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spncvr · 5 months ago

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scott street | remus lupin

summary: You return to your childhood home. Remus, your past love, unexpectedly returns. (based on the song scott street if that wasn’t obvious)

pairing: rockstar!remus lupin x fem!reader (3rd person oops sorry)

warnings: is this.... angst?? idk but hurt/comfort!! no use of y/n bc i cannot write that and not die a little, and my terrible english i'm sure i mixed all the tenses up here guys sorry im tryinggg,, this is lowk cheesy as hell i feel like... LMAO

a/n: i was sick so i didn't go to school tdy but i wrote this banger oneshot (its 2,4k words can u belive?? longest thing ive ever written in english)

masterlist

Walking Scott Street, feeling like a stranger

With an open heart, open container

THE SUN SUNK behind the many leaves which hung lazily on the branches. Through the old sheer curtains, the breeze blows faint whispers. The room is tinged with a familiar feeling; as if the concrete used that constructed this house is laced with memories from the past. The memories all flooded back like tides in a vast ocean, rolling back and forth as they brought back recollections of days gone by.

This was where she had grown up. The small backyard, the one with grass that had used to touch her ankles, was where she had first learned how to do a cartwheel. The bed, unchanged since she had left, felt almost ancient. She remembered the time she had faked a headache to skip school and had spent the whole day in it; back then the bed had felt like the only place she had wanted to live in.

This was where she fell in love. So much in love, that she could not seem to pinpoint the exact moment she had ever fallen out of it. Maybe she never did. But it didn’t matter. Not anymore, at least.

The room’s walls are bare, and the old, washed-out wall once covered with posters of her favourite rock bands, no longer stands amongst the antique wallpaper. But his pictures were there. Their pictures. It seemed as though they were taunting her as it was propped up on the small table beside her bed. She picked one of them up, one that had stood out to her the most, and gazed at it.

She grew up without wealth. That was clear from the photo, where her top was much too big for her. Maybe it was her father’s; she can’t remember. But that hadn’t mattered to him. He had his arms around her shoulders and a smile on his lips akin to those she’d seen of him on posters and TV screens. She missed when he’d shown it just for her to see.

I’ve got a stack of mail and a tall can.It’s a shower beer, it’s a payment plan.

She tries to remember the moment or event that had taken place where they had taken the picture. And she almost forgets. It caused her to quickly put the picture back down, and a loud thud resonated between the calm sounds of home.

How could she forget? She felt like she was losing too much of herself. The part of herself that had lived here, one that had loved so freely and so openly, was slipping away so incredibly quickly—and suddenly she understood why her mother had cried when she chose a university so far off. She had almost forgotten a part of herself—a version of herself, that she seemed to have missed the most.

She sits down on the edge of the bed, still close to the picture she had put back down, only to look at it again, this time from afar.

Of course, she remembers this moment. It had been her birthday, and he had taunted her mercilessly, telling her how she was just as old and frail as he was since she had always made fun of him for having his birthday at the start of the year and hers so close to the end. This may have contributed to the small roll of her eyes in the photo, but she was unable to control the grin that had painted itself on her lips. She can’t remember the last time she’d been so happy. Joking about being so incredibly old while being so young. She’d have given everything to be seventeen again if it meant being seventeen with him.

Behind the picture, she had been staring at, was another one. And this time, she didn’t forget because, try as she might, she couldn’t.

She can’t seem to let go of the memory of the first time he kissed her, after a gig, a small one that he held with his mates at a pub not that far from here. She remembers how his skin was alight with adrenaline, and his gaze piercing. She couldn’t forget the moment when he told her that she had always been the one he loved not long after the picture, somewhere outside the pub, where the crisp chilly November breeze did not win against his palm that rested against her cheek.

Not long after, when he had brought her back to his, when he had kissed her silly. When she had realized that she really loved him too, and when the realization had hit her so hard, she had to loop her arms around his neck to keep herself upright, when there was only quiet in the house and all that could be heard was her gentle laughter and his sweet nothings, he had whispered in her ear so quietly, almost as if it were a secret, I would have been content to love you from a distance.

There, they were eighteen, fresh out of school and without the slightest idea where they’d go next. She had occasionally pondered what would have happened if they had more time, if they hadn’t both been so foolish, or, if they had both recognized how much it was they felt for one another sooner. But doing so would have made the parting even more painful than it already was. That was something she didn’t like to imagine.

She sighs and leaves the room. She needed to breathe.

Do you feel ashamed, When you hear my name?

ADMITTEDLY, REMUS DIDN'T think he’d ever come back. To Wales, yes, of course, it was his country (now more than ever). But not to this house. Not to her house. He couldn’t ever think straight, not when he knew that she was out there somewhere forgetting every minute detail about their past, and not when the love she’d once felt for him had long gone. But here he stands.

He’s overthinking this. She probably isn’t even home.

She’s always told him when they were young that she wanted to leave.

One day, she had whispered to him in the darkness, when they were six, her favourite stuffed animal tightly tucked between her arms, one day, we’ll be far away. Remus can’t remember whatever caused her to tell him this at such a young age, with such strong conviction. He thinks it was probably something silly—a classmate’s admonition that some activities were simply reserved for boys. Or maybe it was because her parents had refused to let her get ice cream after she’d finished all of her green vegetables (all that suffering for nothing, really). But the mindset had continued to stick in her mind; an ember of determination that refused to fade away.

One day, she says again, when she’s thirteen because her teacher had failed her in her first ever physics exam, one day this won’t matter. I’ll go. I’ll leave. She had said it so firmly and so surely that it scares him sometimes. Because, really, they’ve never been anywhere but here—so sometimes, he asks his mirror, pretending that she’s staring back at him: What if it’s just the same? What if it’s just as bad?

One day, she says again, when she’s seventeen because she has been looking at universities far off and away from Wales. He’d watch her as she’d stare at the campus pictures on the brochures their school had offered and study the student’s bright wide smiles, and sometimes, he wondered if she ever pictures herself in those hallways, with a group of new friends—she’d be the smart one, the witty one. Sometimes, Remus wondered if she ever pictured him with her as she told him with the biggest smile on her face: One day, I’ll be there. Anytime soon.

She’s never liked it here. That much was always clear to Remus. Her books were the sole bright spot in her otherwise (as she put it) bleak existence. Always arranged in a way that only she could fully understand within the small bookshelf she had bought for herself with her first paycheck when she was saving up for Uni. Often, he wondered if she had brought them with her when she had left or whether she had left them here. No longer feeling the drag of her fingertips against its words. Abandoned by its only reader.

And for a while, he had thought that he’d given her another reason to love the place they’d always called home. But he left her. So why, then, would she ever choose to stay? Books could only last for so long.

Just knock, he curses to himself. Say hello to her parents. Tell them that you wanted to see how they were doing.

And just when he’s about to finally get it over with, the door opens.

And she’s there.

She looks different. Hair cut short and brushed neatly. Her clothes fit her nicely. It feels kind of jarring. He doesn’t really know what to expect. He’d been half-expecting to see the girl who had her hair always tied up in a ponytail that didn’t do much, with the amount of hair that was always falling out of it or the girl who wore oversized band shirts that belonged to her father, along with the sneakers she’d been using ever since her feet had stopped growing—the girl who was so full of life it felt nearly impossible not to love her. It was silly, really. Of course, she’d changed. It’s been four years.

“Remus?” she asks, her eyebrows furrowing, “What’re you doing here?”

He opens his mouth and closes it again. What was he doing here?

“I’m—” he starts but pauses for a while to come up with an answer, “I didn’t know you still lived here.”

“I don’t,” she says, plainly.

“Oh.” he breathes, she’s always been forward, “Well, I’m here for holiday.”

“Yeah . . . yeah me too.”

He rocks on the heels of his foot back and forth, “I just— wanted to know how your parents are doing.”

She purses her lips, “Oh. Well, Dad’s doing alright, I bought him a bunch of LPs—some of them yours, actually. And Mum’s still trying to get used to me being back here. She’s cooked a thousand meals.”

“That’s good to know,” he nods, smiling, because sometimes, she has no idea the effect she has on people. “I’m glad they’re alright.”

“How’ve you been?” she inquires, “Heard you’re not doing too bad in your band thing.”

He laughs softly, “It’s been alright.”

She smiles, for the first time he’s talked to her, and shakes her head softly, “Modest as always. Send the lads my love.”

“I missed you,” he tells her. And it spills from his tongue so quickly, before he could even think about it. She needed to know, somehow, that he couldn’t shake her off his mind. He played for her, wrote for her and of her. And sometimes, when he woke up in the middle of the night he swears he could feel her shadow brush his hand, he hoped and prayed to whatever God that was making him feel so incredibly homesick, that she’d been listening to the songs he’d written.

He could only hope that she’d understand the undertone of his words.

She looks at him with this look that seems to pierce through time, reaching back into the past, unwanting to let go. Then, there was this beat of silence; one long enough for him to hear everything that had been left unsaid.

She looks at him, her honey-laced lips slightly parted. “Do you want to come in?” She sounds hesitant as she steps aside, letting him through.

He nods as he follows her in.

The house felt achingly familiar, yet everything felt and seemed different. The walls were the same colour, and the couch that had always looked somewhat old still stood in the exact same place it had four years ago, with new cushions adorning it. The air felt thicker. She always had that effect on him, he supposes.

“Tea?” she offers, a smile playing on her lips, as she leads him into the kitchen.

“Always,” he replies, trying to keep his voice steady.

She turns her back to him to make tea and he feels like he’s missing her all over again. He’s watching her move, taking the tea kettle and suddenly he’s sixteen again, when he’d brought James, Sirius and Pete here because they’d had run into trouble with the police—well, admittedly, it was just James and Sirius, but the four boys had never failed to stick together—and the first thing she’d asked them when she saw all four of them at her doorstep late at night is if they’d like some tea.

“How long are you staying?” she asks, back still turned. “A few weeks,” he says, “Got a bit of a break before the next tour.”

When she handed him a cup, he noticed how even her arms and the tips of her fingers had changed. She looks good, beautiful.

“So, how’s life been?” she asks, taking a sip.

“Busy,” he replies, “Touring, recording, writing. It’s a lot, but it’s what I love.”

“I’ve been listening to your music,” she admits when he sips her tea. It’s exactly how he likes it. “It’s good, Remus. Really good.”

Remus looks down at his shoes, “Thank you,” then, “I’m sorry.”

