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knoxic · 5 months ago

Text

Cycle of Greed

Azriel x reader | Lucien Vanserra x reader | p1 - p2 - p3 - p4 - p5

Summary: Reader and Lucien arrive at Day Court and go drinking. Azriel goes through some rough shit and gives Rhys and Cassian a new trauma.

wc: 6k

warnings: Alcohol, almost death experience, mentions of sex (?)

a/n: I wrote the Lucien scenes while drunk and sleepy, the next day when I went back to write I didn't remember half of it. It was a good surprise, I caught myself blushing at my own work.

After arriving at Day Court, Lucien took you to the inn where you'd be staying. Helion no doubt had a room ready for both of you, but Lucien didn't want to risk being stuck in his father's palace, not again. You understood his reasons, of course, the damage Beron had done to him was one Lucien would have to carry for the rest of his life.

The inn was cozy and entirely Day coded, embellished in white and gold. Your room was more of a flat, with a couple of bedrooms, a bathroom decorated with stained glass that reflected colorful lights, the kitchen was filled with white furniture, high arched windows allowed rays of sunlight to dance inside the living room, you could swear Lucien's skin seemed to glow with them.

Watching him in what was supposed to be one of his natural habitats was something special. Lucien had to learn how to fit into places that weren't ready to receive him in his true form, so he adapted. Although he still maintained some of his origins, the Autumn part of himself had mixed with Spring over the years, he kept some of the colors and habits, Day Court was only in his blood, hidden from everything and everyone, even himself for some time. While your wardrobe only contained Night Court clothes, Lucien had perfected his to fit into any court he had to visit.

Now adorned in white and gold, Lucien was breathtaking, striking male beauty only Helion radiated.

"When we get back, you should ask Feyre for a painting, it'll last longer." He didn't even lift his head to look at you. Your cheeks warmed, he caught you staring him up and down, but surely there was nothing wrong in admiring a friend right? Especially if said friend was Lucien, who deserved to be looked at with nothing but admiration and pride.

"Shut up." You rolled your eyes at him with no true irritation. Lucien barked out a laugh, throwing his head back, a smile curled on your lips at the sight.

"There's nothing wrong with looking," he turned his upper body back to face you, flashing you a smirk. "I even dare say I liked it."

"Gods, you're so full of yourself aren't you?!" you groaned, more at yourself for eyeing him like that. After over a century of pining over Azriel, admiring him, wanting only him, looking at another male felt weird.

You went back to your room, dropping on the bed and rethinking your decision to come. You didn't regret accompanying Lucien, but this close proximity suddenly felt strange, you shared an apartment with him for God's sake, why did you feel this way?

Being with Lucien never felt wrong before, but now it did. Because you were starting to see him as a male, not a friendly male, an insanely attractive male. When your body heated and a knot formed on your lower belly, you thought of Azriel. Not Lucien. Now you weren't sure who you'd think of when your hand drifted down your body, who you'd imagine between your legs when your eyes slipped close from pleasure.

Azriel had never left you unsatisfied, it always felt good to be with him, he knew what to do and you wouldn't deny that, and it was natural that you'd only find pleasure with him or yourself. But if he could want another female when he was still with you, then you wouldn't feel bad about wanting another male while being single.

"Did I make you uncomfortable?" Lucien asked quietly, you hadn't even heard the door opening. You lifted your head to peer at him, he kept his head down while leaning against the doorway. "It wasn't my intention."

"You didn't," your head dropped back, "I'm just thinking." It was true, but he just didn't need to know what you were thinking. Lucien hummed and you heard his steps coming closer, you had closed your eyes for a moment when his weight dropped on the bed, instead of laying on the space beside you, he opted for laying horizontally above you, being careful to not lay on your hair but still close enough.

"Of him?" You would've laughed at the situation if you weren't so mortified. You wondered if Lucien thought the same, if he felt attracted to other females after Elain.

"Can I ask you something?" As embarrassed as you were, knowing that he felt the same would make you feel better, and if he didn't, then you'd just pretend you never felt anything.

"I didn't know we had to ask for permission, Ace," he tried teasing but his voice was as tense as yours. "Of course you can." You took a moment to find the courage you needed.

"Do you– ugh," it was harder than you expected, Lucien wouldn't judge you but he'd definitely tease you for being horny, and maybe that wasn't exactly what you needed.

"Just ask it." You turned your head up slightly, he already looked down at you, seeing him look so vulnerable and open eased your worries. Lucien was your equal, no matter what, he'd stand by you and some silly lustful thoughts wouldn't push him away. Not after everything you went through together.

"Do you feel... Like, do you want–or think of other... females?" heat rose to your cheeks and ears, you averted your eyes from his but kept your head turned to the side, so you could see if he tried to hide a laugh.

"Yes." Your head snapped up, his face was as serious as you ever saw him, like it didn't bother him at all to admit it.

"Yes?!" You didn't mean to sound so shocked, you were just surprised by his lack of concern. If it didn't mean that big of a deal for him, who had a mate, then it wouldn't be for you either. "Like in a–"

"Sexual way? Yes, I think of another female." His eyes drifted away before he turned to look up, "It's easy not to think of Elain. She's my mate, and yet... I don't even feel attracted to her anymore." His mouth opened and closed, a sigh escaping him before he looked at you, his eyes pleading for something you couldn't place, "Would you think badly of me if I said she meant nothing?" You wouldn't, couldn't ever think badly of him. Elain never gave him a chance, he was completely allowed to do and think whatever he wanted now. At least he had tried.

"No," your hands twitched with the need to touch him, comfort him, "I understand." The relief in his eyes was clear, he needed reassurance.

Only a beat of a moment passed before you could stand being so far. Slowly you pushed yourself up, wiggling your head against his arm hoping he would understand what you wanted, fortunately he did, with an amused scoff Lucien lifted his arm, allowing you to push yourself higher and drop your head into his stomach. His arm dropped beside your body, his fingers brushed your own arm a couple times before he deemed it okay to rest his hand on it.

"Can I ask you something?" Hearing the same phrase you spoke to him before now really sounded weird.

"Since when do we ask for permission?" Lucien laughed, his stomach moved and your head bounced, you lifted yourself to glare at him for it and it only made him laugh harder. Before you knew it, a hot hand placed on your forehead pulled you back down, his arm dropping to your chest to hold you back from lifting again.

"Why did you ask me that?" His voice was gentle and warm, your cheeks burned at how fast your body filled with goosebumps, "Do you feel attracted to other males?" At your lack of response, his thumb caressed your cheek carefully. "It's okay if you do, it doesn't have to mean anything."

It doesn't have to mean anything.

There's something about Lucien that just soothes you, as weird as it feels to say it, his mainly nature allows you to be yourself, no hard shells. You didn't have to fight off males at bars because Lucien was there to do it for you. You didn't have to be the male. He radiated warmth and comfort.

"Come," he didn't give you a chance to respond to his latter question, the hand that wasn't on your chest gently lifted your head, "Let's go get drunk." For a brief moment his eyes settled on your body, before you could feel embarrassed under his gaze, Lucien spoke with a certain annoyance, "But it won't do with those clothes, honey."

You scoffed, rolling your eyes, "What's wrong with my clothes?" Even though your attire was rather simple, there wasn't anything particularly wrong or ugly about it.

"Funny, you never told me you had eye problems." The mocking smile on his face made you groan.

"Because I don't!" You yelled, sitting up so fast that your head spinned. Lucien blinked slowly, waiting for you to realize what was wrong, he only spoke when he noticed how lost you were.

"We're in Day Court, they're gonna kick us out of the bar if I take you out looking like this!" his hand gestured towards your dark clothes, "You're the perfect picture of a Night Court resident." Lucien stood up, snatching your hand and pulling you to your feet, you almost fell when he continued pulling you out of the room, towards the front door.

𓂃

When Azriel woke up for the second time, his chest hurt. A pressure he never felt before making it hard to breathe, his lungs burning as if he was drowning, the satin sheets scratched his sensitive skin. After he managed to fully open his eyes and look down at himself, he noticed red bumps on his arms and chest. When he tried to move, his whole body ached like he'd just fought the worst battle of his life. And the worst part was, he couldn't feel his wings.

In his half assed inspection, he noticed the dirty blonde hair sprawled across his sheets and he knew then that his shadows wouldn't help him. He tried to call for Elain, or anyone really, but he just ended up having a bad coughing fit. As he usually did when he couldn't or didn't want to speak, he called for Rhysand, hoping his brother would hear his desperate plea and help him.

'What's wrong?' his voice sounded annoyed but if Azrie wasn't so concerned, he'd notice how worried Rhysand actually sounded. 'Az? Answer me!'

When he woke for the third time, the room he was in wasn't his own, he recognized after a brief glance around that it was the infirmary.

"You're awake! Thank the mother..." The last part was uttered under his breath, Rhysand shot up to his feet, ruffling Azriel's hair with one hand and lightly patting his arm with the other. "I thought we'd lost you, brother."

Loud footsteps echoed through the hallway moments later, the door busted open and suddenly he was being pulled up, strong arms holding his body tightly.

"Idiot," sniffles and sobs muffled against his neck, "you scared me!" Cassian pulled back to look at him, wide and red eyes roaming over his face and body, taking in his features and wellbeing.

"What happened?" Azriel pulled back only to be taken by a different pair of arms, Rhysand nuzzled his head against his own, a shaky breath tickling his still sensitive skin.

"Madja said you had an allergic reaction, something you ate or drank or something overdosed..." Cassian spoke slowly, like the words felt weird on his tongue, "Azriel–" his breath got stuck in his throat, a choking sound filled the quiet room. Rhysand pulled back from the hug, violet eyes drifted between his two brothers, settling a while longer on Cassian. Azriel watched their silent interaction curiously.

"Az..." Rhysand called his attention, waiting for him to nod before continuing, "Your heart stopped beating."

𓂃

Shopping with Lucien was exactly how you expected. Trying on a bunch of different clothes only for him to roll his eyes and shake his head no, gesturing with a hand for you to get back inside the dressing room and try the next. You would've gotten annoyed at him if he didn't make up for his attitude.

"That's... By the Mother, Ace." He chuckled nervously, "Don't get me wrong! I mean—you're beautiful in any way, but in that... A Goddess would be outshined in your presence." You could swear the room had just turned a bit warmer and brighter at his words.

"Stop it–" you brushed him off.

"No, I mean it." That being the last dress you had to try on, Lucien got up from his seat, taking the basket with the clothes he'd approved and made his way towards you. His hand took yours gently, pulling you closer to himself, you were too busy trying to avert his gaze to notice the way he looked at you, the way he admired you. Trying to get your attention Lucien squeezed your hand, making you look up, for a moment you both just stared at each other, then he lifted your hand and made you turn slowly.

"Yeah, we're definitely taking this one." Lucien didn't give you time to be embarrassed, placing his hand on the small of your back and guiding you to the shoes section.

𓂃

"What?" His question was whispered under his breath, his sore throat made his voice rougher than it usually was.

"For a few minutes we–" Rhysand exhaled another shaky breath, "we lost you. You died." He waited for Azriel to show any reaction before caressing his mind with careful talons. Azriel allowed him with no more than just a blink.

"Az? Azriel!" Rhysand tried to shake him awake, feeling his brother's frigid skin made him recoil. "No..."

"Rhys? What's– Oh Gods, no, no, no!" Cassian pushed the High Lord aside, gathering Azriel in his arms and walking out in hurried steps. Being careful not to bang his wings, long legs or head against the door and walls.

He knew he hadn't checked Azriel's pulse or breathing, and refused to look down at his bare chest to know for sure, but he only had one thing in his mind at the moment, finding help. He would do anything to make sure his brother would live, but he knew he couldn't help him in this situation, and he also knew how Rhysand felt on death threatening occasions, so he went to the only other place that could give Azriel the type of help he needed.

Madja was always ready for anything, there was never a day or night where she wasn't able to help. Whatever it was, she always had the solution for it.

Until now.

"I am so sorry, High Lord!" she seemed as desperate as they were, "It seems his body is fighting something, he has symptoms of an allergy reaction, his organism reacted badly to something and is now trying to reject it. But I can't tell what and if I can't tell... then there's nothing I can do..." her eyes were filled with moisture, she couldn't meet anyone's gaze and wouldn't tear hers away from Azriel.

"We can't just sit here..." Cassian pondered, something came to his head and he glanced at Rhysand, noticing how he seemed to be on the verge of panic he stepped closer, "Brother, look at me! He's not going to die, you hear me?! Azriel's not going to die!" Cassian shook him, calling to him in his mind, showing him what he was thinking.

𓂃

Four drinks in and you couldn't take it anymore, it'd been so long since you've gotten drunk that you weren't sure if you knew how to handle alcohol, Lucien didn't seem like he'd stop any time soon. Now you realized how spoiled Rhysand had gotten you, unintentionally or not. You were used to his wine and the drinks at Rita's, which paled in comparison to what they had in Day. A little part of you that hadn't come out in so long, slowly slipped to the surface, new ideas about trying the rest of the unusual drinks or roaming the city trying a drink from each bar you could find filled your head.

"Didn't you like it? We can try another." Lucien tapped your arm with his fingers, bringing your attention to him.

"No, this one's fine," you took a sip of the coloured drink trying to make a point, grimacing as you did.

Lucien grinned, "Yeah? Then I'll get another–"

"No!" Your hand shot up to hold his arm when he moved to stand, his face told you you'd have to give him a good excuse if you wanted him to sit back down. You groaned and let go of him, your fingers lightly pushed the drink away. "It's not bad–Really! it isn't! It's just... I'm not used to drinks this strong." You muttered the last part, hoping he wouldn't catch.

"Sorry, what was that?" He leaned close, one of his hands cupping his ear. You rolled your eyes.

"I said, I'm not used to drinks this strong." Lucien cooed at you.

"Aw, baby! You could've told me!" the hand that cupped his ear fell to your back, gently patting and rubbing you, you waited for the moment he'd mock you, "I would've asked for a warm cup of milk–"

A loud smack echoed. Just in time for your hand to make contact with his arm, the talking and music quieted. A few faes turned to glance at you both, raised eyebrows and hushed whispers, your cheeks heated up at the embarrassment consuming you. Lucien threw his head back and barked out a laugh that had your head falling against the table with a tud, you wanted to cave a hole right there and bury yourself in it, only coming out centuries later when everyone had forgotten it, including yourself.

𓂃

"Thank you." Rhysand breathed out, after seeing some color return to Azriel's face he felt like he could properly breathe again, "Really, I'll be in debt with you for the rest of my life." Those were dangerous words for a High Lord like him, and still he pronounced them clearly, it was a promise.

