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elyxir1zz · 1 month ago

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★ — stone and steel - ch 1

ᴍᴀꜰɪᴀ ʙᴏꜱꜱ!ꜱᴇᴠɪᴋᴀ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

CW : mafia, age gap, kiddnaping, drug use, underage drinking, age gap, read is 18, sevika is 38, toxic (?), reader does molly, mel is here

A/N : i orginally abandoned this fic but i decided to push through and finish it

"Come on, Sevika! Just a few drinks?" Jinx whined, practically hanging off Sevika’s shoulders like a restless child.

Sevika grunted, shoving her off with little effort. "I have work," she said flatly, rubbing her temples. "Some smugglers got caught up with Silco last night. Now I have to clean up their mess."

Jinx groaned dramatically, flopping backward against the desk with a huff. "Ugh, fine. But you’re missing out," she sing-songed, twirling a lock of blue hair around her finger. She leaned in with a mischievous smirk. "Invite's open if you change your minddddd—" she dragged out the last word before skipping toward the door. "Don't work yourself to death, grumpy."

The door clicked shut behind her, leaving Sevika in the dim glow of her desk lamp.

She sighed, rolling her shoulders before reaching for the cigar resting in the ashtray. The flame flickered as she lit it, the first inhale grounding her in a moment of quiet. The weight of responsibility pressed against her chest, but she couldn’t afford to slip—not now.

Her gaze dropped to the folder on her desk. Thick, worn edges from too many times flipping through it. She opened it again anyway.

A set of photos stared back at her. You.

A copy of your birth certificate. Documents detailing your life like an open book—where you lived, habits, routines, places you frequented. She somehow even got her hands on nudes. You weren’t just some random mark. You were his daughter. Silco’s.

Sevika exhaled, smoke curling in the air above her. The Veiled Eye had been a thorn in her side for too long, and this was the key. You were the key.

But as much as she hated to admit it, her interest wasn’t just strategic.

She traced a calloused finger over the corner of one of your photos. You didn’t look exactly like him, but the resemblance was there. Strong features, sharp eyes. Yet there was something else—something that made her hesitate.

Something that made her stomach twist in a way that had nothing to do with business.

Sevika scowled and snapped the folder shut.

Shit.

This was supposed to be about leverage, about power. So why the hell was she so damn drawn to you?

She took another drag of her cigar, exhaling slowly.

Maybe a drink wouldn’t be such a bad idea after all.

You brought the vape to your lips, inhaling deeply, the burn trailing down your throat before you exhaled a slow cloud of smoke.

"Hey, so like… your dad isn’t gonna kill me for doing this, right?" Mel asked, shimmying into her dress—a white and gold sparkly number that hugged her just right.

You sighed, turning away from your vanity mirror to shoot her a look over your shoulder. "Mel, if you keep asking that, I’m gonna kill myself," you deadpanned, blowing out another stream of vapor as you spoke.

She giggled, rolling her eyes. "Whatever. Do you have the fake IDs?"

Walking over, she leaned down, resting her chin on your shoulder as you reached into the vanity drawer. Underneath a mess of half-used makeup products, you fished out two laminated cards and handed hers over.

"Oh, shit," she snickered, flipping it between her fingers. "I look hot."

You smirked, dabbing contour along the bridge of your nose. "Obviously."

Mel watched you for a second before grabbing a brush and blending the lines with expert precision. "Okay, you need to blend—there, perfect," she said, admiring her work.

You grinned, tilting your head from side to side in the mirror. "Damn, I’m so cute."

Mel huffed a laugh, bumping her hip against yours. "Yeah, yeah. Now let’s go before I start overthinking this whole 'pissing off your crime-lord father' thing again."

Jinx giggled as Ekko’s hands settled at her waist, pulling her closer until her back pressed against his chest. The bass of the music thumped through the club, matching the slow sway of their hips. They needed this—needed to be together, even if it was in the middle of a crowd.

Sevika had been harsher than usual the past week, and it was putting a strain on both of them. A month of no progress on you had made her temper even worse, and she took it out on everyone. The tension had started creeping into their relationship, weighing on them like a storm cloud.

Jinx tilted her head as Ekko buried his face in the crook of her neck, his breath warm against her skin. Her fingers traced the back of his neck absentmindedly, grounding herself in his touch. The music shifted, the rhythm growing faster, the crowd getting more restless. She turned in his arms, pressing her lips near his ear.

“Let’s go sit at the bar,” she whispered.

Ekko nodded, and without another word, she grabbed his hand, weaving through the mass of bodies until they reached the counter.

She leaned against it, tapping her nails on the surface. “Can I get a margarita?”

The bartender nodded, then glanced at Ekko for his order.

“A Bloody Mary, please.” His hand never left Jinx’s hip, fingers drumming lazily against the fabric of her dress.

Jinx turned toward him, ready to make some snide remark, when a voice cut through the noise—smooth, effortless, and way too familiar.

“Can I have a Mai Tai?”

Jinx froze.

Her body stiffened, fingers tightening around Ekko’s arm as if to make sure she wasn’t imagining things. The voice—your voice—was one she’d heard countless times on recordings. She’d studied it so much she could pick it out in an instant. And now, here it was, right next to her.

Almost comically, Jinx turned her head.

And there you were.

Leaning against the counter, legs crossed at the ankle, looking effortlessly stunning in a midnight blue bodycon dress. It clung to you in all the right places, long sleeves adding an elegant touch, while just enough cleavage peeked out to make Jinx’s brain short-circuit.

She must’ve been staring too long because your eyes met hers, curiosity flickering across your face.

“Uh… can I help you?” you asked, raising a brow.

Jinx stammered, forcing a smile. “Sorry—I, uh—I just really love your dress.”

She squeezed Ekko’s bicep—hard. He understood immediately. Without hesitation, he slipped away into the crowd, already pulling out his phone.

You grinned, completely oblivious. “Thanks! I got it at this little boutique downtown. I think it was Audrey’s or something?” You giggled, accepting your drink from the bartender.

Jinx nodded a little too quickly. “Yeah! I’ve been there. Love their shoes.” She was stalling.

Across the club, Ekko was already halfway to the exit, Sevika’s contact pulled up.

The phone barely rang once before she picked up. “What?” Her voice was already irritated.

Ekko didn’t bother with pleasantries. “She’s here.”

A pause. Then, a sharp, “What?”

“That chick you’ve been stalking! She’s here, at the club!” He had to yell over the music.

On the other end, Sevika went silent. Then—“Are you fucking with me?”

Ekko rolled his eyes. “No, dude. Just—just get here. Now. Jinx is stalling her!”

He hung up before she could respond, shoving his phone into his pocket as he made his way back to the bar.

Meanwhile, Jinx was doing everything she could to keep you from leaving.

“Oh, yeah, and they just got this new—uh, limited-edition collection—”

You gave her a polite smile, shifting your weight. “Right, well, it was nice meeting you, but—”

“Jesus Christ, what’s taking so long?”

Mel.

You turned just as your best friend appeared at your side, looking mildly annoyed—until she caught sight of Jinx.

Her expression faltered, eyes flickering with recognition. “Oh.”

Jinx went rigid.

Mel’s fingers wrapped around your wrist. “Okay, lady, we’re gonna go—”

You groaned, laughing as she pulled you away. “Mel! That was so rude!”

Jinx barely heard you. Her heart was still racing.