She frowns, “What for?” “For leaving,” his voice, barely a whisper, “for everything.”

“Oh, Remus,” she sighs as she puts her cup down on the kitchen counter, “no, you had to go. It was your dream—I mean, look at you. You’re doing so well. I’m so proud of you.”

“I’ve missed you,” he says again. Because she had smiled at him the same way she did all those years ago in that pub.

And this time, she says it back.

They spent the rest of the day talking and, at times reminiscing, catching up on their lives, and it felt like no time had passed, like they were the same two kids who had believed in forever. As the sky turned dark, and the light from the lamp in the living room spilt against the floors of her house, she had looked at him—that same look she had always given him five, six years ago before asked him, quietly:

“Will you stay?”

Remus smiles, his heart full, “For as long as you’ll have me.”

Anyway, don’t be a stranger

likes and reblogs r appriciated! <3 also i just learned what a taglist is,, so lmk if u wanna be included in my remus one :D

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sixeyescurseuser · 6 months ago

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Thinking about figure skater Gojo who tirelessly trains to qualify and compete at the next Olympic Games.

Gojo is such a legend in the skating world, very well known for his jaw-dropping, difficult performances, handsome looks, and charming personality! He was built for the spotlight.

Naturally, he has many global fans, fan accounts, and ordinary people who follow his career.

People who meet Gojo in-person after having only seen him on tv are shocked at how tall he is, yet manages to skate so well. All those triple and quad axels? And the amount of grace and power he skates with is insane considering his build.

Once, an interviewer asks Gojo what other skaters he admires? Gojo talks about a few current big names, then sneaks in a mention of, “Oh, Suguru is also in my list , hehe.”

The interviewer chuckles alongside him, yet can’t help but ask, “Suguru…who?”

Later, Geto Suguru nearly spits out his water while watching the interview posted on Youtube. He doesn’t hesitate to text his boyfriend.

Geto: “Why do you keep bringing me up? I literally just skated in high school 😭”

Gojo sends back an old video of Geto’s skating routine from a regional competition: ❤️❤️

Geto: “WHY DO YOU STILL HAVE THIS?”

Gojo: “heyyy >:(“

Gojo: “It makes me happy 🥰 I loved watching you”

***

Growing up, Gojo and Geto skated at the same club. But while Gojo continued skating as his professional career after, Geto dropped skating in order to focus on his academics in college.

Gojo often reminisces on the long practices they had where they would watch each other run through their routines and give each other feedback, when they would mess around and throw the craziest combinations just for shits and giggles.

He didn’t realize their time together on the rink would be so short in the long run, but they began dating when they were only sixteen, and have been going strong together since.

Gojo is still lucky to have Suguru to come home to after his long days at the rink.

After college, Geto went on to become a marine biologist, where he does a lot of work in ocean wildlife conservation. He’s either on a boat collecting data for research or in the lab analyzing his sample results.

Gojo is not only busy training in Japan, but he also frequently travels to train in different countries. Gojo receives lots of updates from Suguru in the form of selfies and blurry photos with ocean wildlife or results from the lab.

Suguru in the lab with his ppe (personal protection equipment). Suguru wearing his wet suit while investigating algae farms. Suguru smiling while holding a crab.

Gojo makes the last one his lock screen. Suguru just looks so cute with his hair pulled back, and when Gojo holds his finger down on the live photo, he can hear Suguru’s voice talking in baby to the crab.

(Geto’s wallpaper is a selfie of them when they were teens.)

Geto gets super excited telling Gojo about his new findings, taking the time to explain different facts and technical terms. Gojo eagerly nods along on the phone and asks questions, commenting, “No way! The algae increased nearly double the amount with your XXX solution? That’s amazing!”

***

Gojo loves what he does, but it’s always a relief to come back home and find his comfort place in Suguru’s arms.

Nothing beats taking a shower and raiding Suguru’s closet after, cooking dinner with his boyfriend, and then cuddles on the couch.

The first thing they see when they turn on the tv is a sports reporter announcing Gojo Satoru's third national championship title, and what it means for the road to the Olympics.

“Oh wow, this guy is on a roll. He should train for the Olympics or something,” Geto says.

Gojo simply buries face in Suguru’s neck and snickers: “Or something.”

***

Once, while getting ready to sleep one night, Gojo whispers in Geto’s: “Remember that one time you ripped your pants during the Junior Grand Prix?”

Geto doesn’t react at first.

Then, without warning, he tries to smother his boyfriend with his pillow.

***

One of the best memories is when Geto surprised Gojo by showing up in-person to one of the abroad competitions.

In the middle of his post-win interview, still in his competition suit, makeup dewey and hair fluffy, Gojo suddenly spots a familiar face behind one of the paparazzi.

Gojo is literally mid-answer when he locks in and SPRINTS to get his boyfriend in his arms.

“Suguru!!” Gojo shouts. He’s already leaping and oh, Suguru’s arms readily catch him.

Geto laughs with his whole chest, squeezing tightly around Gojo’s middle.

“Hello, darling.”

Gojo has to finish the interview but he’s so bubbly now because teehee Suguru is right there and watching proudly.

Gojo needs him in his bed immediately.

After the interview, Geto explains he got his lab assistants to cover their project for the next week so he could fly out and visit Gojo in Australia!

Gojo happily drags Geto back to his hotel room, giggling and babbling about the plans they could have for the next week. The couple excitedly discuss outings to art and performance events, to the beach, even the zoo - which Geto is ecstatic for.

Upon entering the hotel room, Geto quickly drops his luggage off in the corner. Gojo is still yapping when Geto suddenly walks him backwards to the bed.

The back of Gojo’s knees hit the edge and he falls back with an “oof!”

Geto smoothly crawls on top to lay his whole body weight on his boyfriend’s.

Gojo chuckles. He combs through Suguru’s hair and continues his talking, knowing Suguru is tired from traveling and this will help them both relax.

Gojo gradually runs out of things to say, and the soft breaths against his neck tell him yep, he unfortunately needs to poke his boyfriend awake so they can both shower and freshen up before bed.

Gojo pats Geto’s lower back. “Suguru, wakey wakey.”

No response.

Pat pat on the lower back again, then smoothing his hands up to pat the upper-back.

“Babyyy, wake up. We need to shower. And eat.”

Geto offers a protesting grunt, then nuzzles against Gojo’s neck.

This leaves Gojo no choice.

He sneaks a hand down to pinch Geto’s ass.

“Ouch- hey what the fuck?”

Gojo yelps when he feels Suguru pinch his nipple in retaliation, then rolls off Gojo’s body to head toward the bathroom.

Five minutes later, the couple shower together while casually recapping the results of the skating event.

“Any feedback for me today?” Gojo asks. Geto hums, more focused on massaging the shampoo into Gojo’s hair. He applies the perfect amount of pressure that makes Gojo moan in appreciation.

“The only feedback I have is that you look amazing out there, Satoru. All the hard work you put into training clearly pays off. I am so so proud of you,” Geto says, dropping a kiss to Gojo’s nape.

Gojo preens, and completely surrenders himself to his boyfriend's tender touches.

#jjk #satosugu #gojo satoru #geto suguru #satosugu fluff #satosugu fanfic #goge #figure skater gojo #marine biologist geto #satosugu au #cerdrabbles #fluff

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utterlyotterlyx · 8 months ago

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A Fate Inked In Starlight

Part Two

Eris x Fem!Reader x Azriel

Summary - After crashing into the Autumn Court with no idea who you are, where you are, or how you got there, Eris takes it upon himself to hide you and care for you with the help of the Night Court. That is until souls from other walks of life infiltrate Prythian searching for you.

Warnings - slight angst, some Eris fluff, Rhys changing his aggy tune, Az being intrigued.

Part One Part Three Part Four Part Five

"Your note said that you found a woman here?" Rhys asked as he stepped through the threshold of Fir Manor, his violet eyes prickling with intrigue as he glanced about the heirs personal home.

It was different to how they had expected it to be.

Artwork by various talents hung on the walls which were covered in a dark red, almost brown, wallpaper. Furniture was arranged neatly, a fire crackled against the wall, and an array of books lay splayed open on differing pages, none knowing which would be picked up and resumed next.

Rhys and Azriel found themselves surrounded by warmth, it radiated through the home, harmonised by the sound of angelic humming that the flames appeared to sway to.

The three males sat at the seating area before the fire, Eris on one of the plush armchairs easily big enough for two, the arm of it was slightly dented from where he constantly propped his feet atop it, usually when he was reading or being tormented by his hounds.

"I did. I sent her to bathe, and the healer left just before you both arrived," he watched them warily as they looked around the room.

Eris could hardly blame them for their intrigue, he had never welcomed anyone into Fir Manor, it was meant to be his refuge away from life. A personal haven of sorts. But he knew there was no other place he could take you where you'd be safe.

The air was tight with tension, Eris' relationship with the two males in the room with him had improved greatly as time had progressed and they saw him as more than just Beron's heir, but, it was still difficult at times.

Azriel didn't trust him at all. He knew why they had to support Eris, Beron was a cruel thing, an accumulation of all things foul in Prythian. With what had happened to Mor, Azriel didn't care for any cry that came from Autumn, only responding when Rhys commanded it.

"I call her Flora. It feels wrong for her to not have a name," the angelic hum continued to flow from a slightly ajar door upstairs, a wordless melody that had stuck to your lips and begged to be sang, even softly.

"She truly has no idea how she got here?" Azriel didn't look to the heir as he asked, his hazel eyes trained on the staircase to his right where the sweet song drifted, making his shadows dance around his forearms in ethereal delight.

"None. Though, I was hoping we could confirm that with your ability, Rhysand." It wasn't a question, more of a certainty, it was imperative that they knew the truth about you, if there was truly nothing in your mind.

Rhys hummed, his feet mindlessly tapping along to the melody that seemed to grow closer and increase in volume, "Only if she agrees. I'm not here to force her to do anything she doesn't wish to."

"Good," Eris leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees, "I wouldn't let you if you even tried."

"Why?" Azriel tore his gaze away from the stairs, needing to know why Eris wouldn't let them do what was necessary to decipher your intentions.

Eris' amber orbs glowed in the firelight, dangerous and unyielding, "You'll see."

As if on cue, you appeared at the bottom of the stairs, your hair and skin now free from dirt and dried blood, the cuts on your neck healed and vanished, and a healthy rosed pink tinge to your cheeks. Azriel saw you faintly, the ocean blue pools with currents of molten gold running through them shining through the shadows, and damp pearlescent blonde hair that easily reached the bottom of your spine.

