#each phrase is repeated three times on each ring by the by

[loquaciousquark]

Cazador's Ritual Runes, Translated

Inner: AMPLIFY + HIM + FLOW + EMPOWR [sic] Middle: WE OFFER THE FORCE OF LIFE Outer: WE GATHER HERE TO INVOKE THE POWER OF BLOD [sic]

Mephistopheles can't spell for beans.

(Detailed analysis & conjecture regarding this text, the Rite of Profane Ascension, & Astarion's translated scars under the cut.)

The second ring was the easiest, as the characters are very similar to Latin letters and clearly read out "WE OFFER THE FORCE OF LIFE." Characters were now known for C, E, F, H, I, L, O, R, T, and W. It wasn't clear yet if there were cases.

I was struggling with the first ring, though after decoding the second, I could get a likely "_M_LIF_ + _IM + _LOW + EM_OWR". Guessing the character for P, Y, and A based on context gave me "AMPLIFY + _IM + _LOW + EMPOWR", but I had doubts over the first characters for words two and three. I suspected they would be HIM and FLOW, but the H and F characters didn't match the H from the second ring's "THE" or the F from "AMPLIFY". Also, "empower" was misspelled, which made me pause.

Abandoning those for a moment, the third ring mapped well onto "WE _ATHER HERE TO I__O_E THE _OWER OF _LO_". Ruling out known letters which were not present, I could guess "WE GATHER HERE TO I__O_E THE POWER OF _LO_", but again the P from "POWER" was not the same as the P from "AMPLIFY" in the inner ring. However, it was very, very similar, and nothing else fit, so I committed, now suspecting there were capital versions of some letters included in the text.

At this point I went digging for resources. I found a copy of an Infernal alphabet on the Forgotten Realms wiki, and while it looks like the typeface Larian used is a bespoke creation for the game rather than a 1:1 copy of this alphabet, the letters for lowercase G, N, K, B, and D were nearly identical. Y (from AMPLIFY) also matched perfectly, confirming that earlier guess. This gave a clear "WE GATHER HERE TO INVOKE THE POWER OF BLOD."

This resulted in: AMPLIFY + _IM + _LOW + EMPOWR WE OFFER THE FORCE OF LIFE WE GATHER HERE TO INVOKE THE POWER OF BLOD

Looking at the wiki for capital letters, the only ones I could find which might reasonably fit the _IM missing character (assuming the Larian alphabet was based off this wiki typography) were A, B, H, O, T, V, and Y. Of those choices, only AIM, HIM, TIM, and VIM were words, and as cheesy as Cazador is, I couldn't imagine him saying AMPLIFY TIM FLOW EMPOWR. Given the alternatives, HIM was the only choice which made sense.

I went through the same process for _LOW, but this character seems unmatchable to me. By far it looks the most like the E from the Infernal alphabet, with maybe a capital Y being a distant second. However, ELOW and YLOW are certainly not words, and absent all other comparatives, the character in question does resemble a fancy F. Barring other languages, FLOW with a capital or unique F fits best.

AMPLIFY + HIM + FLOW + EMPOWR WE OFFER THE FORCE OF LIFE WE GATHER HERE TO INVOKE THE POWER OF BLOD

I did double-check the texts available in Cazador's mansion just to make sure this hadn't been translated elsewhere (after I'd done all the work, of course), and the only written text of relevance is from the Black Mass scroll you find near Vellioth's skull. It reads:

The Rite of Profane Ascension Oh, piteous dead! Oh, ravenous dead! Immortality is your gift, but darkness is your prison and hunger its gaoler. The Rite of Profane Ascension will release you. Walk in the sun. Suffer not from hunger. Grow your power beyond anything you imagined. A pact has been made with the Lord of Hellfire. Deliver unto him seven thousand souls, each bearing an Infernal mark, and you shall be free of your chains. You shall know true power. Deliver the souls. Speak the words. Ecce dominus, Has animas offero in sacrificio, Nunc volo potestatem quam pollicitus es mihi.

The Latin translates (as best I can tell with my incredibly weak Latin) to:

Behold [the] Lord, I offer these souls in sacrifice, I want the power thou hast promised me.

Which is interesting, but not clearly mapped to the Infernal above. Then I started wondering what relationship Astarion's scars have with all this, but thankfully, someone else has done the work here!

Astarion's scars have been transcribed and translated in a wonderfully detailed Reddit post by northpaw_s in 2020, but the salient points are that they appear to be in a mishmash of mangled Latin and Romance languages ("Infernal") and read:

Hoyc inferiu non iurare per igneu Naec virba loquor Eoai mundo muoat

Which appears to roughly translate to:

This soul swears no oath by fire Nor words does he speak In the realm of death

This makes sense if it's a fragment of a contract. I suspect the other spawn's scars are all identical to Astarion's for game mechanics/development reasons, but it'd be wild if they did have minor differences to complete the rest of the phrases! I know the scars don't show on their backs they way they do on Astarion's outside of the moment of the ritual, but it really does make me wonder if there's a complete text of the poem in some writer's documentation somewhere.

Anyway, what did you do with your Thursday night?

[granulesofsand]

Reasons people underestimate the prevalence of RAMCOA:

Untraumatized people don’t think about trauma nearly as much as survivors

People don’t know what the signs are. Trainings are shitty when given, attendees don’t think they’ll need to use the information, and trainings offered are usually online and easy to walk away from

Mandatory reporters don’t usually follow through their contracts. This is sometimes a good thing, but it can leave room in the wrong places for endangered children

People who know the signs will ignore them. They think it unlikely, that they’re overreacting, or they just don’t notice

Survivors are quiet. Speaking up puts us in danger, and more people think of us as media material than peers

The police don’t do jack shit for us. Some stations train officers to overlook our cases, and it’s difficult to take to court if a survivor wants to. In larger cases, government works with organized criminal groups that perpetrate or do so themselves for research

We’re a test question. The only time we are brought up in psychology classrooms is if they want to nod to a DID diagnosis. Few therapists are educated and willing to take us on as clients

Abusers know how to make connections with local authority. In high control groups, members may be taught how to abuse and evade interception

All of this makes it hard to report anywhere how many survivors exist free, and the low numbers in turn make us less believable when we do report

RAMCOA includes severe religious abuse, manipulative coercion, programming, cults, trafficking rings, criminal gangs, and more. Survivors are your coworkers, neighbors, cashiers, librarians.

Signs to look for:

Ritual Abuse

History of self-harm, substance use, sui/homicidality, especially with prescribed patterns

Unusual phobias (red or brown foods, kinds of houses, churches, hospitals, fear of the dark or being alone in adults)

Aversion to or obsession with the occult/witchcraft or other faith traditions

Patterns of nightmares, aversions or obsessions with common or nondescript themes (gore, needles, bugs, rodents, monsters, babies, men or women)

Sudden or irresistible urge to relocate, recontact abusers, participate in abusive ceremonies

High pain tolerance

Repeated phrases with violent, aggressive or religious themes

Mind Control and Coercion

Unquestioning obedience of a person or doctrine

Defers to another, speaks as though scripted, frequently accompanied by another or has to ask permission inappropriate for their age

Sudden or dramatic change in behavior, hobbies, or long-standing habits

Refusal to consume media unless approved by another/without further explanation

Anxious or idealized descriptions of childhood home and family, unable to recall these things

No memory of childhood or missing years

Multiple self-states, especially in high quantities

Organized Abuse and Trafficking

Disconnection from peers, family and friends

Does not attend community events or faith services or is perpetually preoccupied with a single group

Repeated unexplained absences from work or school

Disoriented, confused or dissociated for long periods of time or without explanation

Fearful or self-persecutory behavior, especially with allusions to another person or group

Bruises, broken skin or other wounds in various stages of healing

Minors engaging in commercial sex (including CSEM or survival sex)

Timid, skittish, fearful or submissive behaviors (including when this is the norm)

Malnourished, dehydrated, exhausted or with untreated ails

Without belongings or suitable living space

Many indicators of abuses flow together, as do the events themselves. It’s common that RA and OA perps use MC to keep victims in line, and techniques are often implemented by default in abusive environments. A group using RA or MC also qualifies as OA. This is why the community acronym includes all three.

There are more discreet examples for each. It’s possible to find many symptoms of RAMCOA and have none of those maltreatments as the cause. It’s possible to have none and still be abused.

Noticing indicators in children should be followed up by alerting any available reliable authority. Children sometimes disclose using metaphors or slang words they have been taught, so keep this in mind if you work with them.

[a-grayscale]

I Don’t Trust You

The first time was in the void of the afterlife.

A deal was struck, freedom for revival, revenge for both.

Rags and chains traded for a fleece and bell.

Before the mortal sheep left, is when they first stated it.

“I don’t trust you.”

The second time was the Lamb’s victory against the last Bishop.

A final confrontation between god and acolyte, before a deal came to an end.

Cloven hoofs lifted to be sent back to the flock, when the words left their mouth.

“I don’t trust you.”

The third time was when death was indoctrinated with the rest of the flock.

Anger and tension swirled in the air between the two as onlookers held their breath.

A tension that passed as robes were shoved into arms, words of rage hurt? were spoken clear as day, and the smell of wool faded in sync with the jingles of a bell.

“I don’t trust you”

The fourth time was at the indoctrination of the worm.

Mockery and teasing spoken in the cheekiest of tones.

Reminders of what the old god of chaos had done in the past. A warning?

Sentences of a nearly playful tone, broken short by the cruelest of reminders.

I don’t trust you

I don’t trust you

I don’t trust you

I don’t trust you

Four times was it stated, and four times did it sting.

Once hit to prophecies told for interpretation.

Twice hit to godly pride.

Thrice hit to desires of true freedom.

Four times a hit to the heart, that beat quieter and quieter after each hit.

“I can’t trust you.”

A change in phrase, three eyes lock with two.

A breath held in anticipation, in fear. In hope?

“However, I’m willing to try…”

An opportunity gained, a heart skipping a beat for the first time since it’s drumming returned.

Days turned to weeks, turned to months, turned to years, turned to decades.

Fragments of a mask slowly shattered, the ex-god saw.

A heart unshielded after centuries of carefully crafted protection.

Layers of hesitation and harshness softened like the wool that covered them from cold.

A smile, once forced and fake, now freely forming with the sweetest of sounds to follow it.

“I trust you.”

A final change in phrase, one to be repeated for eternity.

A day with bells and celebration, paw and hoof intertwined with rings to symbolize a bond of love and…Trust.

A bond of trust, Narinder vowed, never to be broken.

[wildflowerluver]

valentines blurb idea !!

i just think valentine’s day would be the cutest event everrrr with emily. so maybe picking her up from work with a flower bouquet and a sweet kiss to head to a dinner date?? tysm august you are the bestest ever i hope you’re having an amazing day <33

(cutest idea ever. emily my fav girl <33) fem!reader, no warnings

ʚ♡ɞ

emily was less than happy to be spending valentine’s day at the bau.

she supposed it was better than being off on a case in another state, but the desire to be with you gnawed at her heart. 

valentine’s day has always been a special holiday for you and emily. you hadn’t started dating much before and it was your first official holiday together in your new relationship. now, years later, you loved an entire day dedicated to love. 

you awoke that morning with your stomach pressed to emily’s back. her alarm hadn’t gone off yet. you savored these early morning moments. 

the blaring from your bedside clock finally broke emily out of her sleep. you nuzzled further into her back as she reached over to turn it off. “good morning, baby.”

“good morning. happy valentines day.”

she echoed your phrase and settled back down. “one of the many days i truly dread going into work.”

“let me drive you in today,” you offer in your sleepy state. 

emily rolls over so you’re finally face to face. “any particular reason?”

the corners of your lips upturn slightly. “just want to spend as much time with you as possible.”

it’s not necessarily a lie, but you do have something planned. the two of you get ready for the day to the sound of vinyl playing through your apartment. sleepy kisses and love exchanged as you brushed your teeth and got dressed.

she slipped out of the car with one final kiss and you were off to plan your day.

you returned back to quantico right at five like promised. 

emily ignored the teasing comments of her team as they exited the building behind her and watched her make her way over to you. 

you took your first surprise out from where it sat on the hood of your car behind you when shw was close enough. emily blushed heavily when she saw the bouquet in your grasp, raising both of her hands up to her face to hide her smile. 

when emily finally takes the flowers, she brings them up to her nose, still smiling. “you didn’t have to do this.”

“it’s valentine’s day, em. let me spoil you.” you pull her into you to place a soft kiss on her forehead.

“you’re too good to me,” emily protests.

“i love you and i'm simply showing that today.” 

“i have something for you too, you know,” she adds. “it’s just at home.”

as much as you and emily mutually loved to spoil each other, the shyness of giving and receiving gifts on any occasion still made you both shy. 

“we might want to get going,” you start. emily raises an eyebrow. “we have dinner reservations at seven”

“you said we were staying in this year!”

you shrug, biting your lip to hide your smile. “surprise?”

emily hugs you again. “i love love love you.” she repeats the words three times as if you put emphasis on her emotions.

you reach down to bring the back of her hand to your mouth to kiss her ringed finger. 

“happy valentines day, em.”

she beamed, leaning forward to finally press your lips together.

“happy valentines day, baby.”

[prairiesongserial]

24.1

“Did you know that the Bernina Express stayed in continual operation post-event?” Vanya whistled appreciatively. “It says here that the Bernina only took a week off for the end of the world–and that was just for regular scheduled maintenance.”

Yuri did not look up from the time table. The strap of his large, heavy bag dug into his shoulder.

“Listen– ‘sheltered by the Alps, operations were virtually unaffected by the cataclysmic event that ushered forth a new era for humanity.’” Vanya tapped the page of his brochure emphatically.

“I read the materials as well,” Yuri said. According to the time table, their train would be arriving in five minutes. He and Vanya would disembark in Switzerland three stops later. It would be a tight turn-around. Board at Karlsruhe, make contact, disembark at Basel with Herr Hennig. Not impossible, just tight.

“That’s a surprising turn of phrase for a tourist guide,” Vanya continued. “Don’t you think?”