Ekko reappeared at her side, watching you disappear into the crowd. He exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck.

“That was Ambessa’s daughter, wasn’t it?” he muttered.

Jinx swallowed hard, still staring after you.

“Yeah,” she whispered.

And she had no idea what the hell to do next.

Jinx and Ekko searched the club, pushing past sweaty bodies and scanning every darkened corner, but you were nowhere to be found. By the time Sevika arrived, they had nothing to show for it except frustration.

"You lost her?" Sevika's voice was sharp, barely restrained.

Jinx crossed her arms. "It’s not like she was on a damn leash, Sev," she muttered, avoiding the older woman’s glare.

But before Sevika could tear into them, Ekko hesitantly spoke up. "There's something else."

Sevika turned to him, eyes narrowing. "What?"

Ekko exchanged a glance with Jinx before saying, "Mel Medarda—she was with her."

Sevika stilled, her expression flipping like a switch. Mel. Ambessa Medarda’s daughter.

Jinx watched as realization set in, as frustration twisted into something more calculated. Sevika wasn’t just after you because of Silco—she was trying to dismantle his empire, and if Ambessa's daughter was tangled up in this, that changed things.

The next day, Sevika found herself on a tense phone call with Ambessa Medarda herself.

"Does your daughter know what you really do?" Sevika asked, voice edged with suspicion.

There was silence on the other end at first. Then, Ambessa scoffed, her tone guarded. "Why do you care?"

Sevika leaned back in her chair, fingers drumming on the desk beside your file. "Because if she does, that makes things… complicated."

Another pause. Then, a begrudging admission. "Mel doesn’t know. She stays out of my affairs."

Sevika exhaled slowly. That was something, at least. If Mel was in the dark, that meant Sevika's own organization—the Iron Fangs—was safe from her meddling. And more importantly, it meant you wouldn’t get any inside information to pass back to Silco.

"Good," Sevika muttered before hanging up.

She let the phone drop onto the desk, rubbing her temples. This is getting us nowhere, she thought, frustration mounting. It had been over a month, and they were no closer to using you against Silco.

Before she could spiral further, the door swung open.

Violet and Caitlyn Kiramman stepped inside, followed closely by Jinx and Ekko.

"We couldn’t find her in any of the places you told us," Caitlyn said, her voice cautious.

Sevika’s glare snapped to her. "How do I know you two weren’t off making out instead of doing your damn job?" she asked, her tone laced with poison.

Caitlyn’s face flushed, but before she could respond, Violet stepped forward, jaw tight. "Don’t talk to her like that."

Jinx sighed, already seeing where this was going, and quickly tugged Violet back. "Alright, relax, both of you." She shot Sevika a look before turning to the desk. "We bribed one of her friends, and she mentioned a bunch of their friends were going to the State Festival on Saturday."

Sevika raised an eyebrow. "And you think she’ll be there?"

Jinx shrugged. "It’s a lead, isn’t it?" She pulled a folded flyer from her pocket and slapped it onto Sevika’s desk. The bold, colorful letters read: Annual State Festival – Music, Drinks, & More!

Caitlyn crossed her arms. "We’re going to split up and try to find her."

Sevika didn’t hesitate. "I’m coming with you."

It wasn’t a suggestion.

Violet tensed, already looking like she wanted to argue, but Caitlyn touched her arm, shaking her head. Jinx just smirked.

"Fine by me," she said. "Hope you know how to have fun, Sev."

Sevika scoffed, picking up the flyer and glancing it over.

This is it, she thought. If she shows up, she’s ours.

You lay sprawled out on your back, sinking into the plush comfort of your oversized bed. Your room was nothing short of gorgeous—high ceilings, warm lighting, and every luxury a girl could ask for. A vanity cluttered with makeup sat in the corner, a sleek computer perched on your desk, and to top it off, a fully stocked mini-fridge, currently missing one pint of ice cream.

Mel was draped across your stomach, her head resting just below your ribs as she stared at the ceiling. You absentmindedly scooped another bite of ice cream, the cold sweetness melting on your tongue as she huffed dramatically.

"And she said ‘Mel doesn’t know’ like—what the fuck does that even mean?!" Mel groaned, throwing an arm over her face.

You licked the spoon, barely suppressing a smirk. "Maybe she’s sending you to boarding school," you teased.

Mel lifted her head just enough to glare at you. "That’s not funny."

You giggled, poking her side. "Listen, hotstuff, if you talk about Ambessa one more time, I swear to God, I will light myself on fire."

Mel scoffed, rolling off of you and sitting up. “Dramatic much?”

You grinned but didn’t argue. Instead, you propped yourself up on your elbows, watching as she got to her feet and wandered over to your vanity. She turned slightly, tilting her head as she checked her reflection, smoothing out the already perfect waves of her hair.

"So," you drawled, taking another bite of ice cream. "Did you decide if you’re going to the festival tonight?"

She met your gaze in the mirror, her lips pursed like she was pretending to contemplate it.

"Mm. Maybe," she said, adjusting the straps of her dress. "Are you going?"

That was the real question.

Because if you were going, Mel definitely was.

"Mom! I'm not coming home until you tell me everything!" Mel shouted into her phone, pacing just outside the parking lot, her free hand clenched into a fist.

A few feet away, you stood in front of a guy draped in baggy clothes, his grin sharp and lazy. Behind him loomed a couple of buffer guys, their faces inked with bold tattoos that twisted under the neon glow of a flickering streetlight.

"Heeeyyy, short stack," the guy drawled, flashing a gold-toothed smirk. "You partying with us tonight?" His excitement seemed genuine, almost affectionate in that detached, dealer-kind-of-way.

You let out a soft laugh, shaking your head. "I'll come by if I remember."

He snickered, slapping your palm in a casual handshake before slipping a small baggie into it. Inside, two little pink pills with smiley faces stared back at you. "Have a nice night," he said, giving you a solid fist bump before stepping back into the shadows of the lot.

"Don't be a stranger!" he called as you turned away, his voice echoing in the humid night air.

By the time you reached Mel, she had hung up, shoving her phone deep into the pocket of her low-rise jeans—ripped at the thighs, matching yours almost perfectly.

"What did you get?" she asked, her tone light but eyes flicking toward the tiny bag in your grasp.

You grinned, holding it up between two fingers. "Ecstasy." With a flick, you popped the seal and tipped one of the pills onto your palm. No hesitation. You placed it on your tongue and let it sit there for a second before swallowing.

Mel took the baggie and fished out the other pill, already unscrewing the lid of her water bottle—filled to the brim with vodka. "Wash it down," she offered with a smirk.

You took a swig, grimacing at the harsh burn as it slid down your throat. "Jesus Christ, your mom didn’t notice this much vodka missing?"

Mel just grinned, eyes glinting with mischief. "Not yet… but she will. I cut her bottle with water."

You snorted as she slung an arm over your shoulder, pulling you in close as the two of you made your way toward the fair entrance.

"You better not snitch on me," you muttered, exhaling sharply. "Silco doesn’t even know I’m here."

Mel glanced at you, her amusement dimming just slightly. "He didn’t notice you leaving? I know your house is littered with security cameras." She giggled, but there was curiosity there too.

You rolled your eyes. "He’s been super busy. He doesn’t know, but I went down this rabbit hole on Reddit, and it was… weird."