"No need. You're my friend and I'm glad to help." Helion patted his arm and left after a brief nod in Cassian's direction, wanting to give them the privacy to be vulnerable. Cassian immediately took it, crossing the room and pulling Rhysand into a tight hug.

"He's okay, he's okay." He repeated. Rhys hummed against his neck in response.

Now that the worst part was over, that he was sure Azriel would live, the brutality of the situation hit him. Azriel almost died and Elain was behind it. He wondered if she knew what she did, if that was her intention from the beginning or if it was an accident. He wondered why. Even though he hated the idea, he thought she loved him, thought they loved each other, enough so that Azriel defied him. But this... this wasn't love. Her reasons to do it didn't matter.

Rhysand hated himself for failing his brother, but he hated her more. He wanted to go back to the House of Wind and make Elain pay, perhaps giving her the drug she had given Azriel and see what happened, a strong Illyrian male survived, with the right help, he wondered how a simple high fae would take it, alone.

While embraced in strong loving arms, Rhysand fantasized about the female who almost killed his brother, who threatened his family. Wild fantasies of her in extreme pain, deadly worry, agonizing her last breath filled his mind. He wondered if Azriel would want a turn with her, if he'd want to make her pay for almost ending his life, for taking away his choice, for destroying the life he'd built with you.

Ace. He had to tell you, even if you ended up ignoring him, even if it didn't change anything for you, you should know. But he had something to do first.

𓂃

Coming back to the inn felt like a dream. With merry eyes that place was heavenly. You didn't remember getting ready for bed but the oversized shirt you wore and lack of makeup on your face showed you had. After doing your morning routine, you left your room. You assumed Lucien was still asleep given that there weren't any sounds coming from the hallway, so with quiet steps you made your way to the kitchen, only to find the table already set.

You were too busy munching on a piece of bread to notice the presence behind you. Two fingers jabbing into your ribs and a weirdly attractive 'morning' uttered by your ear made you jump, the squeak the chair let out mixed with your yelp. When your heartbeat stopped deafening your ears, you heard Lucien howling.

"The bread!" He wheezed. You watched him with narrowed eyes but after understanding what he had said, you started searching for it. "Cei–" he tried to say something only to start laughing again.

"What?" You frantically searched for the bread and still there was no trace of it, glancing back at Lucien you noticed his finger pointing up. The piece of bread had stuck to the ceiling above your head, the splashes of jam started falling as you looked up. A weird wet sound and the smack of bread on the table had Lucien barking out laughter.

Someone knocking interrupted your silly moment, Lucien wiped the tears in his eyes and walked to the front door. The silence that followed was awkward, there was no sound after the door opened, no greetings. A few seconds later you got curious and decided to go see who it was, as you walked closer Lucien asked what was wrong, you would've waited fro the other person to speak if you hadn't caught a glimpse of black. As you fully turned the corner, violet eyes drifted to you.

There was something in him that just felt unsettling. Rhysand seemed disturbed, and you hoped it had nothing to do with you.

"I need to talk to you." His voice was quiet, worrying you even more. You nodded and Lucien invited him in, closing the door behind him.

"I'll be in my room if you need me." He walked away after a brief look at you.

You took Rhysand to the living room, pointing for him to sit before taking the other side of the couch. The High Lord leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees, his fingers fidgeting.

"I don't know how to tell you this, so I'm going to show you," he hesitantly turned to face you, "if you allow me."

"Okay." Even if it had something to do with you, it was bad enough to make Rhysand nervous, and that wasn't good.

Images of the last three days filled your mind. Azriel's pale body limp and Cassian gathering him would haunt you forever. Seeing Rhysand's inner turmoil, Cassian fighting to stay composed for his brothers sake, the Archeron sisters yelling at each other, Mor and even Amren looking troubled, it was all too much for you. Minutes after the memories ended you still hadn't pronounced a word, there was not a single indication of what you were thinking or feeling.

"Helion helped heal him, Madja wasn't able to so we brought him here. We would've taken him to Dawn but given that it was a potion, we couldn't risk losing time only to be met with no solution, and since there's not a spell Helion doesn't know, it was a wise decision." With a glance in his direction, you noticed how he nodded absentmindedly, his voice quiet as if he was talking more to himself. "It was Cassian."

The thought of Cassian poisoning Azriel sounded horrifying and the most unrealistic thing ever, "What?!" It was a loud whisper, you would've yelled if your voice hadn't failed you, almost muted from shock.

"No! Gods, no! I'm sorry I made it sound like that, I meant that it was Cassian's idea to bring him here. He took over when I couldn't think straight..."

"Thank the Mother," you breathed out, relief overtaking you for a moment before another thought came to mind, "but, who was it?" you hesitated for a moment, Azriel couldn't have poisoned himself accidentally, and the thought of someone close to him doing that, was terrifying. If someone had the guts to harm The Spymaster of the Night Court, they were either out of their mind, or the most threatening person to enter that court in centuries.

"Elain." Your stomach dropped, that uncomfortable sensation of shock filled you, Elain!?

Out of everything your mind could have come up with, Elain harming Azriel wouldn't be one of them. Up until a few seconds ago you still thought they loved each other, thought she wanted him badly enough to push her mate aside, thought he wanted her badly enough to throw you away and go against his brother to be with her. She had him, how could she harm him like that? Why?

"When Azriel was stable, I went to interrogate her, to know exactly what her intention was." He started when he noticed you were lost in thought. "It was a love potion. She had been cultivating passionflower for months now, its tea is used to treat insomnia, anxiety and pain. but apparently it's also used on love potions. So every time she pretended to help him ease his anxiety and sleep better, she was also drugging him into being in love with her." You uttered some curse words under your breath, Rhysand nodded in agreement before continuing. "She was using the flower petals and concentrated syrup on the cakes and pastries she gave him, saying it was a new recipe or just a form of payment for his help. According to her, three nights ago Azriel started acting differently, she could see the way his behavior drifted from being obsessed and lustful to disgust and indifference, so she thought it'd be a good idea to triple the tea's dose. The thing is, Az already had a decent amount of it in his system, he just wasn't reacting to it, and after the triple dose... It made him relax and sleep as intended, but when he drifted off, his heartbeat slowed way more than normal and it only got worse. The soreness he was feeling from the past few days turned into extreme pain, the beating Cassian and I gave him, his wing... It all made him too sensitive, the bruises turned red and angry like closed wounds or rashes. He managed to wake up somehow," Rhysand gave a humorless laugh, "and he called me... when I found him..." he drifted off, for sure reliving the moment behind his closed eyelids.

"Rhys..." you tried to find what to say, but nothing came up, you couldn't think straight. Your lower lip trembled, your eye stinging with tears that you couldn't keep from falling. A hand rested over your shaky one, his body shifting closer to you, his other hand bringing you to lean on his chest, planting a kiss to the side of your head before resting his against you and letting his own tears fall.

"I know it's a lot to take in... it was for me too." He breathed shakily in and out. "I took care of her, Az is safe, no one will hurt him again. It's okay." He kept uttering words to comfort you both.

You didn't know what to think. Azriel hadn't chosen her, he didn't love her, didn't push you aside because he stopped loving or wanting you. It made sense now why he seemed so intrigued when you mentioned breaking up, why his change was so sudden, why you didn't recognize him. The Azriel you broke up with wasn't the same Azriel you had fallen in love with, and at the same time that it relieved a horrible weight off of your chest, it also laid another. Because even if it wasn't your fault, you hated yourself for not seeing it earlier, for leaving him and giving her the chance to have him, and more so for even for a brief moment, wanting Lucien.

"You couldn't have known." You immediately closed off your mind and pushed away from his chest, refusing to meet Rhysand's eyes. "I'm not judging you, I wouldn't ever do that. I hate myself too for not seeing it, I knew he was different but I was just so pissed that I didn't even consider... I'm sure that the Azriel we know wouldn't judge you either. And, can I tell you something?" His hands were still holding yours and rubbing your back.

"Yeah." You still refused to look at him, your cheeks tinged with shame, Rhysand lifted your chin, his face showed no signs of bad emotions anymore, and if you dared guess, it showed hope.

"First I want you to know I'm not prompting you to do anything, I just want you to acknowledge the truth, you don't have to do anything with it if you don't want to. Again, I'm not going to judge you." He waited until you understood and nodded before speaking. "Azriel never loved Elain. His heart belongs to you... his soul belongs to you."

You tilted your head in question, wondering why he looked at you so intrigued. Of course, hearing that Azriel never loved another from someone else's mouth comforted you, showed that you weren't so wrong in assuming.

"Sweetheart–" he opened his mouth to continue but closed quickly after, thinking for a moment before meeting your eyes with a newfound determination, "Elain only resorted to that because she knew she was losing time, she couldn't make him fall for her naturally, and she knew she wouldn't have the chance to do it if Azriel found out." Rhysand shook his head when he noticed you didn't have a clue of what he was saying, his talons caressed you mind wanting to show you. It was a moment you didn't remember, and wouldn't ever because it didn't and wouldn't happen.

Both you and Azriel babysitting Nyx, who was snuggled in your arms, giggling from your fingers tickling his sides. Azriel watched the scene with adoring eyes, his shadows danced at the sound of your laughter, floating around you. The baby's back was turned to him, and the sight of his wings and black hair gave Azriel an image of what could be his future. His baby, giggling and snuggling with you, their eyes a copy of yours, nose the perfect mixture of you both, pointy ears half hidden behind black hair. Your eyes met his from behind his nephew's head, the light in them and your face glowing with happiness told him you were thinking the same. The love he cultivated behind his ribs bloomed, he could swear his heart pulsed so hard you could see it moving even hidden behind his shirt.

He watched you gently place Nyx down, making sure he entertained himself with some toys before making your way towards him. Azriel met you halfway, as always, locking his arms behind you and pulling you into his chest, your bodies fit perfectly.

"Can you imagine it?" You spoke softly.

"Yeah, I can." You could basically hear his smile.

Azriel pulled back slightly, his hand coming up to your head to make you look at him. Your eyes met hazel ones, the molten gold in his eyes, mingled with green and brown, glowed. The swirls they made resembled his shadows, you could spend hours staring into his irises and still they would fascinate you. Azriel blinked, when your eyes met this time, there was gold in yours too, a small thread growing brighter and brighter, his heart ached, a pull constricted his breath and he hissed, when your brows furrowed and your eyes watered, he knew you felt the same.

The thread became bigger and you finally felt your souls connected, Azriel's happiness was overwhelming, the tears fell. His forehead rested on yours, he sniffled and chuckled a moment later, shaking his head in astonishment.

"It's you..." he smiled, pulling back and caressing your face, "I always knew it was you." He whipped your tears while his own fell freely down his cheeks, your hands cupped his face, bringing him down for a kiss.

The memory ended and your heart broke. Seeing Azriel so close like that again, and so full of love, that was the male you knew and loved, knowing that perhaps you'd never get to experience that moment with him, absolutely wrecked you. Your throat tightened trying to hold back your sobs, fat tears rolled down your face, wetting your and Rhysand's shirt.

Azriel was your mate. It was you he was tied to. Not Elain, not Mor. You.

Your mind provided you with a thousand possibilities of how your life could have been, if only Elain hadn't interfered. Your heart ached for him, for you, for the family you could've built. You still wanted him, it was too soon for you to have stopped wanting, but it was also too early to tell what was the right thing to do. Perhaps such a thing didn't exist, you both have always walked a thin line between right and wrong.

What confused you most was also longing for Lucien. Right when you decided that it wasn't wrong to want him, this happened. How could you feel so much want, and for different people?

So you cried. For everything and everyone. For all the possible futures you could've had, and for the ones you still could have. For hatred, for love, for the blankness inside you. For not knowing if what you felt for Lucien was only lust. For still loving Azriel, enough that whatever happened with Elain didn't matter anymore, it wasn't his fault anyway. And most importantly, you cried for yourself. For the pain inflicted upon you, for the rough path you always had to walk, for the weight of the world that you carried on your shoulders everyday.

Rhysand didn't move, his arms never strayed from your trembling body. He never tried to stop your tears, he knew you had to get the pain out someway. He whispered gentle words right by your ear, everything he knew would help ease your worries and pain.

The tears stopped after a few minutes, Rhys didn't let go immediately, letting you make the first move and pull away first. After that you spent a little while thinking through your options, taking a moment to decide what you wanted.

“Do you think–” you glanced at him to see his expression, “do you think he'll want to see me?”

“What?!” Rhysand scoffed, “Sweetheart, of course he'll want to see you.”

This trip was supposed to be relaxing, a time for you to not think of everything that happened. Lucien has asked you to come with him, to be there for him. You knew that he'd be okay with you going to see Azriel, because that's just the way he was, he would put himself aside to make sure his friends were happy, nevermind that his own happiness was just as important.

If someone deserves happiness, a happy ending, it's him. Lucien overworked so he wouldn't notice how alone he was, he used to avoid going home before you went to live with him. You both had become so much closer in the past few days, taking care of each other, having more fun than you've had in years.

You weighed your options, you could stay with him and continue with your original plans, you could go see Azriel out of respect for the time you spent together and worry for the male you loved, you could just send a letter, and you could go back to him, because none of what happened was his fault.

“I need some time to think.”

Taglist: @going-through-shit @crazylokonugget @meritxellao @cleverzonkwombatsludge @paintedbyshadows @mp-littlebit @rcarbo1 @that-one-little-soybean @scatteredstardustt @littlepippilongstocking @lorosette @minnieoo @hailqueenconquer @azriels-shadowsinger @blessthepizzaman @chelsiemp @saltedcoffeescotch @thestartitaness @historygeekqueen @sillyfreakfanparty @entr4p3 @warmdragonfly @clementine111002 @azriel-shadowsingerr @amiime @anuttellaa @loulou0101 @acourtofbatboydreams @xmalfoyweasleyx @anna-reader-blog @melmo567 @buttermilktea11 @helo1281917 @thelov3lybookworm @cazrielsfairygf @hanatsuki-hime @st4r-girl-official @feiwelinchen @fhgsvbnh

#azriel x reader #lucien vanserra x reader #azriel shadowsinger #azriel spymaster #azriel fic #azriel fanfic #azriel acotar #azriel

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cherryl4na · 7 months ago

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˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ `"lamborghini miura and date nights pt. 1"

abstract || you and lando enjoy life outside of all the chaos that comes with him being 'The Ace'

fem!reader || fluff. steamy. mafia au. lamborghini miura. will be a pt. 2. heavily inspired by the suit at a mclaren event and the outfit at cannes. 3.6k words

Lando Norris’ penthouse is the epitome of luxury and power, a sanctuary high above the city’s restless heartbeat. The expansive living space is a testament to modern elegance, with floor-to-ceiling windows offering a panoramic view of the skyline, the city lights twinkling like distant stars.