“What is?” asked Yuri. He turned away from the time table, lending Vanya a little more of his attention. Vanya also carried a large, awkwardly proportioned bag over his shoulder, but despite the fact that he was half Yuri’s size, the weight didn’t appear to affect him.

“‘Ushered forth a new era for humanity,’” Vanya repeated. “What kind of tone does that set for the honeymooners?”

Yuri’s lip twitched.

“What? Is it your blood sugar? Do you want to sit down?”

“No,” Yuri said. “I do not want to sit down.”

Their train arrived at the station precisely on time. It was not the cherry-red Bernina Express, and it would not be looping majestically through the Swiss Alps. It was the Göttingen to Milan Economy Line. The exterior of the train was dingy, once-impressive chrome. The only view from the windows would be of radioactive Rhineland.

Vanya folded his brochure and slipped it into the front of his waistcoat. He waited right at the edge of the tracks for the train to slow to a stop. The rush of air tugged at the edges of Yuri’s coat.

The train finally came to a stop. Through pure luck, the doors lined up perfectly with where Vanya was standing.

“Our seats are in Car 7,” Yuri said. He ducked to fit through the train doors, careful of the extra height added by his luggage. Vanya was already making his way down the aisle to the next car. He touched everything he passed–the backs of seats, the overhead luggage racks.

“This is why you are always sick,” Yuri said.

Vanya ignored him. He carefully navigated the narrow passage between train cars, his luggage catching in the doorframe. He fixed it before Yuri could catch up and do it for him. The train split off into a lower and upper level at this juncture; Vanya continued down to the lower level.

“I was thinking about our cover story,” Vanya said. He spoke in Russian, even though Car 10 was empty. The rings he wore chimed discordantly against the overhead racks as he touched each one.

“And?”

Vanya glanced over his shoulder at the passage into Car 9. He was smiling. Yuri couldn’t see his mouth from this angle, but there was a pink, crescent-shaped scar on his cheek. When Vanya smiled, the scar changed shape also.

Yuri frowned at him. “What?”

“Well,” Vanya said, “I was just thinking about the Bernina Express and the scenic Alps.”

“Ski trip,” Yuri said. Their luggage could be confused for skis. If Vanya really wanted a cover story, that was a serviceable one. There was no need for a cover story. In three stops they would disembark in Basel with Herr Hennig.

“Honeymoon,” Vanya countered. He glanced over his shoulder again as they crossed through Car 9. The scattered commuters with their newspapers would not be interested in this conversation, but Yuri still pressed his lips into a firm line and maintained silence.

The passage between Cars 9 and 8 had a telephone and a toilet. A family blocked Vanya and Yuri’s path. A grandmother stood with the door to the toilet propped open, helping her young grandson with the bathroom. A slightly older child took advantage of her distraction to take the telephone receiver off the hook and wrap himself up in the cord. A third child stood squarely in the middle of the narrow passage, blinking up at Vanya.

“Excuse me, little child,” Vanya said in German.

The grandmother spoke in aggrieved Polish as she closed the door to the toilet on the youngest and pulled the child blocking the way to the side. She asked the child wrapped in the telephone cord if he had cabbage for brains.

Car 8 was nearly full. There were two other families with children and a number of young couples. A blend of languages was being spoken. Yuri could pick out none of it. On one side of the car, a toddler was crying and kicking his feet against the seat in front of him. On the other, a pink-faced girl with her hair pulled back into a ponytail whispered into her beau’s ear and laughed when he pinched her side in reply.

Vanya slowed to a stop in front of them. Yuri noticed the wedding rings on the couples’ fingers, and saw where Vanya was going. He considered faking a health emergency, but Vanya would become insufferable.

“You are on your honeymoon?” Vanya said in German. “Congratulations to you. Us too, we are just married.”

The girl blinked up at him in surprise. The boy split a suspicious look between Vanya and Yuri. His gaze flicked back and forth between their faces. People did that. The scar under Vanya’s left eye had a twin under Yuri’s right, just visible under his sunglasses. The boy’s gaze traveled down to their clothes. The gray suits did not give the impression of marital bliss.

“We are staying at the Villa Principe,” Vanya boasted. “It has hosted diplomats from twelve countries, isn’t that marvelous? There are bullet holes in one wall in the East Wing. Where are you staying?”

“Vanya, I am feeling tired,” Yuri said in Russian.

“Bye-bye, nice to meet you,” Vanya said, waggling his fingers at the couple. He continued ahead, checking twice to see that Yuri was right behind him. He switched back to Russian. “Give me your bag to carry if you are tired. Here, pass it up.”

“I’m fine,” Yuri said. “Find our seats.”

Vanya passed into Car 7. He continued to fret about Yuri’s health.

“Is it a migraine?” he asked. “The sun is too bright on this side of the car. I’ll ask to switch our tickets.”

“I’m fine, Vanya.”

Vanya stopped near the back of the car. He stowed his luggage not in the overhead rack, but in the extra seat they had purchased for the purpose. He reached for Yuri’s bag as well, and gracefully maneuvered the awkwardly shaped parcel into the seat.

“Sit on the other side of the car,” Vanya said, switching to German again. “Look, the sun is not strong over there. Sit, close your eyes for a minute, I will ask the stewardess for a glass of water.”

Yuri would have argued, but the switch to German gave him pause. He sat where Vanya wanted him and watched as Vanya went back up to the front of the car. Two men sat there, chatting away in German. 

The man sitting in the window seat wore a blue suit ten years out of fashion, but he was young, so maybe it was handed down. It was in good shape, though–maybe he just had bad taste in suits. His wristwatch and shoes were matching brown leather. These were new, or very well cared-for. 

The man in the aisle seat wore a gold wristwatch, red leather brogues, a white suit, and a red paisley scarf. He talked with his hands as he chatted in German worse than Vanya’s. The man in the blue suit had a scruffy look–he needed a shave and a haircut. Comparatively, the man in the red brogues might have stepped out of a salon directly onto the Göttingen to Milan Economy Line. In the luggage rack overhead were two briefcases, one silver chrome, the other leather.

Yuri crossed his arms over his chest and scowled as if he had a headache, just as the two men twisted in their seats to look back at him. Vanya had stopped to ask if they had seen a stewardess pass through; he loudly explained Yuri’s migraine to them.

When the two men turned around, Yuri got a good look at their faces. The man in the window seat was Herr Hennig. The man in the aisle seat was either robbing Hennig or flirting with him. Either way, he wasn’t supposed to be there.

Vanya prolonged the conversation for an uncomfortably long time, asking the men if they had ever traveled to Switzerland before, how long they were staying, and whether it was for business or pleasure. Every answer from the man in the red brogues was a smoothly delivered lie. Herr Hennig told the truth. He confirmed what Yuri and Vanya’s intelligence had already gathered, that Herr Hennig was on his way to Milan where he’d been invited to present at a conference.

“Oh? What is your field?” Vanya asked. “May I ask?”

“Automobiles,” said Hennig.

“You make cars?” Vanya made himself comfortable, leaning against the backs of the seats in the row in front of Hennig and the other man. “Sports cars?”

“Er, not really,” Hennig said with a shy laugh. “Only the engines.”

“So modest!” his friend exclaimed. “What’s a car without an engine?”

The conversation continued for a few minutes longer on the subject of cars. Vanya was playing dumb; he asked Hennig what a V-type engine was. If this went on much longer, Yuri thought he might trigger a real headache from the tension of second-hand embarrassment. The pained sound Yuri made was tiny, but somehow Vanya heard him over the dull roar of the train.

“Some newlywed I am,” Vanya said. “I forgot my husband. It was nice talking to you gentlemen.”

“There’s a dining car upstairs if you don’t want to wait for the stewardess,” Hennig said. 

Vanya thanked him and headed back to sit with Yuri.

“What do you think?” Vanya asked in Russian. When Yuri didn’t answer, he pinched his arm. “Are you really sick? I thought you were lying about the migraine.”

“I never said anything about having a migraine.”

“Should I call you Blessed Matrona? You’re always trying to suffer in silence. That’s why you need me around. What do you think?”

“Red brogues is in the way.”

“Really in the way,” Vanya agreed.

epilogue 23 || 24.2

[cecilyv]

Fic Writers Q&A

Tagged by @alchemistc

Y'all were all busy on the tumblrs yesterday, huh? I'm trying to catch up.

How many wips do you have currently?

As @liminalmemories21 said, at least three? Interestingly, the seven fics we have published were pretty much smooth sailing -- at least for us, who went the twenty years before that writing but never actually letting anything see the light of day. There was some rewriting, a lot of reorganizing, but only for Leave the Past Behind is there an entire story (completely different from what it became) still hidden in the depths of Google docs, waiting to be repurposed some day (I still have a vision, okay?). 

Which one are you finding the hardest to finish? Why do you think that is?

All of them? Neither of us has a ton of time -- and when one of us does, the other doesn’t, and we work best bouncing ideas off one another. It’s hard to have a life, an actual job, and a volunteer position that is currently functioning as a second and third job. Also, I want things to feel real and for whatever reason, right now, things I write are ringing false to my ears. 

But also, I think for most of the fics we’ve written so far, we had something that one of us was very explicitly trying to say. And now that we have done that, it’s like, okay, we have scenes, we have ideas, but not as much a driving force. Except that the Buckley parents are shitty, do not reserve a redemption arc, and that’s a hill I am willing to die on. 

Oh, and I really do want to write this Mummy thing, but I want to do it right, which means so much research and uh. That’s literally my job? So it’s really hard to...not spiral. 

What does it usually look like when inspiration strikes for you?

When we’re in the middle of a fic, I am usually driving my car and some line pops in my head and I repeat it over and over in my head, desperately trying to keep the exact phrasing correct until I can write it on my phone and send it to Lim. Right now? It’s just Lim and I chatting at each other, back and forth, trying to tease out what we want to do. I think we have, like, 6k of story outlines without any real depth or texture. 

Do you curate playlists for each fic or is your process different?

Err. No? Despite all our stories being named for lyrics, that’s just…not how we work? 

Do you go balls to the wall and write as you go or are you more organised?

We just write. We are attempting with one of the wips to be more organized, hoping that will help move things along? We’ll see. 

Tagging @rcmclachlan and anyone who wants to play. <3

[onsiteairconditioning]

How to Pick the Right Air Conditioning Service?

No matter where, locals always seem to claim the weather is unpredictable. This well-worn phrase rings especially true for Australia. One truly can't predict what the weather will do from one day to the next.

This unpredictability makes it essential to be prepared for any issues with your air conditioner. Even a minor A/C problem can escalate quickly. However, finding a quality provider can be challenging. Use our guide here to help you choose the right air conditioning service in Belmont.

Understanding Your Needs

Don’t yet Google “air conditioning services in Belmont.” There’s a much essential step before that. It's knowing your specific needs. If your search is based on your needs, you will have a better chance to find adequate service.

Periodic Maintenance: Cleaning filters, evaluating the level of refrigerant, and checking electrical parts are all examples of this.

Repair Services: Fixing issues that arise due to overuse or age. 

Installation: Installing your selected air conditioner optimally and efficiently. 

Assessment: Evaluating your current system through energy efficiency audits or general system assessments and determining its condition.

Once you find your needs accurately, you can start finding air conditioning services in Belmont using the following proven methods.

Tips to Find Reliable Air Conditioning Services

Researching Potential Providers

1. Experience and Expertise: It’s always a good idea to choose air conditioning services with a proven track record in Belmont. An experienced provider can better understand various air conditioners and their common issues, ensuring your needs are met accurately. The following two are the most noteworthy.

●       Years in Business

●       Technician Training (they should be well-trained and certified)

2. Reputation: We all know how reputation is a strong indicator of quality. It is equally true with the air conditioning services in Belmont. Reviews on platforms like Google, Yelp, and the Better Business Bureau are a great starting point.

3. Licensing and Insurance: Next, ensure the said provider is licensed and insured. This can save you from any liabilities in case of accidents or damages during the service. So, you cannot skip or underestimate this step.

4. Services Offered: You’re going to use the air conditioner for years, so you’re surely going to need services more than once. So, confirm that your selected provider offers the specific services you need, including a variety of other essentials. Make note—Some companies specialise in certain areas, such as residential or commercial services, while others may offer a broader range of services.

Getting Estimates

After you have narrowed down your list of potential air conditioning services, it’s time to get estimates from each one of them. But keep the following pointers in mind.

1. Request Multiple Estimates: Never accept the first estimate you receive. In order to compare costs and services, make sure to request estimates from at least three different Belmont air conditioning companies. The estimates ought to be in-depth, with information about labour, supplies, and any additional costs. Then, make a well-informed choice.

2. Ask Questions: When reviewing estimates, ask questions to clarify any uncertainties. The scope of work, warranties, and guarantees are a few things worth inquiring about.

3. Consider Value Over Price: You may have already heard this, still it is worth repeating: the cheapest is not always the best. So, think about how much you're getting for your money.

Evaluating Customer Service

Customer service is a crucial aspect of any air conditioning service in Belmont. But do you know how to assess it? Here’s what to look for:

1. Availability: A good air conditioning service provider should be responsive and easy to reach. They should return your calls promptly and be available to answer your questions patiently. 

2. Professionalism: Professionalism in communication and conduct is a sign of a reliable provider. The staff should be polite, respectful, and willing to assist you. They should explain technical details in a way that’s easy to understand.

3. Transparency: Transparency in pricing and services is also essential. It means clear contracts without any hidden fees.

Making Your Decision

After assessing all the factors, you will easily know which service is the best for your needs and budget. But that’s not the end.

Establish a long-term association with the provider if you are pleased with their service. Provide a quality review and recommend them to others in your circle. This will strengthen your customer-provider relationship. As a result, you will feel well-supported in all your needs, from ensuring your air conditioner runs smoothly to getting quick assistance in case of emergency repairs.

Final Word:

Now you know how to choose your air conditioning services in Belmont wisely. If you still need help getting started, here’s a recommendation: Onsite Air. Its experts are so experienced that they can become a great support in meeting all your air conditioner needs. So, consult with them first and enquire about their services. 