The fair stretched out in front of you, the air thick with the scent of buttery popcorn and spun sugar. The chaotic hum of the crowd mixed with the distant, shrill screams from the rides, blending into a dizzying buzz of energy.

"There’s this underground mafia that’s super powerful, and I think he’s worried…" you trailed off, your mind still tangled in everything you’d read.

Mel gave your shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "Let’s not think about that tonight!" she beamed. "Let the molly kick in, and let’s go on some rides!"

With a squeal, she grabbed your hand and took off, pulling you toward the nearest ride, her laughter getting lost in the neon lights and electric pulse of the fairground.

Mel’s grip on your wrist was firm as she dragged you toward the nearest ride—a towering contraption of spinning swings. The metal structure groaned as it lifted screaming riders high into the air, their legs kicking out wildly as the ride picked up speed.

"C’mon, this one first!" Mel grinned, practically bouncing on her feet as she led the way.

You hesitated for only a second, the molly’s warmth beginning to stir in your chest. Your limbs felt lighter, your skin hyper-aware of the night air kissing against it. The fairground lights stretched into soft, neon halos, like the world had been dipped in something hazy and electric.

You both climbed into your seats, the metal bar locking across your lap with a sharp click. As the ride lurched into motion, you felt the weightlessness take over, the world spinning beneath you. Wind whipped against your skin, the fair becoming a blur of laughter, music, and flashing colors. Mel let out a wild scream, throwing her hands up, and you couldn’t help but do the same, the rush of adrenaline mixing seamlessly with the euphoria creeping into your veins.

By the time you stumbled off, dizzy and breathless, Mel was already pulling you toward the next attraction—a rickety-looking roller coaster that seemed one bolt away from collapsing. The two of you barely managed to shove the safety bar down before it jerked into motion, the rickety track rattling beneath you.

You didn’t even have time to scream before you were thrown into the first drop.

Everything blurred together—the chaotic mix of highs, the rush of the wind, the tight grip of Mel’s hand on yours as you flew through loops and turns. The laughter came easily, the worries you had earlier fading into the pulsating energy of the fair.

Then came the teacups.

By now, the molly was hitting full force. The world around you felt brighter, softer, like everything was breathing with you. The colorful lights of the fair pulsed in time with the distant music, and every little sound—laughter, the whir of the rides, the shuffle of footsteps—felt amplified, woven together in a strange, beautiful harmony.

You and Mel climbed into one of the oversized teacups, the painted ceramic glossy under the neon glow. As the ride started, you both gripped the wheel in the center, spinning it as fast as you could until the world around you became a swirl of colors.

The teacup spun lazily now, the initial rush of dizziness settling into something dreamlike. The fairground lights stretched and blurred at the edges of your vision, glowing softer, warmer, like the whole world had been dipped in neon honey. The music from the rides pulsed faintly in the background, each beat thrumming through your chest like a second heartbeat.

Mel leaned back against the curved wall of the teacup, her pupils wide, lips parted in an easy, dazed smile. "Holy shit," she breathed, stretching her arms over her head. "This feels insane."

You let out a slow laugh, resting your head against the back of the seat. "Yeah. Feels like we’re floating."

For a while, neither of you spoke, letting the high settle, the world spinning in slow motion around you. The fair’s chaotic energy felt distant, like you were sitting in the eye of a storm—untouchable, weightless.

Then Mel sighed, her fingers drumming absently against her knee. "So… about my mom."

Something about her tone made your stomach twist. You blinked sluggishly, turning your head toward her. "What about her?"

Mel hesitated, her teeth sinking into her lower lip. "That mafia you were talking about?" she muttered, voice quieter now. "The one Silco’s worried about?"

The hazy warmth in your chest cooled slightly. A small ripple of unease broke through the molly’s euphoric haze.

"Yeah?" you said slowly.

Mel exhaled through her nose, eyes flicking away as if she wasn’t sure she wanted to see your reaction. "My mom works for them," she admitted. "Like… shes been working for them since before i was born..but she hasnt really been working with them recently, shes getting older and it seems theyve left her alone"

The words felt distant, like they had to fight through the high to reach you. But when they did, they hit hard.

Your fingers curled against the edge of the teacup. "What?"

Mel let out a humorless laugh, rubbing her hands over her face before dropping them back into her lap. "Yeah. I found out on the phone call. She acts all high and mighty, but she’s just another attack dog for some psycho pulling the strings." She looked at you then, something unreadable flickering in her expression. "Guess that explains why she won’t tell me shit. She probably thinks I’ll go running my mouth."

Your thoughts felt sluggish, tangled in the drug’s haze. Silco had been on edge for weeks, digging for information, murmuring about the growing threat looming over the city. And now, Mel—your best friend—was connected to it.

The fair didn’t seem so bright anymore.

You swallowed, your mouth suddenly dry. "Does Silco know?"

Mel shook her head. "No. And you can’t tell him." Her voice wavered slightly, just enough for you to notice. "If he finds out… I don’t know what he’d do."

Your pulse thumped in your ears, the warmth of the molly battling with the cold weight settling in your stomach. The teacup continued to spin gently, but suddenly, it felt like the ground wasn’t so steady anymore.

As the two of you stumbled off the teacup ride, the world still swayed beneath your feet, the molly turning everything into a dreamlike haze. You were about to suggest another ride when something caught your eye—a familiar figure weaving through the crowd.

Your vision blurred slightly, but there was no mistaking the broad shoulders, the way he carried himself. "Is that…?" you squinted, trying to focus.

Mel followed your gaze, her eyes narrowing—until they suddenly went wide. "Jayce?!" she yelled, her voice cutting through the chaos of the fair.

Your stomach dropped. No way.

Her ex-boyfriend. The one who had supposedly moved out of state. The one she had spent months cursing, only to pretend he never existed when she was finally over him. And yet, here he was, flesh and blood, standing just a few feet away.

Mel barely hesitated. "I should go say hi."

Your head snapped toward her. "What? No! You can’t just leave me—what if he’s totally over you? That’d be humiliating!"

Your protests fell on deaf ears. She was already pushing through the crowd, her determination outweighing your grip on her wrist.

"Mel, come on—!"

The crowd surged between you like a living thing, bodies pressing in, separating you in an instant. Your fingers slipped from hers, and then—she was gone.

"Mel?!" you shouted, shoving forward, but it was useless. The mass of people closed in, swallowing her whole.

Shit.

The fairgrounds suddenly felt suffocating—the neon lights too bright, the sounds too loud, blending together in an overwhelming blur. Your heartbeat pounded in your ears, a mix of the drug and panic coursing through you.

Disoriented, you stumbled away from the chaos, slipping between trailers where food stands were set up. The smell of grease and sugar clung to the air, but it did nothing to settle the rising nausea in your stomach. You pressed your back against a rusted wall, sucking in sharp breaths, squeezing your eyes shut.

A small whimper escaped your lips.

"Are you okay?"

The voice was high-pitched, almost familiar. Your eyes fluttered open, vision swimming slightly, and then you saw her.

Bright blue hair, streaked with pink. A mischievous smirk pulling at her lips. You’d seen her before—last weekend, at the bar.

Your heart skipped a beat.

"It’s you…" your voice was barely above a breath. You blinked hard, trying to steady yourself. "Are—are you real?"

The girl tilted her head, amusement flickering in her sharp eyes. "Uh… yeah? Did you take something?"