When stepping out of the private elevator, you’re greeted by a foyer with polished marble floors, leading into an open-concept living area. The décor is a blend of classic and contemporary, with rich, dark wood paneling and sleek, minimalist furniture. A grand piano sits in one corner, its black lacquer finish reflecting the soft glow of the overhead designer lighting.

The lounge area is dominated by a large, plush sofa that faces a state-of-the-art entertainment system, and a glass coffee table holds an array of high-end spirits and crystal decanters. Original artworks adorn the walls, and a collection of rare books fills the built-in shelves, revealing Lando’s taste for the finer things in life.

The dining area features a long, ebony dining table surrounded by leather-upholstered chairs, perfect for hosting intimate gatherings or conducting discreet business meetings. Adjacent to it is a gourmet kitchen, fitted with professional-grade appliances and a sleek breakfast bar.

The penthouse also boasts a private gym, a spa-like bathroom with a Jacuzzi and a rain shower, and a walk-in wardrobe that houses an impressive collection of designer suits and racing memorabilia.

Lando’s personal quarters are a sanctuary within a sanctuary. The master bedroom is spacious, with a king-sized bed taking center stage, draped in the finest silk linens. A private balcony extends from the bedroom, offering a secluded spot to take in the breathtaking views or simply enjoy a moment of solitude.

Every detail in Lando’s penthouse speaks of a man who commands respect and enjoys his success, yet values privacy and comfort above all else. It’s a space that’s both a showpiece and a retreat, reflecting the complex character of ‘The Ace’ himself.

As of now, the evening had settled over the city like a velvet shroud, the skyline a jagged silhouette against the twilight sky. Inside the luxurious penthouse, Lando Norris watched you with an intensity that belied his calm exterior.

You stood before the full-length mirror, the soft fabric of your Versace dress cascading down in waves of midnight blue, a stark contrast to the elegance of your skin. The room was filled with the quiet rustle of silk and the subtle scent of vanilla from your perfume. It was a rare occasion, this dance of preparation, and Lando found himself captivated by the ritual.

He leaned casually against the mahogany door frame, arms crossed over his chest covered with a white Nordstrom silk shirt that has been left unbuttoned just slightly to exude enough sensuality but keeping it decent, his two usual gold chains around his thick, tan neck as his eyes followed your every move. There was something about the way you moved, the confidence in your gestures, that drew him in. It was a dance he had seen many perform but none with such genuine disregard for the world’s expectations.

“You don’t have to impress anyone,” Lando finally spoke, his voice a low rumble in the opulent room.

You met his gaze in the mirror, a small smile playing on your lips. “I’m not trying to impress,” you replied, your voice steady. “I’m trying to remember who I am beyond all this,” you gestured vaguely, encompassing the grandeur of the room and, by extension, the life you had found yourself entwined in.

Lando pushed off from the doorframe, his steps silent on the plush carpet as he approached. “And who are you exactly, in this world?” he asked, stopping just a breath away from you.

You turned to face him, the intensity of his gaze compelling you to answer with truth. “Someone who still believes in a bit of normality, even in a world as cynical as ours.”

His chuckle was soft, a sound that warmed you more than any embrace. “Then perhaps this will serve as a reminder,” Lando said, producing a small, black velvet box from his pocket.

He opened it to reveal a delicate gold chain, from which hung a pendant crafted in the shape of a lotus, its petals open as if reaching for the last rays of the sun. “The lotus blooms in the mud,” he murmured, his fingers deft as he clasped the necklace around your neck.

The lotus flower, revered across cultures and spiritual traditions, embodies profound symbolism and meaning. Emerging from muddy waters yet remaining unstained, it symbolizes purity of heart, mind, and spirit. Its ability to bloom immaculately amidst adversity speaks to resilience and strength, teaching us to persevere and flourish despite life's challenges.

It serves as a timeless metaphor for the human experience — a reminder that through adversity, purity, and spiritual growth, we can rise above the murky waters of life and blossom into our fullest potential.

You reached up to touch the pendant, its cool metal a stark contrast to the warmth of his fingers still lingering on your skin. “It’s beautiful,” you whispered, gratitude lacing your words. Lando stepped back, his eyes never leaving yours. “As are you,” he said, not as a compliment, but as a simple statement of fact.

With a smile that matched the warmth of his words, you followed Lando out of his luxurious penthouse. The evening air greeted you with a gentle breeze as you made your way towards the private garage, where a sleek, vintage Lamborghini Miura awaited. Its navy paint gleamed under the soft glow of the penthouse's exterior lights, exuding elegance and power in equal measure.

"You're driving this?" you asked, your voice a mixture of surprise and excitement, a smile slowly inching its way on your face.

Lando nodded, a playful glint in his eyes as he held open the passenger door for you. "Well, how else did you think we’d travel? I figured we could take a little drive before our reservation. Trust me, it'll be an experience you won't forget."

As you move to settle into the plush leather seat, Lando places a hand on your head to make sure it’s protected from the roof of the car. Heading around the car, Lando enters the driver side, and effortlessly starts the engine, causing the powerful rumble to fill the air around you. The car eased out of the garage with grace, navigating the city streets with the familiarity of a seasoned driver. The night enveloped you both, the city lights painting a canvas of twinkling stars overhead.

With each turn and straight away, the Lamborghini carried you through the cityscape, the wind whispering secrets as it tousled your hair. In the midst of this exhilarating journey, Lando's presence beside you remained a constant source of comfort and excitement, his occasional glance your way a silent promise of more adventures to come.

As you ventured further into the night, the world outside seemed to fade away, leaving only the hum of the engine and the shared moments between you and Lando. In the soft glow of passing street lamps, you realized that this impromptu drive wasn't just about the destination—it was about the connection forged in the quiet moments between heartbeats, where each glance and smile spoke volumes about the budding romance in the air.

And as the Lamborghini carried you both towards an unknown horizon, you couldn't help but feel that this night was just the beginning of a journey filled with endless possibilities, where every twist of fate was waiting to be explored together.

With each mile that passed beneath the Lamborghini's wheels, the cityscape transformed into a mesmerizing blur of lights and shadows. Lando navigated the streets with effortless precision, occasionally stealing glances at you, his expression a mix of anticipation and contentment.

As the vibrant pulse of the city gradually gave way to quieter, tree-lined avenues, the Lamborghini slowed to a stop in front of a stately building adorned with ivy-covered walls and softly glowing lanterns. You looked up, realizing you had arrived at a charming and exclusive restaurant known for its exquisite cuisine and intimate ambiance.

Lando turned off the engine, and the sudden silence enveloped you like a comforting embrace. He stepped out of the car, swiftly coming around to open your door with a gentlemanly flourish. As you emerged, the cool evening air wrapped around you, carrying with it the tantalizing aroma of fine dining and the promise of a memorable evening ahead.

The entrance of the restaurant welcomed you with a warm glow from within, casting a soft halo around Lando as he extended his hand, inviting you to walk with him towards the door. You accepted graciously, feeling a flutter of excitement mingled with a touch of nervousness. This evening had already surpassed any expectations you might have had, and yet, you couldn't help but wonder what surprises lay in store.

Inside, the ambiance was elegant yet inviting, with soft music playing in the background and flickering candlelight casting a soft glow over linen-covered tables. The maître d' greeted you warmly, confirming your reservation and guiding you both to a secluded corner table with a breathtaking view of the city skyline.

As you settled into your seats, Lando's gaze met yours across the table, his eyes sparkling with a quiet intensity that mirrored your own emotions. The evening stretched out before you like an uncharted path, each moment unfolding with a delicate grace that seemed to deepen the connection between you.

Conversation flowed effortlessly between bites of exquisitely prepared dishes and sips of fine wine, punctuated by shared laughter and stolen glances that spoke volumes. In the intimate setting of the restaurant, surrounded by the soft murmur of other diners and the gentle hum of city life beyond the windows, it felt as though time had slowed to a perfect cadence, allowing you both to savor every fleeting second together.

And as the night progressed, you found yourself caught in a whirlwind of emotions—excitement, attraction, and a growing sense of intimacy that seemed to bloom with each passing moment. Across the table, Lando's smile was a beacon of warmth, his presence a reassuring anchor in the sea of possibility that stretched out before you.

As dessert arrived, accompanied by a flourish of culinary artistry that mirrored the magic of the evening itself, you couldn't help but marvel at how a spontaneous drive in a Lamborghini had led to this moment of shared connection and undeniable chemistry between you and Lando.

The restaurant hummed with a subtle buzz of conversation and the clinking of glasses, yet your attention was solely on the man sitting across from you. Lando, with his easy charm and magnetic presence, had swept you off your feet from the moment you met. His laughter was infectious, his stories captivating, and as the evening progressed, you found yourself drawn deeper into his orbit.

The evening had been filled with unexpected turns—a scenic drive through desert landscapes that stretched endlessly under a starlit sky, conversations that ranged from lighthearted banter to deeper musings about life and dreams. Each moment seemed to unfold effortlessly, as if fate had orchestrated this encounter.

And now, as dessert was served—a masterpiece of flavors and presentation—you felt a surge of anticipation mingled with a hint of nervous excitement. Lando caught your gaze, his eyes sparkling with a mixture of mischief and admiration. Without a word, he reached across the table, his hand finding yours with a gentle yet confident touch.

"Care to dance?" he murmured, his voice low and filled with a magnetic charm that sent a shiver down your spine. You couldn't resist the invitation, nor did you want to. With a smile that matched his own, you nodded, allowing him to lead you onto the small, cleared space between tables where other diners watched with subtle curiosity.

As "Hola Senorita" by GIMS and Maluma began to play softly in the background, Lando pulled you close, his hand firm on your waist as he guided you in a slow, sensual sway to the seductive rhythm of the music. The heat of his body pressed against yours, sending a wave of electricity through every nerve ending.

In that intimate embrace, the world around you faded into a blur, leaving only the two of you moving together in perfect synchronization. His touch was both gentle and possessive, his gaze never leaving yours as if trying to convey a thousand unspoken words.

The sensual dance unfolded like a whispered promise of what could be—an unspoken acknowledgment of the undeniable chemistry that simmered beneath the surface. Each step, each turn spoke volumes of desire and connection, drawing you closer to Lando in ways words could never capture.

As the song neared its end, you found yourself breathless yet exhilarated, caught up in the intensity of the moment shared between you. Lando's lips curved into a tender smile as he guided you back to the table, where dessert awaited—a sweet ending to a night that had begun with a drive and culminated in a dance that resonated with the magic of newfound connection and possibility.

And deep down, beneath the surface of whispered promises and shared glances, you knew that this evening was only the beginning—a prelude to a story waiting to unfold, where each chapter would be written in the tender moments and stolen kisses that danced on the edge of tomorrow.

After settling the bill, not without a bit of banter over who pays, you both stepped out into the cool night air, the echoes of laughter and shared stories still resonating between you. The Lamborghini awaited, a sleek silhouette against the dimly lit street, its engine purring with restrained power.

"Where to now?" you asked, half in jest, half in earnest curiosity.

Lando grinned, a mischievous sparkle in his eyes, "Anywhere but here."

With that, you slipped into the passenger seat with his help of course, the leather embracing you with its luxurious warmth. The engine roared to life, the city lights streaking past in a blur as you navigated the winding roads together. The night was young, and so were you, in this ephemeral moment where time seemed to slow down just for the two of you.

Conversation flowed effortlessly, weaving through dreams and aspirations, fears and triumphs, each revelation knitting your souls closer together. It was as if the universe conspired to create this perfect interlude, where nothing existed beyond the confines of the Lamborghini and the burgeoning connection between you.

As the city lights began to fade into the rearview mirror, you found yourselves on a quieter stretch of road, surrounded by a tapestry of stars overhead. The car slowed to a stop, and you both stepped out onto an overlook, the city sprawling below like a sea of twinkling lights.

Lando's eyes held yours, their intensity magnified by the intimacy of the moment. You could feel his heartbeat, steady and reassuring, echoing the rhythm of your own. The night draped around you like a velvet cloak, cocooning you in a world where only the two of you existed.

His hand found yours, fingers intertwining effortlessly as if they had always belonged together. The warmth of his touch sent a shiver of anticipation through you, a silent invitation to let go of any lingering doubts or hesitations.

Leaning closer, his breath mingled with yours, warm against your lips. The air crackled with unspoken words, each heartbeat resonating like a whispered promise of what could be. You could smell the subtle scent of his cologne, a comforting familiarity that grounded you in the present moment.

When his lips finally brushed against yours, it was like a symphony of emotions unfolding in slow motion. Soft yet insistent, his kiss spoke of desire tempered with tenderness, a delicate balance of passion and restraint. Time seemed to stretch and bend around you, the world narrowing down to the sensation of his lips moving against yours, tracing the contours of a connection that defied words.

His arms encircled you, pulling you closer until there was no space left between your bodies. The warmth of his embrace cocooned you in a sanctuary of shared vulnerability, where every touch and caress spoke volumes of unspoken longing and mutual understanding.

Under the canopy of stars, the Lamborghini Miura stood sentinel, bearing witness to a moment that transcended the mundane. The engine's purr became a backdrop to the symphony of your shared breaths, the quiet rustle of fabric as you leaned into each other, seeking solace and passion in equal measure.

As the kiss deepened, the world around you faded into insignificance. There was only the taste of him on your lips, the press of his body against yours, and the electric current that surged between you, binding your souls in a dance as ancient as time itself.

In that timeless embrace, you felt a surge of emotion swell within you—love in its purest form, unguarded and unfiltered. It was a declaration whispered in the language of touch and sensation, a silent vow that this connection was worth cherishing, nurturing, and exploring with every fiber of your being.

When you finally pulled apart, breathless and exhilarated, Lando's eyes held a glimmer of unspoken promises yet to be fulfilled. His thumb gently brushed against your cheek, a tender gesture that spoke of reverence and devotion.

In the quiet aftermath, as you stood entwined under the stars, you knew that this night had forever altered the course of your story together. Each heartbeat echoed the cadence of a new beginning, where the chapters ahead would be written in the shared moments of vulnerability, passion, and the unwavering bond forged in the embrace of that unforgettable night.

Feeling the cool metal of the Lamborghini Miura against your back, you smiled as Lando drew you close, his touch tender yet commanding. His fingers traced a delicate path along your jawline, sending a thrill through you that echoed in the warm summer night around you.