"Hello," you spoke, your voice was so gentle, so innocent as you examined the two new males in the manor. Both winged things, dark hair, black swirling tattoos across their shoulders, chests, and arms. A blue light pulsated, it thrummed with power, much like your own did.

As if sensing your fear, Eris rose to his feet, "It's alright," he coaxed into the shadows, the fire cascading its glow over his figure. Eris looked different, you knew he was muscular but you didn't realise just how sculpted he was as he stood there ridded of his jacket and stood only in his brown briefs and open collared cream shirt. "They're friends. I asked them to come and help."

That being all the security you needed, you stepped out from the shadow, allowing the warmth of the firelight to wrap around you whilst you fiddled with your fingernails.

All of their eyes went wide as they took you in, then the sets belonging to Eris' companions flew to him, the look on his own face confirming that he didn't already know of the thing that had concerned them.

You stood before them, a sheer deep red dress pooling at your feet, they could make out the peaks of your nipples, not like they were searching for them. They were too focused on a much more pressing matter.

Azriel couldn't blame Eris for not noticing, it's not like the heir had watched you undress with his own eyes. But as you stood before them, Azriel truly didn't know what to do next, and that had never been a problem he'd faced before. Your skin was covered in marks, tiny little archaic sketches that started at your shoulders and ended at your feet, no patch of skin was left bare apart from your face and the palms of your hands.

None of them had ever seen anything like it.

They weren't a million of miniscule interlinked tattoos, they were scars, thousands of them stacked upon one another, all healed over to mere bumps of flesh.

"I'm Rhysand, High Lord of the Night Court, and Azriel is my spymaster," Eris and Azriel were thankful that Rhys was the first to break the heavy silence, neither of them knew what to say, "I have a power that allows me to look into minds. I was wondering if you'd allow me into yours, that we may somehow figure out where you came from?"

You looked to Eris, the one that you trusted the most in the room, "It won't hurt, will it?"

Azriel watched your lips move as you spoke, he allowed his gaze to travel down your frame, around the curves of your hips, until he found the marred rings of flesh around your wrists. It was a stare that you caught, and he felt that familiar pang of sadness when you hid them behind your back.

"No," Eris told you, he was sure, he was certain, "Rhys has done it to me many times before. It's just to give us some clarity, that's all. Then we can figure out how to best help you," you took his outstretched hand, allowing him to lead you to the armchair where he once sat, the warmth of his body heat cushioning your nerves.

Duke nestled himself at your feet, dragging his head so that is rested on top of your bare toes. The room shifted, and you found Rhys kneeling in front of you, vibrant violet burrowing into your face, he was tight lipped and raised a slow hand to grasp the back of your neck, the sensation of his touch made you gasp.

Then the violet glazed over, you felt the claws asking for permission at the forefront of your consciousness and you let them in without a fight. It was odd, to have someone scouring through your brain, to feel them slip in and out of every crevasse and chamber.

Azriel watched you with a fierce intensity, your gaze hadn't left Rhys' face for even a moment, though your eyebrows did occasionally twitch close together in discomfort. Then blood, fresh, bright red blood began to seep from your nose, a sign that Rhys was pushing too deeply in the wrong direction.

"Rhys," Azriel called over, Eris had perched on the arm of the chair, his hands curled around your shoulders gently. His High Lord froze, as if awaiting the rest of the call, "You're hurting her."

Immediately, Rhys' talons retracted from your mind and his eyes returned to their vibrant hue, "Fascinating," he mumbled to no one in particular as his thumb reached to wipe away the single thread of blood that had escaped your nose, "There was nothing in there," he turned to Azriel and told him, more freaked out than threatened, then he turned back to you, "You have a shield in your mind, protecting a certain chamber of it. It was like an ocean reflecting the night sky, rippling with motion and littered with stars. It did not want to let me in."

Azriel could picture it. A canvas rippling with life that embodied the calmness that only the Summer waters possessed, flecked with bright stars in a kaleidoscope of hues. He imagined it was a peaceful shield to come into contact with, perhaps even the most peaceful shield Rhys had ever seen.

A defeated look took over your face, those doe eyes creasing downward as you turned into Eris.

"We'll help you, Flora." Eris told you, forcing you to look into him, to see that he wasn't lying.

"Flora?"

Eris winced, nervously scratching the back of his neck, "Yes. You don't have a name and I didn't want to call you nothing," he rambled in a way you found rather sweet, "Flora suits you, but obviously you can choose whatever name you'd like-"

Your hand moving to his thigh was enough to stop more words from tumbling from his mouth, "Flora," you repeated the name, humming in agreement, "I like it."

Rhys stood from his place in front of you, and you realised then just how big he was as the shadows of his wings cast down on you. There was a fondness laced in his expression, "We'll do all that we can to help you. In the meantime, we should discuss living arrangements?"

"Living arrangements?" The question seemed silly to Rhys, but of course, you had no idea of the danger you were in whilst in the Autumn Court. You knew nothing of its High Lord and the brimming hatred he held toward anyone and anything.

Doe eyed and beautiful or not, Beron would hurt you if he found you in his lands.

"She's staying with me, Rhys," Eris told him curtly, making a point that it was not up for discussion.

Eris was by no means holding a claim over you, he just wished for you to be as comfortable as possible, and given the melodic humming floating through his home a short while ago, he was confident in thinking that Fir Manor was the best place to house you.

You sat still as the pair stared intently at one another whilst Azriel kept his gaze on you. Tilting your head to the side, like Eris had done when he found you, you smiled, the act growing on your lips as his shadows slithered across the floor and curled around your ankles and hiked up your calves. They were in awe of you. Complete and total adoration.

Once they had returned to him, they only whispered of your beauty and kind soul, of their need to hear your song once more.

"You will keep in touch then," Rhys bit, clearly not happy at the arrangements made between himself and Eris, "And if Flora ever needs another place to go, you will write to me and either myself or Azriel will come."

You and Eris sat on opposite ends of the sofa, twin blankets draped over your legs with a bundle of Eris' hounds in the space between all laying in different directions and positions.

Eris' head kept on lifting toward you, the poor book in his hands getting little to no attention as he examined your face. Your hair had been dried by the fire, it held a shine to it that he'd never seen before, strands kept on falling over your cheeks, and you continued to push them behind your ears with a slight frown, doing your best to concentrate on your own book that Eris had given to you.

The silence was comfortable, crickets creaked from beyond the window and the fireflies drifted around the edges of the estate. A gentle breeze wafted through your hair, filling the room with your scent, and Eris didn't mind it one bit.

"You're staring," you noted aloud before meeting his eye, "Is something on my face?"

The innocence of you made him smile, a genuine one, one of pure wonderment and curiosity, "No," he mused, "I'm just trying to figure you out."

Amusement huffed through you, "Let me know what you find?"

"Always," you mirrored his smile, your eyes sparkling in the golden orange hue from the dimly lit fire as the day caught up with you, a yawn pulling at your mouth and limbs, causing you to stretch and emit some sleep deprived whines, "I think I'm going to go to bed."

"Let me take you to your room," Eris stood quickly, ignoring the grumbles of his hounds at the shifting of weight which had interrupted their naps. Eris was sincere, cradling your hand into the indent of his elbow as he led you from the room.

Fir Manor was a spectacle you had to see to truly experience it. Warmth trickled through every part of the home, rich red brown walls, oak tables and furnishings, plush beds and bay windows, a library so full that books lay stacked in piles around the room. Various artworks were carefully placed about the halls and bedrooms, some more grand than others, but each told its own story, and you felt yourself delving into each one that Eris led you past.

Light chatter had enveloped you and you had learned that Eris was the eldest son of the Autumn High Lord, that he was next to ascend to the title, and that Fir Manor was his and his alone.

"Does it ever get lonely? Having all of this incredible space but no one to share it with?"

Eris contemplated your question, and you wanted to retract it entirely when you saw that glimmer of tainted hope in him, "I hope that one day I will have someone to share this all with. All of this grandeur and power means nothing if you're alone." Eris paused before asking, "Do you want a family?"

You slowed to a stop before a pair of large oak doors, kissed with intricate carvings and swirls; you faced Eris, letting his whisky amber stare pour into you, "I think I would like one, yes. Maybe one day."

A breath lodged itself in his throat, he surveyed you, truly surveyed you, he noticed the faint freckles pecking your nose, how long your eyelashes were as they fluttered at him, he etched the peak of your cupid's bow to his memory.

"This will be yours for however long you wish to stay," he opened the door to the room and you stepped inside with mouth agape and words failing to rise from your heart.

The room was magnificent.

A large four-poster bed pleaded for your attention, adorned with a textured orange comforter and white pillows, thin white curtains danced in the gentle breeze from the open window, and candles lit the room in a dull light. Beneath your feet lay a fluffy brown rug, a small seating area rested to the left of the room, an oak coffee table with a matching dresser and dressing table. To the right of the room, peering out at you from the open door lay the most opulent bathroom you had ever seen, a tub deep enough to fit all of Eris' hounds sat before a floor to ceiling window that gave the owner a spectacular view of the gardens and forest beyond the estate. Everything gleamed in the soft light, every ripple of gold in the white marble glittering against the ceiling.

"What if I never wish to leave?" Eris stood just in the threshold of the room, not wanting to impose on your privacy despite the fact that he owned the place.

"I'd be okay with that," he watched you turn in your place, he watched you twirl with your arms outstretched, peaceful joy clear on your relaxed face, "My room is at the end of the hall, on the right, if you need anything."

"Thank you, Eris. You didn't have to do all of this," you were genuine, perhaps the most genuine creature he'd ever had the pleasure of meeting. "I'm very glad that it was you who found me today."

Eris was already closing the door to the room when you had spoke, he turned his head, smirking at you over his shoulder, "So am I, Little Flower."

That night, Eris lay awake staring at his cream ceiling, a hand on his chest rubbing gentle circles into the skin over his rapidly thundering heart. Eris lay there, lay there clueless to the beings who were pounding against the windows of Prythian, around his home, desperate to break through and take back what was theirs.

Authors Note

Luckily, part two was already started in my drafts and I've been in a great mood today so decided to finish it. I'm thinking about posting once or twice a week for this series, fully just depends on what else I add to my fanfic list.