[who-is-muses]

Jonathan keeps careful documentation on all of his corvid companions, with a color coded banding system corresponding to their temperaments and records of their health (as many are rescues brought to him by Selina.)

Nightmare. Self explanatory name. Common raven. Female. Missing right eye. Black band. Very temperamental and aggressive. Has shown little to no concern of larger animals, at times fighting with cats, dogs, and other species. 

Craw. Given name. Carrion crow. Male. Molting around neck and left wing, malformed left leg. White band. Friendly, not at all cautious around strangers, more than happy to be pet and carried. A rescue from a drug den, which unfortunately left him in poor health. Cannot fly well on his own.

Mary. After Mary Shelley. American crow. Female. No notable markings. Yellow band. Timid, but not aggressive. Very fond of pens, pencils, paint brushes, and any other writing implements.

Francis. After the protagonist in The Call of Cthulhu. Fish crow. Male. No notable markings. Green band. Timid, but not aggressive. Very quiet, especially compared to his flock, and prefers to watch visitors from afar.

Bette. After Bette Midler. Pied crow. Female. White ring of neck feathers usually kept puffed up. Orange band. Haughty and not fond of being pet. Has a tendency to pull at and/or swipe earrings, necklaces, change, rings, brooches, nails, and anything else remotely shiny. 

Macbeth. After the infamously unlucky play and its titular character. American crow. Male. Small scar on the right side of the neck. Red band. Very aggressive and solitary. Doesn’t care for fire or knives. Very suspicious of strangers.

Manson (or Double M). After Marilyn Manson. American crow. Male. No notable  markings. Red band. Temperamental, but not as dangerous as Nightmare. Tries to pick fights and bother the other birds, especially Nightmare and Macbeth, other animals, and people.

Roland. After the Warren Zevon song. Rook. Male. No notable markings. Orange band. Cautious, but not innately aggressive. Not fond of loud noises or guns, more than likely to attack. 

Ligeia. After the Poe short story. American crow. Female. Eyes are darker than normal, cause unknown. Yellow band. Cautious, but not aggressive. Very inquisitive and curious, investigative of new people and objects.

Rowena. After the second wife of the narrator of the Poe story her sister is named after. American crow. Female. Eyes are somewhat cloudy, the effect of cataracts. Yellow band. Cautious, slightly less so than Ligeia. Often “bickers” with her sister, squawking and snapping amongst each other.

Imitateur. French for (unsurprisingly) Imitator. Fan-tailed raven. Female. No notable markings. Blue band. Very friendly. Gift from Edward, fond of repeating words and phrases.

Hitchcock. After the director. American crow. Male. No notable markings. Yellow band. Solitary and cautious. Observational and very intent on watching things around him. May bite.

Clarice. After the protagonist in Silence of the Lambs. American crow. Female. No notable markings. Green band. Cautious, but not aggressive. Often “talks” with people, making noise and imitating words back to them.

Renfield. After the Dracula character. Carrion crow. Male. Feathers are patchy around his head. Yellow band. A little testy at times, but not usually aggressive. Likes bringing dead rats and mice to “safe people”.

Cash. After Johnny Cash. American crow. Male. No notable markings. Green band. Relatively friendly, though standoffish at times. Has a tendency to repeat snippets of songs, especially from his namesake. 

Nelson. After Willie Nelson. American crow. Male. No notable markings. Blue band. Calm and friendly. Also mimics songs.

Kristofferson. After Kris Kristofferson. American crow. Male. No notable markings. Yellow band. Standoffish, but calm. Mimics songs.

Jennings. After Waylon Jennings. American crow. Male. No notable markings. Green band. Relatively friendly. Just like the other three named after the Highwaymen, mimics songs.

Amelia. After Amelia Earhart. American crow. Female. Albino, red eyes, has a few notches in her beak. Green band. Relatively friendly, if a bit cautious. Excellent at flying, especially given she was being attacked by alley cats when I found her.

Puck. After the infamous character from A Midsummer Night’s Dream. Pied crow. Female. No notable markings. Yellow band. Mischievous as her namesake, but relatively friendly. A little too good at mischief and mayhem.

Jay. After the titular character in the Great Gatsby (Edwin picked the name). Carrion crow. Male. No notable markings. Yellow band. Fussy and prone to nagging for attention. Far too interested in my glasses. Does not like to be touched.

Jack O’ The Green (just Jack works as well). After the folkloric figure (another name from Edwin). American crow. Male. No notable markings. Blue band. Very friendly and accepting of people. Has a tendency to bring me and, mostly, Edwin leaves, flowers, pebbles, and other small gifts.

Byron. After Lord Byron. Common raven. Male. No notable markings. Green band. Generally friendly, but can be touchy now and again. Mischievous and prone to causing trouble, as well as watching me work. Will also steal pens.

Narcissus. After the Greek mythic figure. Thick billed raven. Male. No notable markings. Yellow band. Generally amicable, but easy to anger. Does not like to be touched. Has something of a fascination with his reflection.

Magdalene. After the biblical figure Mary Magdalene. Rook. Female. Green band. Friendly and calm, appreciates attention and affection. Very social with the other birds, though appears most drawn to myself.

[squirrelwrangler]

⭐️

Let's talk about Service to the Dead. And because I couldn't decide which part of chapter three I wanted hone in on, I'm going to bounce around the entire chapter for a slightly longer director's commentary. Don't feel like covering the entire chapter, but here's some odd thoughts:

Opening on the Beren fight scene was a nice strong opening, good job me. Also while I never outright said it, having ghost Aegnor and Gorlim watching the fight from the tree branches above was exactly supposed to make the reader think of vultures. Because that is the black comedy of this fic- Aegnor and Gorlim watching and waiting for Beren to die. But instead I use the metaphor of watching a puppet show. But Aegnor needs another option because I can't have Gorlim and Aegnor think of the same thing. So what's a Noldor equivalent? And Noldor are just every annoying obnoxious Victorian British scientist so the Greek philosopher street debate/bitter thesis defenses/street preacher but for grammar minutia.

Gorlim's inconstantly fading sensory issues as a constant thread, and for this chapter I was hammering home the loss of smell and how that would have helped to find the body at the end.

In the next scene I wrestled around with the hidden cabin and the geographic layout and how that led to Aegnor floating up phasing through the cliff/hillside. A lot of the ghost physics is cumbersome to write because I can't use modern technological turns of phrase. The cabin being dark and the two ghosts not turning on a light source because they can't. But also having the flies there was a direct mental link for myself to Aegnor's final speech at the end of the chapter when he talks about being a bug trapped in a bowl.

The evacuation from Dorthonion was something I thought about- and who stayed behind that wasn't just Barahir's designated group. Mount St. Helens was something that instantly came to mind because of my family who lives in Seattle and the year I lived up there too. But also that since almost my entire life I live or have lived in the hurricane zones of the coasts of North America and have lived through several hurricanes - I am very familiar with how natural disaster evacuations are piecemeal. So - Old Duras, the dead outlaw, the lost Easterling family. That each are distinct in their reasons and background. That Eilinel and Sícrum went missing in the scramble and that their physical disabilities were factors. I was keen to take the time to tangent off into that physically disabilities (that weren't just chopped off hands) existed and weren't limited to Noldor nobility and our one most exemplar mortal hero. The Easterling father and son are sent-up for Chapter 4 and the next Mad Noldor Ghost that repeats and escalates off of what happened in Chapter 2.

Beren running into and being saved by the mad trees is the Two Towers Ents and Hurons reference imagery it seems to be.

Radiation mutant hares and other wildlife was added for the creepy horror imagery and also because Morgoth's Ring does really imply Morgoth's evil taint on Arda Marred is element decay.

And Aegnor's impassioned long spiel at the end- the most fun to write, I loved that. And hammering home what delighted me in the Athrabeth - that Elven immortality is not actually immortality and that they see it reversed with the mortals. That they are zombies/trapped ghosts stuck in Arda and cannot escape to the afterlife like mortals do. That Gorlim's central character as the ghost that is stuck and cannot pass on and thus is tormented by this unnaturalness, loneliness, and partiality of experience is not unique to him; it is the condition of the elves as well and Aegnor feels this trapped nature most keenly because he wants more than anyone else to escape Arda to follow Andreth. That the world itself, Arda, is just a barrow and Aegnor is a barrowwight. He's haunting his grave and can't- nor emotionally won't- progress from it but is still wallowing in how inescapable his fate of elven 'immortality aka stuck inside Arda unlike mortality's gift' seems to be. That he's trying to be productive and proactive in this whole Maia of Mandos gig, but it doesn't actually address or solve his Andreth-shaped grief and regrets, he's just spinning that hamster wheel.

Which that quality of morass is why Gorlim's realization of the Andreth truth was delayed either though he has all the pieces to the mystery that was vexing him thanks to picking up on the tiny clues Aegnor kept dropping.

Also, there's the Numa Numa Song/Dragostea din tei reference again of which you'd only know if you knew what the Moldovan lyrics to that song were about. Which I picked as a funny reference easter egg for a pop love song. But also because 2004 when that song came out was the same year that I read HoME and learned about Aegnor/Andreth and fell into the OTP rabbithole. I was listening to it and other songs from that album at the same time I was reading A/A fics. Bet y'all never guessed there was a deeper personal meaning. And it turns out that those lyrics do match up- I'm an outlaw, I remember your eyes, you did not take me with you (initial reject was my fault), linden trees....

[caralara]

7 x Babygate

I wanted to keep track of all the 7 mentions Harry and Louis do because at this point it is getting ridiculous - half way through this post I found this great compilation of 7s by @so-idialed-9 as well. Big thank you also to @bluewinnerangel and @ialwaysknewyouwerepunk for their help!

369 weeks are 7 years as pointed out in this post

LTWT / Away From Home Festival Setlist: Louis covers 7 by Catfish and the Bottlemen, the cover of the album being an alligator, first word of the song is Larry (also has Twice from that album in his preshow playlist, in which we have a line that says “I ain’t ever going back to thinking straight”

2021

7 Years Sober Post by Florence Welch - 02 February: Harry likes the instagram post

HSLOT Denver - 07 September: Harry wears the peace ring. Also he repeats this in 2022 on 07 September.

2022

LTWT Vancouver - “We’ve got about 7 minutes, give it everything you’ve got - this is Through The Dark”

LTWT Copenhagen - “From about 7pm on i could tell this was gonna be an amazing crowd, i could feel all your energy and love!” While wearing chequers

You Are Home Door - 07 May: door reveals an image that could be interpreted as sperm, the tweet containst “tap” which is”pat” (ernity test?) backwards, as Harry constantly tells us to rewind/reverse

Pleasing - 30 June: Harry’s hands for pleasing ad have him showing 7 fingers

HSLOT Antwerp - 07 July: Harry wears black white “chequered” trousers

Late Night Talking - 13 July: the man Harry is on a date with in the music video has four 7s on his sleeve (4x7=28)

Babygate Anniversary - 14 July: 7 year anniversary of the One Conception Breaking Article  

HSLOT Vienna - 16 July: Harry’s first appearance after the Babygate Anniversary, Harry wears chequered trousers and a kiwi shirt

HSLOT Krakow - 18 July: Harry interrupts his performance of Kiwi says the audience is giving not enough energy for the song, telling them they’re a 7 out of 10

LTWT Brisbane N1 - 19 July: Louis wears a shirt with a big 7 on it

LTWT Brisbane N2 - 20 July: “Maybe about 7 years since I’ve been here, obviously.”

HSLOT Krakow - 20 July: Harry posts a big 7 in the background to his instagram

The Project - 20 July: “It was amazing, the crowd were unbelievable. I think it’s been about 7 years since I’ve been in Australia. I love this country.”

Sunrise Australia - 22 July:  “It’s about 7 years since we did the One Direction tour”

Bentley - 23 July: exactly 7 days after Harry wore the chequers/kiwi outfit, Louis wears chequers to meet the little louie Bentley (who’s been used to push babygate a lot, e.g. with the dms to his mother in which Louis says he loves his son a lot)

Louis Tomlinson Changeover playlist - 30 July: John Delf’s playlist on on Spotify was updated to remove 28 songs and add 7 songs.  7 of these songs are also on HSLOT’s pre/post-show playlist.

Amazon Pre-Order - 11 August: Faith in the Future has 7 songs on each side of the vinyl

HSLOT Toronto II - 16 August: “ Who did you come here with tonight Shelby? There’s one two three four, seven! 7 AHHHs just happened. “

LT2 Promo - 25 August: YouTube Community Post contains 7 photos of Louis and 7 28s.

Faith In The Future - 31 August: Louis tweets the phrase precisely 7 times before he announces his second album with the same title at the end of August. (credits to this post)

LTWT Taormina - 01 September: exit song is Seven Nation Army

LTWT Milan - 03 September: first announcement to officially start the show at precisely 7 past (was supposed to start on the dot), enters stage 28 past, performs 7 in front of a chequered background

HSLOT NYC VII - 03 September: Harry posts iconic MSG photo for the seventh NYC Residency

HSLOT NYC X - 07 September: Harry wears the peace ring again, just like the year prior.

F1 Playlist - 07 September: playlist published, discovered 10th, with songs like 7, 505 (lyrics: seven-hour flight) and Let’s Dance to the Real Thing (seven different writers), playlist contains a total of seven 7s (thank you @bluewinnerangel)

Lorraine Kelly - 08 September: “Freddie normally goes to bed at 7 o’clock”

Instagram Throwbacks - 09 September: Lottie and Helene Horlyck post throwbacks from 7 years ago to their instagrams

Formula 1 Q&A - 10 September: Louis mentions Kimi Räikkönen by name whose car number is 7

GMA - 15 September: Louis carries a jumper with the numbers 77 on the sleeve over his arm, clearly visible, when arriving for his Good Morning America performance 7 years after confirming his fatherhood on the very same show.

Zach Sang - 28 September: Louis mentions again that Freddie goes to bed at 7 pm usually.