His lips met yours in a kiss that was both soft and consuming, a perfect blend of longing and urgency. You leaned into him, feeling the strength of his embrace against the smooth, cool surface of the car's hood beneath you. The night seemed to hold its breath as you lost yourself in the sensation of his lips moving against yours, the mingling of your breaths creating an intimate symphony.

His hands, strong yet gentle, explored your back with a reverence that made your heart race before finally reaching their destination. He grips the back of your plush thighs in a way that makes you feel weak all over. The hood of the car digs into you as he places you gently on it, moving to stand between your legs.

Making this moment as intimate as possible, his veiny hands move to grip your waist and pull you closer till there is absolutely no space between the two of you. Every touch, every caress deepened the connection between you, amplifying the heat that coursed through your veins. Time seemed to stand still as you savored each moment, each kiss a testament to the unspoken desire and passion that burned between you.

In that moment, surrounded by the soft night air and the distant murmur of the city, you were entwined in a dance of intimacy and yearning, where nothing else existed except the electricity of his soft lips against your own, his touch caressing you as if you’re made of glass.

As you both pull away from each other, the air between you thick with unspoken words and the promise of what the future might hold, Lando reaches out to gently stroke your cheek. His touch is warm against your skin, sending shivers down your spine that have nothing to do with the cool night air.

"Let's head back," he murmurs, his voice low and filled with emotion, lips plumped up and red. You nod in agreement, feeling a sense of contentment settling over you like a soft blanket. Together, you gather yourselves and step back towards the waiting Lamborghini Miura.

The drive back to Lando's penthouse is quiet, the purr of the engine providing a soothing soundtrack to your thoughts. You steal glances at each other from time to time, exchanging small smiles that speak volumes about the bond you've forged this evening.

Arriving at the penthouse, Lando parks the car with practiced ease. He takes your hand as you both exit the vehicle, his touch reassuring and grounding. The night feels alive with possibilities as you step into the elevator, riding it up to his luxurious apartment high above the city.

Inside, the penthouse is a sanctuary of modern elegance and comfort. Lando leads you to a balcony overlooking the glittering skyline, where the city lights twinkle like stars in the night sky. He wraps his arms around you from behind, pulling you close as you lean against the railing together.

"This night," he begins softly, his voice carrying a hint of wonder, "it feels like everything has changed, but at the same time, hasn’t."

You turn in his arms to face him, your heart skipping a beat at the sincerity in his eyes. "It has," you reply, your voice barely above a whisper. "In the best possible way."

Lando smiles, a smile that reaches his eyes and fills you with warmth. "I'm glad," he says, leaning in to kiss you gently for the third time that night, as if sealing a promise made by the night itself.

And as you stand there, in each other's arms, the Lamborghini Miura waits below like a silent witness to the beginning of your love story — a story that started with a car, a journey, and two hearts finding their way to each other.

an || hey guys! i've had this in the works since early june and finally got around to semi finishing it. this will have a pt 2 and i apologize if it takes a while to come out. hope you enjoyed this and there will be more to come!

#f1 x reader #lando norris x reader #f1 drivers x reader #formula one x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 fic #lando norris #lando x reader #lando imagine #lando norris imagine #lando norris x you #lando norris fanfic #lando norris fluff

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deathmetalunicorn1 · 1 year ago

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RoR x Replacement Fighter Part 2

When the reader has healed, the gods/humans and the reader decide to get to know each other better. This can take place underneath a gazebo in the Valhalla Gardens, at a festival, in a gaming room, etc. As the reader was now wearing an all-black outfit that included a short-sleeve T shirt, pants, a chain necklace, and a stylish belt, their tattoos became pretty noticeable. Some of them blushed by the way the reader looked now. Others kept fidgeting because of it.

The reader's appearance :

They were amazed to find out that the reader was pretty young (around 20) and completed their education quite early. The reader also have the ability to speak in multiple languages (English, Burmese, Japanese, Korean, Thai, Laotian, etc.), which the gods/humans noticed as the reader was talking on their phone with their friends. Probably cussing out loud too.

The reader then invites the god/human to their apartment. The entire apartment was freezing cold and had dark neon green LED lights that were all stuck neatly on the walls. There were also traditional Burmese and Thai statues that were set up as decorations. Some of them noted the masks and puppets in a glass wardrobe near the furniture. There was also a large fish tank or aquarium in their apartment filled with Koi and Arapaima fish, which a few gods and humans went straight to observe.

The details of the apartment :

Some gods/humans did get a light hearted smack on the back of their head though. Either for trying to go inside the tank, for fooling around with the masks & puppets, for accusing the reader of being affiliated with the mafia, or because someone tried to smash up the serpent sculptures due to getting flashbacks from their previous battles. (Thor 💀)

Gods: Odin, Thor, Anubis, Susanoo, Loki, Apollo and Poseidon

Humans: Sasaki, Lubu, Tesla and Leonidas

-Today was the day that (Love) and several others were going to your place for the first time, after he and other fighters in Ragnarok had been begging to get to know you more, curious about you- they wanted to know as much as possible.

-Your house was in a quiet part of Valhalla and surprisingly looked relatively normal, nothing really out of the ordinary, at least on the outside of your house.

-When you answered the door, you looked a little disheveled, as if you had only just gotten up, your hair sticking up in random angles, baggy sweatpants, and a tight black tee-shirt on top, showing off the tattoos on your arms, which seemed a bit more vibrant today.

-Several, including (Love) flushed, you looked so alluring as you yawned, “Oh- was that today?” your sleepy voice was so alluring as you opened the door, welcoming them all in, as none of them made any mention that it was past noon and you had only just gotten up.

-As soon as they stepped inside, their jaws all dropped open, seeing that the vibe of your house didn’t fit the vibe of the outside of your house.

-It was dark, with bright neon lights and light strips everywhere, giving it a strange but ethereal vibe as Loki and Anubis gasped, running over to your massive fish tank that took up a whole wall in your living room, filled with koi fish and arowana fish, complete with more lights shining from the bottom.

-You scratched the back of your head, going towards your kitchen to start the coffee maker as many of the others were exploring the rest of your home, seeing the multitude of weapons, puppets, statues, and masks, all with labels next to them, hailing from Thailand and Burma.

-Apollo was fine, but others were quickly shivering as the sun god came over to you as you leaned against your kitchen counter, “Do you always keep your apartment so cold?”

-You looked over at him, an eyebrow lifting, “It’s cold in here?” several heads snapped over to you, how could you not tell that it was freezing in your own apartment?! You didn’t seem bothered, so you were obviously used to it.

-Poseidon and Nikola were looking at several diplomas on another wall, showing them the various institutes that you had gone to when you visited earth, showing them both, as well as the others, when Nikola came over to gush at you, that you were extremely smart.

-Nikola was like a hyperactive dog, not that you minded, as he asked what kind of languages that you spoke, as he had seen diplomas from all around the world!

-You counted on your finger, like you didn’t know exactly how many yourself, “English, Burmese…uhh Japanese and Korean- what else, oh Laotian, Thai, French… I think there’s more but…” you trailed off, not able to bring the names to mind at the moment but they were stunned to see you so well rounded!

-You were like a warrior scholar- they all knew you were a fierce warrior, and Lu Bu and Thor couldn’t help but feel a little antsy, seeing the variety of weapons you had in your place- you should know how to use all of these right? They wanted to fight you!!

-With the dark lighting, strange decorations and overall intimidating feel your place had, a few had to wonder if you were actually a dangerous person, as Loki popped up in front of you, “Are you part of the mafia?!”

-Instantly you were pinching his cheek, a slight scowl on your face as you sipped your coffee as he was begging you for mercy, much to the amusement of others.

-You didn’t mind them taking the masks off the wall, or picking up the weapons, as long as they didn’t break anything- you didn’t feel like you were in the mood for breaking any of them, and as long as they put things back, you didn’t mind them exploring your place.

-Had no idea you were such a well-rounded individual, you had it all, brains, strength, and good looks- you were the perfect package!! With each new thing that he discovered, he wanted to know more and more about you, as well as get closer to you- wanting you all to himself. However, he never did get an answer from you- are you part of the mafia?! He was determined to find out, but he didn’t want to risk you pinching his cheeks.

-Apollo, Loki, and Anubis

-His eyes were full of delight, a smile on his lips as he turned towards you, fire burning within his very soul as you finished your coffee, putting the mug down, “Fight me Y/N!!” you blinked, turning back to him, a confused look on your face, “Why?” he faltered only for a moment, “Because that’s the best way for us to get to know each other!” You motioned over your shoulder with a thumb, “I don’t feel like it- want to play a board game instead?” Why were you so difficult sometimes?!

-Thor, Susanoo, Lu Bu, and Leonidas

-Couldn’t help but admire your home, it was so unique, he found something new each time he looked, but unlike others who were taking things off the wall, he minded himself, just looking with his eyes. As he wandered, he kept finding more and more oddball things and he couldn’t help himself going over to you, “Why is your house filled with so many odd things?” you looked confused, as you didn’t see anything wrong with the way your house was decorated, “Odd? There’s nothing odd here- except you guys.” (Love’s) eyelid twitched lightly, you were such a thickheaded ding dong sometimes, but that was part of what made you cute.

-Odin, Poseidon, Kojiro, Nikola

#record of ragnarok #ror x reader #ror apollo #ror loki #ror anubis #ror thor #ror susanoo #ror lu bu #ror leonidas #ror odin #ror poseidon #ror kojiro sasaki #ror nikola tesla

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artificial-transmutations · 2 years ago

Text

Big Dick

Richard hated moving. That meant both the concept of living in a new place as well as the process itself. Still, it was a necessity sometimes, such as this.

His employer had been hit hard by the different crises of his time and was forced to shut down the place where Richard worked. Thankfully, rather than just firing everyone there, they offered their employees another job at another office.

The downside? That other office was half way across the country. Many of his colleagues had naturally turned down the offer, but Richard had had a hard time to decide. Sure, he would lose his social circle, but there wasn't too much of that anyway. It did however beat looking for a new job, which was a nightmare in the current economy.

So, Richard accepted. His company helped him find a place to live in the new city, but didn't pay for a moving company, which was understandable considering the distance. Sadly, that was the same reason, Richard couldn't afford one either, which left him with the both sides of moving that he hated.

Luckily, his new apartment already had furniture, so all he had to do was pack his belongings into boxes and drive over there.

The first part of his moving project went surprisingly smoothly. He managed to pack everything he wanted to take into one van that he rented for the occasion and drove over to his new home. He arrived at the apartment in the early evening after a long but uneventful drive.

However, once he opened the door to his new place, he almost dropped the box he was holding. Did he get lost on the way here? No, impossible, the key fit and the address was right. This was his new apartment.

Richard carefully set down his box and went into the place, rubbing his eyes. This had to be some kind of a joke!

Inside, the apartment was stuffed full of furniture. However, it wasn't modern, concrete-look or faux wood stuff he would have expected. It was old and wooden: Lots of cabinets, wardrobes, a wardrobe, chests, bed frames, tables, chairs and so forth. The place looked like a set from some seventies movies. All rooms had a beige carpet in them, and furniture that looked like it belonged to his grandmother. Even the lights were old-fashioned stained glass lamps that produced a dim light.

Richard was a modern man. He loved a minimalistic style when it came to his own apartment, and he always chose modern furniture for it. Now, this place looked like a dump. He couldn't imagine what kind of weirdo would choose to live in such an awful place, especially since he knew the rent would be higher than it was for the simple fact that his new landlord must have made the place look so hideous. He looked at the colorful curtains with disgust.

Richard let out a long sigh. Great. He would either need to redecorate the whole place or look for another apartment first thing tomorrow. There was no way he was going to live like this. However, as it was already quite late, he had no choice but to sleep in this nightmare of a home and do his research in the morning. He picked up the box from the entrance and went to his new bedroom.

It was already late when he finished moving in boxes and sat down in a dusty armchair, immediately coughing from the dust it produced. Just. Great.

However, when the dust settled, he had to take a double look. At first, he thought his plain and white t-shirt was all dusty now, but in fact, he found it changed! In place of the modern style clothing, he was wearing a colorful shirt now, something that went well with the hideous pictures on the wall. What the fuck was happening?

He needed to get out of this right away. He went to the bedroom at once, where he put box with his clothes earlier and got out of the shirt on the way. Before he could search for a replacement however, he noticed his chest.

It looked like it was supposed to look like - mostly. However, instead of being cleanly shaven, as Richard always was, it was covered in curly hair!

Richard's head was swimming. He was sure he had shaved this morning, as he did every morning. However, the chest hair was here, and without a doubt the product of more than one day without shaving his chest.

Shaking his head, he opened the box, only to be surprised once more. Instead of his Jeans and t-shirts, he was looking at colorful shirts and corduroy pants. This wasn't his stuff!

There had to be a rational explanation for all of this. Perhaps he had somehow taken someone else’s box. The next one would surely contain his stuff.

With shaking hands, he opened the next box, only to find it full of... magazines. Colorful printed magazines. Porn magazines from the look of it. But that wasn't all! When he opened a random one, he found a nearly naked man, in a seductive pose. Another magazine, another man in another pose, with an impressive moustache.

Richard went through a few more magazines, just to be sure, but there was no doubt: It weren't only old-fashioned porn magazines, it was old-fashioned gay porn magazines.

Richard was feeling dizzy. What was going on? Just then he noticed a stirring in his pants. When he looked down, he saw that his cock had reacted to all the pictures of men he just looked at and had grown stiff in the confines of his pants. Why?! Richard wasn't gay!

However, when he looked back at the printed men, his cock twitched in need, as if to prove him wrong.

Absentmindedly, he touched his member through the fabric and let out a moan.

Something very weird was going on, and he needed to think clearly. However, he couldn't do so with an erection like that. He would need to do something about it first, before figuring this out.

Richard carefully reached into his pants and grabbed his member, stroking it slowly. His moans grew louder. With one hand, he started playing with his nuts, squeezing the testes carefully before massaging them with his fingers.

Meanwhile, he couldn't stop looking at the men in the pictures, which caused his dick to swell even more. It quickly became bigger and harder as even more blood rushed into it, making it look obscene.

However, even the full hardness of his cock wasn't enough to distract him from the pictures he looked at. He needed more and stroked his member faster and rougher while he watched the men on the pages.

Just as his mind drifted off to images of kissing the men and feeling their bodies, he felt a powerful orgasm wash over him, causing him to tense up and moan loudly, pumping his seed into his hand while watching the magazines.

After it was all done, he let out a sigh and wiped the remaining sperm off his hand and pants with a dirty looking towel before flopping to his bed and drifting to sleep eventually.

The birds were singing, and the sun was shining when Richard woke up the next morning. He yawned and stretched before scratching his hairy chest. Apparently, he had fallen asleep after jerking off last night. He wiped off his tight black leather pants that accentuated his bulge nicely and went into the bathroom.