You hesitated. "…Have you seen my friend? Butterfly braids, gold glittery makeup."

Her smirk widened, like she found your dazed concern entertaining. Before she could reply, hands suddenly grabbed you from behind.

A gloved palm clamped over your mouth.

Your body went rigid. Panic exploded in your chest, but before you could scream, the hand was replaced with something else—cloth, thick and soaked with something sharp-smelling.

Chloroform.

"Shut the fuck up," a voice growled in your ear.

You thrashed, but your limbs were sluggish, uncoordinated. The molly dulled your reflexes, making your attempts at escape pathetic. Darkness crawled at the edges of your vision, your body going limp as exhaustion consumed you.

The last thing you saw was the blue-haired girl watching, head tilted curiously.

"What do you think she took?"

Jinx’s voice sounded distant, muffled, as if you were underwater.

Ekko adjusted your unconscious body in his arms, carrying you with ease. "Probably MDMA or something," he muttered. "We should tell Sevika."

Jinx hummed, tapping her fingers against her hip as she walked beside him. "Yeah… I guess we should."

She glanced down at you, her smirk lingering.

#arcane #sevika #arcane sevika #lesbian #sevika x reader #wlw #wuh luh wuh #sissormetimbers #sevika x you #sevika x y/n

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softlyfiercely · 19 days ago

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my descent into crayon madness

okay so. i just spent the past week of my life doing almost nothing besides making crayons, because when you are making crayons, you cannot do anything else. i wish i had taken actual nice, before-and-after type photos documenting this project, but i didn't. instead my life descended into total chaos for a week while i made almost one thousand recycled crayons. i thought tumblr might enjoy this. under a cut (do you love the color of the crayon)

it started innocently enough. i am a youth and children's minister, and as part of the children's program materials, we have this big bin of crayons that are dull or broken, and as such, the children absolutely refuse to color with them. but it feels wasteful to throw out pounds upon pounds of crayons that would be perfectly usable if not for the fact that the kids broke them and then immediately went 'oh no, not the quencies' (for kids who are so anti-broken-crayon, you'd think they'd be a bit gentler with the unbroken ones. not so)

so i think, wouldn't it be neat if i melted them down and made new crayons with them? and i can give them out as part of the easter gift bags? that way the church spends no money on easter gifts and we deal with this huge bin of otherwise unusable crayons.

can't be too hard, right? a few years ago, we did a similar activity for trinity sunday as an object lesson on the trinity - but i didn't actually have a crayon shaped mold, so we used other silicone mold shapes, and the kid-made crayons came out cute as an illustration of the trinity but not that usable as, you know. crayons

it turns out, that in the wide world of etsy and other online marketplaces, there really aren't that many silicone crayon molds? i could really only find this one that makes chunky triangular crayons. sure. i ordered a set of two. each mold makes six crayons at a time. so i could make twelve crayons at a time.

i would later regret this choice.

so then i got the big bin of broken crayon bits. the first step was of course to peel the paper off. to do this, you soak the crayons in hot water.

did you know that if you take a bin of crayons that has been chillin in a children's program room for fucking decades, and you soak those fuckers in hot water, the water becomes...horrifying?

also, for some reason - any crayola chemists out there, please help me understand - green crayons do NOT like to peel. the paper comes right off the warm colors and the blacks and browns, but green is super resistant to getting naked, and blue and purple are rough too. ran out of green much faster than any other color, and had a bunch of leftover green bits that simply would not give up their paper wrappings.

so then you have a bunch of naked crayons, and a bunch of soggy crayon paper wrappers that you must dispose of. (this is more annoying that it seems.) also, peeling this many crayons with your hands will put crayon gunk residue under your fingernails, and since said gunk is designed to deposit color on things, it will be nearly impossible to get your hands to look remotely clean. i have been self conscious all week about my nails making me look like i haven't bathed in months

next, i decided to sort the crayons by color. if you do this AFTER you peel them, of course, it's hard to tell the blacks from the purples from the blues from the dark greys, so then you get to scribble on a bunch of scratch paper (ignore the scissors and laminating paper, that's from another children's ministry project)

now you have a bunch of sorted crayons. but if you want them to be all nice and swirly and make the most out of this whole recycled crayon deal, you must make them smaller. once a crayon is broken roughly in half, it's really hard to snap them smaller by hand.

enter...the chef's knife. i decided i should chop them up each on their own paper plate, to avoid cross-contamination of colors. but then of course that plate had to be on a cutting board, to avoid destruction of tabletops. i tried using a knife from our church kitchen so i wouldn't trash one of our nice sharp japanese knives from home, but my partner said it's easy enough to clean crayon off a knife and suggested we just use the good knife. here is a photo of him helping me chop crayons.

chopping up crayons with a chef's knife on a paper plate has the unfortunate effect of flinging tiny bits of crayon all over your house and clothes and table and floor. so now there are tiny crayon bits all over my house and clothes and table and floor.

here is a picture of the blues chopped up on a plate. (the stainless steel is from my church kitchen, back when i hilariously thought i could get this work done without letting it infiltrate every waking moment of my life)

and some chopped up red/pink bits in the moulds before going into the oven:

then.................the real trouble starts. you put the crayons in the oven at 270 degrees for 10 minutes. the bits get all melted and swirled up. cool! fun! right????

UNFORTUNATELY, this makes your ENTIRE house smell like melted crayons. this is not that big of a deal - it's not a very offensive smell - but, if you leave the crayons in for any longer than 10 minutes, or if you accidentally turn on the "convection" setting of the oven, YOU WILL FILL THE SPACE WITH CRAYON SCENTED SMOKE so don't do that

throughout this whole project, we had every fan and air purifier in the house running and every window open. my partner has been very patient with me turning our home into a crayon factory. he says hugging me is like opening a brand new box of 64 crayons and taking a whiff. all is crayon. crayon is all.

my whole house looked like this for a week. crayons. crayons everywhere. i was having dreams about crayons.

once the crayons are melted, you have to pull them out of the oven VERY carefully and evenly because sloshing and splashing liquid crayon is unhelpful. also, even if you put down aluminum foil or parchment paper on the baking tray, somehow it still will manage to get crayon wax all over it, so enjoy cleaning that off! (:

here are some melted purples after coming out of the oven. note how much wax has accumulated on the molds. if you think oh no, what if that gets into another color? well, it will. trying to pick or wipe or otherwise clean it off the moulds didn't go well. best bet is to just make the crayons in order of which colors are most likely to get ruined by the spillage or a fleck of another color into it.

sometimes when you pull them out of the oven, weird random chunks of crayon are not melted or sticking up. you can use a toothpick or piece of spaghetti pasta to try and resolve this. half the time this works. the other half it just kinda makes a bigger mess. party time!

now your crayons are out of the oven! yay! EXCEPT that now they need to cool off so you can take them out. you can't put them right into the fridge without splashing wax everywhere, so they need to cool at least enough to move them to the fridge for a few minutes. this takes about 20 minutes.

this became the bane of my existence. because if you want to get this done in any sort of timely fashion - which i did, so i could clean it up and stop living in a crayon factory, and also because these need to get done by easter - then you need to be cycling through batches as fast as you can, so you're on a cycle of 10 minutes in oven, 20 minutes cooling, peel out of the molds, refill the molds, 10 minutes in oven, rinse, repeat.

