to try waking you. Instead, he carefully lifts you into his arms and carries you back to your room. He’s so very gentle when he tucks you in, stealthily sliding into bed beside you and cuddling you close <3

Portia practically pulls you into her lap when she notices you yawning. With a wink, she promises she’ll wake you up if anything crazy exciting happens. You smile up at her before falling asleep to the comforting sensation of her combing her fingers through your hair.

You’re knocked out for the remainder of the bonfire. Portia makes mental notes of all the things you’re missing, ready to regale you with all of the nonsense that occurred while you slept. She marvels over the fact that you could sleep through Lucio’s racket (though she did see your face twist in what could’ve been annoyance when he was being particularly loud). She was quick to quiet him down, shooting him a dirty look.

When it’s time to leave, Portia leans in to whisper in your ear, “Come on, cuddle bug. It’s time to go.” She giggles as your eyes flutter open and you flash a quizzical look her way. She’s never called you “cuddle bug” before and you’re not sure how you feel about it. You can’t help but laugh a little as she guides you back to the room, ready to settle in for the night with you <3

Muriel has been silent, as usual, the whole of the night. But you’ve caught him smiling a few times. He seems a bit mesmerized by the changing colors of the fire. Seeing him relaxed makes you feel even more relaxed than you already were. You lay your head down in Muriel’s lap, which startles him at first, and decide to close your eyes for a minute.

Well, a minute becomes a while. You’re lulled to sleep by Muriel’s warmth, the crackle of the fire, and the gentle rush of the waves. Muriel is rigid when he discovers you’ve fallen asleep on him. He doesn’t move a muscle the entire rest of the night, terrified to wake you up. In fact, he barely breathes in fear of rousing you (something you’ll laugh about later).

When it’s time to go, he awkwardly lifts you from the ground, cradling you gently in his arms. You wake up on the walk back to your room, but he keeps you snuggled up in his embrace. When you reach home, you fall asleep again, wrapped up in his arms <3

In the brief moment that night when Lucio is actually sitting still, you manage to lay your head in his lap. “Don’t you go falling asleep on me, MC!” he teases, catching you yawning, “The night is young, yet!” You roll your eyes at him, settling further in. Secretly, he’s happy you’re cuddling up with him.

Despite Lucio’s hullabaloo, you manage to fall asleep. When he looks down to ask if you want anything else to eat or drink, he notices you’re passed out in his lap. A lot of things go through his mind, all at once. He has half a mind to draw a moustache on you, smiling devilishly at the thought. But he’s also just really delighted that you’re relaxed enough with him to fall asleep.

He lets you rest (though he’s not very good at keeping quiet for you and, in his excitement over the bonfire, he definitely bonks you in the head a couple times with his knee which is followed up by profuse apologies, smooches, and hushes for you to go back to sleep). When it’s time to go, he shakes you awake (a bit unceremoniously), but makes up for it when you return to your room by tucking you into bed and cuddling up beside you <3

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[archangeldyke-all]

rough sex with cowboy sevi after an argument 🫣🫣

i miss cowboy sev

i was just thinking about cowboy sevika omg

men and minors dni

the bar's been suspiciously quiet this evening.

you put the girls to bed around eight like you've been making a habit of doing: you read somewhere once that giving kids a steady schedule makes them feel secure. you don't know if it's true, you've only been doing this parenting shit for a year, but you and sevika are trying your best.

still. despite their usual bedtime, both girls are restless sleepers. most nights, one or both of them will make several trips down from their room in the inn upstairs to sit at the bar for a while, watching you work and entertaining the locals who've come by for a drink.

tonight, you haven't heard a peep from either.

and most nights, after the girls finally settle down and all your patrons either head up to their rooms or stroll home, sevika will finish her share of the night-chores and then meet you in the bar. it's your nightly tradition: you pour her a whiskey, make yourself whatever you're in the mood for, and the two of you sit side by side, chatting and laughing and occasionally slow-dancing in the moonlight to the sound of sevika humming a tune.

but tonight, sevika doesn't come find you.

you do a final sweep of the floor, wipe off the bar one last time, and take off to find your wife-- assuming she's fallen asleep somewhere or is in the girls' room.

only, as you climb the stairs to the second floor, you realize that the linen closet at the end of the hall hasn't been replenished with fresh towels and sheets for tomorrow's guests. you pause, looking out the window and huffing at the sight of the sheets blowing on the line in the night breeze.

stomping back down the stairs, you march outside and snatch the linens off the line. on your way back inside-- you realize the chicken's coop is still open. you groan as you climb into their pen and close up the coop, careful not to let the bundle of sheets in your arms touch the shitty, hay covered ground.

these are sevika's chores. this is the shit she's supposed to be doing all night while you're taking care of the customers. tonight, it seems, she's decided that you can take care of it all.

you expect to find sevika in bed, you're a little worried she might have a fever or something. she's usually so good about doing all her chores-- the only time she doesn't is when she's sick or the kids are bugging her.

but, after twenty minutes of folding and stacking the laundry and a quick check in on the girls, you get to your room only to find it empty.

your heart sinks. you stumble out of your room and down the stairs, checking the girls' room again-- thinking maybe your eyes had missed sevika slumped to sleep in the reading chair or one of the girl's bed on your first check.

but when you push open the door and take a real good look around the room, you nearly shit yourself when you realize that the twin lumps in vi's bed aren't your kids: they're a lump of pillows with the comforter on top.

your mind starts to go a mile a minute. there's no way something's happened to your family... right? there were people here all night, someone would've said something if they saw sevika or the girls in trouble.

but then... where are they?

as you descend to the main floor, you start to choke with panic.

sevika's got a shady past and a whole lot of enemies-- people who are willing to do evil things in the name of revenge.

and you still haven't figured out what really happened with the girl's birth-parents. for all you know: they could've been killed because they were in some kinda trouble themselves-- there could be people out there you don't even know about looking to hurt violet and powder.

you're on the verge of tears by the time you reach shimmer's stable.

but when the sound of giggles and whinnying reach your ears, relief floods your body.

you pull open the stable door with a slam, glaring at sevika where she's helping the girls off shimmer's back. three pairs of guilty eyes snap up to look at you, and sevika whispers a 'fuck' under her breath. violet muffles giggles at the curse.

"where the fuck have you three been!?" you cry.

powder springs off of shimmer's back-- fearless of the fact that she falls a distance twice as tall as her tiny body, and runs up to hug your legs, defaulting into puppy-eyes as her defense. "don't be mad." she pouts, blinking up at you.

"i couldn't sleep, so sevika took us out to see the stars." violet cuts in as she cautiously jumps down from shimmer's back to wrap her arms around your waist. "we thought you wouldn't notice..." she says guiltly, rubbing the back of her neck.

the anger and panic in your body leaves momentarily. you can't be mad at the kids-- not when they're so fucking cute. you roll your eyes at their pouts, then ruffle their heads and nod your head toward the inn.