As he urinated into the toilet and watched the busy life and newspaper vendors on the streets through the window, Richard smiled. Life really was good for him. Being one of the most prolific gay porn stars of the seventies certainly had its perks. For example, he was able to afford this great place to live.

He finished up and washed his hands while smiling for his reflection and twirled his thick moustache. He was really looking for today's shoot; his co-star was positively hot, and he would show him why he was called "Big Dick". As Dick left his apartment, Richard was screaming internally, unable to escape this new reality as a seventies gay porn star.

#male transformation #straight to gay

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lou-struck · 1 year ago

Text

Haunted or Creepy?

Reo Mikage x reader

Flufftober Day 5: Little Doll

~ After wandering into an antique shop, Your boyfriend notices a strange doll has caught your attention. .

All of the well-kept trees in the plaza are adorned with the most breathtaking collage of leaves. They rustle slightly in the wind, still too stubborn to fall. It’s beautiful, but you know that Reo Mikage has them all beat.

Your soccer star boyfriend has elected to forgo his training clothes in favor of something a bit more his style for your date today. You are sure that his plain yet perfectly fitted sweater costs more than your entire wardrobe, but judging by the way he hurries over to you with the two full cups of hot apple cider in his hands, he doesn’t care in the slightest about getting dirty.

Especially if it’s for you.

“Here, for your hands.” He smiles, holding out one of the cups for you to take. Wisps of his rich purple hair fall delicately onto his face, somehow making him look even more handsome.

“Thank you,” you say gratefully, taking the paper cup. Its spiced warmth helps you realize just how chilly your fingers have gotten in this wind.

“Is it just me, or has it gotten a lot colder since we started walking out here?” He asks, looking up at the deceptively sunny sky. As if hearing his words, Mother Nature sends a bone-chilling gust of wind your way. The cold air penetrates through your light sweater and sends teeth-chattering shivers down your spine.

You tense up and place the paper cup up to your cheek in an attempt to warm yourself up. “D-definitely n-not j-just y-you.”

His eyes widen in concern as he pulls you closer to him. “Let’s head inside one of the shops where it’s warm. I’ll call my driver to come pick us up.”

“You’ll call your driver?” you giggle, leaning into his warmth, “You really are a pretty rich boy.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” he coos, placing his chin on top of your head. Would you rather walk?”

“Nope,” you say quickly, not wanting to be out here freezing your ass off. “D-drivings good.”

An amused chuckle slips past his lips as his hand slides securely on your lower back, guiding you towards a weathered wooden door. “This place looks open; let’s check it out.”

You nod and glance down at the simply drawn chalkboard sign that rests on the pavement. “It looks like an antique shop.”

“Interesting,” he hums, reaching towards the faded brass knobs. “I don’t think I have ever been in one of these.”

You snort and shake your head in amusement. Of course, he had never been in an antique store before. You have only met his parents a few times, but they don’t seem to be the type of people who are interested in buying someone’s old wedding china or vintage bedroom furniture.

“Well then, I’m glad that I get to be here for your first time.” you wink, bumping into his cashmere-coated chest.

“I feel so supported,” he laughs, playing along with your antics. His arm stretches over your head to hold the door open for you.

The shop is dimly lit by rustic floor lamps. The light reflecting off of the blown glass shades creating patterns on the thickly carpeted flooring. Gone is the harsh chill of the wind as it is replaced by the heavy scent of dust. It surrounds you, and you can’t help but feel in your gut that something is off about this place.

“Woah, look at these lunch boxes,” Reo says, looking over at a glass display case filled with printed metal lunch boxes with various cartoon and comic book characters posing on the front. He puts his hands up on the glass and peers in closer to get a better view. “I saw one like this at a charity auction a few years back, and they made a killing. I wonder if these are the same kind?”

“That’s so cool.” you grin, trying to focus on just how adorably excited your boyfriend is and not on the strange feeling of dread that has clung to you ever since you have walked into the store.

“I wonder what other cool stuff they have in here?” he grins, taking your hand and pulling you deeper into the shop.

“I wonder,” you hum, playing with the tassels on a beaded lampshade as you are guided deeper into the store. You pass the checkout counter and a rather distracted employee who is tapping furiously on their iPad. The unmistakable sounds of Candy Crush playing through the muffled speakers.

Turning the corner, you notice a tall glass display case sitting on a polished wood dresser. Your stomach seems to be tying itself in knots as you continue to take step after apprehensive step. If Reo feels the same way, he does not show it.

Have you ever looked at something and said, ‘Yeah, that is totally haunted?”

The porcelain-faced doll in the display case just screams it. It’s deep dark eyes glimmer with sinister intent and makes your skin crawl. You want to leave, you want to be as far away from this toy as possible, screw it if it’s cold outside you don’t want to be here another minute. But you feel that if you take your eyes off this thing even for a second, it’s gonna get you.

“Woah, cool doll.” Reo says innocently, tossing an arm over your shoulder. “You’ve been looking at it for a while; let me get it for you.”

“No!” you say much louder than you initially meant to. Your eyes grow wider and wider in fear as you imagine what it would be like to take that creepy thing home, hiding it away in some far-off closet or crawlspace only for it to find you in your room when you least expect it.

Reo looks concerned at your outburst and takes a step back, raising his hands up in the air innocently. “Woah, I guess not.” he chuckles.

“Do you not see how creepy that thing is?” you huff pointing at the case. “There is no way it’s getting anywhere near my place or yours.”

“What?” he asks, his lips twitching as he tries and fails to keep from laughing. “It’s a bit creepy, but it’s got some charm to it.”

“Charming? That doll is one hundred percent cursed, or possessed, or whatever.” you say seriously. Making the mistake of taking your attention off the doll to watch the wonderful way Reo’s amethyst-colored eyes twinkle as he laughs.

“Oh come on, it’s not that…” he turns to look at the doll, and all the color drains from his face. “It just moved.”

“Stop messing with me.”

“It. Just. Moved.” he repeats again with a deadly serious tone.

You look back at the case and want to hurl. Just seconds ago, the doll was staring blankly ahead, but now her head has twisted to the side, exposing her copper-colored ringlets and staring right at you. Those dark eyes boring into your soul. “It moved.”

“We gotta go now,” he says worriedly, taking your hand and pulling you away from the item. His strong legs lead you out of the store and down the walkway for your lives.

“W-wait.” you pant, lungs burning as you dig your heels in. As a professional athlete, his stamina is much better than yours, so he probably could’ve dashed the two of you all the way home.

“Yeah, that thing was definitely haunted.”

#blue lock #reo mikage x reader #bllk #x reader #bllk x reader #mikage reo x reader #reo drabble #blue lock x reader #reo mikage #reo x reader #flufftober 2023

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summermoonshine · 1 year ago

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Our last dance ;

Simon “Ghost” Riley x Reader.

Click HERE for the TikTok version.

Synopsis: will this really be our last dance, Simon? Content: angst; romantic; hurt/comfort; slice of life; body shaming; self-confidence; GhostxReader; Note: credits to @661ave for both renders.

Our last dance ;

What a weird feeling of serenity there is in accepting sadness.

Feeling it approaching and without haste occupying every corner of us, feeling our body being filled up; mouthful of water after mouthful of water up until you burst, and suddenly be aware of how much you weigh; of occupying a space, of not being just an incorporeal, empty idea; of feeling full, heavy, cumbersome.

Out of place, inadequate, self-conscious: ashamed.

Being covered in a reproach that not even a blanket of warm water can narrow down.

Flowing water mixed with the darkness of a room way too cold, water moved imperceptibly by the fresh wind which has managed to cross the edges of a curtain equally surrendered to the unhappiness of this evening. The window ajar is the silent guardian of a private painting, too intimate to be shared even with oneself, which is why every light has been turned off, the door locked, the mirror fogged up by the white mist of water vapour and the body has been crouched down, secured under gallons of heavy water in a tub happy to have chosen silence out of participation and mercy.

Even the distant glow of a moon hidden somewhere behind the mysterious clouds seems to apologise for its own reflection: against the white tiles, against the rare mirror corners that – as onlookers – refuse to cover their eyes, and again against door handles, furniture and an unknown white skin. Its echo bounces apologetically against every surface, just enough to make that woman remember that she’s not been swallowed up entirely by the darkness; not yet, at least.

Loose hair, wet locks, cold shoulders.

Insecure hands caress and embrace a curled up body that desperately tries to hide every curve, every roundness, every abundance of it although never requested, but no matter how hard her eyes try to remain firmly closed so not to look, her heart feels everything.

And it weighs, too.

Nothing floats deep inside her anymore.

There is no longer a smile crossing her round face, there are no more colours in her wardrobe; everything has been turned off, extinguished like the flame of that last candle lit until just now at the edge of the bathtub.

Its gentle column of smoke now rises upwards effortlessly and everything tells her once again that she’s the only ballast still anchored to gravity in that room, in that house, in that corner of the universe.

The sweet milk and roses fragrance soon spreads throughout the bathroom and embraces the spaces of a soul too wounded to be content with being what it is.

Long fingers and a red nail polish, which matches the shadow of a few cuts on her frightened hands, interrupt for a moment the flatness of that miniature sea she is in. They move in disgust along the outline of her small feet up to her calves, too prominent for a woman of her stature, and then those thighs: big.

Too, too big – ‘did you have to eat that huge plate of pasta for lunch?’

Her fingertips pause on her hips, too wide to fit into a nice pair of jeans – "you're my Venus Callipigia", he would say.

But how much truth and how much solace is there in this?

Little fat rolls of a belly that has never been toned remind her of a pile of wool blankets forsaken after a cold winter night – ‘this evening I'm fasting’, that's what she’s been saying for too long now.

The ripples of the surface shatter and enlarge the figures beneath that watery blanket:

enormous, massive, heavy.

Everything is huge.

That she is, and so is the pain that’s dragging her down, towards the abyss.

But how to tell him? How to make him understand?

How to explain that, that wine glass, didn't slip out of her hand due to distraction?

That behind that red fluid carelessly spilled on the floor there was hidden the discomfort of having accidentally caught her reflection in the French door while the two of them were dancing?

The self-consciousness of seeing herself so small, so awkward, so chubby – unsuitable, next to and for him?

And no matter how dim the lights in the living room were while waiting for dinner to finish cooking, how wide and long the white, clean shirt – soaked in his perfume – was while she seemed to have gained back a pinch of her usual joy through an improvised slow dance, nor how her loosely tied back hair fell around her face, giving her a kissable doll-like purity for which he would have killed without any ifs or buts: his hand had touched her generous breast, hips, abdomen – he had experienced the fat, the excess, the error;

the imperfection of being carnal and unfortunately not ideal, not right, not beautiful enough.

How disgusting.

And thus she had done what she was best at: cut and run.

She knew that setting things straight would be easy, that he would understand – because, deep down, he knew all along; he had always been the first one to figure things out, even before she could do it herself – but she also knew that this would not only be a clarification, a search for help, a last resort, but rather an explosion which would blow up the castle they had both worked so hard for, revealing a hidden truth behind their relationship.

The royal fortress in which both of them had secured their last trace of tenderness was, in reality, nothing more than a hypocritical house of cards built on mutual insecurities and doomed to fall.

The first wind had scratched their silhouettes; the cold was now pervading them from the inside.

How much fear, how much heaviness, how much injustice in being wrong for someone you love: Simon would have dumped her if she had let off steam, right?

A shattered sob precedes a barely acknowledged slap across her wet face – how long had those tears been falling down?

One right after the other they run towards her chin, outline her round, rosy cheeks and plump lips only to dive downwards, finally free to be and add more weight on her. And so does the faucet, as if to share the same pain or perhaps increase it.

Everything, in this room, cries because of her; even the moon seems to melt in a breath, by now defeated.

But what about her?

What is she besides the hideous reflection of a mirror?

Beyond the size of a trouser, acquaintances laughing at her expanse or men giving her longing and indelicate glances, eager for her abundance… what is she beyond all this?

These and many other questions push her downwards.

Just a tiny bit, towards those shadows that have been waiting for her for so long: it's finally time.

And so her body likewise slides down, towards the bottom of the quiet bathtub. Only in this way are her tears finally hidden, zeroed by the weight of mistakes. And how light does it feel to have your lungs filling up with water and hear muffled sounds, to let the darkness take over and leave everything behind, finally running away from pain, from yourself; set those you love free because they deserve better, much better than you will ever be able to give them…

Yes, what a blessing: lightness.

‘But, please: just 5 minutes.’

5 more minutes to recall Simon's smile the first time he stole her a kiss in the park, the yellowish autumn leaves on his coat, the delicious smell of chestnuts roasted on an open fire, the warmth of his hand, the fear of the storm, the scent of his skin after making love with him...

Just 5 more minutes to feel happy.

Happy with a happiness that makes her heart burst, filled with a last, silent cry for help, with the desperate request to meet him again, because she was sure she could only exist in the same universe shared with Simon.

They would therefore have found themselves in another life; perhaps older, fairer, just…

lighter.

Thus, with a sardonic smile, the Never-Enough Girl feels her heartbeats slow down, nearly savouring the smell of the uneaten dinner, the liqueur taste of red wine, the slow romantic melody filling her ears together with a whistle in the background; some bubbles rush to the surface immediately after being born from her lips, and with a pain almost as sharp as the glass cuts on her fingers, everything becomes extremely distant.

It hurts a little, it's true, but how beautiful it is to no longer be able to feel, to no longer be able to listen to any sound, to finally float...

Oh, how long she had waited. Made for this right moment to come; tailor-made, even.

Is this actually the case, though?

A knock on the door, light as a final heartbeat.

She: too elsewhere to hear it.

“Doll? You there?”

Another knock, as clear as the collapse of their house of cards.

The handle goes around in circles: the door is locked from the inside.

“Simon…”

@samanthamarkle92 I can finally tag you back <3

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girldragongizzard · 4 months ago

Text

Chapter 2: My people

Rhoda is sitting in her apartment, near the north facing window of her dining area, leaning on the table there and looking out at the courthouse, with its grandiose modern architecture and its halo of golden brown trees.

She’s thinking about last Thursday when her best friend just got her new name legally recognized, and the emotions that they both felt and shared that day.

She remembers that that was the day she first started revisiting the harder memories she has of her son. Her child. Memories she’d been avoiding for more than a decade.

It’s been pretty rough since then, and this friend of hers is in the middle of the roughness. She wishes she had more friends. But what she has are countless acquaintances and contacts. People she could work at to become friends with, if she could trust them enough. Or had the energy to try.

Sometimes circumstances choose friendships for you.