I love a fluffy Eris too much btw 🥹

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@acourtofbatboydreams @glitterypirateduck2

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loversofthegrave · 10 months ago

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teenage sammy grappling with his intolerable attachment to his big brother one shot<3

1998, South Carolina

Summer hits full on like a hammer, shrivelling the last spring grass into whiskers of pale straw. John has them situated this time in South Carolina in the middle of a buttfuck nowhere trailer park. Sam huffs out a whoosh wafting a strand of his shaggy, greasy hair and scuffs his knock-off beat up converse into the dry dirt, the path leading up into their new home for the next week or two.

John recites his customary speech, Dean nods, ‘Yes sir’ as Dean always does. He’s John more often than dad these days. John gave Sam a name when he was born then left, like a background actor in a movie, cut from the film roll. The rumble of the impala and he’s gone.

Spider plants hang from pots on the wide trailer porch. Chipped ceramic ornaments of butterflies and lizards were placed outside. Inside, the shabby floral wallpaper and checkered armchair. The tattered cotton curtains blowing gently, and the cross hung on the wall, wonky. It was like a polaroid from the 70s, all orange hues and clashing patterns.

“What a dump,” he said gritting his teeth.

“It’s not so bad,” Dean shrugs “Kinda cozy,”

Dean’s eyes like hawks observing their new home, finding quick exits, salting the windows and doors. Safety first, look out for Sammy, like the good toy solider that he is.

Sam knows Dean can’t help it, the urgency, the attentiveness, to keep safe, guard his little brother. Sam would be lying if he said he wouldn’t want it any other way, he hopes it’s a two-way street.

Truth is, being in each other's pocket is all they’ve ever known. Dean is Sam’s brother as much as he is his only friend, his father, his mother, all rolled into one. Dean's hands being a caress and a fumbling worry of a mother’s. Dean who changed Sam’s diapers, who soothed teething pains with nimble fingers, tender rocking's and forgiving scoldings. It was all him, not a woman with satin blonde hair and porcelain skin nor the man with the grief-stricken furrowed brows and whiskey sighs. No, it was the kid with the goofy grin and the shoulders weighed down heavy with more liability than a kid should ever know, now turned leather jackets and calloused hands, felon fingers, summers caress dotted upon the bridge of a nose. Summer has always been extra generous to him, he thought, kind of face that weighs heavy on a teenage boys heart.

Looking at Dean is like hallucinating like looking through the lenses of kaleidoscope, soft orange and pink hues from the sun dipping into the horizon of the late summer dusk framing his head like an angel but an angel in the flames. An angel that could be Gabriel but an angel that could be Lucifer too, like he would readily delve into the deep, dark hell as he would fly up to the lofty, illuminated places. And Dean would for Sam.

Dean was Sam’s first everything, and it’s no surprise Sam would want that forevermore.

Sam can’t help it, this craving, it’s insatiable, like an itch irritating him under new stretched teenage skin. If he itches and itches, scratches with blunt anxious bitten nails until he draws blood. But the blood he revels in, the curving, cutting and slaughtering himself to fit into the groove of Dean’s heart, he would do anything, and he knows Dean would do the same but not in the ways Sam yearns for. Sam knows, he knows it’s twisted, he knew as soon as he was enrolled in school and how not everyone else feels that way about brothers. But he doesn’t care, not when Dean is the only grace he was given in his world of destruction and ruin, his pure drop in an ocean of chaos. Damn it if the lord doesn’t forgive him, heaven and hell are just words to a hopeless boy like Sam. When his brother looks at him, he decides to wage holy war.

But Dean doesn’t know, not really, he knows Sam loves him but no more, no less, too frightful Sam would scare him fiercely, that he would leave Sam here, loose his grace, and what is Sam without his grace? Just an empty vessel, an angel damned from heaven, forever. Think he’s sick, corrupt, disgusting. Only Sam can be the one to know this about himself, swallow the key if he must. He tries his best to shelter away these parts from Dean, distancing ever so slightly, it just makes the craving worst, he thinks, withdrawal.

So, he lives with Dean, in his shadow. Watches him, envies him, wants to be him, wants to be with him, under him. Watches him waltzing around the kitchen with sultry hips after this week's easy fuck. Probably some white trash bimbo Sam thinks harshly, doesn’t know what it truly means to have him, a boy, a man, like Dean. He goes for anything with legs and a mouth in a 1-mile radius, puts it out to anything, anyone but Sam.

“You stink Dean,” Sam mumbles under his breath

“That’s the smell of champions Sammy” Dean grins, easy and careless, throwing a wink over his shoulder. Sam shoots daggers into his back.

This is their dance, Dad goes on a hunt for a couple of weeks, Dean and Sam are holed up in a shack and they pretend that this is their normal, habit, but it’s not, they we’re and forever born in motion. Dean enrols Sam into the local (another) high school, Dean gets a short-term job working with his hands to hold them over until Dad gets back, this time at the garage. They make small talk with strangers when necessarily and act according to their roles, relocates the suspicious eyes on Sam’s stitched up hand me down t-shirts and Deans violet blooming bruises from training and hunts, keeps social services off their back. But they fit in OK around this truckers town so Sam holds it rigid, this vexation, lewdness, this jealousy brimming. Puberty is fucked, Sam likes to blame it on that.

It’s Friday, the shutters of the trailer are open and wide. Sam’s in makeshift shorts that were once jeans that he cut at the knees one town ago. The radio is static, and The Mama’s & The Papa’s is being carried through the thick-cut air, ‘you've got everything I need, and nobody can please like you, you baby and who believes that my wildest dreams and my craziest schemes will come true?’

Sam’s growth spurt mixed with food stamp fed spindly legs are propped up on the coffee table barefoot, toes wiggling, as he shovels spoonfuls of store brand cornflake knock offs in his mouth. Dean comes in wafting of oil and summer sweat after being outside tinkering with the ford pick-up truck Dad sorted out with a local hunter before he briskly left. He slaps the bottom of Sam’s foot with his greasy rag. Sam grunts.

"Up and at 'em or you're gonna be late" Dean lectures, parenting.

Sam rucks on an old 1975 Black Sabbath tour shirt that used to be Dean's that used to be Dads, now faded grey and bobbling. Pokes his feet into socks with his right toe sticking out of the hole, laces up his shoes and climbs into the passenger seat of the pick-up. Dean drops Sam off at the Pine Springs High and told him he'd pick him up, told him to ‘give ‘em hell’.

Pine Springs High was full of scraggy kids, Beavis and Butt-head boys, girls busty and leggy. Sam befriends one friend, a skinny freckled boy with thick rimmed glasses. His name is Davey. They were sat next to each other in science, dissecting a frog. Sam figures cutting open this frog is harder than the ghouls they slaughter. What did this frog ever do to anyone? Davey was informing Sam on the anatomy, pointed out the chambers of the heart, the ventricle. He seemed interested in trying to impress Sam with how smart he was. "You know a lot," stated Sam.

He smiled. He was a boy who wanted to be seen. Sam suspects with certainty he’s not in these careless halls of teenagers reeking of hormones and wariness of social status.

High school is not as gentle with kids like Sam and Davey. But Sam can tackle it, give as good as he gets. That’s what he’s been trained to do, what their dad trained him to do, those sparring sessions with Dean every other day doesn’t go to waste, as much as Sam likes to grumble and whine. The decomposition ghost of a girl in a tatty white dress with fine needlepoint lace trimmings from the 1820’s has more oomph in her thump than any of these teenagers.

Even in a Gas-mart town like this one full of greasy kids with dirty fingernails Sam still is stared at by clusters of kids. Maybe it’s the adequate collection of bruising on his body from said sparring and Victorian decomposition, or maybe it’s the fact he’s an outsider (he’s always the outsider) but Sam doesn’t mind. Cleanliness and godliness are deceptive, he’d rather wear his wounds, his ugliness. No fooling, he was torn and stitched.

Dean picks Sam up, sees the mop of brown hair and downcast face amongst the sea of chattering high-spirited kids. It reminds Dean of when he encouraged him to go to a classmate's birthday party in kindergarten, timid little Sammy protested but Dean encouraged his little brother to go, nervy on all he was missing out growing up. When Dean went to pick him up at McDonald's he spotted him, dejected, eyes glazed over. Other children around him screaming and sliding into pits filled with coloured balls. It splintered Dean to his core.

When Sam is in arm reach Dean tousles Sam's hair, and he gets a whack of the hand and a gruff in response.

“How’d it go Sammy?” Dean asks, hefting himself up into the driver's seat.

“Fine.” Sam replies, quick, sharp. “And it’s Sam,” he stresses.

Dean doesn’t know what it is these days but there’s a slight ache, a gnawing. Sam used to look at Dean like he hung the stars just for him. That Dean was God’s own reflection but now there’s a distance, an interspace and he doesn’t quite know what to do with it. At first, he thought maybe it’s teenage hormones or pheromones or whatever the fuck, but Dean never remembers being that sulky as a teenager. Maybe he never got the chance. When he tries to touch Sam, he flinches, scurries away like he just spooked a rodent. Used to revel in it, they practically grew up in each other's arms. Was still sharing a bed in the motels until two years ago.

Dean would never admit it out loud to him, but he misses Sam. Misses that constant comfort of touch and affection.

They stop off at a local diner on their way back to the trailer park, Sam questions if they have enough money for the month to eat out, Dean tells him not to worry. All wooden panels, red and white checkered table clothes, a sign that reads, ‘lumber jack pancake special for $5.95!’ Dean eyes it up, breakfast at dinnertime, their lives never have rhythm or reason anyways. They slide into a booth of worn leather, Sam on one side, Dean on the other.

Sam orders a panini with ham and cheese and fries, Dean the lumber jack pancakes. When they arrive by a shy petite waitress with inky dark eyes and blushing blotted cheeks, Dean swipes a fry off Sam’s plate just to receive another swat. Any touch is better than no touch, bad attention better than none.

Sam doesn’t miss the way the waitresses' eyes linger on Dean’s profile. If he shoots a frosty glare her way Dean doesn’t have to know.

The sun with no forgiveness, a parched sky, the hillsides with purple wilting drifts of milkweed, dotting the cracks of the gas-station and garage. It was Saturday, Sam was at the garage while Dean worked. Tucked in a corner sheltered from the suns ruthless beat with his library copy of Catcher In The Rye he couldn’t return when John dragged them out of the motel inn at dawn a town back. Sam said he felt guilty, Dean told him to stop being such a law-abiding citizen.