"go wash up and get in bed. y'all better be sleepin' by the time i come in." you threaten, kissing both their heads and gently pushing them out of the stable. violet jumps up to kiss your cheek, then takes powder's hand and drags her out of the stable: aware that sevika's in the doghouse and not wanting to catch any stray punishments.

you turn your loving gaze away from the kids, the anger in you picking back up as you glare at your wife. sevika shrinks on herself.

"sevika, what the fuck!?" you shout. she cringes and sighs.

"i'm s--"

"i thought something bad happened sev. i come up to bed and my wife's not there-- then i check on my kids and they're fucking pillows under the blankets-- sevika, i thought--"

"darlin', i'm so sorry." she cuts you off, reaching forward and trying to touch you. you smack her hand away, snarling at her. "i thought we'd be back way sooner! we got distracted-- there were so many shootin' stars tonight-- it musta been a meteor shower or som--"

"sevika!" you cut her off. she cringes again. you smack her shoulder, then turn around to storm back inside.

"where're you goin?!" sevika calls after you as you walk out of the stable.

"inside!"

"i'm not done putting shimmer to bed!" sevika says, reaching out and grabbing your wrist.

"i don't give a fuck, sevika--"

"well i do!" she cries. she spins you around in her arms, her grip on your upper arms strong and solid. you couldn't squirm away if you tried. "i'm not lettin' you go to bed mad at me, baby, i'm not breakin' our wedding vows. so come back to the stable while i finish up with shimmer, and you can scold me all you want."

your nostrils flare a bit, and sevika raises an eyebrow at you. you're simultaneously furious and touched-- sevika's sweet words making you fall all the more in love with her even though you wish you could smack her right now. eventually, you sigh. "fine."

sevika tries to bite back her smirk, but you still elbow her ribs anyways-- seeing the way her lips twitch at the corner as she guides you back to the stable with a hand on the small of your back.

you push her off of you when you're back inside the stable, not yet ready to give up being mad at her and knowing you'll be putty in her hands if she keeps touching you. "sevika, do you know how fuckin' scared i was?" you whisper.

sevika sighs, hanging her head as she walks toward her mare. "i'm sorry. really. i didn't even think how spooked you'd be if you caught us-- i didn't think you'd catch us at all!" she defends.

you scoff an exasperated laugh. "just-- next time you fucking kidnap the kids, leave me a note?" you ask.

sevika huffs, pulling the saddle off of shimmer's back and shooting you a little glare. "it's not kidnapping to take my own kids out." she grunts. you roll your eyes.

"you know my point--"

"--and maybe, if you let them ride with me in the first place i wouldn't have to sneak 'em out!" she shouts.

you groan. "oh, for fuck's sake sevika, not this shit again."

"they need to learn!"

"they're too fuckin' small to even get on the horse!" you cry. "they're babies sevika, you don't put a baby on the back of a wild animal!"

"shimmer is not a wild animal!" sevika shouts, stepping into your space, backing you against the wall with her glare. "and i'd been riding for years by the time i was their age! you're just scared about the horse 'cause you can't ride."

"you left the fuckin' linens out!"

sevika falters, her glower cracking for a moment as a smile pulls at her lips. you try to ignore the urge to giggle at the way sevika's lips twitch-- you want to be mad goddammit-- but you let a little huff of laughter out despite yourself.

"that's what this is all about, huh?" sevika teases, tentatively. "mad you had to do the laundry?"

"fuck off-- i'm mad because--"

"take your fucking shirt off." sevika grunts.

it's your turn to falter, blinking up at your wife in surprise. her gaze is hot and heavy, her tongue darts out to lick her lower lip as her eyes catch on your own mouth. you gulp.

"w-what?" you squeak.

she smirks, then reaches out to cup your face, ducking down to gently kiss your jaw, your neck, your shoulder. you gulp. "i really am sorry, darlin'." she drawls, nipping your earlobe. "i didn't wanna scare you. just wanted to do somethin' special for 'em."

you relax a bit into her touch, then shove her away. sevika stumbles backwards and lands in a haybale, blinking up at you in shock. you smirk down at her. "you're cute." you say. sevika gulps. "but if you're gonna try 'n talk you way outta this one, i got a much better place for your mouth."

sevika whimpers, and then she's clawing at your hips, getting your lower half bare while she simultaneously tries to pull you up to straddle her face. you chuckle above her, shuffling a bit as you remove your garments, then sinking your fingers into her hair.

she looks ravenous. her eyes are locked on your cunt, her tongue licking her lips as she squirms beneath you, anxiously waiting for you to sink down onto her mouth.

"say it again." you demand. sevika blinks up at you, confused.

"say what?"

"apologize."

sevika grins. "i'm so sor--mpf--" you chuckle as you sink down onto her mouth, cutting her off mid sentence. her eyes roll back in her head, and her fingernails sink into your hips as she moans against your cunt.

you pull up for just a moment, watching her gasp for air beneath you and giggling. "what was that, baby?" you ask.

sevika's responding grin is dazzling. in the back of your mind, it occurs to you that this is probably not a very effective punishment for your wife-- if anything you might be giving her incentive to piss you off even more. "i'm sorry, darlin'." sevika repeats, blinking her eyelashes at you. you giggle. oh, well, you think as you sink back down onto her mouth.

sevika's tongue is devious, you have to bite the back of your hand to keep from screaming and waking up all your inn-guests just a few yards away.

"shit-- you know i hate folding the sheets." you grunt as you grind against her face. she laughs against your cunt. "i got chickenshit all over my good shoes closin' the coop, too-- fuck, baby, just like that." you whine.

one of sevika's hands sneaks up from your waist to start palming your tits under your shirt. you groan.

beside you, shimmer makes a little grunt, like she's disgusted. sevika just flips her horse off before putting her hand right back on your tits.

you burst into giggles, on the brink of cumming and worked up from the spat you'd just been in, and then sigh. "fuck, i love you, sevika."sevika groans underneath you, shivering and shaking, and when you realize she's cum in her pants, you fall apart on top of her. "i love you, i love you, i love you, i love you, baby, fuck!" you cry.

you're not sure how long you grind your hips against your wife's mouth as you chase your orgasm, but eventually she pushes you away and takes a big gulp of air-- so you assume it was long enough to suffocate her.

still, she looks pretty happy about almost being killed underneath you.

you laugh down at her, then crawl down her body to press your lips to hers, licking the taste of you from her tongue. she hums against you, her hands groping your bare ass as you lazily kiss.

"how much d'ya wanna bet you woke up a guest?" she asks.

you groan, hiding your face against her throat in embarrassment. "i wasn't that loud, was i?"