And she did get to reminisce and vent all Sunday, and that was cathartic and something she’s been needing for a long time.

But then, the next day, she learned that her friend is something she can barely comprehend.

She knew she was a dragon. And she knew she was raised by white parents, and basically white herself. These were things that Rhoda had chosen to accept and work with for the sake of their growing companionship and mutual support. And that talk on Sunday had been so important to her.

But then Meghan Estragon Draconis goes and says that she’s more immortal than the immortals they both know that have been monkeying with human affairs.

And Rhoda’s brain has gone blank.

She’s seen the magic at work, since that first day. It’s easy to believe in. It’s nigh impossible not to. It’s as real as electricity.

And it feels like her new best friend has suddenly been replaced by the page of a book. An illustration with a caption underneath it on the top half, labeled with her friend’s name. And the bottom half with just a snippet of story. Hardly anything she can make sense of.

Is there a person there anymore?

Was there ever?

She didn’t go down to the shop today, because she needs this alone time to try to think about this.

“I don’t want to get caught up in nobody else’s myth,” her mouth says. And she half agrees with it.

If it were the right myth, and she had the right role, it feels like it would take her away from her pain, though. And that’s why she’d given Meghan the time of day in the first place, she realizes.

Maybe she should start going back to church. Not for the religion, of course. That’s already rejected her and her child, Jacob. But for the community. The chance of having some kind of family again.

She could maybe leave her truths here, in her apartment, for that.

It’s so fucking hard.

She and Meghan had been lonely together, and it was something, at least.

Her phone buzzes.

She pulls it out and sees a message from Meghan in her group chat, “All plans blown today. Met Säure at DMV. Want to eat him. Talking instead.”

—

Astraia’s oversized keyboard arrived yesterday, so today she and Caleb are trying it out.

Caleb works graveyard, so he’s effectively staying up late. But he says it’s worth it.

The livingroom of their apartment has become a hydra den, the white walls completely unadorned, and half the floor of the room covered with animal hides they’ve been trading and saving for. Astraia’s old wardrobe and some of the furniture went into the effort of acquiring them.

The other half has their computers hooked up to two medium sized TVs.

She can’t fit through the front door anymore, but the sliding glass door leading the concrete patio is still big enough. Another molt, and she might have to find a garage to move into.

But she’s not arguing with herselves about that right now. She’s almost all completely focused on playing Diablo 2: Resurrection with Caleb.

She’s hissing. He’s cussing. But occasionally they will each reach out and give the other an affectionate bump. They’re working together through the Kurrast swamps on Hell and they both have always hated this level. The shared hatred feels like a kind of love.

Fortuitously, right as she creates a town portal and steps through to the safety of the docks, there’s a loud ping from Discord.

Her rightmost head poinks at Caleb, and she switches over to see which server it’s coming from. Caleb nods and leans over to look at her screen.

Queen Meg’s, of course.

The general channel.

Meg wrote, “Säure is dragon. Can human. Talking right now. All day. Might eat him.”

She and Caleb exchange glances, then she types, “Save us eight bites.”

Caleb holds out a fist, and she bumps it with one of her noses.

They keep playing

—

Joel is enjoying his new favorite pastime of letting children play on him.

It is a weekday, and most kids are at school, and usually it would be just him and the seagulls unless he went to one of his other haunts to drink with the locals. But there’s this one family, and it’s clear that the two children need their dragon time while their mother talks with a friend about their troubles. He can’t talk, but he’ll be here for them whenever he can. Tuesdays are usually one of their days.

There isn’t much to it. He just lies there, and they climb all over him, ignoring the actual play toy in the playground. Occasionally, when they’re both far enough away from him for a moment, he’ll roll over and change his positioning. Always folding up his wings carefully, and tight, though, as out of the way as possible.

A few strategic groans, and the kids all learn pretty quickly where not to step, if they don’t figure it out themselves at first glance.

He’s now lying on his back in the grass with his head facing east, giving him an upside down view of the hill that Flounder Sound Brewpub is on, and the university behind that. And he can’t help yawning.

Later that night, he’ll do his rounds and swallow up the excess food that the restaurants have to throw out. He’s their new compost bin, and it’s a pretty good gig. Sometimes he gets some beer out of the deal, too.

He doesn’t have a tablet or a phone or anything like that that he can use to connect with the other dragons, but he feels like he’s starting to understand them as if they’re talking, even when they don’t utter a word. He wonders if that goes both ways. Sometimes it seems like Meghan understands him better than she should.

In any case, he doesn’t get the message from Meghan in any way.

Instead, what happens is that he feels her and another dragon enter his territory as if they were rolling onto one of his wings with a little toy car. It’s not a painful sensation at all, just a very clear and obvious one. And he recognizes her presence very clearly.

He’s always been able to do this, even before, though no one believed him about all the dragons.

He doesn’t recognize the other one, but he knows his nature. That’s a really fucking big dragon.

He groans and gives an affable yawp and starts to roll very slowly back onto his feet. The two kids both complain and whine, but dutifully and carefully get off.

Once everyone is situated in a standing position, he looks at them, bobs his head, and then yawps quietly again, as cheerfully as he can manage.

And then he starts galloping toward the brewpub where Meghan and her rival are clearly headed.

—

Wentin is standing precariously on the roof of the wooden observation tower on the hill in the Fairport Arboretum, facing north, its lionine form dwarfing the structure. Its head is turning ever so subtly as it tracks the movement of a speck of a car driving from Northside to the south end of Downtown Fairport. There are times when the car is not visible to it, hidden behind trees or buildings, but its gaze is unerringly accurate.

It’s not tracking by sight.

As the car approaches the brewpub that’s its destination, Wentin creaks, “Too soon. Much too soon.”

—

Chapman has an annoying little job today.

It’s a business card sie has to design from elements the client gave the shop.

The problem is that the chosen comp has been returned on the third revision with the note, “Can we make my logo bigger, pls.” This is the third time sie has seen that note on this job.

As always, if the logo were any bigger it would bleed off the edges of the card and be illegible.

It seems like, about four times a year, another client makes this same demand of a business card or a small ad or a brochure. There’s just a type of business owner that doesn’t seem to understand the concept of space or how to communicate what it is that they actually want, and they all use the same cut and paste note, complete with the abbreviated “pls”.

Talking to hir coworkers and boss about it only gets light commiseration and maybe a cussword or two, but no further understanding. Nobody has a clue why people do this.

It must be a neurotype. A percentage of the human population that just sees space differently somehow.

Chapman dearly wants to scan this client to find out what’s going on, but that goes against hir personal code of ethics.

The only thing sie can do design-wise is actually make the logo a tiny bit smaller, increasing the white space around it, and moving all the other elements just a tad further away from it, shrinking them.

Otherwise, sie can effectively fire the client as being too hard to work with. Hir boss will back hir up on that.

Sie decides to give her expert design decision a try, thinking about how sie really shouldn’t have to put this much thought into such a small, routine job. And sighs.

Hir phone buzzes.

Sie leans back in hir chair and picks it up from its face down space on hir desk to look at the message as briefly as possible.

It’s Meghan.

It’s Meghan with Säure.

Chapman touches the scanning tattoos on hir wrists together and focuses on Meghan’s patterns, knowing that Meghan will feel this, and perhaps Säure will too.

They’re headed to Flounder Sound Brewpub, in a car.

Chapman scans the whole city next and spends a moment thinking about the data sie received from it.

It’s not numbers. It’s not something you could plug into a computer.

This century, Chapman would choose to describe it as like strings of probability, all interwoven and passing waves of meaning to each other. And that looking at a portion of it can give you clues as to what’s happening in the greater universe and hints as to what’s happening to a tinier portion of it, but never anything definitive. But at the scale of pattern that you look at, if you squint, sometimes you can predict the future.

Kind of like predicting where a baseball will fly after a pitcher has thrown it. At a certain point, you’re trying to predict where it will go after the batter has swung, and that’s harder.

Chapman groans and presses the backs of hir wrists together, a different set of tattoos.

This time, all the power in the building goes out.

Chapman was saving this particular effect for an emergency like this.

The power won’t go on for the rest of the day, and everyone will have to go home, where they will be slightly safer.

Maybe that will have been unnecessary, but sie does care about them.

—

Kim and Kimberly both interrupt their tasks to pull their phones out of their pockets at the same time and look at them. Then they exchange uneasy looks.

“What just happened?” the nosiest customer they’ve either ever met asks them.

“Armageddon,” Kimberly says, shugging, and putting her phone back in her skirt pocket, and then turning to the espresso machine to prep it.

“Don’t worry, I’m sure it will be fine,” Kim says, waving her hand dismissively at the customer and going back to the POS to finish the order.

Later, Kim mumbles to Kimberly, “I’m sure the others will keep us informed.”

“Or we’ll hear about it with our own ears when the city explodes,” Kimberly responds.

“Please don’t talk like that.”

—

Since his last statement, I’ve been having trouble figuring out what to say to Säure, and the rest of the drive has been oppressively quiet.

It’s almost like he’s managed to paralyze me with just words.

It’s my C-PTSD, I know. Suddenly having a social demand placed on me by an authority figure sometimes does this to me, even if I don’t want to recognize them as an authority.

I’m painfully aware of the perceived power he has over me as someone in his socio-economic position, and the very possible real power he has that I just honestly don’t know about. I don’t know what he’s spent his money on. And he has a larger vocabulary than me while exhibiting at least one of my own special abilities.

His draconic prowess is a huge unknown.

But, you know? So is mine. I’ve only just started learning what I can really do. And I can feel I’m due for another molt, which means I’m growing. I think. I know I’m growing. Maybe molting happens regardless.

So now, I’m holding my tablet in my lap and staring at the road, ignoring the car around me, and thinking about just whether or not I can get the better of him and show my dominance, at all. Ever.

And then we get to our destination, and the lunch time rush has made it so there are no parking spots within a two block radius.

And I get the rare joy to see a genuine billionaire silently, stoically fuming as he drives in circles, looking for a place to park where he won’t have to walk very much.

The really weird part of this moment is when I realize that we’re both dragons who should not be doing this. We should have our teeth on each other’s necks, claws dug into each other’s sides, beating each other silly with our wings. We should be wreathed in fire.

—

Ptarmigan stands on the roof of the Magnolia apartments, keeping an eye on Meghan’s duffel bag, even though she never asked her to do that.

It just has old clothes of Chapman’s in it. And there’s nothing else special on the roof, besides a smattering of small polished river rocks and undigested compressed pellets full of beak, bone, and feather fragments.

But every now and then, Ptarmigan feels like it’s a good idea to be up here when Meghan isn’t, and to keep an eye on things. Especially when the police presence in the neighborhood picks up.

She’s not exactly worried about being caught up here.

It would be extremely inconvenient. But she’s taken precautions to make that improbable. While she’s present, anyone thinking about checking the roof, or glancing its way, will remember nightmares they had as a child that terrorized them, and stop thinking about it.

Meghan’s had enough bother from the human authorities. It’s time someone trained them to reflexively ignore her home.

Meghan has no idea that Ptarmigan is doing this, and that doesn’t really matter.

Ptarmigan’s phone buzzes and she looks at it.

“Yeah,” she says. Then she walks to the southeast corner of the building and looks out over the city toward one of the brewpubs. The one near the Farmer’s Market square.

She reaches up and grabs the toothpick that’s in her mouth and flicks it out toward the street. She doesn’t even watch it fall.

Sitting down on the edge of the building, legs dangling over the side, she pulls her little sketch-journal out and yanks the ballpoint pen out of its spine.

It’s time to do some real work.

—

Maybe I’ll hear about all these reactions my friends are having after the fact and include them in one of the books I’m writing. For now, I’m just speculating.

I know that I now plan on writing several. Without being able to talk as well as I used to, I have the urge to be at my computer as often as possible and just write. And I know that even if I just write about the first few weeks of this whole experience, I’m going to infodump about dragons and it’s going to get too long for one book. And a lot has happened. A lot keeps happening.

Or, maybe I’ll be messily killed and eaten, if not by Säure then by Wentin, and I’ll lose my memories of this life, and it will all be filled in by one of my friends, as they finish this chapter of my story.

I feel pretty comfortable with either outcome, honestly. Though I don’t look forward to the experience of being eaten. Or most of me doesn’t.

I haven’t quite yet figured out how it will all turn out, but at least I know what I am.

—

There’s a moment, at the stop sign right in front of the brewpub, where the incensed Säure stops and just breathes. He closes his eyes, hands at ten and two o’clock, relaxes his shoulders, and takes in a breath through his nose and lets it out through his teeth.

And then he watches as a family of four leave the restaurant section of the brewpub and start walking toward their van, which appears to be parked around the corner to the right of us.

A little earlier, I had felt shifts from Chapman and Ptarmigan, so I know I’m being looked after.

If Säure did anything, I didn’t feel it.

He didn’t use Artistry.

I know I don’t feel any sort of shift when Wentin does its weird shit. And I expect I won’t feel anything whenever Säure sheds his disguise.

I can speculate as to what this means. It seems pretty obvious, but sometimes I like to keep my reactions free of conclusions. I just note this right now.

Maybe Säure didn’t do anything but relax.

He smiles at me as the spot opens up and he pulls forward to turn and take it before anyone else can.

“It. Worked,” he says.

#dragon #writeblr #original fiction #serial fiction #transformation #transgender

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another-lost-mc · 1 year ago

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Karasu but bodybuilder sounds cursed.

Like literally he got cursed and now it's a bit harder to do his job because he big muscles can't fit into his workplace without knocking delicate things over and his fingers are too big to type.

a/n: oh, he would be furious. (and I've decided it's solomon's fault somehow.) lowkey inspired by this.

cursed!karasu

0.7k words | sfw (one suggestive comment) | gn!reader

He wakes up baffled and confused. His bed creaks under his increased weight. He picks up his glasses from the nightstand and nearly crushes the plastic frames between his fingers. They barely fit his face now.

None of his clothes fit properly and of course you were at the House of Lamentation last night so you're not there to help him. (Perhaps not having to wake up and see him like this is a good thing though.) He calls you in a panic and asks if you can stop by Majolish because of a wardrobe malfunction.

(Wardrobe malfunction meaning the buttons from his shirt are scattered all over the floor and the seams are nearly ripped wide-open. His pants tore apart when he tried to pull them up his thick, muscular thighs.)

He didn't even think about your reaction until you arrived with a bag of clothes, but he's nauseous when he sees your horrified expression. The shock softens into curiosity when you touch his arms and chest tentatively, like you can't believe he's real.

(Your hands linger on his pecs and you can't don't even know what to say or ask or do first. "How did this even happen?!" "Did it hurt?" "How much stronger are you now?" "Did it affect your cock too?")