He gazed at Dean, could smell his sweat, sharp and strong, a man, Sam’s brain applied helpfully. He was wearing overalls, wiping workman sweat from his forehead. Sam wanted to lick him, taste the salt and summer kissed skin. He knows he’s disgusting. At this rate Sam thinks he should stab his eyes out, so he can’t look. Burn his skin off, so he can’t touch.

The next Sunday, Sam sleeps in late. He finds Dean slouched on the floral couch, stretched out like a housecat watching TV. It’s always a rarity to see him in a relaxed stance, undisturbed, a recess to the constant chaos of their lives. It settles something steady and peaceful within Sam with just a hint of sadness. He mumbles a drowsy good morning and trudges to the bathroom, locking the door behind him.

He pisses in the toilet, sluggish, holds himself up steady with a hand against the tiles. The splash of his piss hitting the water too loud in the quiet murmur of their trailer.

Washing his hands, he moseys around in the medicine cabinet above the sink. Inside, aimless trinkets left behind by previous owners. Tweezers with a single gemstone on them, antibiotic ointment, outdated eyedrops.

Sam finds a small capsule behind an empty bottle of aspirin. He reaches for it, revealing a lipstick, the cheap kind you pick-up at Walmart for $5.

He holds it in his hand, stares. Turns it in his palm, opens the lid with a subtle click and rotates the base.

The lipstick itself is a cherry red, obscene kind of red. The type he sees on hookers lingering around the corners at motels when he slips out at dusk to buy Dr Peppers from the vending machine with the quarters Dean made him pocket.

The garish fluorescent lights buzzing overhead, whirring like insects as he watches them showcasing their chests and unveiled legs. They always look cold, Sam thinks.

Sam looks up and scans his face in the mirror, holds the lipstick close to his nose, sniffs it. It smells like wax and chemicals, half suspected it to smell like strawberries and an angel's kiss or something, screws his nose up.

Without much reflection he smears the cherry red lipstick onto his lips, it's messy and askew not as neat as he sees on the girls in Dean's skin mags. He sets down the lipstick onto the sink and looks at himself, really looks.

The glaring red on such a boyish face like Sam's feels lewd and indecent. He feels slightly silly, embarrassed, his cheeks stain a weak scarlet. He wonders what others would think of him like this, Dean, his dad.

God, dad would probably be appalled, call him a sissy, punish him by making him do triple the training. Make him run for miles under the blazing sun.

But Dean, what would Dean think of his little brother like this? If Sam just waltzed right out of the bathroom now and stood dead in the line of Dean's vision. Would he stammer? Get all flustered and struck-dumb? Would he look at Sam and think of him as those girls he promenades to the impala, the motel room when he thinks Sam's asleep and not hanging onto every grunt and sigh coming from Dean's throat. Stores them in the hollow of his heart, imprinted on it just as sacred as the Holy Bible is to a priest.

Would he want to tenderly caress the shape of his mouth, smear the lipstick, make Sam looked wrecked? He inspects the long plains of his body, like scorched landscape, bronzed from June’s boldness.

Sam’s been trying to get used to it, his recasting body. Finally losing his baby fat, almost catching up to Dean in height much to Dean’s dismay. Just he doesn’t carry the newly stretched limbs well, feels like a puppet and someone else is yanking the strings. He hasn’t thought about it much, how others perceive him, how Dean perceives him.

Sure, Sam’s had his first kiss and fumbled under a girl's shirt in Indiana last year, let him touch her boobs. She wore lots of eyeliner, wore black bulky boots and liked Alice In Chains. Sam creamed his pants as soon as he got a soft plump handful, she didn’t seem to mind so he tried not to feel too embarrassed. He couldn’t wait to tell Dean (lied to a reasonable measure) for him to be proud of him. Dean let Sam have his first beer after he told him, “Since you’re a man now,” Dean announced, “Don’t tell Dad,” He winked. Sam never tells John their secrets.

But other than that, he’s a bit clueless, still bashful when girls look his way. Isn’t fabricated like Dean, heavied bottom lip into effortless grin that make’s girls drop and fractures their porcelain hearts, little unconsciously brutal but never intentional to be so. Sam would let Dean smash him into smithereens, shards of broken ceramic all over the tiles, if he’d wanted.

He thinks about the woman who supposedly left the lipstick here, he decides it’s an older woman, barefoot in a simple dress in the tail end of summer, her feet and the palms of her hands showed pale pink against her sunburnt skin, looked ornamental. He decided she had many lovers, wore it for them, wonders if Dean would be one. Wonders what she would think finding out a gawky teenage boy was trying on her bygone lipstick.

Wonders what it would be like to wear this for Dean, his lover.

Dean compulsive, gluttonous with the want of Sam, gushing his hands over the sides of his body, the pull of his rutting teenage hips. The neediness he sometimes gets in that platonic brotherly way bordering on hysteria whenever Sam’s hurt. All his senses submerged entirely by Dean Dean Dean, his touch, his smell, his hot breath.

Sam shoves a frantic hand down his pyjama pants and briefs, wrenches his dick with crazed tugs. Comes that exact same time there’s rough banging on the door, Dean shouting, “Come on Sam, you’ve been in there forever!” rattling the door with his presence.

Sam leaps, grimacing at the mess he made in his pants, swiping a towel and cleaning himself up in rapid motions. Rubs off the lipstick with the back of his hand, scouring his mouth.

“You jerking off in their little brother?” Dean calls out, muffled slightly through the thick wood of the bathroom door, amusement laced in his tone.

When Sam is sure he’s cleansed himself of any misdemeanours and removed all crucial evidence he swings the door open and shoulders past Dean muttering, “No Dean, I wasn’t jerking off.” How much of that Dean believes is out of his control. He pockets the lipstick.

#I wrote a wincest thing #teenchesters #should i write more #i did write a whole story to this like 13k words but I didnt like it much in the end but #here is a snippet #sammy pov figuring his feelings for his brother out #wincest #wincest one shot #weecest #weecest one shot #wincest fanfic #supernatural #spn #sam/dean #sam winchester #dean winchester #pre series sam/dean

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nicksbestie · 7 months ago

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hi hi i hope you’re having a great day/night i was wondering if you could do a comfort nick x masc autistic reader where the reader is super interested in sea creatures and they go to the aquarium and the reader gets overwhelmed please

also love your work even though i just found it

Jellyfish - N. Sturniolo

Summary : A special date out with your boyfriend <3

Warnings : mentions of overwhelm but not negatively!

Word Count : 1215

Pairing : Nick Sturniolo/Reader (romantic)

A/N : This is written with a male and neurodivergent reader!

You absolutely adored the ocean.

It was your biggest passion, and everything that it contained were things you loved. Being autistic, your special interests could sometimes get overwhelming, but most of the time, you really enjoyed all the things you read about. You had always dreamed of cute little aquarium dates with a partner, shared sea creature stuffed animals, decorating things ocean themed. Your childhood bedroom wallpaper was covered in jellyfish, as that had always been your favorite of the animals that lived under the water. You had moved in with Nick recently, and you had your own room, due to the fact that sometimes you both just needed personal space, but Nick had helped you decorate it.

It had taken days, but Nick had never complained, and had patiently listened to all of your infodumping with a smile on his face, enjoying how happy you looked. He helped you paint, put up wallpaper, hang things from the ceiling, and hang up blue fairy lights around your window. When you were both done, your room truly looked like something out of a Pinterest board, and you were both absolutely obsessed with it. Nick spent a lot more time in your room than his, and you would eventually help him redecorate his own when he decided he needed a change of pace. What you didn’t know was that Nick had a surprise planned for your anniversary date in just a couple of hours, and he was so excited to see your reaction.

He had bought tickets to the aquarium just a town over, and had made sure to pay for the dolphin encounter as well. They weren’t your favorite, of course, but he knew that you would still be so excited about it. There was a jellyfish portion as well, and he had pored over every brochure to make sure that it was absolutely perfect. So, as you were getting ready to change into clothes to go out that night, he told you to dress comfortably over dressing fancy, because he knew you weren’t going out to dinner at some high end place. You seemed confused but trusted him, being happy you didn’t have to get too dressed up.

You had been on aquarium dates before, but this one was arguably the biggest one in the state, and you hadn’t been there yet. It had been too much of a drive, or you didn’t have the time to experience all of it, and you didn’t want to go and only be able to see half, or even less than that, so you had always put it off. Nick knew this, so he thought that it would be a perfect fit for your first anniversary, and he could argue that he was almost as excited as you were. A giant smile stayed on his face the whole time, and he held your hand the entire way there, thumb caressing the back of your hand, smiling at the light blue polish on your fingernails, a compliment to his own white ones.

He avoided telling you where you were going, telling you that it was a surprise that you would love. You really weren’t big on surprises, but you trusted him, and you knew that if he wasn’t telling you, it was something really good. He had put in the address on his phone, but split screened it over to his music application so that you couldn’t see the final address. The look on your face when he pulled into the parking lot and you registered what the large building in front of you was, was completely worth the struggle of keeping himself from telling you during the long drive. The smile that spread from ear to ear and the genuine happiness in your eyes made him smile just as wide, putting the car in park and unbuckling his seatbelt in favor of leaning over the center console to gently kiss you.

“So, are you gonna sit here in shock, or are we going in?”

You felt like you couldn’t even speak, returning the kiss before immediately getting out of the car, grabbing Nick’s hand as he made it around to walk next to you.

“I love you.”

He smiled, the joy on your face spreading into his own, squeezing your hand.

“I love you too.”

As he scanned the tickets on his phone to go in, you both grabbed a map. You didn’t think that you would wander off from each other at all, but just in case one of you lost one, you had two. You pored over it for a bit before Nick started to speak.

“Just so you know, I have something booked here in about an hour and a half, and we can’t be late to it, but if we’re looking at something when we have to go over there, we can absolutely come back. And no, I’m not telling you what it is.”

You closed your mouth, having been about to ask what he had planned. Smiling but shaking your head, you pointed to a spot on the map, locating the jellyfish.

“Can we go there first?”

Nick grabbed your hand again, putting his map back in his pocket.

“Of course we can.”

About an hour and fifteen minutes later, you had wandered around half of the aquarium, and you had been non-stop talking about your favorite animals. Nick had listened to all of it, asking questions so you knew that he was listening, and had even comforted you when the overwhelm of seeing all of your favorite things had gotten to be a bit too much and you had cried a little. He had offered for you to go home, but you had of course adamantly refused, and you both had continued through the aquarium. You had gotten to pet a stingray, which Nick was a little worried about doing himself, but he did it with you anyways, and the smile on your face was worth the fear.