"sev! sev! sev, i love you, you're so good, you're the best wife in the world--" you shove your hand against her lips, cutting off her horrible impression of your own voice.

"i do not sound like that!" you squeal.

sevika smacks your ass as she laughs. you smile at the sound, pressing kisses agianst her throat as you both catch your breath.

"thank you." you mumble eventually. sevika picks her head up from the hay bale to stare down at you like you're crazy. you laugh.

"for scarin' the shit outta you?" she asks. you giggle.

"no, jackass. for makin' us fight it out-- makin' sure we didn't go to bed angry. fuckin' me so well." you list off. sevika snorts, and presses a firm kiss to your head.

"'s my pleasure, darlin'."

taglist!

@fyeahnix @sapphicsgirl @half-of-a-gay @thesevi0lentdelights @sexysapphicshopowner @shimtarofstupidity @chuucanchuucan @badbye666 @femme-historian @lia-winther @gr0ssz0mbi3 @ellsss @sevikaspillowprincess @leomatsuzaki @emiliabby @sevikasbeloved @hellorai @vikasub @glass-apothecary @m0numents @macaroni676 @vixel352 @artinvain

[kodamaghost00]

𝑰𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖,𝑽𝒊𝒌𝒕𝒐𝒓?

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧ *✧･ﾟ: * *✧

Fandom: Arcane 2021 (NETFLIX ORIGINAL)

Pairings: Viktor x GN!Reader

Genre: Long-lost Friends to Lovers, Fluff

Summery: After you thought your Best friend died you reunite with him after 12 years of being apart.

Warnings: Loosing close people, Death, Fights, Spoilers EP3, Emotional, Slow burn, forced to move on fast

Word count: 2,4K

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧ *✧･ﾟ: * *✧

“Viktor! Viktor over here, look at this!!” You are around 11 years old and call out for your best friend. He walks over to you as fast as he can. “What’s going on, Y/N?” He asked cautiously, but then looked at what you pointed out. “I’ve never seen something like that before…”. Now you both stare at a little bug crawling around in the dirt in front of you. You and Viktor watch the bugs and animals around you all the time, but this one... you’ve never seen it before. It had short legs, but the colors were beautiful. “Do you think it’s a new species?” You chuckled. “Well, maybe it is. What shall we call it?” He smiled at you softly. “Hm. I’ll name it sooner or later!” You two watched it crawl away. You stood up and helped him to do the same.

“Let’s go home you look tired…” He just nodded, and you both made your way to the small shed you called home. You both laid down facing each other. “Viktor? Do you think we’ll make it big one day? To the topside, I mean.”. He thought about it but responded calmly back to you, “I know we will. With my brain and your brawn, we make a pretty good team.” You chuckle. “That’s right. Goodnight Viktor…” "Goodnight, Y/N…” and with those last sentences, you two fall asleep.

*BOOM* Something exploded, and your little shed crumbled to pieces. Everything burns, there’s smoke everywhere, you can’t see anything but call out for Viktor. There’s no response. You try to free yourself from the remains of what you called home once, but you’re trapped underneath. There’s no way out. You are in so much pain that you black out. There’s nothing, only darkness. Then the memories of the happy day before came flooding back, and you violently woke up, tucked away in a cozy-looking bed.

“Where am I?” You ask cautiously. Looking around for any enemies you could encounter, the only thing you see is a large man with a beard. "Oh, you’re awake, kid. How are you?” He came closer, and you flinched away. “I’m not your enemy, kiddo. I’m here to help you.” He said reassuringly as he handed you a glass of water to drink. “What happened? Where’s Viktor?!” You asked, looking around to find your best friend again, but to no avail. “Viktor? You’re the only one I found. I’m sorry.” You started to cry, and he came to hug you. You cried on his shoulder for a while until you calmed down. “Do you want to stay with me? I assume you don’t have family here.” You nodded quietly and held his hand, not wanting to let go. Then another man came into the room. He was big and scary-looking but had a rather friendly aura. "HAHA, Vander is gonna be a dad now? That’s something I never thought was possible!” The man shouted. “Shut it, Benzo…” he said, rubbing his nose bridge. You only giggled at that, maybe your new life won’t be that bad after all.

From that day on, Vander was like your dad. He taught you how to fight. How to defend yourself. How to protect the ones you love… You didn’t even notice the 12 years that went by. Now you basically have 4 younger siblings. VI,Powder,Mylo and Claggor. You were the best role model for them, and they looked up to you. You trained with them and taught them valuable lessons. Especially VI, she was young and naive, but you knew that she only wanted the best for your family.

Then the tragic day came. Silcos people attacked you guys, and not only Vander, your beloved father, but also Mylo and Claggor died during that incident. You fought with them, but to no avail, the shimmer was too powerful. You got hit badly by one of silcos men, you didn’t know what happened to VI and powder before your body gave in and you blacked out. “Is that what happens again…? I don’t want to die. I don’t want them to die! NOT AGAIN!” The next thing you know is that you woke up in a fancy-looking hospital.

You woke up in shock and looked around, panting, “VI? POWDER?! WHERE ARE YOU??” Then someone calmed you down. “ You looked down at the creature that’s trying to help you. “A... a furball…?”. Heimendinger was amused by your comment. "Well, I wouldn’t say a furball, but that’s a fair assumption.”. He laughed. “Where am I? Who are you? Where are my siblings?!” You asked frantically, starting to panic again. “Calm down, young one. I’ll explain.” He took a deep breath as you went quiet again. “You’re in a hospital right now. I am the head of the council, Heimendinger. And your family…” he frowned. “Where are they?! My sisters!?” You asked in a demanding manner. “The chief enforcers told me you were the only one found alive… I’m sorry.” You were so shocked that the fact didn’t register at first. Then you cried. You were sobbing hysterically into your own hands. You didn’t process the fact that all your loved ones died. ‘Once again? I thought I got stronger? I wasn’t able to do anything…’ The pain was talking out of you, and you thought it should’ve been you, not your beloved family. Under your sobs, you managed to form one sentence. “What am I going to do now?” Heimendinger looked at you with the most heartbreaking expression anyone ever gave you. “If you want to, you could become my assistant. I already have one that’s been with me for a while now, but... I don’t think another one would hurt.” He said this to you while resting his hand on your shoulder. You looked at him again, not realizing what he said completely, but you nodded. The chance to help someone… you won’t throw that away. That’s what dad would’ve wanted, after all.

Heimendinger sat by your side for a long time before asking you something again. “How old are you, my child?” “I am 23, sir…” you responded hesitantly. You knew Heimendinger wasn’t a threat, but opening up to strangers was even harder now. “23… so young. Yet you had to go through all of the misery. I’m really sorry for you, child. I’ll leave now, we will discuss the more serious details tomorrow. Please take care!” He waved you goodbye and left the room. Now it’s just you. Alone. In a hospital bed in Piltover. All the events came flooding back, and you cried again. So hard that you cried yourself to sleep.