LTHQ Bigger Than Me Live From Milan - 29 September: battery percentage is 77% after going from 92% to 93% when landing on the single being played on LTHQ’s Instagram promo

Tour Bus Playlist - after Louis added Bigger Than Me and Bigger Than Me Live from Milan the playlist is exactly 7:07 hrs long

Music Week: Louis mentions 7 twice, first saying he’ll be in his 70ies, and then talking about 7 months of touring.

Music For A Sushi Restaurant - the man at the very end is wearing Lyon’s Township High apparel, sporting a 74 LT on the chest (7x4 makes 28 again, LT is selfexplanatory)

NRJ Interview Austria - Interview on 7th November, talks about wanting to get into F1 more 🏁 and mentions being on his 7th cup of coffee after rumours spread the day prior of him getting papped with Freddie at the lakers game the previous Friday

102.7 KIIS FM: he talks about drinking when he was 6, 7 years younger

LTHQ‘s TikTok for „That’s the way Love goes“ flashes a 7 right at the END

BUAs - exactly 7 weeks lie in between the Holivia BUA on Friday, 18 November 2022 and the Elounor BUA on Friday, 06 January 2023

Flying from Cabo to LA(?) for Freddie’s birthday, Louis is wearing Trackies with 1977 on them, as well as the golden stunt sunglasses

2023

Woman Harry performs Woman as his 7th song for the first show back after Louis was seen stunting with Sofie.

Obviously there is more so I will update with what I find but also feel free to send me stuff you’ve seen and that I missed! Again, big thank you to the pre-existing posts, I tried to link everything I saw somewhere else. I am also sure, more will come! I am also sure that some of these listed are actually coincidoinks. But you know, how to tell at this point? I just needed to get this out of my system because they are NUTS your honour. 

[shisnhou]

is it ok if i could request a songfic dabi x reader? hold on by chord overstreet? sorry if this is triggering, i’m just going through a tough time right now and need some fluffy dabi love

hold on

pairing: dabi x reader

genre: hurt/comfort

cw: vulnerability, mental battle, too much emotions, mention of emotional overload, reader is very sensitive. do tell if i missed any!

wc: 1.6k

an: anon i’m sorry this took me a very long time to finish

“doll open the door,” how many times has dabi repeated that phrase? three? four? maybe five. he doesn’t know, can‘t be bothered to care. his mind is way too occupied to even count. a hand is buried in his black spiky hair, the other fisted and pressed against the door that separates you from him. “we can talk about this. just open the damn door, will you?”

you respond with silence. you know that dabi could easily burn down the door to the bathroom you‘ve been hiding in for the past half hour. yet somehow he still hasn’t, and you‘re thankful for that. thankful that he still has the mind to give you space and not just burst through despite everything you said earlier.

you sigh once again. pulling your knees impossibly closer to your chest and running your hands through your face. you feel so small, so tired, so sick of it.

dabi lowers his fist to his side, sighs and closes his eyes. he presses his forehead against the door and lightly bangs his head against it. he doesn’t know what to do from here. he knows you‘re probably in a tough spot right now, knows you really didn’t mean to say all those things you did earlier. he doesn’t blame you, absolutely not. he knows that you need some space, and maybe some time to think about what you had said earlier. but he can‘t leave you here. not like this.

dabi damn well knows what it‘s like to be left in a headspace that‘s nothing but an empty void ready to eat you and shred you up until you‘re nothing but a mere quarter of what you truly were. god, he‘s so familiar to that feeling and he knows how bad it can get. he doesn’t want to leave you and allow you to wallow in that wreck. all he wants to do is be there with you and let know that he‘s right here, just for you.

".. if you want to talk about here, i‘m right here y‘know." he tries to say, hoping that you‘d at least answer with a hum. but to his disappointment, not even a hitched breath disrupts your breathing. "if you‘d just let me in baby, i swear i‘ll be right there."

silence. silence so loud he can barely hear the own sounds of his thoughts. silence so loud you can‘t hear your own breathing speeding up. it‘s all pure dullness throughout the whole house you’re sure you‘d hear a pin drop.

"if i let you in dabi— would you promise me one thing?" are the first words to leave past your lips in what feels like an eternity to dabi. a breath of relief leaves past his lips, allowing his shoulders to release all the tension that built up in it.

"anything doll. fuck, anything." it‘s so honest and painful. the desperation in his voice is filled with so much emotion even he himself can barely recognize it.

"after this," you sigh shakily, wrapping your hands around yourself. "let this be the last time we‘re meeting each other, eye to eye.“

dabi swears his heart stops. suddenly a familiar ring in his ears makes noise. breathing caught up in his throat as he tries to make out a proper thought in his suddenly clogged head. all emotions coming from every direction as he tries to think of something he can say in return, yet not a single one of them seem to make its way to the tip of his tied tongue. 

it becomes still for a second, as if the world has stopped and won’t start until you say something.

“dabi are you—”

“i’m here.” he breathes. he swallows his words that were about to be thrown to you from him. words that he’s sure he will regret saying. there’s not one sane thought in his head, not a single one of them passable enough to be said to you. sure enough he knows what you mean, he heard what you said, of course he did, loud and clear. but something in him doubts it. there’s no way you meant it. had you meant it, surely you would say it right to his face, not when there’s a door between you two. 

“you heard—”

“i’m coming in.”

there’s no hesitation nor emotion brought in with his voice. it is simply vacant, words simply said with nothing placed behind it and it catches you off guard. however before you can even react, the loud echo of the door being opened takes a yelp out of your weak body. 

and right there he stands. 

dabi looks at you, but he says nothing. cerulean eyes pointed at you, looking at you so deeply. silence is what blankets over you both. yet it is not the silence where in it brings comfort, rather it is something farther than that. silence so loud it blocks out the hurricane of thoughts in your overbearing head. you’re not sure if you should say something, walk out, or even just pretend that he doesn’t exist. there is not single plausible thought in your mind, everything is so unorganized it makes the aching pain in your head unbearable by the second. 

“you don’t mean that, don’t you?” dabi takes it up in himself to break the tense silence between you both. he does not mean to be that kind of pushy person— although he tends to be sometimes— when you are in a tough situation. however, if he does not quell that lingering feeling of heartbreak in his stapled and already fragile heart, he knows it will put an insufferable weight on his shoulders. “right, (y/n)?”

uncertainty fills your body. did you really mean what you told him? sure enough you did.. right? you said it, and you’re sure you wouldn’t say anything you mean aloud. unless you truly did commit such a dumb error while being at a vulnerable moment. 

“because if you did, then i don’t know— i’ll— i’ll go.” faux confidence drips from his words. a believable lie that comes from the top of his head is directed towards you. sure enough, he doesn’t know what to do at the moment. overloaded with too much emotion at the same time, dabi is shaken up. his already slipping sanity seeping through the huge holes that he patched up with you, holes that are now re-opening. “i’ll fucking leave if that is what you want.”

swallowing the bile in his throat dabi looks at your figure that is doubled over in-front of him. head buried in your hands, your hair is the only thing that meets his eyes. you’re shaking, terribly and he sees that. as sharp words form in his head  hurtful thoughts in his mind are starting to clog him up. however, amongst that messy sea dabi hears in a such a tiny voice, in your voice, and it tells him something. something that he has been wanting to hear through this jungle. 

‘please don’t leave.’

and there, those simple words coming from that tiny voice in his head pulls the reigns of his thoughts forcing it to a halt. it forces him to open all the five senses of his tattered body, allows him to hear the silent plea coming from you. and it urges him to go to you. he doesn’t even realize that his body has moved to its own accord and bring itself to you, up until he can see his arm situating itself on the top of your head ever so delicately. 

“i’m here.” is what he can hear himself say. it’s quite the opposite to what he said earlier, and so is the intention to his words. earlier, he had lied to you, lied all because that’s what he’s good at. he’s so good at lying and being hurtful, but this time, he’s being honest. this is what comes from his heart, not from his calculated mind. “i’m not going to leave.”

and then all of a sudden, he can feel you look up. dabi’s eyes meet with yours and he feels you tug him down. and down he goes, kneeling to the ground, body before yours. then, without even saying anything at all, he can feel your arms loop around his neck. then the dam breaks. a loud cry comes from you as your tears fall on his grafted skin, holding unto him so tightly, afraid that if your hold was anymore loose than now he’d make up his mind and leave you for good.

“don’t leave. please. you’re all i have.” you beg. plead even. and dabi’s sure he has never heard someone beg him like this. for his whole life, pleads that were directed towards him were always pleads of mercy, life, leaving them alone. not once was it ever like this. in an instance where someone has begged of him to stay with him and not leave. 

dabi doesn’t know how to react mentally. but his body, once again, moves on its own. in a way that dabi approves. his hands wrap themselves around you, holding you so tight you can feel the squeeze of his hold that brings nothing but comfort to your unorganized mind. it brings peace to your mind, halting the the internal war that keeps your mind in a tangle. 

“i won’t leave. okay? i won’t.” he assures you and he can feel you nod against his skin.

dabi never expected this. in his whole entire life that he would be holding someone this close. comforting someone in a such a way that he can feel his own heart beating loudly against his ears. he has never felt like this, felt so wanted, so needed to the point where it urges him to stay and not leave like he always does. and it feels so good. so good to the point where he feels like he can stay like this forever. so good that he knows he will never let this go. so good to the point where he, a man like himself, knows that this is the love he has been deprived of. 

content belongs to @shisnhou on tumblr! do not repost, copy, use, or modify!

[daisies-and-buttercups]

“Love and War / Chapter II″ - Luca Changretta x reader

Summary: Waking up to an empty bed and the words that Luca left for you, you soon realise that everything is going to go down today, and you’ll soon have to pick a side. 

A/N: I swear that this post took me at least three tries, tumblr kept deleting and/or messing up the formatting so I’m really hoping that this is worth it lol 💕

Words: 2.7k

Chapter I Chapter III

⋆﹥━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━﹤⋆

The next morning you shifted in bed, stretching your arms in search of your lover’s body, but all you felt was the crumpling sheets, still warm from where his body was not too long ago. You groaned, sitting up and scanning the room, eyebrows scrunched into a tired look. If you had to guess what had happened the night before just by looking at your room you wouldn’t have had any clues. Your clothes were neatly folded by the chair and there was no other evidence that anything had indeed happened. No clothes abandoned on the floor, no man lying next to you. 

You walked down the stairs almost second guessing yourself, thinking over the night's events while you prepared a cup of coffee that you so desperately craved. Taking a big sip your eyes landed on the small table by the door, only usually adorned by a small plate for your keys and some letters that you hadn’t gotten around to opening yet, now decorated by a beautiful bouquet. You never had flowers around, the item useless and expensive, not something that you could afford with your paycheque, but just with their presence they lit the room up, their delicate perfume filling your lungs. You smiled and walked up to them, lifting the small card up to read it. A simple phrase full of adoration and love, with a few words in Italian, made you blush at the love you felt, but the final sentence made your heart drop. 

If today is kind with my soul, I shall meet you in your dreams tonight, mio amore.

His handwriting was smooth and elegant with each word, but the last sentence was slightly messy, revealing his feelings maybe more than he was used to. His fear. He didn’t think he’d make it back.

So today was the day. 

You scurried over to the phone, picking it up and calling the Shelbys, hoping that someone, anyone, would answer, but no one did. There was no point in leaving the house, you wouldn’t know where to find them and you had no way of knowing where Luca was either. There were many places where this showdown could happen, and even if you found it, what were you going to do? You couldn’t just waltz in hoping not to get shot. Still, the mix of emotions in your chest made you dizzy. Why didn’t he say anything? You dreaded the images that flashed before your eyes, first that of Tommy’s lifeless body, still clutching his gun, then that of Luca, tumbling as a bullet hit him square in the chest.  Tears fell as you pictured those scenarios, but knew that that was all they were. They weren’t real. But even knowing that, you couldn’t stop pacing around the room, counting the minutes and going over the events of the past few weeks.  You didn’t know how to feel about this whole ordeal. You never forgot how Tommy and his family welcomed you when you had been left with nothing, giving you a job, food, inviting you over for drinks and celebrations, but as much as you dreamed of it, you’d never be part of them. You fit in, but not fully. You weren’t part of their circle, but you were part of their “clean” life. Tommy made sure to to leave you out of the dirty deeds, even if you gathered what happened behind closed doors, and by doing so he shut you out of the only part of their life that would make you fully fit in with them. Then Luca arrived, and the calls, on the phone that Thomas brought just for you, since you couldn’t afford one in any other way, started becoming less frequent, with less news. No more talking about the business, no more working by their side, no more gossiping with Ada or Polly on Saturday evenings. You still got your salary, somehow left by your door with nothing else attached to it, not even a note, but that didn’t change the stark difference in your routine. You barely felt like family, or whatever you had ended up being, anymore. You felt even more left out now. So when Luca came around and actually listened to you, and talked to you, and shared his interests while asking about yours, you felt appreciated, loved. You had found somewhere where you fitted.  And now here you stood, weary of whose death you’d have to cry at the end of the day.

It took hours for the phone to ring with news, which made you jump into alertness, rushing over to answer. “Where is he?” You stayed quiet for a moment, fully expecting to hear Polly’s or Ada’s voice, not Tommy’s. He was alive, and clearly Polly had told him about your meeting with the Italian. “Where is-” “Where is he?” he raised his voice in unison to the loud sound you heard not far from him, probably his fist banging against the table.  So they still were both alive. You let a breath out that you were unaware you had been holding, gripping your clothes tightly, adrenaline running in your veins from the news.  He didn’t usually raise his voice, so his anger was evident, yet you weren’t sure if it was directed at you or at Luca. He clearly had gotten away, and the thought of that was enough to lift that weight off your chest. “I don’t know, Thomas.”  “You knew last night, though, didn’t you? When he was in your bed? Bet it felt good, eh, fucking the enemy?” You didn’t answer, your face blushing in shame and anger. He had no right to spy into your personal life. You knew that in his books you were on the wrong side of the war they were fighting, but his words were harsh, cutting through you without any of the warmth they once held. “Don’t defend a fucking wop. Tell me.” “I don’t know where he is. But this has to end, Thomas, this war you’re-” “Why don’t you tell that to your friend?” He pronounced the last word with sarcasm and hatred, but what hurt him was the betrayal he felt when you made it clear that you cared about him.  “I already did. I told him I support neither of your ways. Just stop, someone’s gonna get hurt.“ “And it would be a shame if you got caught in the crossfire.” he spat out, the silence ringing in your ears as if his threat were a slap. “Goodnight, Thomas.” You replied, slamming the phone down, not even sure if he was still there to hear you but not willing to argue anymore. You didn’t stop walking around the halls, hoping that someone else would tell you more about what actually went down, still in the dark, but no one did. 