You don't voice any of those thoughts because his eyes are still the same, and he looks unbearably sad and frustrated and your heart hurts for him. He suggests that you carry on with your plans for the day while he goes to work, and he'll let you know if he finds a way to reverse this. Maybe working will take his mind off this, even a little bit.

He goes to the office and hurries past the other staff mingling in the hall before they notice him and ask too many questions.

(It doesn't help that his shoulders are so broad that he nearly got stuck in the revolving glass doors and had to turn sideways to shimmy out, and even then the steel frame groaned when he pushed through.)

Things get worse once he finally makes it to his office. He nearly pulls the door off its hinges when he opens it with too much force from all the frustration bubbling inside him.

He doesn't fit in his computer chair anymore either. It was custom-made for his regular, slender body and not this meat-mountain monstrosity. The arms of the chair are too narrow and the chair slides out from under him when he tries to sit down.

(One of the wheels on the bottom snapped under his weight too.)

When he finds a temporary replacement seat, trying to do actual work is nearly impossible. His once-nimble fingers are too clumsy when he tries to type across the keys. His mechanical keyboard clicks and audibly crunches from his much-bigger fingertips.

His D.D.D. is difficult to use too. The audio commands work fine, but the screen is a problem. He tests prototypes for the R&D division, and this particular model is slimmer and smaller—it's meant to be more compact. He has poor accuracy trying to use the touch screen, and he nearly snaps the thin metal device in half by accident.

He can't even calm himself down with a warm cup of tea. His favourite cup, the one with the silhouette of a crow and CAWFEE written in bold letters, is too small for his big hands. He can't slip his fingers through the handle and he nearly drops it when it balances precariously in his grasp. It was a gift from you and he'd be devastated if he broke it.

At some point during the day, the curse is suddenly lifted. He examines himself for any signs of injury, but all he sees is a mismatched suit that's far too big and makes him look like a toddler playing dress-up.

His office is a mess and full of half-broken furniture and his head hurts. He called you and that helped soothe him a little, but he's still unspeakably angry about the whole situation. He's a prideful demon, and the torment he was forced to endure will not go unpunished.

(He'll deal with that meddlesome sorcerer as soon as he tidies his office and finds some proper-fitting clothes.)

read more: karasu masterlist | obey me masterlist

#my oc: karasu #obey me oc #obey me oc x reader #obey me headcanons #x reader #gn!reader

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inquisimer · 1 year ago

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Nepenthe

Wrapping up OC kiss week with more Tabris cousinverse, this time between Ariya and @shivunin's Arianwen. I hope it's okay that I borrowed Wen twice - when I sat down to draft these, I couldn't choose which idea I like better, so I wrote both💜 And I wanted young Wen to have a friend ;-;

read it on ao3 here

Female Tabris & Female Tabris | Rated G | 948 words | No CW

A great boom of thunder echoed out over Denerim. It shook the Tabris’ door in its ill-fitting frame, rattled the thin sheet of glass in their lone window, and pulled nails from boards that barely built a house. Ariya bolted straight up in bed.

Her first thoughts were of raids and purges. Fingers closing around the dagger under her pillow, she rolled into a crouch, eyes glinting, searching for the threat in the dark. Then she heard the rain—against the crumbling roof, dripping into the bucket they kept under the leak—and a streak of lightning cut across her face. She relaxed.

Her second thought was a realization that she was alone in the bed where three had gone to sleep. No need to panic, yet, she told herself. Stepping in her careful way to avoid the creaky boards that might wake her father, she checked the darkened corners and spaces underneath where a child might hide.

Nothing.

“Andraste’s ass,” Ariya muttered under her breath. Hiding her dagger safely at the small of her back, she shoved her feet into boots, wrapped herself in a cloak, and stepped out into the storm.

Rain fell in sheets, turning the roots of the Vhenadahl into a small lake and soaking right through Ariya’s stockings. It blew sideways in the wind, blinding her unless she shielded her face. Even then, water caught on her eyelashes and dripped from her chin, cold tendrils that jolted as they snuck beneath her collar .

The main path that wound through the alienage was nothing more than a mud slick now. She felt the squelch of her boots as she went, though the boom of thunder and the crack of the lightning that answered drowned out any other sounds. Sticking close to the buildings, she darted past Valendrian’s door, praying that the storm had not woken him. The only thing worse than the hahren catching her would be city guards doing the same—and none of them were going to come into the alienage on a night like tonight.

She circled the main square and skirted the edge of the meeting hall, right up to the old apartments. A generous name for such ramshackle lean-tos with no insulation and hardly a family’s worth of furniture between them. But that’s what they’d always been called. Ariya ducked inside and made a beeline for the back corner.

“Wen?” she called softly, wringing out her braid with numb fingers. “Wen, are you in here?”

Another peal of thunder shook the building—louder and closer than before. The cracks in the windows gave way and Ariya barely heard an alarmed squeak over glass clattering and the roar of the wind rushing in.

Hastily, she pulled the shutters closed and held them with a scrap of wood wedged into the latch. She kicked as much of the glass as she could see into in a pile, then knelt alongside an old wardrobe.

In some storm previous it had rotted through and collapsed, forming a small nook against the corner. Splinters would shred her hands if she tried to move it. Instead, she laid herself out prone and looked through the gap between it and the floor. Two wide eyes blinked back at her.

“Wen?”

“Ari?”

A sigh of relief pushed the tension from Ariya’s shoulders. “What are you doing out here, a stór?”

“Shia said we should climb up and see the lightning from the roof. That only pathetic babies would be scared.”

Shianni. Ariya frowned. Their cousin ought to know better—did know better, really, and just needed to think more. “Did she leave you here, Wen?”

Fabric rustled against wood as Arianwen shrugged. “She said she was going to get Soris, and she would be right back.”

Hm. Perhaps Soris convinced her to stay inside, or maybe the storm had worsened and she couldn’t make it back. Either way, she would have words with Shianni about dragging Wen into such nonsense. There were enough scamps giving the girl trouble without her cousins doing the same.

“I’m sure she meant to and got caught by the storm,” she said. “Would you like to go home and dry off?”

Hesitant silence met her request. “It’s…a lot of noise,” Wen finally said.

“What if you cover your ears?”

“Then people make fun of me. And I have to punch them, and then I get in trouble. It’s easier to stay in here.”

“There’s no one here but me.” Ariya couldn’t help a smile, even as she coaxed. “Do you think I’m going to make fun of you?”

A long pause. ��…no. Probably.”

“Will you come out then? I’ll cover your ears with my hands if you want yours free for punching, just in case.”

“Really?” Wen poked her head out of the tiny gap and Ariya scooted back along the dirt floor to make room for her to squeeze through. At least they had stopped for cloaks before venturing out, she noted, not that either of their cloaks had done a very good job of keeping them dry.

Capturing Wen’s palms between her hands, Ariya blew hot air over both their fingers. A shiver wracked through Wen and little droplets of icy water sprayed off of her.

Unclasping her cloak, Ariya wrapped it around Wen’s narrow shoulders—it wasn’t dry, but it was the driest thing between them. She tugged the newly bundled girl into the circle of her arms and pressed a comforting kiss against her dampened crown.

Another peal of thunder shook the building and Wen tensed. But Ariya’s hands were already over her ears, stroking reassurance down the line of her jaw.

“Really,” she promised.

#ockiss24 #oc kiss week #my writing #oc: ariya tabris #arianwen tabris #tabris cousinverse #dragon age #dragon age origins #dao #dragon age fanfic

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katie5000 · 1 year ago

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Hi, I wrote something again.

The following blurb is based on/builds off of the story I wrote here, if anyone's looking for context. It's a x reader, and the reader is female.

Uhh...content warnings? There's alcohol, but that's about it.

It's a bit rough, but mostly it's alright.

(Y/N) was laying on a bed and staring idly at the ceiling of the room she now found herself in. She had been escorted up to the room as soon as she’d arrived and had been there ever since. The bed she was on was generously-sized - if (Y/N) were to guess, she’d say it was at least a queen. There were two sets of pillows in soft cotton cases stacked on either side, and she’d set one of these up so that she could recline. Her veil lay next to her, and she had one arm tucked behind her head. What a day, she thought. The coach ride out here had been silent and somewhat awkward - she really couldn’t say she’d been much in the mood for talking after being forced to get married. It was the other man, the one-time chaplain (and, it turned out, band leader), who had escorted (Y/N) to her room, for Legato had disappeared off to another part of the large house as soon as they’d all gotten in the front doors. It was just as well, as she really didn’t want to see much of him at that point.

Across from the bed and next to the bedroom door was a bureau whose back piece contained a mirror. To the right of the bed was a decently-sized wardrobe, and to the left of the bed was a sitting area that contained a round table with chairs on either side. On the table was a bottle of whiskey and two short glasses. The furniture all appeared to be made of the same material - a dark kind of wood - and carved in a similar style. Among other things, it made (Y/N) wonder just how wealthy the man she married actually was.

Presently, the handle to the room’s wooden door turned, causing (Y/N) to sit up and pay attention. The door opened and in walked Legato, deftly balancing a silver tray piled with cold cuts, cheese, and bread. “Midvalley thought that I should bring this up,” he explained, sounding slightly chastened, as he set the tray on the table between the chairs. (That had been an interesting conversation.) “Well, that’s good,” (Y/N) replied with a touch of sarcasm as she watched him close the door and take a seat. As much as she was currently irritated by his presence, she had actually been getting kind of hungry and was wondering what she was going to do about it. At least it was something. “Come,” said Legato. “Have something to eat.”

(Y/N) scooched off of the bed and took a seat in the other chair. Her irritation was momentarily forgotten as she began to nibble at the meats, cheeses, and pieces of bread on the tray. The soft clinking of glass drew her attention, and she watched as Legato poured some whiskey from the bottle into the two glasses. It was not what she preferred, but it was what was available. She took her glass and examined the contents before taking a gulp.

Almost immediately, (Y/N)’s throat muscles spasmed. She wasn’t used to drinking anything this hard and wasn’t expecting it to burn quite so much when it hit her throat. She doubled over, coughing hard as her eyes watered. Legato set his own glass down and sat forward slightly, watching her. “It’s probably best to sip that,” he suggested in a gentler tone.

“Noted,” she rasped out as she struggled to catch her breath. Eventually, her coughing fit began to subside. She took a few deep breaths to steady herself before sitting back up and wiping the tears from her eyes. Legato handed her a cloth napkin, with which she dabbed at her eyes and wiped her fingers. When she felt ready again, (Y/N) raised her glass and took only a sip this time. Although the liquid still burned going down her throat, it did not trigger another coughing fit. She continued to sip at the contents of the glass, noticing that they were beginning to make her feel a little warm and fuzzy.

(Y/N) and Legato continued to nibble at the contents of the tray in silence until they were gone. Legato sat back in his chair, the glass of whiskey having relaxed him. (Y/N) felt flushed from her glass of whiskey, and her head was swimming a bit. She sat back in her chair and sighed. After a few minutes, Legato rose from his chair and reached into his jacket pocket, pulling something out. “I have something for you, (Y/N),” he said. Curiosity piqued, (Y/N) rose from her chair to stand in front of him. She swayed ever so slightly, though Legato hadn’t seemed to notice. “Turn around,” he said. She eyed him a bit warily, but did as she was told. With a smooth motion, he reached over her shoulders and brought something up to her neck. (Y/N) felt nimble fingers moving to tie ribbon into place - it would seem Legato had gifted her with a small choker. She reached up to touch it, feeling the smoothness of the silk ribbon and tracing the shape of the little letter charm that dangled from it. Wanting to get a better look, (Y/N) turned and went to the bureau with its large mirror. Around her neck now sat a cobalt blue ribbon from which dangled a golden letter “B”. She reached up and touched it again, brow furrowing slightly.

It was then that she became aware of Legato’s reflection in the mirror, standing just behind her and watching her face as realization dawned on her. “I’m not as cruel a man as you might think,” he said.

#legato bluesummers #trigun #legato x reader #legato x you #sorry not sorry #female reader #cw alcohol #katie5000 writes stuff

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matchamilkislover · 2 years ago

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In The Darkest Corners, 1.

pairing: vi x fem!oc (y/n with a name)

warnings: mature themes, explicit violence, parental loss, angst.

word count: 2,441

synopsis: After falling from her graceful life as part of a respected family in Piltover, Olive Whitlock takes matters into her own hands to solve her mother’s disappearance. Unfortunately, the only real clue she’s gotten in a while leads her to Vi, a less-than-friendly Stillwater inmate with a bone to pick.

author’s note: originally published january 2023.

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡ ⋆ ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡ ⋆ ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ

1 year ago.

BANG.

Olive was ripped from her sleep from the sound of doors shutting and closing in quick succession, followed by footsteps racing down the hall. Frozen by shock and uncertainty, she listened for only a second before she heard the heavy front door slam in and what sounded like a dozen pairs of boots stomp in, accompanied by deep shouting and the crashing of furniture and other belongings being destroyed. Without a second thought, she leapt out of bed and ran to her door to see what was going on. She whipped her door open to find her mother hurrying down the hall with her arms full of unfamiliar papers and strange objects.

"Mom? What's going on?" she whispered towards her mother's hunched figure, trying not to alarm whoever was invading her home. Her mother's head whipped around to face her and she dashed almost inhumanly toward Olive.

"Leave. Now. Or they'll catch you," her mother hissed, her eyes alight with fear and something else that Olive didn't recognize. "Out your balcony. Go!" Before she could speak, Olive's mother shoved her back into her room and, with a final glance, whispered "If we live, we'll find each other." With that, she pulled Olive's door shut and disappeared.

After a moment of shocked hesitation, Olive turned away from the door and set into action. Knowing she didn't have time to change, she ripped what clothes she could fit into her pack from her wardrobe and pulled a jacket over her pajamas. Hearing the thundering footsteps and muffled shouting travel up the stairs, she pulled on her boots and slipped through her glass balcony doors. Climbing over the ornate railing, her last glance into her lifelong home was of blurred enforcers busting through her bedroom door as she slid down her balcony and tumbled into the lamplit streets of Piltover.

Current.

Olive slipped quietly across a familiar alleyway in the Undercity, sticking to the shadows and praying that she ran into no one. After the night she lost her once plentiful life in topside, her luck had only gone south. Rumors about her mother's corruption and alleged betrayal of the high houses and individuals of Piltover only needed a night to spread before Olive couldn't escape them. Afraid of being apprehended by enforcers as well (or worse), she fled to the Undercity. It would never be safe, but she knew that here no one could recognize her or what her family had done.