The next morning arrives sooner than you wanted. The sun is coming through the window, and with a clear sky, you sit up and pinch your nose bridge. “Such a headache...” you whispered to yourself. As you stretched out. You glanced at the nightstand beside your bed. “A letter?” You take the letter and open it gently, and it reads:

Dear Y/N,

When I came to visit you again, you were dead asleep! I didn’t want to disturb your peaceful sleep, so I decided to write this letter instead. I asked one of the nurses when you could go out again, and they told me you could go today. Talk to a nurse before heading out to my office later,alrighty?

P.S. . The clothes are also for you, so you blend in a little better.

In best regards, Heimendinger!

You chuckled at the fact that Heimendinger wrote you a whole letter just for you to sleep a little longer.

You still mourned a lot about your family, though, so it's understandable that you weren't the happiest. You put on the clothes he gave you and went out of the room to call a nurse, and one came rushing to you.

"H-Hey! You can't just stand up like that!!" She rushed over to you, helping you back to your room. "I feel better. Can I go now?" You ask, wanting to go out of here as soon as possible. "Oh, you're the one that heimendinger favorites... what's your name? So I can look you up in the system." She pulls out a device you never saw before. "It's Y/N". "Last name?" She was a bit confused. "Don't have one." You snarled back a bit. She looks confused but enters your name anyway. "Ah! Y/N! Wait a second!" She rushes out and comes back with a small bag in her hands. "Take one of them per day it's best if you do it right after breakfast." You looked at the bag suspiciously but nodded. "Thanks." And you're on your way out. "Rude..." the nurse whispered to herself.

You totally forgot to ask the nurse where heimendingers lab is, so you wander around the halls of the academy. “Why is this place so big…” You looked around and admired all the pretty painted walls, amazing wooden floors, and bright chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. When you were focusing on the big windows next to you, you ran into someone. "Fuck, I’m sorry… I should’ve looked where I was-“ you were cut off as you looked at the man in front of you. Tall, flawless brown hair and a cane. You stare a little too long, and he asks, “Are you okay?”. You nod “I’m sorry… You just remind me of someone who I was close with a long time ago.” He doesn’t respond until you ask something. “Excuse me, but where is heimendingers lab? I was supposed to meet him.”. He looks a bit surprised but points in one direction. With a thick accent, he says, “Turn left around that corner. It’s the third door; you won’t miss it.”. You thank him and walk away. You can’t shake the feeling that this man you were talking to was Viktor. But no… He was dead, right? There’s no chance that he’s here…

You couldn’t think about it longer as you stepped into heimendingers lab. It looked scary but fascinating at the same time. “You wanted to see me, sir?” You say this as you quietly close the door behind you quietly. “Ah! Y/N! Just in time, young one.” He smiled as he stood up from his chair. A little horned furball barks at you happily. "Oh, you just missed my other assistant! He’s bringing us some papers for you to fill out so we can make your employment official!” He says he is smiling. He seems super happy that you’ll work with him soon, he has high hopes for your future.

Then Viktor comes into the room after a few minutes. And heimendinger brings you two closer. “Y/N, that’s Viktor, my assistant for years by now. Viktor, that’s Y/N, the second assistant that will work with us from now on. I hope you two will be a good team from now on!” Heimendinger says, and the room falls silent. “Y/N…?” Viktor said it with a shocked expression. “Yes Viktor?” You smile at him, and he lets his cane fall to the ground, running into your arms as best as he could. You knew that must’ve took everything within him... “I thought you died… I’m so sorry for not recognizing you earlier. You’ve grown so much I…” he said as His eyes widened, his voice shaking. "No, no Viktor… Please don’t apologise…” you say as you go through his fluffy hair, and you both have a very emotional moment. Heimendinger notices and leaves the room quietly. “I have missed you so much… I’ve been searching for you for so long…” you say softly, hugging him deeply as you missed him and partly for his support. “What happened to you that day?” He said this as he stood up straight again, stumbling over his own feet. You grab his cane and hand it to him. “How about we talk about that in peace later? We have so much to talk about…” you declared, but Heimendinger opened the door again and chimed in. "Oh, young ones, you can take the rest of the day off if you please…”. You wanted to protest, but he cut you off and sent you two away.

Now you both are on your way to Viktor's lab since you don’t have your own home yet. As you both walk next to each other, an uncomfortable silence is in the air, so you try to ease it a bit by trying to hold his hand. Just like in old times, he takes it gladly, and you both walk to his room. With a pink hue on his face, he closes the door behind you. “You have a lovely lab.” You try to start a conversation with something small. As you sit down on the couch he had in there, Viktor does the same and looks at you. “Thank you… I appreciate it. What happened that day, Y/N? I haven’t thought of anything else since that day… It’s haunted me ever since.” He says straight up, not wanting to let any more time pass. “There was an attack near our home. I called out for you, but you didn’t answer, so I thought…” You go silent, and he notices that you assumed he was dead. “I went to our home every day to look for you. I missed you so much.” You feel your tears well up. He suddenly spoke up. “One of the enforcers took me with them. The attack was so intense that I blacked out on the spot. Heimendinger raised me. I’m sorry that I left you like this…” You listen to him but nod. “I had a good family as well… but they…” You started to cry now, giving in to your emotions, and Viktor hugged you, noticing that you had lost important people once again… “I’m here now... I’m here for you, Y/N. And I will never leave again.” He pulls you in, hugging him even deeper. His presence is so comforting that you let it all happen. “We’re together again… that’s all that matters now…” he says caressing your hair, kissing your head gently. You leans his head on yours and burry your face into his chest gently. “Thank you, Viktor… I’ve missed you so much…”. “I think you should rest now… It’s been a long week for you…”. You nod and fall asleep on his chest. Quickly, before you fell asleep, you heard his voice saying one last thing that made your heart bump like crazy.

"Goodnight, Y/N… I love you.”

You wanted to answer, but your body caved in, and you fell asleep.

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧ *✧･ﾟ: * *✧

A/N: Hello and thank you for reading this short story that came into my mind! It’s my first time writing out my thoughts out actually so please don’t be too harsh on me. I’m so excited for S2 and I think many of my fellow Arcane fans are as well. Have a great Day/Night and goodbye!

[faistoconnors]

Snow Day - A. Donaldson x Reader

Warnings: Pure fluff. Could be read as Christmas-oriented but not mentioned! As per usual, unedited. No use of Y/N!

Word Count: 830

Pairing: Art Donaldson x Fem! Reader (no pronouns used but reader is called 'mommy' by their daughter)

Summary: A peaceful, snowy morning with Art and your daughter.

A/N: Despite living in Wisconsin, we have no snow on the ground :( so this is just wishful thinking really.