That night you laid in bed, thinking over everything that had happened, or at least what you knew. The fairytale routine you had fallen in with Luca, the fancy restaurants, chivalrous words and tender kisses were taken away from you so soon after they started, leaving you desperate for what you had started growing so used to. Had it not been for the vendetta, he’d probably be here next to you right now, drawing circles on your shoulders with his fingertips, kissing you softly. But he wasn’t here, and all you knew was that he must’ve been alive somehow, since Tommy had no idea as to where he could’ve been.  Standing up you took a few steps towards the small balcony, desperate for some fresh air. There was barely enough space to stand on it so you leaned on the window frame, spotting someone moving away just as you glanced down towards the back street. Had you been in a less emotional state you’d have never chased after them, but right now all you wanted were answers.  You turned the corner, losing your balance as you slammed into someone, but their hands held you up, pulling you against them.  “You shouldn’t have come out here, principessa. You never know who might linger in the dark.” With your mouth agape you stood still for a moment, realising who was standing in front of you and finally wrapping your arms around him, colliding with his chest once more. He let out a low chuckle, melting into your embrace and holding you, feeling your heartbeat calm him down, a natural remedy that only you could provide. Your tears fell freely, wetting his coat while you shivered against him. “Well, lucky me then.” you joked, breathing in his scent, the notes of sandalwood surrounding you. “What happened?”  “Nothing. The police got in the way.” he shrugged lightly, his hands still around your waist, pulling you against him. “Thomas was looking for you. He called me.” he nodded, looking around the street for any signs of someone spying on them, but no one was around at this time, but he didn’t care either way. “I’m leaving for Camden Town. I won’t be back for a few days, so you won’t see me for a bit.” “And what are you going to do in Camden Town?” You asked, although you already knew the answer. He wouldn’t stop, and there was only one man in London that had a strong connection to Tommy, and not always a good one. You had never met Alfie Solomons, but you knew enough about him to know where this was going. “Not important. I came to get a goodbye kiss.” his eyes crinkled as he smiled, lifting your chin with his fingers and finding his mouth, kissing you with an initial softness, growing into a hunger that he couldn’t afford right now. He groaned, breaking the kiss, resting his forehead to yours. “What are you planning, Luca?”  “Goodnight, dear.”  “It’s not gonna end well.” “Goodnight, dear.” He repeated, kissing your forehead and lingering for a moment more, before urging you to walk back home, waiting until you were out of sight to slip away, walking towards the car that would take him to London. 

You spent days waiting for something, but there was nothing. No calls, no letters, no news.  You picked a few books off your bookshelf, books you had never had the time to read, and scanned the pages, not managing to focus on more than a few pages. It was that dark feeling in your chest that you couldn’t ignore, and the lack of news only made it worse, feeding your mind with the most horrible scenarios.  It felt like a blessing, if only for a short moment, when a call arrived shortly after dinner. You were resting your head on the sofa, singing along to some old songs while you stared at your hands, the concept of time slowly slipping away, when you received the news, making you sit up in disbelief. Polly had been brief, delivering the news and nothing more, leaving you clutching your telephone and staring into thin air for what felt like hours. She hadn’t said anything more, leaving you with the feelings that surrounded you. Sadness, rage, hopelessness… everything was bubbling in your chest, a feeling of guilt coating everything, making you feel like you were somehow at fault here, like you hadn’t prevented this.  You paced around for most of the night, only pausing your wondering when the realisation hit you again, big tears slipping past your eyes as you recalled the memories of the times shared, stopping your incessant actions at the faint knock at the door early in the morning. “I saw your light on.” he looked behind you, his lips twitching up for a short moment, only to fall back into a stoic look when he met your gaze, clearly seeing the tears that you tried to wipe away before opening the door, your eyes red with sadness and rage. “Tell me you didn’t.”  It was a whisper, one that made his heart break. It wasn’t just your expression, nor the redness under your eyes, but your moving away from the door, as if you feared him.  “Alfie Solomons-” he started, willing to offer an explanation for his deeds. “I don’t care about Alfie! I asked you to stop this after the vendetta happened!” you shouted, getting closer just to throw punches at his chest, yet no matter your anger you were nothing but gentle, barely making him flinch.  “He didn’t stop either.”  “Because he’s stubborn. He’s-” “I am too. He killed my men. Just ‘cause you were closer to Arthur doesn’t mean that the death of my men means nothing.” “I don’t want to be part of this anymore.” you announced, slipping from his grasp and moving away, putting as much distance between the two of you as you could. “You never were a part of this.”  “Maybe not, but with how things are going I’m going to end up as collateral damage.” “You know I’d never let anything happen to you. Even if you stood by him, I wouldn’t-” You turned and walked up the stairs, ignoring his words and grabbing your traveling bag from the wardrobe as he made his way up, scoffing but following you into the bedroom nonetherless.  You picked your clothes and folded them quickly, placing them in the bag and throwing a couple other belongings in.  “What are you doing?” He asked, sitting on your bed and stopping your movements by holding your hips, his touch delicate, in harsh contrast with his look. He always felt so… different around you. Delicate, careful, loving. Little things, like the way he remembered what wine you liked, or some of your little quirks, or the softness of his touches when he was near you. After the night where you both fell into your bed, he’d become more open with showing his affection, but before that he never really shied away from it either. His hand gently cradling the small of your back when guiding you into a restaurant, or the brush of his fingers against your cheek when a stray hair got away from behind your ear. “I’m ending it tomorrow.” He announced, avoiding your gaze. “What?” You turned to face him, not fully understanding his plan of attack. “I called a meeting with Thomas.”  “To apologise?” “To make a deal.” He corrected you. “But it might not work. So…” He took one of his rings off, holding your hand and placing it in your palm, closing it around it. “To remember me by. Or not. Maybe it’s better to forget me, after all.” He brought your hand to your lips, as if to seal a deal, smiling. “I won’t have to remember you. You’re not going.” Your hand on his arm was supposed to stop him, or slow him down at least, but he just smiled at you as you would with a child that doesn’t fully understand the state the world is in.  “I have to finish what I started.” “Luca, don’t.” you tried to give it back, but he shook his head, moving away from you and down the stairs. “Arthur didn’t deserve it.”  “He’s the one that pulled the trigger.”  You didn’t speak, not knowing what to add. You knew he was referring to the death of his father, but what Arthur had done was almost out of mercy. Tommy wouldn’t have stopped, so he intervened. There were many mistakes he had made in his life, but dying because of an act of mercy wasn’t what he deserved.  “Ti amo, bedda mia.” And with a final look he left, not waiting for an answer, exhaling when the door closed behind him. He saw the way you looked at him, the tears that escaped your eyes, feeling betrayed by his actions, but he did what he had to do.  “Luca, we’re not finished talking.” Your words had no effect on the man, just like you knew they wouldn’t, but you couldn’t stop yourself from speaking them. It wasn’t only grief that was holding you back now, but fear. For a moment you saw the man just as he had been painted since the beginning: a gangster, a killer, nothing more but a heartless man. You fell back against the wall, clinging on to the ring he had gifted you, the only thing that felt certain right now. You watched as he stepped out, closing the door behind him ever so gently, to avoid making noise, and wondered what hid behind those eyes. How much could you risk for him?

He could feel you looking at him as he made his way out, knowing just how disappointed you were, but he wouldn’t back down. He knew what was going to go down tomorrow, what he’d say, how he'd move, and he’d do anything to have you by his side. 

After all, all is fair in love and war. 

[fbfh]

I think you've horribly misread the situation [shitty roommate pt 2] - leo x reader

wc: 2.3k

genre: contemporary drama, you're definitly going to get second hand embarrassment, cozy fluff

pairing: leo x reader, attempted isabella x leo

reader: gender neutral, they/them

requested: hell yeah

warnings: mild swearing, roommate tries to steal your man once again, mentions of various mainstream vampire media (twilight, the vampire diaries etc.), brief mention of castlevania (even though i haven't seen it yet lol), breif mention of videogames and assassins creed, very mild delusion (roommate is secretly convinced leo is a vampire that's in love with her), attempted age gap relationship (she's 17 and leo's 19, he shuts that down real fast), very bad poetry

summary: You and Leo are both looking foward to spending a long weekend together, and Leo is determined not to let anything interrupt it, even if it means turning down your roommate's attempts to seduce him in the kitchen.

a/n: absolutley no hate or shade or judgement to anyone who has the same or similar traits as isabella!!!!!! at her core she's annoying because she's the antagonist, not bc of any isolated trait or traits

also she's shitty cause she keeps trying to steal your boyfriend?????

Edit: I forgot to mention before, but this is a college au where you're both still demigods, so you went to camp and on quests and stuff together

This weekend is going to be all about recharging. Recharging from the ridiculous back to back closing and opening shifts at work, recharging from having to redo that stupid project twice because your professor couldn’t decide on a clear way to define the criteria, and recharging from Isabella having her townie friend Regan over almost non stop to “completely shake up her look” as she put it.

Between the constant presence of someone you’d barely consider an acquaintance and Big Time Rush’s self titled album blasting on repeat out of her giant airpod shaped speaker, it’s been harder than usual to get in some effective self care. You have no idea how many more times you can hear the phrase “I’m going for Jade West meets Elena Gilbert, with just a little Buffy Summers” before you lose your fucking mind.

Thankfully, the hard part is almost over. There’s some minor holiday tomorrow on friday, so you and Leo both have a three day weekend ahead of you, which you intend to spend entirely together. You planned ahead, frontloading homework, chores, errands, and everything you could think of to remove anything that isn’t cuddling or playing video games and watching netflix together from your horizon.

This includes going straight from work to the grocery store to stock the fridge and get any snacks you and Leo want. You had texted him a while ago asking for anything he was craving, and head into the store with a concrete list. After a while, you circle around some aisles, avoiding the check out.

“I feel like I’m forgetting something,” you muse, knowing it’s untrue, but hoping to trigger a memory anyway. You can’t put it off any longer, finally checking out and heading back to your apartment. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t avoiding Isabella just a little.

You know bringing in all these groceries would be way easier with Isabella and possibly Regan’s help, but you just don’t have the social energy to talk to anyone, much less her, right now. By some miracle, you bring everything in yourself, and hope to get it put away before you see Isabella.

You turn to the freezer, putting away the ice cream. When you turn back around, you’re suddenly met face to face with Isabella, who has opened one of the boxes and is picking at a pastry.

“Hey girlie,” she says, elongating the hey.

“Hey,” you reply lethargically, putting the last of the groceries away. She looks at the pastry in her hand like she’s just noticing it.

“Sorry, I can’t help it, I’m italian.” She smiles, endeared by her own behavior. You have no idea what being italian has to do with asking before you open a box of your roommate’s food, but this really isn’t out of character for her. She brings up the fact that she’s half italian more than Lele Pons blames her behavior on being latina.

She’s wearing sweatpants that say chaser on the leg in red and gold varsity font, and a tight tee shirt that says “it’s okay to love them both” with silhouettes of the male love interests from one of the vampire shows she always watches. You collect the plastic bags to put in recycling, and see a piece of paper on the counter.

It reads as follows:

Drowning in my mind

No one hears me cry

Who was I before society

Before society put me in a pink dress

And handed me blonde hair dye

And told me to lose ten pounds or be labeled a freak?

The happiest people cry the most

Let the lyrics be your story

But I’m not like the other skinny blonde pretty girls

I’m

Different

-b.g. xox

You hold back a sigh.

“I think this is yours.” you say, handing it to her.

“Oh, it’s just some of my poetry I left lying around, that’s so embarrassing.”

I know, you think, you do that all the time.

“Did you read it?” She asks, hopefully.

“Nope.”

“Thank god, that would have been so embarrassing. My poetry is something really… deep, and personal to me.”

“Uh huh. Hey, I’m going to be doing a lot of self care this weekend, so-”

“Oh!” she interjects, eerily similar to Phoebe Buffay - you guess she’s been watching friends again - “I wanted to ask… is Leo coming over later?” Her voice is riddled with subtext, the expression on her face a little too invested in your answer.

“Uh, yeah. I told you the other day we’re spending the weekend together…”

She cuts you off again, a sudden, intense look on her face.

“When will he be here?”

You check your phone, scrolling through your recent texts.

“By 7 at the latest.” It’s around 6:40 now.

“Oh my god, I have to change,” she rushes back to her room, presumably digging through her recent additions to her closet.

You’re frozen for a minute after the interaction, left with a furrowed brow and the beginnings of a headache. You blink, then choose to reschedule processing why she feels the need to change for your boyfriend to a more convenient time. That’s enough of that for today. You don’t care what else happens, you’re not talking to anyone besides Leo for at least the rest of the day. You retreat to your room to finally shower and change into something comfy. As you pass by Isabella’s room, you hear her talking to Regan.

“...There’s something almost… supernatural about him.”

You bite back a laugh.

“Do you think he’s a…” Regan begins, ending the sentence with something too quiet to hear, but you’d bet almost any organ she said vampire.

So close. So, so close, and yet… here you are.

Not much later, Leo texts you to let you know he’s here. You read his text, and run out to hug him in the living room before even typing a reply. He picks you up, and spins you around. The embrace is warm and fulfilling and familiar, and you wish it would last forever.

“Hi, Sparky.” you murmur into his neck.