do you know how much Other Work you can get done in increments of 10 minutes and 20 minutes while keeping an eye on crayons? NOT MUCH. i'm also a writer who was trying to write, but 20 minutes is kind of the minimum length of time to get settled in to do deep work. and that 10 minutes when the crayons are in the oven, you really can't get distracted or into something else, lest you smoke yourself out with the rejected yankee candle fragrances Hideous Nightmares Of Sea Foam Green and Essence Of Tortured Brick Red

i did manage to do things like clear out my inbox, wash some dishes, etc. but mostly i found that while my brain was devoted to Attend To Crayon Cycle Timing, i wasn't getting much else done. i did catch up on some serious law and order back catalog, though.

my partner says this is sort of like when you are coding and your code has to compile, so your 'get work done' mode continues to be interrupted by these intervals of time that are too short to get much else done but not short enough that you can just sit down and grind out continuous work.

once i started to have enough completed crayons, though, i started being able to sort them out into little organza bags (also found in the depths of the children's program room). each bag has a red/pink, yellow/orange, green, blue, purple, brown, and black/grey crayon. that was satisfying, though a bit nerve wracking to figure out how to keep things sorted and stored without risking dropping and breaking any of the crayons.

since i'd decided to do black last and brown second to last due to color contamination concerns, i ended up with a bunch of open bags that had all been pre-filled with the other colors just chilling on my kitchen counter

but finally, after a week of basically just making crayons and killing time in-between crayon making, i had made over 850 crayons, divided up into over 120 individual bags. as we will not have 120 kids in attendance at easter, hopefully these can serve us for years to come, and by the time we one again have another huge bin of broken crayon bits, it will be some other poor sap's problem!

this is a finished set of crayons - ignore the greeny bits in the yellow and orange crayon, this is before i worked out the right order in which to make them, and also, there are just crayon bits everywhere. diversity is our strength

and this is the bin with most of the bags! this bin was previously full to the brim with crayon bits, and now it is full of cool, usable, recycled crayons. and i only lost a little bit of my sanity. whoo!

#diy #recycling #arts and crafts #childrens crafts #crayons

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commiefarm · 1 month ago

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They keep drawing specifically this version on post-it notes and hiding it around their desk

Keep having these recurring dreams where my coworkers (who don’t exist irl) are having this weird feud and one of them just,,,, keeps drawing loss everywhere???? To piss the other one off?? And every time the other coworker just gets filled with seething rage

#another time they printed out and laminated the original comic #and stuck it in a file folder filled with Very Important Documents and handed it to our other coworker #and later we just heard her yelling from across the office

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rottenpumpkin13 · 3 months ago

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What horrors has the Soldier floor's microwave(s) seen?

How many times has it been replaced? Do they keep a tally?

Has anyone bonded to and named one of them (like the saga of Stabby)?

Have the other floors made a betting game out of the Soldier floor microwave(s)?

Anything else you him we might need to know about the microwave(s)?

• Replacement Count: 24 in the past year alone. There's an official spreadsheet, but after microwave #15 they stopped documenting specific causes of death and just write "Zack Fair."

• Notable Incidents:

- Microwave #3: Died when Genesis tried heating up cider in a thin glass, which caused the glass to shatter and the microwave to explode.

- Microwave #7: Sephiroth attempted to heat soup in a metal container. Claimed he "thought the sparks were normal"

- Microwave #12: Zack's attempt to boil eggs in the microwave ended in a small explosion and eggs everywhere.

- Microwave #19: Zack's attempt to dry his wet uniforma also ended with a small explosion.

- Microwave #24: Sephiroth went to make ramen. The microwave was faulty. He punched it and left. Then Lazard came in to heat up some milk for his coffee. Sephiroth's punch angered the microwave, which exploded in Lazard's face.

• Current Microwave: Zack formed an emotional attachment after it survived longer than two weeks. Safety measures include three fire extinguishers within reach, laminated instruction sheet titled "How to Microwave Things" taped to its side.

• List of banned items includes: metal, materia, boots, swords, "anything Genesis owns", Zack Fair, glass, eggs, and marshmallows.

• The current microwave has developed mysterious ability to only work for Angeal. Possibly out of self-preservation.

• The current bets were on Sephiroth being the cause of the current microwave's death. He rarely uses it but catastrophic when he does.

• Many people got rich quick when the microwave burned Sephiroth's ramen and he reacted by impaling it with Masamune.

#ff7 #ffvii #final fantasy 7 #sephiroth #final fantasy vii #genesis rhapsodos #ff7 crisis core #angeal hewley #zack fair #crisis core #headcanons

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solarenchanting · 4 months ago

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𝐁𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐇𝐃𝐀𝐘 ── .✦ gojō satoru x fem!reader

should you call him on his birthday?

note: inspired by the song, “birthday” by disclosure, syd, and kehlani; notably the first verse and chorus sparked the inspiration of this fic + specific items are indicated to be meaningful to fem!reader + use of 24-hour time.

part two: birthday wish

the dim, yellow light of your desk lamp glowed in your home office. its warm glare illuminated your surroundings, the familiar decor accompanied by its shadows. the bookshelf filled with your favourite books, various framed portraits of your favourite artworks on the wall, the sheen glint of the laminate floor.

sandalwood lingered in the air, the thick bamboo stick burned slowly into ash. the remnants of gray dropped onto the wooden boat burner. with a turn of your shoulder, you’d see it perched on the windowsill.

the ticking sound of the pendulum clock, its silver swinging weight swaying side to side, fell in rhythm with the soothing pitter-patter of the rain tapping against the window.

to anyone else, this would be heaven.

to have the exquisite blend of sandalwood—woody, creamy, ambery, and slightly sweet scent—creating a mellow and calming ambience, paired with the warmth of the desk lamp and the steady rhythm encouraging you to relax?

definitely heaven.

however, in reality?

you were in hell.

a plethora of paperwork — forms, rosters, letters, reports — and files lay on your mahogany study desk, barely allowing the dark reddish-brown surface to show. your laptop was on, the brightness on the lowest level, with an email that did not find you well. your notebook was open, a black ballpoint pen in hand, sliding rapidly across each page you wrote, each document you signed.

your tired eyes darted around, solely focused on the work in front of you. whether it was scanning the content of whatever document you came across, watching the movement of your hand as you wrote, or glancing between the keyboard and the laptop screen—your eyes roamed everywhere.

everywhere except the bookshelf filled with your favourite books that you couldn’t afford at one point.

everywhere except the various framed portraits of your favourite artworks that you never thought you would own.

everywhere except the wooden boat burner that held the sandalwood incense, bought as a replacement for your old incense holder.

everywhere except the pendulum clock that hung on the wall, the one that caught your eye when you were window shopping that one time.

everywhere except those gifts that were from—

your hand froze—along with your body—stopping at a random syllable of a word you were writing, the grip on your ballpoint pen loosening as it fell from your hand, landing with a soft thud onto your notebook.

your eyes widened, a shock passing by, before you closed them. an exasperated sigh escaped from your lips, your hand moving to hold your forehead as you propped an elbow onto the desk, leaning forward.

you were doing it again.

your mind was wandering off to him.

him with hair as white as the late december snow that fell in tokyo.

him with those beautiful, soul-piercing, blue eyes that were reminiscent of a clear sky on a summer’s day in august.

him with that damned blindfold, which he always took off in your presence because he knew how much you loved his eyes.

him and that—

no. stop it, [name].

he’s nothing but an old flame.

well, at least that’s what you’ve been telling yourself for the past year and four months—not like anyone’s counting—since you left him behind.

ever since december began, he’s been on your mind. he’d randomly pop up at the most inconvenient moments. you’d see his favourite bakery, walk past his favourite stores in the mall, or spot something you knew he’d like.

opening your eyes, you lifted your head from your hand. you leaned against the backrest of your chair, arms lazily placed on the armrests with your hands resting downwards, and your head tilted upwards the dim-lit ceiling.

there was only one reason behind this.

your hand found its way to the pocket of your sweatpants, pulling out your phone, and bringing it up to your face. your thumb pressed the power button for a second, the blue light of your phone emitting onto your face.

and there it was—the reason you’ve been behaving the way you have for the past six days—plain as day.