You’re awoken quite rudely. There’s a small hand, frantically tapping at your shoulder, accompanied by a voice. 

“Mommy,” your daughter whispers. She smacks her hand against your shoulder again, and finally, you open your eyes fully and blink the sleep away. Willow’s face is lit up in a grin that’s missing several teeth, her eyes sparkling. Your husband is still fast asleep beside you, turned over on his side, but Willow doesn’t allow you the same luxury. 

“Mommy, there’s snow,” she breathes out, almost reverent, and it all clicks. Quietly, you stand up from bed, tugging on a thick bathrobe and your slippers. Even with the heating, there’s still a frosty chill in the house. Willow’s hand fits into your own, and she drags you over to the window, pulling back the curtain just slightly. True to her word, the world outside is blanketed entirely in white. She lets out a quiet giggle, pressing her face up to the windowpane and watching as it fogs up. 

The two of you head to the kitchen together, and you help the girl up onto one of the stools, fixing her a bowl of cereal. 

“What do you say we make some hot chocolate together? We’ll save some for your dad when he wakes up,” you suggest, and somehow, she lights up even more. 

When the milk is set to heat up on the stove, the hot cocoa powder in its place on the counter nearby, you settle down at the island beside her to have your own breakfast. Willow’s long since finished hers, and she wanders over to the large bay window, sitting down and staring out of it. She’s practically vibrating with anticipation, and you know she’s itching to go outside, but a warm drink and some proper gear are in order before that can happen.

A pair of hands settle at your waist, and you look back to see a flash of blond hair and a flannel pajama set. Art plants a kiss on your cheek before moving over to the stove, wordlessly settling in to help you make the cocoa. As he finishes and pours the liquid into three travel mugs, he gives you a bright smile that reminds you so much of the girl who’s sitting close by. 

“Good morning,” he murmurs, returning to your side and putting an arm around your waist. His eyes are still tired, but you know he never sleeps well without you by his side, so it was inevitable that he’d woken up. 

“Morning,” you reply. “There’s snow.” 

He grins, letting out a quiet laugh. “I figured, from the way Willow-bug has glued herself to the window.” 

At the mention of her name, Willow turns back around, hopping up and flying through the living room back into the kitchen. She wraps her arms around Art’s legs and tugs on his hand. 

“Get me dressed so we can go outside?” she pleads eagerly, and how could either of you say no to that face? Art smooths a hand over her hair, nodding. 

“Let your mommy and I get dressed too, alright? Then we’ll all be ready.” 

She nods in a heartbeat, bouncing off to the window again while you and Art go to put your winter clothes on. 

“It feels ridiculous to go out in the snow so early on a Saturday morning,” you say fondly, and he agrees. 

“She was like this last winter too,” he grins. It’s true; last winter was the year you had moved to a place where it actually snows, and Willow had been over the moon. Of course, that time, she’d also bolted straight outside in her pajamas and played for half an hour, catching a terrible cold shortly after. It was a blessing she was slightly more patient this time around. 

When all three of you are bundled up and ready, Willow leads the way out the front door into the big yard. When you turn your back for just a moment to close the door, there’s a quiet whack noise, and the feeling of something hitting your back. Slowly rotating, you spot your daughter, mischievous smile on her face, hands behind her back. Art looks off down the driveway in faux-ignorance, though his shoulders are shaking with a laugh. 

Silently, you lift up a snowball in your own hand, and pitch it, though you’re unable to match the skill of your tennis-player husband. Still, it hits him square in the back of his head, pieces falling off down his neck into his coat, and he yelps. 

He turns to look at you with an expression of shock and determination, and you know you’ve done it now. 

Soon, the driveway will have to be shoveled, the roof cleared off of the heavy snow, the outdoor furniture brought to the garage. But for now, the three of you enjoy your time together, waging frosty war and warming hands with cups of cocoa until it’s time to head in.

[dooblebugss]

Some very general buggy headcanons for Bug Fables, focusing on the Main Three and the Explorers Association. Spoilers for the game.

Kabbu: (Rainbow Scarab Beetle)

- being a dung beetle (despite the name he's perfectly happy with mushrooms and leaves and everything else, he's actually quite diverse in his diet), he is very good at digging. He actually really likes digging too! Take a little dirt nap

- related to the previous, he loves being COMPRESSED. To mimic the feeling of layers of soil, he'll pile on blankets and pillows until he's satisfied. (During cuddle sessions he is at the very bottom of the pile)

- when it gets cold, his tunneling instinct increases ever so slightly. Not enough for him to start acting different, but he tends to hoard blankets.

Vi:

Leif (Technically a Fungus running on moth hardware, but sometimes old habits die hard lmao), Mothiva, and Yin:

- Bees don't need to 'dance' in order to communicate anymore, but Vi still uses a lot of hand gestures and moves a lot when talking, especially if she's frustrated or feels like she's not communicating well enough. If you bring attention to this, she will get mad.

- When cold, Vi will try to huddle up to bugs nearby. Typically Kabbu, but she's also done it to Maki, Zasp, Celia, and Stratos. (Leif is very jealous of this, but he's already cold, so-)

- they groom their ruffs, wings, and antennae frequently. For starters, this acts as a grounding experience that calms them down, and secondly no one likes having dirt on them. Yin isn't super good at it because she's so young, but she's getting better. Mothiva uses specialized powders and perfumes while doing it, but Leif does it the 'old fashioned way', aka with his spit, lol. Mothiva nearly fainted when she first saw him doing this.

- bright lights (especially artificial ones) can really mess up with their internal clock and GPS. I'd imagine Leif and Mothiva getting really really really lost in the Termite Kingdom and Bee Kingdom because of this.

Maki and Kina:

- they both have amazing reflexes, and they can go from a standstill to moving very quickly in what seems to be an instant

- they will track quick movement instinctually, especially from smaller bugs and critters. Most bugs assume this just shows how observant and skilled they are, when really it's a hunting trait. The two actually find it very embarrassing to suddenly interrupt a conversation when they see something move very quickly out of the corner of their eye and NEED to turn their head to see what it was.

Zasp: (I know the game says he's a potter wasp, but for my writing he's a paper wasp. He doesn't know this though, and assumes he is a potter wasp)

- when anxious, he will grind his mandibles against one another. It almost looks like he's chewing on nothing, and it would kinda be like chewing your lip or grinding your teeth. Chewing on things also helps.

- loves sleeping in little nest-like formations with blankets and pillows. He'd gather up all the bedding material, form a little "wall" with them, and climb in the middle to sleep.