“Estrella…” he says, rocking you back and forth gently and pressing a kiss into your jawline, “I missed you so much.” He punctuates the sentence with another kiss, this one to your lips, and you smile more genuinely than you have all day. You’re about to agree when you remember the good news you’ve been saving to tell him in person.

“Guess what I got on sale for like, half off,” you start, excitedly, continuing at his invested expression, “the Assassin’s Creed bundle I showed you!”

“No way,” he starts, and you nod.

“I’ll go get everything set up, drinks are in the kitchen!” He watches you retreat into your room, disbelieving how he could possibly get someone as perfect as you to fall for him. He’s not going to question his luck. He grabs a couple caffeinated sparkling ices, and meets you in your room, setting down his bag and grabbing some comfy clothes to change into.

As you both get settled in, you fill each other in on all the ridiculous shit you’ve been through this week. You finally conclude the bizarre - yet somehow standard - Isabella escapades.

“So I will be avoiding all contact as much as possible,” you laugh.

“Yeah, no shit,” he agrees, “Consider me your human buffer.” You thank him, hugging him again and pressing a kiss to his lips.

The next couple hours are spent cuddling and finishing season 4 of Castlevania. Both reeling from the season finale, you agree this is a good place to take a break, get some food, and decide what game you should start with. It’s already 10pm, which most people would consider too late for dinner, but you have all weekend to fuck up your sleep schedules.

“Let’s review,” Isabella says, holding up two red lipsticks. She turns to Regan. “Which one?”

“That one,” Regan says, pointing to the one on the left, then turns to her list, and continues. “Here’s what we know; we’ve never seen him eat, and he never seems tired. He’s really smart-”

“Almost too smart,” Isabella adds, selecting black rose dangle earrings from her jewelry. Regan agrees, and continues.

“He’s almost hypnotically attractive, and his smile is a little too dazzling.”

“There’s something… supernatural about him. Like he’s not… all human.”

Regan writes this down.

“Plus he’s always wearing black and red, and those flowy button up shirts? It’s all adding up, Ree. That dream that someone was outside my window, the ring, everything…” She says, referencing the black and red cocktail ring she’d found with her stuff when she’d first moved, “I’m not saying it’s definite, just that… there’s a chance.”

“What about…” Regan says hesitantly, nodding toward your room.

“Please,” she scoffs, “he’s only with them to get close to me, like Damon and Caroline. Edward couldn’t have just approached Bella out of the blue, he had to infiltrate her friend group first, to seem less suspicious. Not to sound mean or anything, but they really don’t seem like the type someone… like him… would choose.” her voice gets dreamy when she mentions him.

In spite of having seen most mainstream vampire media almost as many times as Isabella, Regan still considers her the expert on these things, and decides not to point out that Edward didn’t infiltrate Bella’s friend group. Maybe it comes up in one of the retellings she hasn’t read yet.

“So, what now?”

Isabella sets down her lipstick, and turns to her friend.

“I tell him.”

Regan’s eyes widen.

“You’re going to tell him you know?”

“No… not yet. It’s too soon, we don’t have enough evidence. I’m going to tell him I know he’s in love with me, then once he’s secure in our relationship... we’ll see where it goes.”

She stands up, assessing herself in the mirror. She chose her outfit carefully; short red dress with black roses and black mesh collar, black rose bracelet to match her earrings, snug faux leather jacket, and black stiletto ankle booties with a very skinny heel, the zipper on the outside gold, not silver. She fluffs her wavy hair and turns towards the door. She looks back one more time, holding onto the doorway.

“Wish me luck.”

Leo enters the kitchen, seeing Isabella already there, leaning against the counter seductively. She’s wearing an outfit and jewelry this late at night that makes Leo wonder if she’s going to an emo tea party. He puts the takeout in the microwave. She’s still staring at him.

“Uh… hey.”

She lets out a dainty giggle, looking him up and down.

“... Hi.”

At a loss for words, and really wanting the awkward silence to be over, he continues, “Did you need something?”

“What I need,” she walks closer to him, tracing her finger over his collar, “is you.”

What the fuck?

His brain seems to stall for a moment, and she uses this opportunity to continue.

“I know why you’re here. I know that you’re only using them to get closer to me. I know-”

“Woah-”

“That you’re in love with me.”

Okay, double what the fuck.

She takes his stunned silence as shyness, and steps closer, putting her arms around his shoulders.

“You don’t need to play so coy, I-”

This time she’s the one that gets cut off. He grabs her arms and gently steps away, trying to make it abundantly clear that he’s not into this.

“Woah, okay, slow down. First of all, you’re 17 and I’m turning 20 in a couple months, so that’s a hard no. Second, I don’t know where you got this idea, but I am not dating them to get closer to you. We’ve known each other since we were like, 15, and have been through everything together. I’ve only known you for a couple months. I love them. Probably more than I’ve loved anything ever. I thought that was pretty obvious.”

He doesn’t want to be mean, he really doesn’t, but he can tell from the look on her face that she still thinks this is all part of some game.

“So why don’t I ever see you eat? Why are you so smart, and always up at night? I know what you are.”

He has to physically hold back a laugh. He takes a step back, and places his hands on the counter.

“Isabella, I have adhd. And I’m literally an engineering student. Why wouldn’t I be smart and have a shitty sleep schedule?”

She starts to protest, and he pulls out the reheated take out from the microwave.

“And for the record, I do eat.”

Exiting the kitchen quickly and retreating back to your room, he hands you your food.

“I got the game set up!” you say excitedly.

“Nice!”

You take one look at his face and can tell something happened. He sees this, and continues.

“I just had a very… interesting interaction with Isabella,” before he finishes the sentence, your head is already in your hands. You let out a groan.

“What did she do?” you mutter from behind your hands.

He pulls you into his lap, rubbing your back.

“I’m not totally sure,” you laugh, “but I think she thinks I’m secretly in love with her…” you’re both laughing before he can even finish the sentence.

“No…” you laugh, “no fucking way…”

“Believe me, I put an end to that as soon as it started.”

“Oh, I do.”

He runs his hand over your back, and you’re quiet for a moment.

“You know,” he continues, “I think getting our own place has definitely moved up the priority list.”

You couldn’t agree more.

[darthmaulification]

the good god is you, all good, all the time, is you | paz x reader

A/N: just something short and simple and kind with paz, because i want to kiss him all over (because i’m his riduur, of course) and is there anything wrong with that?

even though it’s a relatively universal phrase, the title is a line from god is good all the time by porsha olayiwola. i also kinda had the vibe of that poem in mind as i wrote this too. 💕

hope you enjoy! 💗

summary: love-making, pretty much.

content: fluff, domestic love and stuff, fem!afab!reader, smut-ish?, because there is cockwarming on the back burner lol, and they kinda seggs at the end?, body worship, paz is a heartsick dork, and plays with your booba, and you play with his

word count: 1,427

It’s in the dewy moments after, when everything feels the way a sunset on Naboo looks, when there’s nothing in the galaxy that can touch either of you. Paz holds you tight with his burly arms, helmetless, and everywhere else exposed too, slick with the sweat that coats the both of you, and keeps you slippery and bare against one another, like fishes in the big blue sea.

There’s no need to open your eyes, not right now. The heaviness that’s settled over you keeps your eyelids shut, and the wetness on your lashes does too. So you focus on Paz, who’s silent and basking in the afterglow the same as you, and focus just enough to listen to the steady, echoing thumps of his heart, and his long, rhythmic breathing. In, out. In, out...

You revel in the expanse of his body beneath you, his broad shoulders, his hard pecs, the light brushing of hair on them, his soft tummy you love— all strength, all the time— and sigh into the soft dip behind his collarbone. Make no mistake, you revel in that too, and the warmth of it all.

Another soft sigh passes your lips when Paz shifts beneath you, his legs further entwining with yours, all to pull you in and keep your hips flush to his, and him within you. He’s not a hard, hot rod anymore, finally spent after three rounds, but the girth of him is familiar, kept locked within you, the puzzle piece meant to be. The feeling of the connection, almost divine in it’s interlocking, is like an oasis in a vast desert, all relief and sanctuary. 

Paz grunts softly, moving again, and you smile when you feel him both shift inside you and plant kisses on your scalp. His lips are warm and soft as they follow your hairline, each one everything good. You feel the tender brush of the tip of his nose too, and catch a warm inhale or exhale in your hair, like a gentle breeze in summer.

“You asleep, mesh’la?” Paz’s voice is low, resonant in his chest and throat like the echo of a distant waterfall. The hands he has on your body, heavy and calloused weights, start to glide up and down your spine. You make a small noise of denial, digging your face into his chest, kissing him softly as you do. Paz shudders, his chest trembling beneath you, and so you kiss him more, with more determination too. Take this Paz, it is yours.

A few seconds pass, and you finally bring yourself to open your eyes, blinking at the quiet brightness of the room and exhaustion, but finding so much awareness with the man under you. Your eyes lock to your hand, taking in the beskar ring on your finger, and Paz’s pec beneath it. The crests of his deep brown skin are bronzed by the dim orange lights of the bedroom, and the dips are the darkest parts of him. Your eyes flit to his nipple that’s below your fingers, and you smile mischievously against his chest.

“Hey.” Paz jerks slightly when you pinch it, and lifts one hand to plant firm on your ass and squeeze hard in retaliation. You jerk in turn, the laugh in your throat briefly caught by the pleasantness of Paz moving in you, and you turn your head to look up at him, eyes twinkling.

Paz has just the most mellow, lovestruck look on his face and in his nut brown eyes, all his features softened by the endorphins from sex and love. In this light, all starry-eyed, all satisfaction and boyishness under an amber hue, he looks especially rich, like the opulence of gold and the taste of good, thick caf. He is gorgeous.

“What?” You croak playfully, voice a bit raw and still a little husky, craning your neck to kiss his chin, his thick beard prickly against your lips. Paz chuckles deep in his throat, one hand gliding the length of your spine. He dips his head so that he’s able to press his lips to yours, tender and brief, easy too. Everything is just so easy with Paz, all the time.

“I like your boobies.” You murmur when you part, grinning when he laughs, a quick bark that’s louder since you’re so close to his face. Paz’s hands slide up your ribs until they cup your breasts from the sides. He squeezes gently and you laugh, slapping him on his shoulder, and his sweaty skin is slightly tacky, like a honey glaze.

“Don't tweak my nipple, pretty girl.” He says in that toothless authoritative tone he puts on with you when he won’t really put up a fight. You giggle, the tip of your nose rubbing against his, and you kiss his smiling lips again. He hums, low in his chest, a purr of a humble lion.

"You like it, though." You tease, squealing when Paz swats your ass, and giggling profusely as you kiss his cheek. Pulling away, eyes soft like his, you place your lips to his for a slow, languid kiss. Paz moans into your mouth, allowing you to drink from him all his love. When you pull away you breathe him, and he breathes you, and the moment becomes warmer.

“I think yours are better.” He rumbles, bouncing them in his palms, thumbing your pliant nipples to roll them until they become stiff peaks again. You keep giggling profusely, even as you wriggle in his grasp to arch up just enough to plant kisses over and over again atop the skin and muscle above his heart, beating as strong as the beskar he wears.

“Mesh’la.” Paz speaks, breathless and maybe desperate too, but you keep kissing, because he is yours, you are his, and you love him. He groans quietly, hips shifting and you break your trail across his chest to sigh as you feel him sink deeper, a heavy anchor nestled tenderly inside you. Paz still has his hands on your chest, and he kneads your breasts, slowly rolls them in his large palms the way he does to get your body warm and quivering.

“Paz... honey...” You whine, feeling how he swells inside you, like filling a pitcher with water, or how the temperature grows as the sun rises. Your body is glossy and glistens with sweat, beads of it line your hairline, and as Paz moves again, sitting up and pulling you in to the furnace of his body, you gasp at the heat of it all.

“One more time, baby girl, just one more time.” Paz’s lips fervently move on your neck, sucking marks atop fading ones and new ones on clear skin. His body rocks against yours, the sweat built up between the two of you making each movement wet, sticky. Paz sucks on your collarbone then nuzzles his face into your chest, kisses sternum, and pleads, “Let me cum in you one more time.”

One more time...

“Okay.” You breathe into his hair, the tight black coils tickling your nose. He smells like pine trees, the lavender and birch shampoo you use, sex, and the scent of man, the distinct Paz variety. You could get drunk off it, and the tight bubbling building up in your lower tummy.

His hips shift, going low then high, and he repeats it— once, twice, three times— your body jostles in his arms, rocked to and from his heaving chest, like a ship caressed by the kind waves of a gentle sea. 

Four, five, six— you lose count, lost in the swirling ocean that is love and Paz.

Dark brown hands grip your hips, and you place yours above them, because you know you aren’t going to last much longer. He isn’t either, evident by his trembling breath.

“Paz!” The final gasp of his name comes with the rolling tide of orgasm, the fever pitch breaks to something resembling pure, and Paz is swept away with you, whispering your name to your heart. Both of you are breathing heavily, trembling and shuddery from your releases. You smile at the liquid warmth deep within you, and kiss Paz’s slick forehead. He looks up at you from between your breasts, still starry-eyed and now even more satisfied, tender.

“... Your boobs are still better.” He quips and you laugh, arms wrapping around his neck to pull him into a kiss. It really is in the dewy moments after, when there’s nothing but laughter, when nothing in the galaxy can touch either of you, not ever.

[neo-shitty]

all the muggle things. — c.s

description. in which you and san spent the rest of your days after hogwarts getting the muggle experience.

pairings. slytherin!choi san x gender-neutral (wizard) reader (yes, this fic is house friendly)

genre. harry potter/hogwarts!au, fluff

warnings. mentions of injury. 

word count. 1.6k

writer’s notes. i don’t know why i never thought of writing a harry potter-inspired au before! also, it’s been a while since i’ve written for ateez. i hope this didn’t turn out so bad! 

inspired by option #1 (roommates au) + prompt #36 from this list (given by @kathyrncapp835​)+ prompt #46 from @ficscafe​‘s dialogue prompt event (given by @meaningfulmess​). prompt lines are bolded.