When you got to the dolphin section of the aquarium, you lit up, them being your second favorite sea creature. Third place went to the octopus, and you had already gotten to see those, as they were near the stingrays. At this point, you had seen almost everything that you wanted to see, and were now really enjoying your time with Nick, feeling so grateful for everything he had done for you tonight. As you entered the area of the dolphin encounter, you stared at Nick with shock in your eyes, as he just kept pulling things out of his pockets, surprising you in the best ways.

“You’re kidding. I get to pet a dolphin?!”

Nick laughed, kissing the top of your head.

“You’re adorable. Yes, you do. Come on, our group starts in about ten minutes.”

The rest of the date went so perfectly, and you were so in love with your partner. You had no idea how you were going to repay this to him, and it seemed like he could read your mind, as he looked right at you on the drive home, a soft smile on his face.

“Your happiness tonight was worth every single penny spent. I hope you had fun.”

“I had the best night of my life.”

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pollunam · 5 months ago

Text

Flaws. Part 1.

Warnings: 18 + blood, and canon typical violence.

"So, Gus, I want to introduce you to a lady who will be joining you," Gabbin nodded, gesturing to open the door. I stood confidently behind her, fiddling with my gloves. I wouldn't say I was easily frightened. Try being scared when your father made you throw knives at apples atop your brother's head from childhood.

The door creaked open, revealing a smoke-filled room. Smoke swirled elegantly in the air, forming intricate patterns against dark wallpaper and faces full of hope, albeit not the most enthusiastic ones.

"Well, this is Gus March-Phillips. Maybe not the finest gentleman, but he knows his trade," Gabbin introduced.

"Welcome, milady," he smiled, adjusting his already curled mustache.

I nodded. "Lovely coat, I think I've seen it on someone else before."

Gabbin sighed heavily. "It's time for you to go, before he starts undressing me."

I smiled, pulling out a cigarette. Gus promptly offered a lighter.

"And I'm certain I've seen it somewhere too."

With that remark came two heavy sighs, and we triumphantly left the room. There was no time to think about formalities; we had a challenging task ahead, which I already knew about, but this man inspired confidence.

"Our team is quite unusual, I trust you understand that," Gus closed the car door with my suitcases already inside. The driver set off, illuminating the gravel road with yellow headlights.

"It doesn't bother me; I'm part of this 'unusual' company," I air-quoted.

"They'll like you."

"Now I'm nervous," I chuckled.

"I just can't figure out how they picked you for this assignment. You don't look like a reckless headhunter at all."

"Someone has to keep an eye on you boys."

The car stopped at the pier. The night air was fresh and breezy, blowing in from the ocean. Salty splashes danced joyfully at the shore, cresting with white foam on the sand. The sky glittered with a myriad of stars, perhaps the most romantic scene I'd ever witnessed. I stood mesmerized, watching the waves break beautifully against the pier.

"Enjoying the view?" Gus held my suitcases. "Too bad, it's time to go. I'm sure the ship's view won't disappoint."

I nodded quickly, following him.

"Finally, we've been waiting for you," someone shouted from the deck, and a head in a comical sailor hat appeared over the stern. "Good evening, milady," the stranger whistled, offering his hand. "Graham at your service."

I smiled. "Thank you for your help. This dress isn't the best attire for a ship." With one hand, I lifted the hem of my dress to climb aboard.

"Then take it off," a broad-shouldered man with round glasses appeared in the cabin doorway. His accent marked him as a foreigner. Tall and sturdy, he resembled a Viking woven from northern winds.

"Isn't that a bit forward of you?" I retorted.

"I didn't mean what you thought, mind you," he chuckled warmly.

"Then say it so you're understood."

"Affirmative, my dear."

I flared up. The big guy was clearly teasing me.

"Anders, where are your manners?" Gus shook his head. "We're not a band of brigands; we're gentlemen who never underestimate ladies. Especially ones like her."

"Are you planning to travel with us?" Anders agilely descended from the cabin. "This isn't an Atlantic cruise."

Graham whistled again. "Pay him no mind. He's big, but not the brightest."

"No problem. I just don't understand how such a massive bear isn't sinking the ship with his presence."

Anders squinted. "I find that amusing."

"I'll try to entertain you more often," I smirked.

"Good evening! I'm Freddy," a man appeared from behind, sporting a blue scarf around his neck. He smiled warmly and openly.

"I'll show you to your cabin. Space is tight, but we'll find something suitable," Gus gestured for me to go ahead, descending a small staircase inside.

The large room served as a dining area, kitchen, and bedroom with two bunk beds. It smelled of apples and wine. The beds were neatly made, and an open bottle of alcohol sat on the table, emitting a pungent scent.

"The safest bet would be one of these beds."

"Seems like there aren't enough."

"Don't worry, we've got sleeping bags."

"I can take it, no problem. I've slept in worse conditions."

"No, no. We'll do it differently," Gus grinned, "forget about the sleeping bag, it's pure mockery."

"Listen, Gus, I appreciate that, really, but it's not necessary at all."

"It's absolutely necessary, trust me. Conversation's over, just like the tour. Make yourself comfortable," he said, heading upstairs heavily, while I sat at the table, resting my head on my hands. Thoughts leapt and tangled in my mind. Well, this adventure was right up my alley: gunfire, smell of danger, and the scent of pure escapade.

I pulled out trousers and a white shirt from my suitcase and quickly changed, listening to voices from above.

"Someone needs to sleep in the sleeping bag tonight. We'll take turns after."

"I can do it, no problem," a hearty man offered. I chuckled approvingly, tying my hair up in a bun.

By the time I finished brewing tea for everyone, the ship had already set sail. Carefully, I climbed up, carrying four mugs.

"Thanks a lot!" Graham smiled, noticing me; he immediately took one cup, "need a hand?"

"No, it's alright, I'll manage."

Fredrick appeared right away, "now that's service."

"Just a friendly gesture."

Gus stood at the helm.

"Hey! Up there! Tea?"

"Leave it there, I'll get it later!" he shouted back.

I carefully placed the mug on the stair step and looked around for the Viking. How could one miss such a broad man - it was a mystery. A silhouette appeared at the stern. Anders was coiling rope, sitting on the edge of the hull; he seemed completely absorbed in his thoughts, focused on his task.

"Hi again," I leaned against the rail, offering him a steaming cup, "care for some?"

"Is it poisoned?"

"No, if I wanted to kill you, I wouldn't do it so blatantly."

"Now I'll have to be on guard," Anders smiled, taking the tea, "thanks."

I looked at the receding shore, flickering in the darkness like a fallen star.

"Why are you here? I mean, your job... it's quite... dangerous."

"It's a long story of family drama, but I'm glad to be where I am, despite the danger."

"I understand, yes," the Viking nodded, "I have a similar story."

"Where are you from?"

"Denmark."

"Ah, a true Viking," I smiled, "how could I possibly be scared then?"

"Still, don't anger me, alright," Anders also smiled, adjusting his glasses, "I like how you called me that, but please don't spread the idea."

"Deal."

We sat in silence, listening to the sound of water pushing against the hull and the wind whistling through the sails. The coolness enveloped me, but it seemed I had completely forgotten about it, imagining London engulfed in fire and war, left behind. Ahead, the horizon blended seamlessly with the ocean in a vast blue landscape.

"Aren't you cold?" Anders broke the fragile silence.

"A bit, but it's so beautiful here, I can't stop admiring."

"Better go below, it's easy to catch a cold in the ocean."

I nodded, "I'll go down soon."

Alone again, I leaned against the stern, staring at the ocean's surface. Dark as lead. I didn't feel like sleeping.

"Here," I didn't even notice Anders returning, handing me a blanket, "for the tea."

"Thanks, what will you do for two teas?"

"Save the pleasure for later. Although, you did take off your dress."

"Hey, Viking!"

He laughed, "I'm just kidding."

"Go already, or you'll catch a cold," I teased him back, wrapping the blanket around my shoulders.

"Just a tip, if you're sailing for the first time, it's easy to get seasick if you stare at the water. You won't notice when you fall in."

"My intuition tells me to listen to you, but common sense suggests testing that theory."

"Now I see why you're here," he sat on coiled ropes, "go ahead, test it."

"You're a troublemaker."

"How so?" Anders raised his eyebrows in confusion, "I've been sitting quietly, brought you a blanket, and said nothing about your clothes."

"Alright," I turned away.

In reality, I felt dizzy. I couldn't afford to collapse now, or else there would be enough jokes to fill three huge books titled "I'm the funniest person on Earth and I'm called the Giant Viking."

" You know, you really annoy me. I'd better go."

Anders slyly raised his eyes at me, "just like that? Just because of me, darling? You give up quickly."

"I've had enough of your teasing for today."

"Well then, good night."

He didn't move from his spot, not even a twitch, much like me. My legs felt weak.

"Are you alright?" Graham shouted, having taken over from Gus at his post, he raised an eyebrow, "you don't look too good."

"You all here are masters at giving compliments."

"I meant you look kinda green."

"Ah, no, that's my natural skin tone," I waved dismissively, feeling nausea creeping up.

"Alright, then can I take Anders from you? I need some help."

"No problem."

Anders stared at me intently, gripping the ship's railing.

"Five minutes, buddy," he signaled to Graham with five fingers, climbing up. "You know, my intuition tells me to just toss you overboard, but common sense," he scooped me up, throwing me over his shoulder, "suggests helping you again."

"Let me go, I'm about to be sick," I covered my mouth with my hand.

"Not on my favorite sweater. Hang in there."

"Oh God!" Everything blurred before my eyes. "I'm not kidding."

Anders sat me down on the step leading to the helm. "Don't go anywhere," he smirked.

I dropped my head back, closing my eyes. Silly rocking. Silly mission and silly Viking.

"Pour."

"What are you pouring?" I couldn't open my eyes, and that turned out to be a blessing because right after that command, water splashed over me. It eased the discomfort.

"I don't know what's wrong with your character, darling, but this is the second time in a couple of hours that I've had to come to your aid. And now I'll have to sleep in a sleeping bag instead of a warm bed."

"Well, it'll pass quickly," Graham's voice assured me, "I've been through the same."

"I warned you."

"It's okay, she'll recover," Freddie chimed in.

And I still couldn't open my eyes. I had no idea the ocean was a worse enemy than the Germans.