Celia, Gen, and Eri:

- The three of them still use their antennae to help with direction, location, and general senses. This can lead to issues; Gen and Eri have accidentally followed each other for hours (cough cough ant spiral) and Celia, having a broken antennae, is terrible with directions. (If blindfolded, Celia will slowly go in circles)

- Ant Strength baby!!! The three of them are surprisingly strong, and can carry really heavy stuff! To compensate, they're a bit frail (it's why Celia has a shield, and why Gen and Eri rarely get into actual fights).

Levi:

- My man fucking loves Aphid Eggs. Due to the tension between the Ant Kingdom and Ladybugs, he actually doesn't like buying them in public. He usually settles for mushrooms.

- his blood is actually toxic, (something Delilah learned the hard way during a spar) and is sort of a 'last resort' defensive maneuver. If a target can get over being covered in blood, they definitely can't deal with the toxins.

Stratos: (I believe he's a Hercules Beetle)

- He's a technically nocturnal, so he's a little groggy during the day. To others it looks like he's being lazy, when really he's just tired and a little out of it. During the night is when he really shines as a fighter and explorer

- he can dig like Kabbu, but isn't very vocal nor enthusiastic about it. Stratos prefers a shallow little ditch to lay in, which is something he might do if he's really really tired.

Delilah:

- She only actually drinks blood during fights as an attack, or if she's seriously injured and needs a pick-me-up (Stratos will usually step up to the plate for that). She's totally fine with nectar and plant juices and berry juices otherwise. Delilah is aware of the stereotype, and she just kinda rolls her eyes at it.

- Delilah can actually fly like Vi or Zasp. But she prefers to keep this information to herself, as she's worried it'll have people ask her to do more work.

[spidermans-l-o-v-e-r]

The Girl Next Door

Pairing: Crazy!Eddie Diaz x Reader

Word Count: 4k

Notes: This is accidetally a series maybe from he request I recived about the movie The Boy Next Door? I cannot start another series but here I am apparently

Hi! I promise you I'm writing. Like my inbox is full! But this has been the craziest week and it's going to be that way for a little longer and I just don't to right write now and it's f r u s t r a t i n g

P.S I wrote the right write in the wrong place hahahaha

Eddie looks up from his weeds as a large moving truck backs up to the garage of the house next door. It had been empty for a couple months after the Andersons had moved out and they’d been trying to sell it. 

There was nothing wrong with it, they just wanted too freaking much, and when they finally came down in price, it got snatched up pretty quickly. It was an overall nice house, he’d been inside it before, two beds two baths, a freaking pool. He’d have to get in good with the new family that lived there… and what perfect way than to offer a little help unloading. 

He stands up, wiping the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand and stretching a little. The white tank top he’s in is already covered in dirt anyway, no need to change. He dusts off his gloves as he walks toward the new owners, rehearsing his “welcome to the neighborhood” speech in his head 

“Hi I’m Eddie, wow your wife has amazing taste in furniture!” He mumbles to himself as he walks up to the truck. He drags his hand along the side of it as he comes around to the closed hatch 

“Hi there!” He calls out to the man who’s standing in front of it “Eddie Diaz” he holds his hand out 

“Kent” He shakes Eddie’s hand “Jonathan, You live close by?” He looks around at the surrounding houses 

“Actually-“ Eddie throws a thumb back “Right there. Thought I’d be neighborly, maybe offer some help for a bit?” 

“Oh man that would be so cool if you could” He grips his shoulder, smiling. Jonathan seems nice enough, he’s a bit older, maybe in his mid-40s. His hair started to grey a bit but he still looks pretty good. 

He pulls out the ramp and Eddie walks up first, throwing the large door open and taking a second to look at everything. 

It’s all very… girly. And that’s really the only way he can explain it, but it looks so meticulously picked out, everything matches something, you can clearly see the bedroom furniture pieces and living room pieces

“Your wife has interesting tastes” He comments, because what the hell else do you say… she must be a young thing with the sheer amount of different freaking colors. 

Well damn good for you Jonathan. 

“Oh! This isn’t my wife’s stuff, this is-“ 

He’s interrupted by a loud honking noise as a car comes speeding down the road, a powder blue Volkswagen bug with a tan hood down comes screeching to a halt. Some song with a good beat is playing loudly in a language he can’t even understand 

“We’re here!!” He hears a voice cheer and a dog barking from outside of the truck. 

“There she is” Jonathan chuckles as he walks around the side of the truck. Before Eddie can even exit the truck he’s knocked over onto a couch by a large ball of fur that’s decided he’s the perfect place to sit down. He holds the dog in his arms, who apparently has no problem with the fact that he’s a complete stranger 

“Hey! Vulpix get back here!!” Eddie can hear footsteps but he can’t see who they belong to around the panting pup in his lap 

“Vulpix! Get off you crazy jerk!” You snap your fingers and “Vulpix” your Labrador Retriever jumps down and comes over to sit at your feet with a big huff 

“I’m so sorry I thought it was just us, so I let go of the leash! He’s been dying to get on the truck. I think he likes the ramp.” 

Eddie honestly stopped listening at “Vulpix” his heart must have fully stopped beating as he stared at you. You’re smaller than he is, so much smaller actually he wonders how you handle all that dog. He wonders if you need help handling all that dog 

Do you have a boyfriend? It doesn’t fucking matter, he can get past that. 

Is Jonathan your boyfriend?? No. No, he’s probably your father… that’s probably what he was going to say. Wait- fuck wait 

“I’m Y/N!” He zones back in just in time, looking at your hand out in front of him. He takes it and gets off of your couch, your very fluffy couch. He really hopes he didn’t get any dirt on it 

“Eddie” He shakes your hand a bit dumbly, he’s melting more and more with every word out of your mouth, you could be reading the dictionary and he’d know every definition by heart 

He’s still shaking your hand as your father comes over now, rubbing Vulpix’s head. 

“Mr. Diaz graciously offered to help move you in honey! Sorry for the interruption Eddie, but this is my daughter, she’s the one moving here”

Eddie nods at your dad… still shaking your hand. You tilt your head at him, a little smirk on your face 

“You maybe wanna let go? So we can get started?” 

No, no he didn’t want to let go. No way in hell was he ever letting go. You didn’t know it yet, but god did Y/N Diaz have a nice little ring to it… 

A few hours later and you’re all sprawled out on the living room furniture. Eddie purposely sat on the couch with you so you’d put your legs up in his lap, actually, he put them in his lap on his own, you’d put your feet on the floor when you flopped down and he pulled them right up, saying it was your couch, your house and he was cool with it. 

So, freaking cool with it.

“Dinners on me kids, you want anything in particular?” Your dad asks from the floor and you groan sorely as you turn to look at Eddie 

“You’re the expert, any ideas?” 