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾  TERMINOLOGY GUIDE :: for the muggles, explained and simplified by yours truly

Muggle - someone who isn’t able to use magic / non-wizard

Lumos - spell that makes the tip of a wizard’s wand light up

Quidditch - a game for wizards that involves flying on brooms and shooting balls through hoops, basically basketball but more complex because there are three hoops and someone’s trying to catch an ‘i-am-speed’ ball that dictates the fate of the game in the end

Sectumsempra - a spell that lacerates the opponent

Wizarding War - the war between Voldemort’s side and Harry’s

Dark Mark - Voldermort’s mark

Nox - counter spell to Lumos that switches the wand’s light off

You tried your best to peer your eyes open when you heard the front door slam shut. You groaned, infuriated at how such simple tasks like breathing and opening your eyes required extra effort whenever you were sick. But getting sick was merely a consequence of your own actions, so you really didn’t have anyone else to blame but yourself.  

You managed to open one eye, fighting back the heavy eyelid that threatened to shut and you searched the room for other movements besides your own. 

“It’s 2AM, go back to sleep,” a voice said. Soon, it’s owner emerged from the shadows of the doorway.

Dressed in his all-black work uniform was San. His whole figure blended into the background too well that it almost seemed like he’d apparated back to your place. But with the faint sound of his footfalls, you concluded that he used the muggle way in.

You turned your head. You considered turning your whole body but everything felt sore and heavy. Plus, you were content with the way the comforter was wrapped around you—which was rare, even on better days. You watched San pass by the living room before heading to the kitchen. Though you couldn’t see him from the living room couch, you could see the shadow casted on the floorboards by the kitchen light he switched on. It danced as he moved around, probably to get a late night snack before heading to bed. You could hear him uttering hushed incantations followed by the faint clattering of kitchen metals.

“I’m glad you didn’t burn the house down while I was gone,” he said from the kitchen.

A smile crept up to your lips at his statement. You opened your mouth to utter a small thank you but you could only manage a whisper. You weren’t even sure if he even heard it from that far.

Moments later, he reappeared by the kitchen doorway. “But you were cutting it a bit too close though,” he continued, clutching a frying pan in his right hand. 

The pan—originally gray—was now blackened from the mishap earlier. You had fallen asleep in the middle of cooking your own dinner, only waking up to the smell of burnt meat. The scent had been that thick that it managed to seep through your clogged nostrils. It was that bad. You ended up ordering take out instead. You forgot that you didn’t clean up the evidence.

A croaky laugh escaped your lips as you recalled the accident. San only shook his head, disappearing back into the kitchen to put the pan back to the sink. When he came back, he had two cups in hand. He walked over to set both down on their respective coasters on the glass center table of your living room. When he reached over to turn the lights on you stopped him.

“Don’t turn the lights on,” you said, your voice barely audible but he hears it, stopping before the lamp fully on. “They’re too bright. It’ll give me another headache.”

You see his silhouette nod. You could hear him flipping his coat around, shuffling to find something. You didn’t know what he was searching for exactly and you opted to ask him. But you soon find out what it was when you hear him whisper.

“Lumos.”

Where San stood, an orb of light began to glow. You soon realized that the light came from the tip of a stick. He was holding the fir wand in his hand, controlling its brightness until it was just right. Soon, it illuminated the room with a faint light—bright enough for you to see outlines of the room and the furniture scattered but not bright enough to make your eyes water like the lamps did.

He walked over to where you were before leaving his hand outstretched. “Sit up to drink your leaf water,” he said, earning a chuckle from you.

“Leaf water,” you repeated in a hoarse voice before taking his hand in yours, clutching it as you helped yourself up. You crossed your legs, tucking each foot beneath the opposite leg in order to give room on the couch for San to sit. 

He handed you your cup of tea before he sat adjacent to you with his own cup in one hand and his wand in the other. Your eyes lingered on the wooden stick he gripped in his hand and on the fingers he had wrapped around it. All his rings were silver, representing the complementing color of his house, Slytherin. Or that was what you remembered of him back when you were still studying at Hogwarts.

You recalled when you used to watch him play Quidditch. He always kissed his rings first before putting on his gloves. He was deemed one of the more valuable players next to their seeker and you were just another student from another house. It wasn’t until your last school year at Hogwarts when you first interacted. The first time you both went beyond the occasional glances you shared whenever you were both in the same class. 

Though your first time meeting wasn’t the best setting for the start of something new.

You were tending to one injury after another, working with the school nurse to cater every student who ran to the infirmary for aid or additional support in the form of potions. San had walked in alone and upon catching sight of his green sigil, your first instinct was to cast a spell to disarm him. But he didn’t have his wand raised, nor did he show any indications that he was about to attack. Your guard was up; he was still a Slytherin and fighting for the opposing side.

But he was still a student of the school with a bleeding arm. The rip on his upper sleeve revealed enough of  his wound for your body to move on its own without much guidance. You led him to the nearest vacant bed, letting him standby until you got everything you needed from the cabinets. 

In the time you were treating the wound, you learned that it took him half the war and a Sectumsempra to the arm (which was originally aimed at his chest; thankfully he was able to dodge it—barely) to realize that he was fighting for the wrong side of the Wizarding War. He was glad he was going to sit out the rest of it and vowed to—and you quote—“Never do stupid shit again.”.

The Dark Mark was still tattooed on his arm, a permanent reminder of decisions that did more harm than good both to him and to the people around him. The tattoo faded over time as the population of evil wizards gradually decreased. 

Your brain was hot-wired to never trust a Slytherin. Or at least, it used to be. 

Much to your surprise, San did keep his words that night at the infirmary. He spent his years after Hogwarts atoning for all the damage he’d caused, dedicating nearly all his hours into hunting the last of the witches and wizards who still practiced the Dark Arts. 

San shifted beside you, leaning against the back of the couch before turning to look at you. He set his mug back down to its coaster before he pressed his palm against your forehead. 

“I’m feeling a bit better, don’t worry. I think I’ll be fine by morning.”

“I still don’t get why you let yourself be sick when you can just—” he flicked his wand, “—it away.” 

You set your own mug down after taking a sip, only noticing then that he pulled out the matching Hogwarts house coasters. His furrowed expression softened when you held his hand, peeling it off your forehead before sandwiching it between your cold ones.

“I’m trying to experience muggle living,” you answered. 

Slytherins normally weren’t the type who liked involving themselves with muggle things, more so with the muggle way of living. But San wasn’t always like other Slytherins. Cheesy, you thought. But it was a fact.

You held his stare when his eyes landed on yours. You knew his mind was brewing some sort of egoistic line or anything short yet clever to say. But you were faster.

“You did well today,” you told him, drawing random shapes and symbols on the back of his palm.

Even after hearing it everyday for the past few years, San’s heart still warmed upon hearing the words leave your lips. 

You said it the first time at the infirmary. At first, you were unsure if you were saying it to yourself as he heard you utter it after you patched him up. Later that day, you reassured him that it was meant for him. San, at the time, wasn’t too keen on accepting it. Nothing about what he did that day was worth the praise. But he soon realized you were referring to his decision to right his mistakes instead of staying ignorant.

You haven’t stopped saying it since then. The phrase became more of a part of your routine over time but it still held the same value as the first time you ever said it. You still smiled softly after saying it and you still looked at him fondly like you were genuinely proud of it. San was trained to easily catch  whenever people lied—be it in the form of speaking or in acting. But he never found any trace of ingenuity whenever it came to you. 

Somehow, that was enough to convince him that he could still make up for mistakes made in the past. It wasn’t too late yet. 

You catch the moment the corner of his lips curved up into a smile. One sly finger up, you were ready to—once again—poke the dimple on the side of his mouth.

He hated that. But if he were to be honest, he could never really hate anything you did. One ‘Nox’ and a flick of his wand later, the light on the tip of his wand disappeared—plunging the both of you into complete darkness before your finger could even touch his skin.

“I hate you,” you muttered under your breath, drawing your hand back and crossing them over your chest.

You couldn’t see him clearly in the dark but you could tell the smirk from his tone, “Of course you do.”

© neo-shitty, 2021

[messedupfan]

Infinity & Beyond (Wanda Maximoff x Reader) Chapter 4

Summary: This chapter focuses on the journey of the reader during the five years without Wanda.

A/N: Thank you for the likes and reblogs! Hope that you are all enjoying the story.

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You wake up a few months later in the Avengers compound once again. This time with your memories intact and feeling unbelievably disappointed. “She found him,” you find yourself saying to whoever was in the room as you involuntarily sit up on the bed. The nurse brushes it off as some weird superhero thing and not something to address. But then you repeat yourself again and again until she alerts Bruce who grabs the attention of the other remaining Avengers.

"What do you think she means?" Natasha questions as you make the statement again.

"Maybe she's talking about Wanda and Vision?" Steve chimes in with a concerned look on his face and his arms crossed over his chest.

"Why would she be talking about Wanda and Vision? Vision was an advanced robot with a stone in his head, he had no soul for Wanda to find. If any of that exists," Bruce points out.

"I don't know then," Steve shrugs. Then you repeat the phrase again. "Maybe it's Wanda and her brother? I don't know, maybe we're too focused on the cloudy eyes thing. We could be thinking about this too hard."

Then Rhodey comes into the room to inform the members that the radar has picked up a signal of an unidentified flying object. He thinks that Carol might be back. "Just say UFO," Natasha rolls her eyes as she follows the guys out of the building. On their way out she spots a worried Pepper Pots and quirks her lips into a reassuring smile. "I think she found him," she says to the woman and leads her to the landing zone of the compound. It's only then that Natasha realizes what you meant. Sure enough, a woman is carrying a ship into the landing zone with Tony Stark and someone named Nebula. Pepper wraps her arms around Tony in tears and relief. He is quickly brought to the medical wing where you remain. Somehow having watched the whole thing from your bed.

When you come out of it the nurse informs you that your eyes had gone cloudy for a moment and you had predicted the return of your father. "He isn't my father," you grouched. Huh, must be another ability, you think to yourself.

Later, after passing a few diagnostic exams with flying colors, you are discharged from your hospital room and are eating across from a very serious Thor as people argue and yell at each other. It was weird to eat actual food. Thor was almost amused watching you figure out how to hold your sandwich.

Tony is then rolled into the room with a furious energy. You can tell that he is really hurting from this loss, that he is frustrated and you can even feel betrayal radiating off of him somehow. Of course, it's not until he's shouting at the Captain that you realize you are feeling his emotions. You were feeling everyone's defeated emotions and it was beginning to suffocate you. As you try to distract yourself with the food, your mind wanders to how overwhelmed Wanda must've felt being able to read people's minds. That leads to the memory of Wanda slipping from you and it's almost too much to handle. You toss the plate in front of you, disrupting the ongoing argument. You’re squeezing your skull as the tears come and you scream for it all to stop. Natasha and Steve fall to your side as they do their best to calm you down. Once the memory leaves you and you've settled, everyone in the room gets serious about finding Thanos.

Nebula is useful as she provides the only lead to finding Thanos and you join them on the spaceship, brushing off everyone's concerns. The talking racoon asks how many of you haven’t been to space before, you raise your hand among the others which seems to be enough to make him laugh. You don't understand why until the ship rushes off to space.

Arriving just outside the planet, a floating woman you hadn't been introduced to yet appears at the front window and is surprised to report that the planet is just Thanos. Along with everyone else, you are heart broken to find out that he had destroyed the stones. You feel for Thor when he says he went for the head and shed another tear for the woman that Thanos had taken from you. It feels like you just lost her all over again.

The first year is the longest. The days feel never ending and drag on. Most nights were spent jolting out of bed in a cold sweat as you're being haunted by memories. It often felt like you were back in the hands of Hydra being electrocuted and injected, spoken to in a language you didn't know, probably German. Everything that was done to you in the time you were captured, everything that your mind had originally suppressed, was attacking you each night. Going through it alone made you miss Wanda even more. So once you could remind yourself that you were safe, you had also been reminded that you were alone. Lots of tears were shed in the night.

After Tony built up enough strength to leave the compound he did but he never stayed gone long. He would return often to attempt to build a relationship with you. It wasn’t easy trying to let him in, the lack of sleep being no help, so you didn’t. Your resistance never stopped him from making the effort to get to know you. Now that he knew you existed, he wanted to be part of your life. Tony knew that you needed family and he was all you had left, even if you didn't want to accept it. He promised to never abandon you ever again.

That didn’t mean he stopped living his life. Within a few months of his recovery, Tony invited you to his surprisingly low-key wedding which you begrudgingly attended with Natasha and Steve. They had been helping you out a lot with coping and figuring out whether or not you wanted Tony in your life. Steve often joked about fighting him again to get him to back off, but you never took the offer. You did your best to enjoy yourself at the wedding but it only reminded you of what you couldn’t have.

You smiled your way through the night as you thought about Wanda.

Her smile, the dress she would’ve worn, her laugh, that look in her eyes that is so full of love and only reserved for you. Your mind went even further back to a time when Pietro was alive and how they would’ve danced together and how happy he would have been for the two of you. You even imagine the wide grin he would have walking Wanda down the aisle and the single tear he would shed. Once he found that ring of yours he was constantly harassing you about when and how you were going to ask his twin. Even giving unwanted advice and ideas. It was all so consuming. That night you fell asleep crying in Natasha’s arms.

Months later, while Tony was visiting you he included you in on a secret. Pepper was pregnant. You didn’t exactly give the most joyous reaction but you were happy for him and Pepper. “When she’s born, promise me you won’t come back here,” you find yourself saying.

“Well I don’t know if she’s a girl yet but… why don’t you want me to come around here?” Tony asks as he returns the ultrasound image to his pocket.

“I want the three of you to be happy. I don’t want you to worry about me. Besides, I’m thinking of asking Nat to start assigning me to missions. I probably won’t be around as much and I really just need to get my mind off of the things I lost and the things I can’t have.” You keep your eyes on the promise ring Wanda had given you on your first anniversary. “But I want you and Pepper to be happy. Enjoy your life Tony. You don’t need to make things right with me to do that.” Tony disagrees but hugs you as he says his goodbyes and you find Natasha for your first assignment.