00:57

Saturday, 7 December

Calendar・my love ♡

instantly, you pushed yourself forward once more, dropping your phone onto the desk amidst the scattered paperwork. you fell back into your previous position, elbow propped on the desk, hand pressed against your forehead. your free arm lay flat on the desk, fingertips tapping rhythmically on the wooden surface.

the home screen of your phone staring at you with that fucking notification glaring at you.

if it had been anyone else you cut ties with, and if you’d forgotten to erase traces of them on your phone, you would've swiped left—out of sight, out of mind. hell, you would’ve deleted it the moment it came across your screen.

if it had been any other day—and not the fucking 7th of december—you wouldn’t have cared. there wouldn’t have been a second thought. not even a last thought, as that would mean it’s still a thought.

you wouldn’t be sitting here, staring at your phone, wondering what he’d say to you, wondering if it would be a huge mistake if you…

should you…?

should you call him on his birthday?

you bit your lip, furrowing your eyebrows, and stopped tapping your fingers. once again, you leaned back into your chair, your phone in your hand this time with your thumb hovering over the screen.

you could call him, just to make sure he’s okay.

or would he prefer that you didn’t—prefer that you simply let him go?

before you could consider anything, you sat up straight, your thumb swiped across the screen. your thumb swiped across the screen, and with swift movements, you entered your pin and clicked on contacts, scrolling down until you found it.

gojō satoru ・090-xxxx-xxxx

his old number.

but is it even working?

a/n: happy birthday to gojō satoru !! <33 happy gojō satoru day, everyone !! especially to the gojō satoru lovers <33

iʼd say this is my contribution but itʼs a sad fic (?) (also the mentioned song helped me write this, of course).

regardless, i hope this is enjoyable to whoever comes across it !! :)

much love from me to you ♡

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notwhelmedyet · 1 year ago

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A Fire Shall Be Woken, by Ealcynn. A pair of bindings using the K118 structure, one as a gift for the author and one to keep.

Chapter page illustrations are by Alphonse Mucha, all other illustrations are hand-drawn.

I hope to make a long post later explaining the process in more depth & another to document all my mistakes, but here's the basics.

New techniques learned: Paper marbling, edge marbling, uncial calligraphy, making paste papers, drawing on bookcloth, making paste-filled cloth, fold-out maps

I began work on this project in early September and am completing the finishing touches this week.

Structures:

Binding: K118 tightback

Endpapers: Simple cloth-joined endpapers

Map fold: Turkish map fold

Materials:

Sewing supports: linen tapes

Thread: 30/3 linen thread

Spine lining: Medium weight kozo tissue bonded to linen fabric

Interior paper: Hammermill Ivory, 11x17, hand-cut to 8.5x11

Endpapers: Blick sulphite paper hand-marbled, with masked stenciled silhouettes created with freezer paper

Adhesives: Jade PVA, wheat starch paste, wheat flour paste

Covers: Davey board, laminated full thickness to half thickness

Cover fabric: Studio E shot cottons in Jungle and Emerald; filled with wheat starch paste

Cover decorations: Speedball india ink and Dr. Ph. Martin's calligraphy ink in Copperplate Gold

Inks for maps and illustrations: Speedball black india ink and a selection of watercolors thickened with gum arabic

Dip pens used for calligraphy: Combination of Brause calligraphy nibs and Leonardt tape nibs

Dip pens used for illustration: Nikko G pointed pen nib

Typesetting:

Typesetting program: Scribus 1.5.5

Body font: Coelacanth in 10 pt caption weight

Headings, titles, chapter titles, drop caps: Hand lettered uncial calligraphy, scanned

Illustrations and References:

Frames on colophon, copyright, author's notes and title page: Hand drawn, with inspiration taken from the vellucent bindings of Cedric Chivers

Frames that illustrate each chapter start: Alphonse Mucha from Cloches de Noël et de Pâques

Cover illustrations: Referenced from a photograph of an European beech tree found on iNaturalist.org

Maps of Imladris: Hand drafted with inspiration from the maps of Barbara Strachey, and Daniel Reeve

Map of Eriador: Traced from a map by Karen Wynn Fonstad, with edits made to coordinate with the geography of the fic

Frames on maps: Referenced from a drawing by Alphonse Mucha that @zhalfirin found for me

Special Thank Yous:

To the tightback council of problem-solvers in the Renegade server: Zhalfirin, Eka, @spockandawe who helped figure out many issues with the structure and technique

To the marbling experts in the Renegade server: Marissa, Aether, AGlance, Jenny, Catz, Badgertide, Rhi, and everyone else who helped me figure out beginnner marbling

To Spock for finding the K118 structure and introducing it to the server!

And to Bruce Levy, who discovered the method and shared his discoveries freely with the bookbinding and conservation world.

#bookbinding #Fanbinding #mine #bookbinding adventures #thank you to everyone i consider this a group effort #it has been 10000 years and I have loved every step #except for sanding. nasty nasty sanding. ew.#fic recs

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theshitpostcalligrapher · 2 years ago

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Pinned FAQ

How do I request a card?

You can request up to 3 cards for free during openaskbox events! During those, the /ask inbox opens up for a few hours, during which I try to write as many as I can live on twitch and post them on tumblr.

After the event is over and I close that inbox, there are still a BUNCH of leftover requests. This is how I fill the daily content queue, I use those up til it's empty again and then run another openaskbox.

On Sundays at 3pm EST I write all 28 cards due to go up for the week from that pool of leftover asks live on twitch and then queue them to go up after stream

What if I don't wanna wait?

If you'd like to throw a bit of cash around instead of waiting, you can buy via the etsy listing or you can tune in to those^ Saturday livestreams, there's a variety of ways to donate to get cards written for you on the spot

How do I buy the card I've requested?

The etsy listing is available here! Please remember to include in the notes of the purchase which card(s) you want to buy. If you'd like me to bundle together all the cards you've requested over a period of a few years, dm me here on the blog and I can quote you on a cheaper bundle price

Why did you answer all those asks, it messed up my dash?

Sorry about that! So to keep all of that ^ organized, at the end of the month, I answer about 112-140 leftover asks in order to record them to a proper "to-write document"

It helps me keep organized, it allows me to easily search for spelling issues, and it gets a few eyeballs on the request in case someone tries to slip an obscure slur into their request that I'm not cool with writing (it has happened)

Lots of the regulars are used to this dash nonsense, but there are folks who want to avoid it entirely. If you're on mobile I'd just recommend unfollowing for a while, but if you're on desktop, you can blacklist the tag "added to notepad" and go to xkit to tick the "fully hide blocked tags" option so it clears up your dash

Wait I thought requests were closed, why can I still send things?