"Can you get up?"

"Yeah, just a minute," I sighed, gathering my strength, and slowly stood up, leaning on the railing. "I feel better, thank you, really."

"You'll feel like a fish in water tomorrow," Graham promised, "good night."

I nodded, unable to carry on the conversation.

"Let's go," Freddie offered his hand.

Anders critically observed what was happening, folding his arms across his chest.

1:0 in his favor, it seems. However, there's still plenty ahead.

#Anders Lassen × Reader #anders lassen #female reader #the ministry of ungentlemanly warfare #request #fanfic

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themboty · 5 months ago

Text

Find the Word Tag!

thank you @honeybewrites for the tag!

My words were: Vibrant, Resilient, Water, Flower

You can read all my snippets below the cut, I'll tag some people first though

@illarian-rambling @mk-writes-stuff and @diabolical-blue

yalls (and anyone else who wants to do this) words are: moment, idea, road, health

TW: Drowning

Vibrant:

I spend the day waking up in a daze for brief moments of time before slipping back into unconsciousness. My body is on fire but I can't get warm enough no matter how many blankets I hide myself under. All my dreams turn into nightmares of drowning. I’m at work, the store, a party before I'm plucked from my dream environment and randomly chucked into the ocean with blocks of concrete tied to my ankles. I struggle until my lungs fill with water and my body becomes dead weight, I wake to varying degrees of sunlight peeking through my windows before rolling over and drifting off once more. It's a never-ending horrific cycle I find myself a prisoner to.

The next morning I'm unable to fight against my bursting bladder and empty stomach any longer and manage to pull myself out of bed. After washing my hands I attempt to slick my hair down with some water and avoid looking in my own eyes. The veins in my hand are vibrant beneath my pale skin.

I manage to force down a piece of toast and a cup of coffee before Layla makes her way to the kitchen.

"Glad to see you are up." She chirps. "Hell of a hangover I guess. I didn't think you drank that much."

"I didn't." My voice cracks when I try to speak.

She looks at me then, really looks at me. She catches my eyes and I turn away, afraid she might see something she's not supposed to.

I don't have anything with Resilient sorry :( (one big theme of HtD is resilience though, if that's any consolation)

Water (ive used this word a lot so here some angst):

Her comforting voice gets zoned out by the intense buzzing that fills my brain, much like if bees actually made a hive out of my brain cavity I vibrate uncontrollably with each strained breath I take in. My voice makes up words as a response to the woman. Her words are lost on me, simply bouncing around the bee hive until the bees kick each word out of my head and continue their buzzing.

I drop my cellphone, or Nicolas takes it from my hand, I am not entirely sure but the conversation ends barely after it began. In the course of one phone call it all comes crashing down. For weeks I had been treading water, and now I am sinking to the bottom of the deep end.

There's a hand on my arm, soft pressure. I feel another graze my cheek. "Cas?" I hear from behind the blanket of smoke covering my eyes. "What's happened?"

Flower:

Nicolas leads the way to the door and pulls a key out from the top of the doorframe to unlock the door. "Oh, don't let Mouse out. He likes to hide in the cabinets."

Nicolas pushes open the door and waves me through before him. A washing machine and dryer sit to my right alongside two pet bowls, one filled with water, presumably for Mouse the cat. The wallpaper is an old flower design, straight out of the 80's. A big bundle of fluff peeks out from behind the storage shelf and darts at me, screaming all the way. The cat weaves between my legs until I reach down to pet him. I get one small scratch on his forehead before he takes off for the kitchen and urges me to follow.

"And that would be Mouse. He screams at you if he likes you." Nicolas smiles at me.

#writeblr #writing #writing community #writers #tag game #writing tag game #writblr #writer stuff #writing things #htd

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bubacorn · 8 months ago

Note

I’m not sure whether you got the other idea, about Sleep Tokens mansion and the spare room. They changed it into a stormy ocean themed quiet room.

I hope i don’t bother you.

So another idea. They have this big garden, right?

What about a swinging garden bed?

A big one. So all 4 can cuddle, bring their stuffies and enjoy the sun or maybe the moon at night. All the noises at night would be calming, if Vess isn’t feeling well. Maybe the cold breeze would sooth his anxiety.

Maybe they have little lights and those glowing stones.

So it’s not too dark at night, if the moon isn’t shining.

Yeah, just sone thoughts. Leaving very quickly.

Sending 🫂 and stuffies.

Hi! You don't bother me at all, I was happy to see you in my inbox! 🫂

About the spare room: the image of the vessels painting the walls and putting up wallpaper is now in my mind. also, them browsing for furniture and home decor. III in denim overalls. Vessel having clear-cut aesthetic ideas. II saying that they will check out every store in town until they find the exact blue paint Vessel chose. handyman IV. Vessel choosing the softest rugs and pillows. them having one of those ceiling projector light thingies. a jellyfish lava lamp. sorry, back to the question.

yes. a garden bed. a path paved with those stones would look so cool! i would imagine they have pretty cool outdoor furniture since they spend a lot of time outside. Vessel likes reading on their swing/garden bed. they like sitting outside. the air is fresh, the garden is pretty II and III look good working in the garden Vessel spends a lot of time unwinding in the garden after tours. the nature and their home grounds him. and the night. he sneaks outside and sit on the porch steps sometimes. II has to usher him inside or at least bring him a sweater/blanket, so he doesn't get cold. sometimes his others join him when they can't sleep.

when Vessel has a nightmare, and he wants to be alone for a bit, he sits out into the garden bed. it's dark and quiet, only the sounds of nature can be heard and it helps him calm down. he's home, he's safe and the darkness shrouds him. he feels close to Sleep that way. sitting in pitch darkness is like a hug from his deity. he likes the slight chill in the air and he can bring one of his 'outside' plushies, that they store inside. those are the only ones that can be brought outside, since they might get dirty or simply cause bugs can get on them. Vessel wouldn't want his everyday plushies to get 'dirty' like that. so they have a few 'outside' ones. maybe he lies down and puts a weighted plushie on his chest and simply stares at the night sky. one time his thoughts spiral instead of calming down and he gets a bit too existential, so he rushes inside and gets into someone's bed. he stared at the stars too long and suddenly didn't like the feeling of being small and insignificant, so he has to cuddle up to someone.

but also: stargazing. they have little light pollution so the night sky is clear. meteor shower dates. Vessel rambling about constellations. III trying his best to see the mythological figures but he cannot for the life of him figure out how the ancient people saw people in a bunch of stars in weird lines. Vessel is patiently pointing them out to him. IV making hot cocoa and preparing thermoses and little boxes of snacks so the atmosphere is there. chocolate flavored kisses after they spotted a falling star. giggling and nudging each other so they tell what they wished for. holding each other close in the low light. sitting together in the darkness and silence, simply feeling the others' presence.

#got a little sentimental at the end there #my bad #buba answers #sleep token headcanons #excellent ask thank you!#🫂#💖

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beatrizamante · 6 months ago

Text

First of all, I'd like to thank @renru @reesevernerlovebot @honeylemonbutte and Bee too (I believe I don't follow her ç.ç) for giving me the courage to start posting these. And @lacunafiction for thins wonderful story omg, I love her book.

_Fallen Stars

There were books sprawled all over the floor. Astronomy, physics, star charting ones. Papers and journals filled with equations that were almost impossible to read, covering up huge constellation maps made by hand. Doctor Yu used to joke that you'd write even on the walls of the lab, given the chance.

Well, you're in your Pa's old apartment now, there's nothing stopping you. If you had some neon blue makers, you'd be sure to write down your chartings, it would look beautiful at night. Maybe people would lock you up in an asylum this time? You know that, if Dr. Yu ever hears someone repeat this to you, you’d fear for the person’s wellbeing. You got this style of brainstorming from Dr Kuiper, after all, and the trio of you were best friends since freshman years.

Dr. Lara de Armas, the astrophysicist. Dr. Sieben Kuiper, the mathematician. Dr. Morgan Yu, the engineer.

You guys made some amazing discoveries and built amazing things together. You miss them dearly.

But that's not important right now. Well, you did trail off a little bit... A portion of the wall south of the kitchen had some scribblings on. Huh, you gonna have to clean that later... Or not? It could be related to art, right? Right?

The intention was to put a monitor in that wall, anyway. Nobody has to see this. Yes, good plan, big brain.

The apartment was still getting its new decor. There were some boxes of new purchases you intended to use in this place. You've already asked for some midnight blue wallpapers. And the kitchen had some new utensils for you to use whenever you had another sudden craving for strawberry smoothies.

But where did you put your telescope...? Too many boxes! Too many boxes!!

Your thoughts are derailing again, aren't them? Ugh.

Focus!

Today was a special day, after all...

The wristwatch beeped and you stared at the time with a slight frown. There was still about an hour to gather your things and go. Getting up from the mess you were, you ask yourself how that marker ended up in your hands, but there isn’t much time to dwell on it.

There’s a smile on your face. A happy one. The kind of happiness that Bee would instantly click a picture of.

A meteor shower today was the cause for your happiness. You were the first one to discover it. Dr Yu even tinkered with your telescope for you to get a better view.

You wish they were here. The bright smile on your face dampens a little bit. But there's no time to lose. So, you march around the mess in your apartment and gather your things.

Telescope? Check

Chartings? Check

Camera for stargazing? Check

Something to sit on? Check

Time to go, Lara.

Things were loaded in your car especially fast, even if with all the gentleness in the world. There was a humming beneath your breath, a soft melody, your body moving at your tune without much thought.

" - Ok, Frodo, how are you gonna name it?

- Just because you're taller than me, doesn't mea-

- Hmmm, I'd called it the one ri-

- You're a brute, you know that?

- Morgan, stop annoying my student!

- I'm sorry, Dr. Kuiper. Now, now, Doctor de Armas, would you name it? You're the one who found its trajectory first, after all.

- It already has a name... It's a perseid!

- Are all astrophysicists this uncreative? Come on, give it a name. What would you call it?

- Uncreative? You called your arm bot "Morg_4rm".

- Better than perseid, still. Go on.

- Ugh! Possibly Ocean fall.? Ocean... drops?... Scintillans falls!

- I like the sound of that. Keep at it, Sam.

- I detest Yu.

Oh! You've forgotten something! There’s nothing to drink! That's why you stop at the diner, right...? Right?

Well, it doesn't matter, you're parched and when the diner enters in your field of view, you don't rummage your brain as for the "whys". The fact that you have butterflies in your stomach doesn't register instantly. Did you eat something you shouldn't?