You are there for the birth of Morgan Stark. You forge her a special necklace from your powers and smile at the little bundle of joy. “Congrats you guys, she is so precious,” you say as you hold the baby.

“Thank you, Y/N,” Pepper says with hooded eyes and a tired smile. You hand the baby back to Tony and leave before thoughts of Wanda could invade and cloud your head. She always wanted a family. She used to fantasize about the kinds of parents the two of you would be. The types of kids you guys would raise. Baby names… Being away allowed you to forget her. But moments like these threatened to tear you down.

More years pass and Natasha is forced to ground you from missions because you have become too mentally unstable and a major liability. Steve drags you to his group therapy sessions but you hardly pay attention or contribute. You just miss Wanda and you allow yourself to feel that pain because running from it has only made it grow. For the most part you spent your time sitting in meetings with Steve or Nat. You preferred being in Natasha’s meetings since they were about mission updates and strategy and not about people crying over first dates. Shortly after that particular meeting Steve began to hint that maybe you should give it a try, you shut him down and turned it around on him. He quickly dropped the subject.

Among that daily schedule you would end your nights curled up on your bed in the room Wanda stayed in while she was waiting for you to come back to her. You would hold some clothes that still smelled like her to your nose as you listened to sad songs. For a while you’re stuck listening to Little Talks wondering if her spirit was lying by your side trying to reach out to you. Some of the things you felt were too painful to keep around and you had them stored at a special place far enough from here. One of them being the old computer. Well, they had been stored away for you but sometimes you convinced yourself that you made the call on your own. Not that Natasha arranged a team to steal most of your belongings.

Tony was generous enough to copy every video and photo file from the computer and put them into your phone. They helped you go to sleep at night.

Then one day, a man you swore had to have been on the vanished list that Nat viewed often, appears at the gate. “Is this old?” Steve asks.

“This is live,” Natasha says. They let him in and the three of you stand around as he explains how he can help. You, Nat, and Steve are skeptical but not so much that you guys don’t have hope it won’t work. Immediately you guys are on the road to find Tony Stark.

Over the years you tried to visit between missions, when you could. Not for Tony but for Morgan. You couldn’t help but fall for the little girl, she was your sister and you wanted to be the best big sister you could be for her. You also wanted to make sure she knew how many people cared for her and that she would always be safe and protected. Natasha was also captivated by her and would sometimes join you on the visits. You girls would play once she was able to run around and you even showed her some of your powers. During this time you finally allowed Tony in and even established a healthy relationship with him and Pepper because whether or not you wanted to accept it, they were your family.

When you arrive at the cabin, Morgan jumps out of Tony’s arms and runs into yours. “Y/N/N!” She shouts happily. You greet her with just as much energy and take her into the house to let them do the talking.

Pepper prepares some drinks and has you take them out to everyone. You re-enter the kitchen to help her with lunch. “Why aren’t you out there with the rest of them?” Pepper asks conversationally.

“Because my powers are connected to my emotions and if your husband says no… I might accidentally blow him into bits and pieces,” you sigh.

Despite herself, Pepper laughs a little. “You know,” she starts. “If you called him dad, he won’t have any other choice than to say yes.”

You shake your head, not this again. “Not going to happen.” Tony hasn’t directly asked you to say it but Pepper has and she keeps bringing up how much it would mean to him to hear you say it. “Besides with what we’re trying to do there’s a chance that he might lose all of this. I’m not even sure if I want him to say yes.” Your gaze lands on Morgan playing with her toys. Pepper follows your gaze and smiles softly.

“Hey Morgan, sweetie?” Pepper calls attention to her daughter who curiously looks up at her mother. “You should go out there and rescue daddy,” Pepper says. The little girl's face lights up as she stands to run to the front door. “Knowing Tony, he will find a way to protect everything he loves and save the world. Even if it kills him,” there is something in the way she says those words that causes the two of you to share a look. A hopeful let’s hope it doesn’t come down to that.

She then gives you a hug and tells you to stop by more often, she wishes you luck, and you leave the warmth of the home to the frowns of your rejected friends. You don’t look at Tony when you bid him goodbye.

Next you find yourself in Bruce’s diner and watch as Scott Lang fails to be recognized as Ant-Man by some kids. Bruce is willing to give the time travel a try and on the day the test run is done, you begin to lose hope again. You eat your taco near a window as you observe Scott set up in the landing zone. You laugh when Nebula and Rocket arrive blowing away his food. You almost can’t believe that is the guy who had access to the closest thing they had to a time machine. Steve walks in smiling at your laugh, you don’t do that often, with Tony barking orders behind him. People get to work on the machine and that pesky flicker of hope is restored.

As you work on things Tony is by your side teaching you about every part you are using and putting together. You just let him rattle on and on as you let yourself fantasize about holding Wanda in your arms again. Before you know it they are doing the first test run with Clint Barton. He disappears and instantly reappears with a baseball glove and a stunned expression. “It works,” he says and that feeling of hope causes your heart to pound in your chest. You are going to see her again. Now to find out when to travel to.

“See you in a minute,” Nat says with contained excitement. She is just as excited to complete this mission as you are. After a lot of thinking and planning they separated into three teams of people. Tony, Steve, Bruce, and Scott leave to 2012 to retrieve the tesseract, scepter, and the time stone. Nat, Clint, Nebula, and Rhodey vanish to 2014 to grab the power stone and the soul stone. The last team is just Thor and Rocket to grab the reality stone that is apparently inside of Thor’s former girlfriend. Tony, Steve, and Nat wouldn’t let you go on the mission because they still think you’re a liability. You argue that Thor isn’t exactly the picture of mental stability but they point out that Thor is the only one on their team that knows Asgard and where that stone is.

So you sit and pout in a chair for the quick minute that everyone is gone. Part of what has you so pissed off is that you didn’t get to experience time traveling. All because of a few bad missions. You watch them disappear and stare at the platform but time seems to drag on and you look down at your phone with a sigh. In that second everyone has returned with their stones and your heart drops. You notice one person missing and frown. “Where’s Nat?” You ask. Clint wears a broken expression and takes a breath before explaining how he received the stone. “Oh,” is all you can come up with.

Clint felt that it should’ve been him and you didn’t disagree but you understood why Natasha sacrificed herself. She confided in you a few times about how she felt like a monster because of what she was forced to do when she was being raised in the Red Room. She even talked about the mandatory hysterectomy and hated that she could never carry kids of her own. You did your best to try and cheer her up by telling her that adoption was always an option. “No agency is going to allow a former assassin to adopt a kid. Trust me… I tried.” She then boasted about Clint and his family, she loved them as if they were her own family. “I’ll deny it if you tell anyone but I cried like a baby the first time his daughter called me aunty Nat,” she got teary eyed and you passed her another shot of vodka.

Natasha missed them so much and you knew she would sacrifice herself to get them back. She wouldn’t have been able to live with herself if his family came back and she had to inform them that he died to save her. She probably would have felt like a bigger monster than she already thought she was. You stood up and left the room to collect yourself and get as far away from everyone’s grief as possible. Natasha had easily become your best friend these past few years. In the past year that you’ve been stuck at the compound there were days when it felt like all you had was each other. You can’t believe she’s gone but you have to hope that there is still a way to bring her back.

Banner finds you later and makes you some food and Rocket sits with you and the rest of the guys sit by the dock to talk. You force the comfort food down despite feeling too sad to eat and notice Nebula walking back into the time machine area. They call you into another room where they’re going to put the stones together but you ignore them and follow Nebula. They let you go, assuming that you’re still upset about losing Natasha. The first time you went on an actual mission with Nebula, you were put off with how serious she was so you came up with random nicknames to call her. She was annoyed initially but eventually she mentioned how funny she thought it was. Her tone had remained emotionless as she told you that and you had to refrain from laughing because it felt rude to do so as she was opening up. Nebula was still a very serious person to be around but she loosened up a bit around you, even called you her friend.

“Hey Neb-Neb!” You called out after her but she ignored you. “Bu-Bu! Hello?” You followed her to the control panel, “Nella, what’s going on with yo–” she cuts you off by wrapping her hand around your throat and speaking to you through gritted teeth. There was definitely something off about Nebula but you couldn’t quite figure it out. So you fought back because you weren’t fighting your friend, you were fighting a stranger. The two of you go hand in hand until she slips out of your hold and goes back to the control panel. You move to stop her but are too late. Next thing you know, you are waking up in rubble.

With a groan you sit up and dust yourself off then quickly panic, you don’t even know if they had time to do the reverse snap. You crawl your way out of the rubble and find Steve, Tony, and Thor speaking in hushed tones. “Did you guys do the snap? What happened?” You ask frantically, you need to know that you’ll be seeing Wanda again. Losing her a third time was simply not an option. Then you see a very alive Thanos just sitting there. That’s when it connects in your head. It was a different Nebula and she was getting a past version of Thanos into this present. “Please tell me you guys did the snap,” you look at Tony and he nods. But the look on everyone's faces told you that they didn’t know if it worked.

You join them as they attack Thanos but he is powerful and not easy to bring down. You’re tossed into another pile of rubble and shake your head, annoyed with yourself because you felt useless. Your powers were failing you and you couldn’t fathom as to why. Out of nowhere you see portals open up one by one, the people that had vanished and the people that hadn’t stepped through each portal. Then an enormous Ant-Man emerges from the ground and drops off a few more people that must’ve been trapped from the destruction of the compound. You gather with the rest of them and really focus to activate your powers as Steve grabs Mjolnir and shouts, “Avengers… Assemble!” Despite the unsuccessful attempt, you still charge along with the rest of them to fight against Thanos’ army.

Without seeing her, you could just sense that Wanda is among the rest and as much as you want a reunion, saving the world takes precedence at the moment. You could practically hear her telling you to go be a hero anyway. As you fight against Thanos’ army, using the hand to hand combat skills Natasha and Steve taught you, a part of you is still distracted and searches for Wanda. Regardless of where you want your focus at the moment. You make your way around the battlefield hoping to knock into her or something so that you don't get yourself killed trying to find her. Then you hear her.

“You took everything from me,” her tone is heavy and her eyes are glowing. You come to the conclusion that she must not know whether or not you are alive. So you don’t let her know and wait to find out what she does.

“I don’t even know who you are,” Thanos responds, angered by the woman's threatening glare.

“You will,” she says before she starts attacking him with her powers. Discreetly killing off a large gathering of Outriders hurtling towards you, you watch Wanda as she comes very close to killing Thanos herself. He calls for the ships to rain fire on everyone and that’s when you finally make yourself present to her. You jump from your spot and land right beside her and create a force field to protect the both of you. Other members are being protected by the sorcerers and it isn’t until Captain Marvel comes flying through that the bullets stop coming down and people are trying to get the gauntlet out of there. You turn towards Wanda and feel her mixed emotions, you wink at her with a smile as you let the barrier go.

“It’s time to be a hero right now, love. We can say hello later,” you tell her before you go back into the fight, the adrenaline rushing through you as your powers have finally activated. Each member does their best to keep the gauntlet out of Thanos’ reach but sadly no one succeeds and he holds the extreme amount of power once again. Carol fights him with as much power as she has to keep him from snapping his fingers but eventually gets tossed aside. You step up next using everything that you have inside of you, using abilities you had no idea you even possessed. But in the end you are tossed onto a metal rod that had been protruding out from the destroyed building. It had stabbed you through your side making it difficult to breathe. As you fight for air you look around to watch Thanos and his army disappear. Tony collapses beside you. “No,” you cough out weakly. You reach out for him and luckily he was close enough for you to touch his shoulder. “Tony,” you gasp as the tears sting your eyes. His eyes follow the sound but you can tell that he’s not actually looking at you.

“Mr. Stark, we won. Mr. Stark,” Peter says as he tries to grab Tony’s attention. Rhodey lands beside his best friend with understanding and sadness in his eyes. Yours tighten shut for a moment as your tears start to fall. You want to wake up from this horrible nightmare but this is reality, a piece of you knew that you couldn’t avoid. Then Pepper arrives and pulls the boy in the spider suit away from her husband. You look up and see that he has finally returned somewhat enough to recognize his wife.

She tells him that he can rest now, then she looks over to you so that you know that now is the time to say something so you don’t regret it later. With a weak grip on his shoulder you nudge him to return his attention to you. It looks like he’s trying to smile at you but is obviously far too weak to do as such. You offer him the best one that you could muster in your current state. “I love you, dad. It’s okay, we’ll be okay,” your hand lands in his and he gives it the lightest squeeze before it falls limp.

Wanda makes her way over to you and panics at the amount of blood you’ve lost but at the moment you don’t feel anything. Not even the pain of losing your father. You just feel… numb. It dawns on you that your body must be failing but that doesn’t scare you. She takes your hand as your loud thoughts of just letting go enter her mind. “No,” she starts through frustrated teeth. “You can’t leave, Y/N. Please, keep fighting. This can’t be our ending. I need you, please don’t leave me,” she sounds so broken but equally determined to keep you alive. As you hold her gaze she lets out a broken sob and tenderly whispers, “I love you to infinity.” She continues to beg, depositing small kisses to the back of your hand. As her words sink in, you find the strength that you need to fight off the thoughts of letting go. Then, with your heightened vision, you look around and find every remaining Avenger kneeling out of respect for your father and you have the urge to join them. You struggle to get up from your position, Pepper and Wanda try to stop you from moving but all rational thought has left you.

“I’m not dying right here,” you grumble as you reach behind you and cut the rod. You shift your position and Pepper sprays your wound to close it around the remaining bits of the rod that was still in you so that the bleeding would stop until you could get it properly treated. Then you kneel for your father to show your respect for him in his death that you failed to show while he was alive. You think about how grateful you were for the last five years and how much you appreciated that he never gave up on you. You silently thank him just as the adrenaline leaves your body and it succumbs to the full extent of your injuries causing you to collapse and pass out.

Chapter 5