That's because requests use /ask, but /submit is always open because it's for YOUR calligraphy, pet photos, fanart of man... etc. Requests are NOT open when it's not openaskbox day but feel free to send me cool shit YOU made anytime

Wait you have a twitch, do you do anything other than calligraphy?

I try! my schedule at work (restaurant) varies week to week so I try my best to stream whenever I've got free time to, nothing's really planned out though

What are your regular writing tools and paper?

I mainly just use speedball nibs, specifically the c-series (c-0 through c-4) because they're angled flat nibs that let me do most blackletter hands I write. I have a supply of leonardt thin tips for detailing and illustrating

The blackletter hands I use rotate through a gothic textura, an italic, a fraktur and an uncial throughout the day, since I post four cards per day.

As for paper, the cards you see on the daily are on plain index cue cards I buy from staples. When commissioned/doing larger pieces, I work with a variety of paper, including a 32 lb xerox paper that has juuuust a perfect amount of lamination that avoids ink feathering, black paper that I bought a hundred sheets of in 2019 and I no longer remember the label, and a BOATLOAD of southworth's ivory parchment paper at both 32 and 64 lb weights. If you're looking to get anything larger than 11x17, I have a bigass 18x24 pad of watercolour paper I can cut down to whatever size we need.

#FAQ #reference

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delicatebarness · 9 months ago

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good graces: a cry baby story | chapter one

Summary: Delving into the shadowy world of a notorious biker gang, you begin navigating the tension between their duties and the gang's influence.

Warning: Corruption and Unethical Behavior. Criminal Activity and Violence. Suspense and Intimidation. Implied Threats. Emotional Tension.

Word Count: 1646

Spotify Playlist | Support: Ko-FI

Series Masterlist | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

A/N: It's weird not writing as Cry Baby. - Please feel free to leave feedback or let me know where and how you want the story to continue, this is just as much yours as mine. - B

You sat at your new desk, in your new office– the laminate chipped and worn from the years of service. It mirrored the experiences of the precinct itself. Casting a harsh, cold glow, the fluorescent lights made everything seem more stark and unforgiving. You were currently in your first week taking over from Fury, a man whose retirement still left a sour taste in your mouth. He left a murky legacy behind, filled with unspoken truths and shadows that clung to the corners of the station like cobwebs.

The paper was rough under your fingertips as you sifted through a pile of old case files. The scent of ink and aged paper filled your nostrils. One file stood out among the usual fare of petty theft, domestic disputes, and minor assaults. The file was thick, bursting at the seams, as though it had been fed a diet of steady statements, reports, and evidence over the years. The label read: “The Avengers.”

Intrigued, you began to read the bulky file. The Avengers’ dossier is a detailed chronicle, each page a testament to their cunning audacity. Countless reports, dozens of names and dates, each one hinted at crimes far more severe than the paperwork let on. Yet, despite the mountain of documentation against each member, there hadn’t been a single arrest, and not one charge had ever stuck. And, the deeper you dived, the more glaring the gaps became.

It was clear now, that the corruption ran deep. You marveled at the arrogance of it all. The notes from your predecessor, Fury, peppered throughout the files, they were vague and non-committal. They often led investigations into dead ends– he was their shield, their unseen ally.

Pushing away from your desk, you made your way to the station’s bullpen. The usual chatter, ringing phones, and officers exchanging the latest gossip buzzed in the air. You caught the eye of your new partner, Officier Maria Hill, who raised her eyebrow at the file in your hand.

“Rogers?” she asked, her voice low, almost whispered as it carried a mix of curiosity and caution.

“Yeah,” you replied, your voice steady. “Look at this, something's off.” Handing her the file, you watched her eyes widen with each passing page.

“I always knew Fury was dirty, but this…” Hill trailed off, shaking her head. “Rogers’ and his gang have a lot of power and friends in low places… I’d tread carefully if I were you.”

You nodded. “I’ll play this one smart. No tipping my hand until I have something solid.”

One evening, as you poured yourself into the files yet again, you noticed a pattern emerging. A name that keeps appearing, seemingly insignificant at first but, you grew more suspicious with each mention. It was the seemingly younger member of the gang. Unlike the others, her involvement was minimal, almost as if she had been deliberately kept in the background. Your mind formed a hunch, a gut feeling boiled– she might be the key to unraveling their web of deceit.

The next morning, you stake out the art gallery that she works at. The gallery seemed like a stark contrast to the gritty world of the Avengers. It was bright with an airy interior, filled with natural light that danced off the polished floors. Colorful paintings and sketches adorned the white walls. You blended in with a small crowd of art enthusiasts, watching the younger girl move gracefully through the space. She wore a quiet confidence as she interacted with the visitors.

She seemed genuinely passionate about her work as you noted her routine. Observing how she spoke to patrons and carefully arranged the pieces on displays. Her world seemed different from the criminal world her brother and friends inhabited.

Finally, as the gallery began to empty, you saw your chance. Approaching her, your heart pounded with the weight of the task ahead. “These pieces are incredible,” you say, stopping in front of one of her sketches. “Do you have any favorites?”

She smiled, her demeanor warm and welcoming. “Thank you. It’s hard to pick a favorite, but this one,” she gestured to a sketch of a man, he seemed familiar to you but you couldn’t quite place his face. “This one is definitely special to me.”

“It’s beautiful,” you replied, nodding appreciatively. “It seems like you put a lot of yourself into your work.”

Her eyes sparkled with genuine pride as she nodded. “Art is my escape. I express things I can’t always put into words.”

“It’s nice to have an escape,” you paused, taking a deep breath before deciding to ease into the topic. “I’ve heard your brother runs the tattoo studio downtown too, it seems like the art runs in your family.”

Her smile faltered for a fraction of a second, yet she recovered quickly. Her eyes never lost their warmth. “Yeah, Steve is quite the artist himself. He’s very talented.”

“It’s impressive,” you continued, trying to keep your tone casual. “I’ve um, I’ve seen some of his designs… and he’s got quite the reputation.”

Glancing around the gallery, she chuckled softly. “Steve’s work is… intense. He puts as much passion into his tattoos as I do into my sketches, if not more.”

You nodded, feeling the sense of opportunity to learn more. “It must be challenging, balancing such different worlds. Your art here and his studio, not to mention his, um, other activities.”

Her expression tightened slightly, but she maintained her composite. “Our paths are very different, but we have always been close. He does what he thinks is right, and I focus on my art. We support each other.”

The answer was careful and measured. So, you tried another angle. “It must be difficult though, with everything that’s been going on lately. The Avengers have been getting a lot of attention.”

Her eyes narrowed as she glanced at you sharply before she forced a smile. “I try not to get involved in that side of things. I keep my head down and focus on my work and my relationship.”

You felt the resistance and did not want to push too hard. Nodding, you sent her a genuine smile. “That’s probably for the best. You have a lot of talent and a bright future ahead. Your brother must be very proud.”

For a moment, the tension eased and a genuine smile touched her lips. “He is. Ever since we were children, he has told me to follow my dreams, no matter what.”

Sensing the conversation had reached its limit, you couldn’t help but ask one more question. “Out of curiosity, do you get visitors from his world here? People who come to see your work?”