“I mean I wouldn’t say I’m an expert” He rubs your leg subtly, his fingers tracing over the smooth skin, like he’s just absentmindedly thinking

“I mean, pizza feels like moving food not gonna lie” He chuckles and you give him a thumbs-up

“Hard agree. Got any good places around here?” You pull out your phone and start looking at places and he eases your phone from your hands and sets it down on your torso 

“Leo’s is literally the best, I can place the order and pick it up. That’ll give us all time to freshen up and maybe we can eat it at my place in 45 minutes? You know, where there are plates?” 

You kick at his thigh and he smirks, using that as an excuse to slap your thigh back, just so he can feel you, his hand lingers there as he looks up at you with a devilish smirk. The sound of his palm hitting your skin sends a shiver up his spine because he could think of so many other things he’d love to listen to 

“Plates sound great,” you say sassily, putting your hands on your hips and he gets up, letting your feet fall to the floor. Jonathan hands him a $50 and points at him 

“Now don’t you go running off with that” he jokes and Eddie smiles and slips his hands into his pockets 

“How could I?” He backs up toward the door and pushes it open with his side “You know where I live” 

His heart flutters when you laugh, it makes him kinda dizzy and very giddy. He leaves your house and jogs over to his own to take a shower. He orders the pizza and tosses his phone onto the bed before closing his curtains, he’s thinking ahead this time, planning just a little more than usual. 

Because your bedrooms are across from one another. 

He peeks through the curtains real quick just making sure it was the same setup he was used to from the old neighbors. He’s not really sure why he’s second-guessing that as he wanders into the bathroom and starts stripping down slowly, he’ll admit it, he purposely put the boxes marked “bedroom” in that room. They’d been using it as an office, and seeing as the two rooms were basically the same size… he just thought he’d give you a little push in the right direction. 

Stepping into the shower and letting the cool water rain down over his head, He turns it colder as his thoughts drift over to you because how could they not? He’d been watching you bend over and lift those boxes all afternoon, those tight yoga shorts had him disappearing faster into the truck and helping your dad bring in the couches faster than it took him to get the boner in the first place 

He presses his fist to the shower wall and rests his forehead against it 

“Shit. Shit” He curses as he grabs his cock, stroking his soapy hand over it. He pants against the wall as he tugs on his cock, jerking it quickly, he doesn’t have the time to be leisurely about this, you’re waiting. 

He thrusts his hips, groaning deeply as he fucks his hand. If he thinks hard enough he can imagine your smaller hand, wrapped around his cock, your bare chest pressed to his as you giggle like a little cutie and tease him

He can imagine thrusting between your thighs, feeling your clit rubbing against his cock as he thrusts faster and gets you both off. He wonders if you’re a virgin, he hopes you are for his own sake really. Because imagining other men touching you? Another man putting his disgusting ass hands on his baby. He grunts angrily as his fist comes up to slam against the shower wall, the doors shake a little as his shoulders heave, and his mind is all over the place, switching between still dreaming of you underneath him, squirming and crying as he impales you in the shower and wondering if another man has had you before 

He’d make you pay for that, just a little. 

He finishes washing up and shuts off the shower, he ruined it on his own really. He could have finished and been satisfied but nooo… he had to think of other shit. He steps out of the shower, wraps the towel around his waist, and walks over to the vanity 

“Come on man, get it together” He scolds his reflection as he leans over the sink, his palms flat on the counter. He takes another towel and fluffs his hair, trying to dry it when he hears the doorbell 

“Are you-“ he looks around for a second, but all of his clothes are in the dryer. Well, shit this is about to be awkward. He fastens the towel around his waist as tight as he can and puts the other around his neck. The doorbell rings again and he rolls his eyes 

“I’m coming!” He yells as he strides down the corridor 

“Jesus-“ he swings the door open and there you stand, holding a backpack in front of you

“Hey sorry, I was wondering if-“ Your mouth falls open a little as you stare at the Adonis in front of you. His towel came loose as he was walking, allowing the nearly perfect framing of the deep v-shape of his body. The happy trail nearly sends you into cardiac arrest as Eddie leans against the doorframe, crossing his arms and studying his nails 

“You know…” he makes his voice deeper and he can see the little shiver that goes through you as it drops an octave or two 

“I’d let you take a picture if you asked nicely”

“Huh?” You stare at him a little dumbly and he can feel his serotonin shooting through the roof. He puts his finger under your chin and closes your mouth 

“You’re cute when you’re flustered” He steps aside and reaches for your arm, pulling you slowly into his house 

“What a stupid lamb” He mumbles as he shuts the door and walks away from you. It’s taking every bone in his body not to drag you into his bedroom lock the door and never let you out 

“Patience Eddie…” He reprimands that caged animal within him, jumping at the chance of you two being alone 

“So whenever you can talk again-” He starts to walk back to his room “You just let me know what you need sweet thing” 

He purposely starts to mess with his towel before he gets into his bedroom, and the way he looks back at you, his eyes flashing with a deep-seated hunger? He can swear he almost sees the same look in yours. 

He’s almost done getting ready when there’s the littlest knock at his door, he snorts as he pulls his jeans over his ass and zips them 

“Come in” 

The door creeks open and he turns around, grabbing his shirt from the bed and smiling at you 

“What can I do for you?” 

He grins as you walk in with your eyes shut, feeling around so you don’t walk into anything. He takes the opportunity to step forward and your palms collide with his chest. He captures them before you can yank them away and your eyes pop open as you feel his pecks under your hands 

“Uhh- um??“ you stammer and he looks down at you, stepping closer. Fuck he loves your size difference 

“You realize by the time you finally get out whatever it is that you need, I’m going to have to leave to pick up the pizza?” 

He lets go of one of your hands and strokes your cheek with the back of his finger before he tilts your chin up to him 

“Come on Y/N,” He says it just the littlest bit sternly and he grins at the way you melt a little, blinking slowly. Good, you can take direction… that’s going to be important. 

“Can I use your shower?” 

Now it’s his turn to be a complete mess. You?? You want to use his shower??

“I'm done for the day, pretty tired. My dad is setting up my bed frame and I don’t want to go to bed dirty and you have everything I’ll need and I know it’s a lot to ask considering-“

“Down the hall to the left” He interrupts you, and he doesn’t want to because he loves hearing you babble… but his jeans are starting to get a little tight and if you don’t leave the room he’s going to jump you, he’s going to throw you down on that bed and- 

“Thank you!! Thank you so so much!” You scurry from his bedroom/

He knows he fucking knows this is dangerous. But he also knows it’s his damn house and he can do as he pleases 

Kind of. 

The door hinges won’t squeak, he’s sure they won’t he’d just fixed and oiled them up a few days ago. He pushes the door open just a few inches, testing it before opening it just wide enough to slip in. You’re singing that same song from earlier and he’s getting distracted by the sweet sounds of your voice and oddly impressed you know the lyrics 

“Fucking focus” He growls at himself as he hides behind the closet wall. He peeks around the corner, he knows you won’t see him…not from this angle. 