Your pulse just spiked up? There was no physical activity today. Well, Mal did show you a beautiful place that he may not even know how much it meant to you. You can always bring him photos of the shower!

Why are you thinking of him right now, though? Oh, right! Because you're at the diner! And he's interesting! You like his company, even if can be really charged. The fact that your heart, at the thought of him, makes you feel like a little rabbit, doesn't matter. Must be the lack of sleep. Nothing about that cheek kiss? It can't be, right? It is because he knows too much about this town and you’re trying to understand what he is. Surely!

You find yourself inside the diner, your mind still wandering to a certain lake, the brightest smile on your face. Except when those hellish creepy spoons sound like an undead knocking in the glass. You hate those, sparing them a murderous glare.

Clyde welcomes you, mimicking your smile, and you go instantly to ask for some tea and energy drink to pack while your eyes wander. You're just taking in the diner. It's not like you already had the whole blueprint of the building in your mind. You're just taking the ambient in, right?

Right!

Must be nothing aside from that.

"Someone seems extra bright today, Ms. De Armas!", Clyde comments from his place at the cooking top, cleaning his spatula from some leftover batter. He's cooking some pancakes? The smell makes your stomach rumble. Haven’t you eaten today? Well, it doesn't matter, you can eat later.

"Nighty night, Clyde! Today is a special day, after all! I'll bring you guys some photos from a phenomena that only happens once a year. And we've managed to get some cobalt reading in this year's batch, so-", you stop suddenly when you see confusion in the chef's face. You manage to breathe in a little bit, slowing down your thinking process to make sense for the middle-aged man, a softer smile on your face. "Pardon me, Clyde. I got a bit caught up. But there will be a meteor shower today, in about... ", you stop to look at your wristwatch, pouting a little bit, "40 minutes. It's going to be to the west, and it will look like ocean blue stars."

The old chef returns your enthusiasm, smiling back at you with energy. "Then you'll need these as fast as we can make it. Maybe a special someone can make the tea just the way you prefer and you can take him with you?", the suggestion in his tone takes you off guard for a moment and you fumble with your words, blushing hard.

Wait, he means the drinks! Yeah, totally the drinks! Hundred percent sure... You think?

It wouldn’t make sense otherwise, right?

Ugh, some social cues are hard to read.

"I'd... love that!", your eyes sparkle with delight. If you manage to make it to the spot you encountered earlier, you for sure will have a great view of the event. Your hands tremble in excitement. There’s also the need to go fast, though, it’s a thought you don’t quite enjoy.

That’s when you feel it. It begins as a featherlight sensation in the nape of your neck and travels down. Your hair stands up at the end and a shivering sensation crawls beneath your skin. The bright smile vanishes from your face, replaced by an intense focus. Your gaze rests in every exit of the diner, trying to understand where the sensation comes from and where you can take cover, if needed. There’s a slight pressure in the back of your neck. Annoys you so deeply that you can’t understand why this is happening. You stand below a hanging cupboard, it acts as a protection for your thoughts as you analyze the diner. If you can pinpoint the direction it comes from, maybe yo -

“Hey there, Charmer.”, the voice comes from behind your left. It’s a honeyed tone, slightly hushed if not amused, as if you both were sharing a secret. You didn’t notice him coming. Not that this is abnormal. Is his modus operandi, after all. But you were not expecting to be taken off guard, so his sudden awake gives your body a slight jump and you hit your head in the cupboard, releasing a pathetic “Yiiik!”. You instantly protect your slightly throbbing head, looking back at him with watery eyes.

“Mal? Hey!”, your eyes abandon the diner and are naturally drawn to him. You don’t stop to think about how it is always like this. Exits, covers and possible weapons forgotten, shoved back to the back of your mind. The shivering sensation, though, intensifies. You wonder if it’s the cold coming from the fridge. You can hear its motor in the back of the diner, and the place where you are can be an air duct for both cold and hot air masses to meet. He is dressed in his diner uniform, holding a bag in front of your face. There’s a very disarming smile on his lips. Lips that you're so not staring. Shaking your head slightly, you smile up at him, flushing heavily. “Something could’ve fallen from the cupboard, so be careful, please? But it’s ama- great! Great to see you!”

His smile becomes less disarming, and a touch more genuine. His eyes are hypnotic to you, so you decide to stare at the diner bag. Maybe you should take some medicine for your heart, something is surely not right. But the shivers stop, replaced by a warmth you don’t quite understand. Weird.

Especially because Mal didn’t move a muscle.

“Something falling would be the least of this place's problems, wouldn’t it?”, you slightly narrow your eyes as his mysterious words, opening your mouth to say something, but he just continues. “Besides, having something falling for you wouldn’t be so bad.”

Oh! Oh… Ok. Remember. Night sky. Ocean Blue meteorites. Don’t stare too much. You have other things to see tonight… And he’s just being friendly, right? Right!

DON’T THINK ABOUT THE NOTE HE TUCKED IN YOUR BACK POCKET. I SAID DON’T!

Friends do that, right? Is it a normal thing?

And the way you felt about it… You weren’t expecting any kind of slap, it wouldn’t make sense. Who likes to get slapped?

Not that you liked his hand in… You know what? You’re not going there.

Is it a social cue? You know your lack of actual romantic relationships makes it harder to navigate these things… But Mal doesn’t see you that way… Not him, and not with you…

… You think.

The way he phrases things, though? Why does it slam you with so much strength? It confuses you a bit… He barely knows you, you don’t even know his full name yet.

Then why do you feel like you’re lying to yourself?

“I - I… Well, thanks for bringing me these. I told Clyde about the meteor shower tonight, would you like some photos? I wish you could see them first hand…”, you say, a dreaming look in your eyes fills Mal’s vision. Something passes through his expression as his jaw sets, your curious look isn’t answered, as per usual, so you just let a soft smile take place in our lips. Pushing is something you don’t enjoy when it’s done to you, so you won’t do it to him either.

“Mal, why don’t you take some hours off? Ms. De Armas may need some help carrying those bags!”, the line cook shouts from his spot at the cooktop. There’s a huge smile on his face as he points at the duffel bags resting on the table you’ve put them on, when you’ve arrived at the diner.

Again, Mal’s expression shifts. You were too busy listening to Clyde’s offer to notice. His jaw tenses and the customer service smile in his face dies. He looks at you, giving nothing away. Is he expecting your reaction? Is he angry at Clyde for offering? You know something always stops Mal from spending any time with you unless late in the night, but you don’t understand or know why. You want to ask, but you know you won’t receive an answer. You’re still pulling the puzzle pieces together. Maybe when you get the whole picture, it will make sense.

“Well, uhm, do you want to come? You don’t need to, I have… 22 minutes to get there. It’s around 15 km, so I can get there in time if I get a constant velocity o-... Oh, sorry. Again, you don’t need to go, I won’t be sad or anything, I always go alone on these. And I can bring photos!”, you stumble. You have to stop being too specific about things. Is something you got from Dr. Kuiper.

“What a server wants isn’t really ever questioned in our line of work, Charmer.”, Mal smoothly replies. You glance at him quickly, a trace of sadness in your face. You wish you could help him. He doesn’t seem happy with his role. Truth be told, behind all of that confidence, there’s a deep sorrow, for what you could detect. You won’t overextend here, you don’t want to burden him. As you did with Bee. What if you have to leave, and he expects you to come back, like Reese and James did. What if you put him in danger, as you did to Silas.

No. You won’t pile up your list of wrongdoings.

Giving him a soft look and smiling in a way that draws his eyes, you nod. The waiter rests his left hand in the cupboard above you, his knuckles turning white. You take a step forward with intention towards the exit, looking at your duffel bags after taking the drinks from his hand with the same delicateness that you would use to take care of your telescope. There’s a slight movement from him, as if he wanted to reach out, but you don’t linger in that. “I care about your wants, Mal. So you don’t need to do anything on my behalf. Tell me if you need anything, ok?”

“Lara…“, he speaks in a hushed voice, staring at the increasing separation of your personal spaces with a hard expression. His customer service smile isn’t coming up so easily at this moment, you wonder why. You collect your things and wave at Clyde, smiling. The line cook looks between you and your bags, giving a sad smile. You thought Mal would’ve already disappeared, but he stays there, holding the cupboard like it’s the only thing he can hold onto right now. You lift the diner bag in his direction and give him a smiling farewell.

Your steps are wide. Well, as wide as they can be, given your height. There’s somewhere to be, after all. Even if there’s a nagging feeling in the back of your mind wishing you were sharing this with someone. But you always did this alone, so why change now? Reese passes through your mind, and your heart beats a little faster at him sharing this with you. But is it him that you wanted to share this so badly?

No, you’ll do it alone, as it has been done for so many years. It brings you peace. Something needed right now.

The drive is free of any danger, as it always is with you in the wheel. Bags are unpacked with efficiency and speed, setting everything up is a matter of a few minutes. You’ve noticed this cliff surrounded by a bed of flowers and overlooking a lake some days prior, and knew this would be the perfect spot for your “Scintillans falls”. The trek was eventless and gave you some time to enjoy the nature around Fernweh. Even with everything awful that happened in this town, you can never deny how beautiful it is. It makes you wonder, if these things didn’t happen, this place would be a haven.

The night was unusually dark, even with a half moon illuminating the surroundings. You brought a small blue weak lantern and laid it within the towel beneath you. The wristwatch beeped again. It was time. Setting the camera and fixing the telescope, you began stargazing.

A soft wind blew around you as the stars fell down, painting the skies in a blue hue. The colors of the ocean on a sunny day brightened it, as if hundreds of bright blue fishes jumped down from a huge waterfall. It was mesmerizing.

How would this starlight frame Mal’s face?

No, uhuh, not going there.

Then your mind finds another thought that you shouldn’t linger… But it's there, anyway.

You wonder if your family is between them, traveling through the skies, watching over you with the love they always had. You miss them. More than you care to admit. It should’ve been me.

You hear a faint noise in the distance. Maybe a motorcycle? But your mind is too occupied right now to pay attention. There’s a lone tear lining your right cheek that you fail to notice.

Blinking against it, you start to take pictures.

It’s beautiful tonight.

#the fernweh saga #choice of games #ooc post #Mal Ro #This vile man breaks my heart everytime #I tell you #Aelsa knows what she's doing #I have a whole essay on Mal #I'm very sus

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