Laughing softly, she shook her head. “Unless you count my boyfriend, the gallery isn’t exactly their scene. They know about my art, and usually come to my opening nights but other than that, they keep their distance.”

Appreciating her openness, you smiled, even if she was guarded. “Well, I’m glad I stopped by. Your art is truly… something special.”

“Thank you,” she replied, another genuine smile gracing her face. “I appreciate you taking the time to look.”

As you left the gallery, you replayed the conversation in your mind. The younger Rogers had been careful, but her responses confirm what you already suspected. She knew more than she let on and was deeply intertwined with her brother’s world. She might have been different from the rest of the Avengers, with her sweet demeanor and unproblematic passion, but she was still a part of their story.

After a few days stuck in your office after visiting the art gallery, you decided to try a more direct approach. The next destination you wanted to try was the bar where the Avengers were regulars.

After entering the bar, you ordered a drink and took a seat, trying to remain as inconspicuous as possible. Long shadows were cast in the dim light, making it easier to observe without drawing attention. Sitting in a corner booth, the Avengers gathered. Steve Rogers’ presence was commanding, and he seemed to exude an air of calculated vigilance.

Sipping your drink, you engaged in idle conversation with the bartender, casually observing Steve and the gang. Then, despite your attempts to stay low-key, you could feel Steve’s eyes on you, sharp and calculating. A steady gaze, as if he was trying to read you and figure out what you’re up to.

As the evening progressed, two more gang members joined the booth, and you recognized one of them as his sister, from the art gallery. It became clear that Steve’s attention on you had caused tension within the group, as they all began watching you. You decided it was time to leave before things escalated. After finishing your drink, you nod a polite goodbye to the bartender and make your way out of the bar.

As you walk back to your car, the cool night air hits you and the city’s distant noises create a backdrop of uneasy tranquility. Mentally, you review the encounter, noting Steve’s wariness and the tension from their booth. You headed back to your office, with a feeling of relief and anticipation.

You looked forward to officially reviewing the evening’s findings and plotting your next steps when you reached the station. But yet, as you unlocked the door to your office, you stopped dead in your tracks.

Casually sitting at your desk, leaning back in the chair was Steve Rogers– dressed in his signature leather jacket, looking every bit the part of the imposing figure you had been watching. His eyes locked onto yours as you entered, and a smirk played at the corners of his mouth.

“So,” he began, calm and steady, but it carried an unmistakable edge, “you’re Fury’s replacement?” The question was straightforward, but he made it clear he’d already made up his mind about you.

---

Series Masterlist | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

#cry baby series #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky x y/n #bucky x female reader #bucky fanfic #james bucky barnes #bucky fic #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers x y/n #steve rogers x detective!reader #steve rogers fic #steve rogers

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identity2110 · 2 years ago

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love-archer · 4 months ago

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More to love. . .

♡ pt.1 pt.2 pt.3 (You're here!) ♡

♡.Obey me!

♡♡.TW? SFW! Pregnancy, Fem!reader, Implied couple

♡♡♡. Two years brewing in my drafts 😵‍💫

. . . A S M O D E U S !

♡ Asmodeus, the Avatar of Lust and embodiment of beauty, isn't typically associated with family life. Your fingers trace the lab report nervously. A baby. Your baby. His baby.

♡ That’s what’s whirling in your head as you stare at the lab report in the waiting room, fingers trace the laminated papers nervously

♡ Would he accept this slowly or would he freak out? Wait, how can you tell him? Text? Drop it in a conversation randomly? Do those cute pregnancy reveal on Deviltube?

♡ The moment you decide to tell him is during a rare quiet evening in the Devildom. Asmodeus is meticulously applying his nightly skincare routine when you enter the bathroom, lab report clutched behind your back. "Darling?" His perfectly arched eyebrow raises, sensing something different in your demeanor. You slide the report onto his marble vanity, next to bottles of expensive serums and perfumes. His eyes widen, scanning the document. Silence. Then

♡ "PREGNANT?" His shriek could shatter glass. Dramatic reaction confirmed: tears sparkling like his favorite glitter eyeshadow he launches himself into your arms. "A BABY? MY BABY? OH MY HELL!"

♡ His brothers will definitely hear this announcement. Lucifer will probably pinch the bridge of his nose. Satan would smack his door down, "Quiet down!". Mammon will immediately start calculating potential 'baby sponsorship' schemes with his modeling sessions. ♡ Asmodeus's excitement rapidly transforms into hyper-planning mode. ♡ Within days, he's calling every demon realm's top pediatric specialist. The pediatric specialists he consults aren't just doctors - they're the crème de la crème of the Devildom medical world. He has Solomon double-check their credentials and even gets Barbatos to recommend time-tested professionals who've dealt with human-demon pregnancies. ♡ He's ordering custom designer maternity wear for you (in matching sets, naturally). The maternity wardrobe he designs is EXTENSIVE. We're talking: silk robes with delicate demon realm embroidery, stretchy but luxurious dresses that "showcase your divine glow", custom pajama sets with his sigil subtly woven into the fabric, special occasion outfits for each milestone of pregnancy, even the undergarments are designer, because "comfort and style should never be compromised!"

♡ He's set into drafting elaborate nursery designs with themes ranging to "Royal Demon": Rich crimsons and blacks, with plush velvet and his signature roses to "Paradise Garden": Soft pastels with ethereal touches, butterfly motifs, and enchanted flowers that never wilt or to "Modern Devildom": Sleek lines with pops of neon, metallic accents ♡ Speaking of the nursery, with his never-ending favors to call in, he'd corner Leviathan or rather pester...

♡ "Leviiiii~ Don't you want to be the coolest uncle?" ♡ Finally, Leviathan would agree to use his brains and the cluttering materials in the ever-dim room to make a baby mobile. He'd throw ideas like Crystal flowers that catch and reflect light like anime sparkles or Something engraved with Asmodeus' mark in hot pink or one with a mirror....perhaps? ♡ From the moment pregnancy becomes real, Asmodeus persuades yoga into your monthly schedule after days with his sweet voice tugging you off the couch to pin you in his bed, cuddling and his hands rubbing your hips, his fleeting kisses on your cheek, "My darling.......Tension isn't good for either of you. Let me take care of those muscles."

♡ His idea of prenatal yoga is pure luxury - transforms his room into a private studio with scented candles, silk cushions, and ambient lighting. "Ambiance is essential for both beauty AND wellness, darling~"

♡ Always positions himself behind you during poses, hands carefully supporting your waist. "Just like that, love. Let me guide you..." His touch is surprisingly gentle, more caring than flirtatious.

♡ Gets absolutely delighted when the baby moves during sessions. "Oh! They're already developing my sense of rhythm!" He'll pause everything just to feel the movement, pressing soft kisses to your belly.

♡ Creates a special pre-natal skincare routine for you, researching safe ingredients for hours. His bathroom counter becomes divided between his products and yours, all labeled with cute heart stickers.

♡ Insists on documenting everything. Weekly photoshoots of your growing bump, decorated with flowers and silk ribbons. Has Solomon enchant a special album that captures magical 3D memories.

♡ The first time he holds the baby, his usual perfect composure completely dissolves. Tears pool at his eyes, but for once, he doesn't care. Keeps whispering "perfect, perfect, perfect" while counting those tiny fingers and toes.

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