But fuck can he see you

He palms at the front of his jeans and unzips them slowly while pulling out his cock, the tip leaks onto the floor as he starts to stroke himself. He watches you shampooing your hair, your breasts bouncing as you scrub it in. 

He’d shampoo your hair for you, condition it too, and help you rinse the soap from your body. His hand moves faster as he dreams of holding the detachable head to your clit and watching you shudder and shake in his arms as he makes sure you’re nice and clean down there. 

He bites down on his fist as he cums hard in his hand, he hasn’t cum like this in a long time. He feels like a stupid teenager as he desperately fucks his hand and fights not to moan your name. 

His legs are jello as he leans against the wall, his heart pounding in his chest. His head tilts back as he stares into space, enjoying the steamy atmosphere of the room as he comes down from his high 

He looks down at his hands, wiping them on the front of his jeans quickly (great he has to freaking change) when he notices it 

“Fuck. Shit. Fuck fuck shit fuck” He breathes as he snatches your panties from the floor and slips from the bathroom and quietly shuts the door. 

“Maybe she won’t notice. Maybe it’s fine” he holds the pink cotton in his hands and looks at the cum stains on it. It… looks so fucking good there and it takes a second for him to snap out of it before he decides to get off with them all over again. 

“It’s. Fine.” He takes a deep breath “So fine.”

He decides to change his jeans and stuff your panties in the bottom of his hamper. He’ll clean them and return them! You know- eventually. But it’s fine, you won’t notice, you won't question it and it’s fine” 

Getting out of the danger zone is probably the best idea. He goes into the kitchen and stands at the counter, flexing his fingers before pouring himself a cup of lemonade. Personally, he’d like something a bit stronger to take the edge off but hey he has to drive. He’s just going over his monitor set up when he hears the soft pad of your feet coming down the hallway, your backpack in your hands once again

“Seriously, thanks again for everything” you sigh as you walk over to him, he can feel the warmth of the shower you were just in radiating from your body

“Yeah no, no it’s not a problem I keep telling you. It’s nice to have a new neighbor.” He sips his lemonade, watching you turn your head to the side as you look out of the kitchen window. Were you seriously not going to say anything about the fact that you were absolutely missing your underwear? Did you even notice he wonders? Maybe you didn’t… huh. 

 Eddie entrusts you with his house key as he goes to pick up the pizza, he walks you back over to your house and your father volunteers to go with him, to give you some space to unpack a few things or to just breathe for a bit. 

“You know, I’m glad we met Eddie. You seem like a pretty okay guy”

Jonathan holds the pizzas in his lap on the way back home and Eddie smiles 

“That means a lot, sir. You know you two seem pretty okay yourselves.” He jokes as he turns onto your street. 

“As a dad, I- well I worry about my little girl you know? One day I’m teaching her how to ride a bike and the next she's moving into a place all on her own. I’m worried about her… and, I hope it’s not too much to ask Eddie, he’ll it already seems like  it is.”

“Hey, you can ask me anything. Honestly.” He keeps his tone smooth and level, turning his head to look at him for a second. 

“I think she’d kill me if she knew I asked so maybe we keep this between us… would you look out for her? Just kinda check in from time to time maybe?”

It’s like this relationship has been handed to him on a silver platter. He pulls into his driveway and turns off the car, holding onto the gearshift for a moment. Her father already trusted him, and honestly, that was the biggest hurdle he was worried about. 

“Mr. Kent, it would be my honor to watch out for your little girl. I’m a firefighter, it’s kind of what I do”

Jonathan chuckles and pats Eddie’s hand “Enough with the Mr. Kent, it’s a little stuffy for my tastes, son. Jonathan or John is perfectly fine”

“Hey, have you seen my phone anywhere?” You pop your head into the kitchen and Eddie shrugs 

“No sorry, uh you good with three to start?” 

“Yeah sure, I’ll have my dad call it again I guess”

His fingers are practically itching as he looks down at your phone further back on the counter… you weren’t going to be back for a few minutes and that was enough time he was sure of it, he knew this process like the back of his hand. Just…hold the volume buttons and click the side three times and his software would show up. Really all it took was him placing his phone on top of yours and it would do the rest for him 

It was absolutely for your safety, you were new here. He needed to know where you were and who you were with, your father asked him to look out for you after all. And who was he to deny a worried father? 

[100%] flashes across the screen and Eddie slots his phone back in his pocket. He’d have to set it up within the next four hours before it erased itself. He puts a few napkins over it and goes back to plating the food when it starts ringing 

“Oh, there it is!” You laugh as you come back around into the kitchen 

“Aw shit, sorry sweetheart, I must’ve  covered it earlier” he hands you your plate and picks up the other two and you smile at him, bumping his side with yours 

“You big jerk, how do I know you weren’t creeping through it?” You laugh as he follows you into the living room 

“Who me? Worried I’ll see your internet history?” He grins devilishly as he sets both plates down and your father slides one over 

“I don’t think I want to know what you two are talking about” He chuckles as he digs in. It’s pleasant getting to know you, he tries not to seem like he’s hanging from your every word, your every breath, especially with your father sitting right there. 

No, he needs to play it cool 

“So first night in your house all alone kiddo, you excited?” 

“Kinda” you smile a little “Also kinda nervous. I’m glad I have Vulpix with me…” You look down at your pizza for a minute, because it’s sinking you will be alone for the first time tonight 

“Hey you have me too” Eddie reaches out and rests his hand on your arm, squeezing lightly

“You have my number and I’m right across the lawn! You call me anytime and I’ll come right over okay?” 

“Oh come on Eddie” you scoff a little, missing the way his eyes darken when you move your arm to eat your pizza 

“There’s no way I’m bothering you! You just helped a complete stranger move in, let me use your shower, and went and got us dinner” you list, ticking off your fingers 

“That your dad paid for” he chuckles lightly, sipping his drink 

“Okay so? I couldn’t ask any more of you! I doubt we’ll even talk much after this” You smile a little sadly and he has to take a minute to reign it in, he doesn’t even blink, just kind of stares at his cup for a second 

“I didn’t- that was rude-“ you start, putting your hands up and he comes back, his head snapping up to you 

“No no- god no it wasn’t you’re- you’re probably right. I doubt you want to stay in contact with me and-“

“Uh more like the other way around!” You laugh “Of course I want us to be friends” 

“So do I” he shakes his head, laughing lightly “Consider me your new best friend okay? You won’t be able to get rid of me!”

Ever. 

“Plus you have a pool” He adds playfully and you perk up, your hand shooting out to whack his arm 

“Why don’t you come over tomorrow! Maybe keep me company while I unpack? And we can go swimming after!!” 

He can feel his heart beating in his ears as he nods along with your offer “I’d love to! I’ll help you unpack too if you want. Actually, scratch that. You don’t have a choice”