In the past year, Olive had scraped her way by in the Undercity, always working odd jobs and barely slipping under people's noses when things went south. She had her fair share of cuts and bruises, but as long as she was alive or at least not wildly broken, she was persistent in continuing her investigation into what really happened to her mother that night. Most of the work she did involved shady dealings that she traded for information, but so far, she'd been met with snarky remarks and vague statements alluding to what *may* have happened.

Maybe this job will be different.

All she had to do was make a small - albeit strange - delivery; how hard could it be? She slipped past buildings and snuck around brawling groups and staggering shimmer addicts to the low, almost invisible basement building that she was delivering to. Peeking through the smoky window, she could see almost nothing besides a decrepit wooden door and a sign warning others not to enter. Maybe I can just leave it at the door and move on? She wondered - but sighed when she remembered she had specific instructions to drop it off with the receiver. If she were a native to the Lanes, she might have had the insight to just leave the package at the door anyways and do her best to evade the consequences later. But even after a year of fighting her way through the darkness, she still couldn't abandon the manners and instruction obsessed habits that her upbringing had given her.

Grumbling, Olive wrenched open the outer door and paused at the wooden one inside, considering whether or not to knock. Deciding it was best to not catch the inhabitant off guard, she knocked heavily on the door and stood back in case they came out swinging. Not much to her surprise, the door was ripped open by a hulking figure with enraged eyes and the smelliest breath Olive had encountered yet. Gulping, she held up the package and mustered up the courage to speak.

"From Achlan," she squeaked, ready to drop it and run at a moment's notice. Don't get her wrong, she could hold her own if she needed too - but she'd rather not need to in this instance. The large creature, who Achlan, her employer, had identified as 'A big lug of a man' grunted and took the package with one large gruff hand. Frozen, Olive just let him take it and continued to stare at his gnarled face.

"Need anything else, pipsqueak?" The man growled, looking almost murderous at the fact that Olive had apparently overstayed her welcome. Sputtering an apology, Olive backed up a few feet before turning and running the opposite direction, heart thundering in her chest just from the thought of spending any more time in that dusty doorway.

Olive ran as fast as she could through the lanes towards her employer's main camp, scaling a few walls (with some struggling) and launching herself across gaps between buildings that would usually send her stomach turning. Finally, she caught a glimpse of the crooked stack of buildings that her destination inhabited. She slid down the roof and shambled wall of the building she had been perched on, and tried to look confident as she strode towards the building that seemed rather looming when she really looked at it. On the ground floor stood the Undercity's iconic brothel, a haram of substances and lust that constantly hung in the air in and around it. Olive really tried to avoid the place simply so she wouldn't be lured in by the promise of payment, but for this job, she needed to go inside to access the stairwell to the upper floors.

Taking a deep breath, Olive avoided the eyes of the few people lurking outside and pulled open the door, slipping inside and rushing towards the stair at as fast of a pace she could go without looking suspicious. She almost made it before a smooth, husky voice called out to her.

"Hey miss...you look awfully lonely over there; leaving in such a rush?" The masked man called, stalking towards her with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"Yes, I am leaving, actually," Olive replied, her breathing shallow as she tried to continue on without making eye contact.

"Ah ah ah," The man continued, reaching out to snatch her wrist before she had a chance to slip away. "You're really going to leave a paying customer unsatisfied?" he asked with a smirk.

"I don't work here," Olive hissed in reply, trying to snatch away her arm; the man's grip was surprisingly strong for his lanky build.

"Oi!" A deeper voice suddenly called, causing both of them to whip their heads towards the stairwell. "She's with me."

Olive recognized her employer instantly and shocked even herself with how relieved she was to see him. The masked man released her wrist immediately, muttering a nervous apology and slinking away into another room of the brothel. Olive had never been so thankful for such a terrifying man's nerve-wracking effects.

"You, up here," The large man on the stairs grunted, gesturing towards Olive. Nodding, she scampered up the rickety wooden stairs after his thudding footsteps. Upon reaching his door, he opened it gruffly and didn't bother to check if Olive made it inside or was even following him. Reaching a large desk littered with objects, the man sat down and faced Olive with an unimpressed look on his face.

Her employer was an almost ogre-like man with bulging muscles and strange bumps littering his green-tinged skin. They called him Achlan, and by now, Olive had heard enough rumors to know why his name and his looming presence sent people scattering.

"You finish the job?" He asked, seeming rather bored.

"Yes, sir," Olive said, the words seeming to jolt out of her almost trembling mouth.

"Good. You may leave," He replied, waving his hand toward the door and looking down at his desk.

"I'm sorry, but my payment..." Olive stuttered with her eyes to the ground.

"Ah yes, you're the one that wanted information. Strange request. Let's see, you want to know about Eleanor Whitlock, yes?"

She nodded a response.

"Something tells me you already know plenty about her family history...so why come to me? Surely you've tried to do some sleuthing on your own."

"Yes, sir, but if you could just tell me something — anything you know," She pleaded in a quavering voice. For a few moments, there was silence.

Then Achlan spoke.

"Stillwater Hold, inmate 516."

Olive was struck speechless. In a daze, she walked down the stairs and out to the street, paying no mind to anything, or anyone, around her. Stillwater Hold? What could an inmate there possibly know about her mother?

What if...No. Olive refused to even suspect that her mother could have ended up in jail. She'd had to face a lot of things in the past year, but even now she couldn't face the thought of it. Clenching her fists, she let her anxiety turn into anger, and was basically boiling by the time she reached the one place she knew she could get information about Stillwater - The Last Drop.

The neon glow emanating from the gigantic eye hit Olive's vision before she even spotted the building. The run-down and rather nasty bar was a common watering hole for residents of the Undercity, and no matter how hard she tried, that didn't exclude Olive. Her ears were flooded with noise when she opened the groaning door, and she held back a wince at the stench of alcohol and body odor. Making a beeline for the bar itself, she slid into an empty stool and waited for the familiar bartender to turn toward her.

"Olive, what can I do you for?" The dark, broad-shouldered bartender asked, a small smile whispering on his lips.

"I'm not drinking tonight, Grint," Olive replied with a serious face. "I need advice." Leaning in closer, she waited for him to do the same before continuing.

"Say I wanted to find a certain prisoner at Stillwater...Could I, you know, do it?" She asked in a lowered voice. Grint almost laughed.

"Not unless you want to get thrown in there with them! My advice, if you want to see anyone in that hellhole, you better be ready to stage a full break-in. Not that they're expecting anyone to break in — who in their right mind would want to get in there? Except you, of course." He chuckled and shook his head like Olive was presenting some ridiculous idea. She wasn't.

"And how would I go about breaking in?"

Avoid the light, find a back door, don't get caught. Those were the instructions Grint gave her before being pulled away by other customers at The Last Drop. How Olive was going to pull this off, she wasn't sure — but she'd be damned if she let another clue go unsearched. Taking a deep breath, she started carefully navigating her way around the jagged rocks of the island that Stillwater inhabited. She hissed like she had just been stung when the searchlight nearly grazed her calf. She went to hell in a handbasket alone just to get to the island, and that supposedly wasn't even the hardest part. Eventually, she reached the tall, intimidating building and started to scout it for entrance points.

Shit.

The only point of entry she could find besides the very obvious front doors was a second story window that seemed like she would need about five more years of rock climbing experience for. But time wasn't going to slow down for her to figure out another plan, so she latched her hands and feet into whatever holds she could find and started to climb.

How in the world she did it, Olive wasn't sure, but climb the wall she did. The window was, of course, locked, but it was nothing that a lock pick and a little elbow grease couldn't take care of. Within minutes, the window was open, and Olive was in. Seconds later she regretted every life decision she ever made when she spotted a gigantic guard sitting no more than 20 feet away. That is, until she heard him snoring. Her breathing started again and, after a moment to check that he was truly asleep, Olive began creeping towards him as slow as she could stand to go. Upon approaching the guard, she noticed a ring of keys on his belt. Isn't that a little too obvious? Olive wondered, but hey — she wasn't one to pass up such an opportunity. Her fingers made quick work of the key ring, and within seconds, the keys were in her hands. Now she just had to figure out which cell was 516's.

Initially, Olive figured that 516 must be on the 5th floor, considering that the inmates on the floor she was on seemed to all reside within the 100s. But the higher she went, the lower the numbers got; until she made a frustrating realization. The higher the number, the lower the floor — which meant that inmate 516 must be quite a bit underground. After kicking herself for wasting time, Olive descended floors until she reached what appeared to be the lowest floor, and the home of inmates listed in the 500s. Most of the cells down here seemed to be empty, and as she passed more and more cells, the unexpected sound of fists hitting concrete started to echo in her ears. Her blood chilled, and of course, it was only fitting that as she drew closer and closer, the light started to dissipate, the length of the hallway started to shorten, and the pounding only grew louder.

"Hello?" Olive called barely above a whisper towards the cell marked 516. The fists stopped. Olive came to a nervous stop in front of the cell door, fiddling with the keys in her hands. She caught sight of flashes of dark pink hair and heavily tattooed skin. The occupant tilted their head slightly towards Olive, exposing an angular face with a scarred lip.

"Who the hell are you?"

#arcane #vi #vi arcane #arcane fanfiction #vi fanfiction #vi fanfic #vi x reader #vi x oc #some angst #lesbian #arcane fanfic #league of legends #arcane x reader #afab!reader #piltover and zaun #arcane piltover #arcane fandom #in the darkest corners #matchamilkis

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le-trash-prince · 2 years ago

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Do I know how perspective or rendering work no I fucking do not. Anyways here’s Perihelion’s student bunkroom.

I’ll be honest, I initially envisioned two-tier bunk beds because I assumed that’s just what all bunk beds were. But after reviewing the text, it didn’t seem to fit the description, and it turns out a bunk bed can just be a bed that’s attached to the wall. We learn something new every day. So here’s the foldout beds I came up with instead.

This is a room with four beds, intended for the students. We know there’s rooms with at least three beds, based on the scene with Amena/MB/Thiago in the bunkroom. It’s possible there could be more, in which case a door would be needed between every four beds. But I think it would be unlikely to have that many per room.

Anyways these activate via feed-switch. The platform at the bottom slides out from the wall. There’s drawer compartments built into the platform for storing clean bedding packs or whatever else ppl want to put in there. I wanted the platform to feel like a bed frame because the implication I got from the text is that these don’t get folded back up during the day—it’s just the unoccupied rooms that have all their furniture folded up. So I wanted it to feel like a space that people could settle into.

There’s little glass shelves that slide out from the wall once the bed is deployed, where students can keep personal items. And the shelf cubby is lined with a programmable LED strip, so students can still have some light when their privacy screen is engaged. Because of the way the mattress hinges up into the wall, the bottom shelf conceals a small space. I imagine that when some students realize this, they use it to stash certain personal items, even though ART can see them doing it anyways and has probably asked some embarrassing questions in the past.

To the right of the bed is a small, concealed wardrobe. The door of the wardrobe slides into the floor. Also the wall panels are steel plated, so students can hang personal items with magnets, like the fabric wall hanging below.

The text only mentions “furniture” aside from the beds, so I took liberties here. I considered putting a desk for each student, but bevause the university is anti-capitalist, I thought they might be opposed to all-nighter cram culture, so I went with this seating area instead. Students could use this for eating/tabletop games/whatever it is the kids are doing these days. Of course they could also study here if they wanted, but it’s optional rather than being built into the design that “your room is a place for exam prep.”

I don’t know that I’ll design the classrooms at this point as there’s been zero description of them, and I probably won’t design the lab module at all (because I have zero experience with labs lol), but I like to imagine there’s places in those areas of the ship where students can study if/when they need to.

The bench slides out from the wall, and there is again a storage compartment inside it, where the bench cushion goes along with maybe cushions for the stools as well. The table folds out from the wall, along with two legs that, when folded up, blend into the grooved panel design of the walls. The stools pull straight up from the floor. And the bronze pole light hanging over the table slides in and out of the wall when the furniture is deployed.

I designed the rooms to be darker than the rest of the ship so that they would feel cozy by comparison. But I wanted it to still feel like a university spaceship, so it is much more cold and minimal than my own idea of cozy lol. Please envision the dining area as being more brightly lit than the rest of the room. Also I did not draw them but the ceiling is lined with the same indirect lighting as the rest of the ship.

There’s also a concealed compartment on the left for laundry/recycler stuff.

I included the bathroom in the layout but I am going to spend a long time thinking about fixtures and space toilets before I do anything with that.

Anyways once again thank you if you have read this far. *meme voice* interior design is my passion.

(previous post in this series)

#the murderbot diaries #asshole research transport #my stuff #murderbot

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farstudio44 · 1 year ago

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Luxury Homes: Interior Design Ideas for a Lavish Lifestyle

Luxury homes represent the pinnacle of comfort, opulence, and style. They are not just places to live; they are statements of personal taste and a reflection of one's success and status. When it comes to designing the interiors of such homes, the possibilities are endless. From extravagant furnishings to cutting-edge technology, there are countless ways to create a lavish lifestyle within the confines of your own abode. In this blog, we will explore some interior design ideas that can transform your luxury home into a haven of extravagance.

Grand Entryways

The first impression counts, and for luxury homes, the entryway sets the tone. Create a grand entrance with a double-height foyer, elegant chandeliers, and a sweeping staircase. Marble or polished stone flooring, intricate moldings, and oversized mirrors can also enhance the sense of opulence.

High-End Materials

In luxury homes, quality is paramount. Invest in high-end materials like marble, granite, onyx, and rare woods for flooring, countertops, and furnishings. These materials not only exude sophistication but also stand the test of time.

Statement Lighting

Lighting can make or break the ambiance of a luxury home. Opt for custom-designed chandeliers, wall sconces, and pendant lights to create a dramatic effect. Smart lighting systems that can be controlled via smartphone or voice commands add an element of convenience and modernity.

Custom Furniture

Off-the-shelf furniture won't suffice in a luxury home. Commission custom-made pieces that fit perfectly with your Luxury interior design vision. Luxurious fabrics, rich textures, and unique designs can elevate your home's interior to a new level of luxury.

Spa-Like Bathrooms

Indulge in spa-like bathrooms featuring oversized soaking tubs, walk-in showers with multiple showerheads, heated floors, and high-quality fixtures. Incorporate natural materials like stone and wood to create a tranquil oasis within your home.

Walk-In Closets

For the fashion-conscious, a walk-in closet is a must-have luxury. Install custom shelving, ample storage space, and even a vanity area with excellent lighting. A well-organized closet not only adds convenience but also showcases your wardrobe in style.

Home Automation

Stay at the forefront of technology by integrating home automation systems. Control everything from lighting and climate to security and entertainment with the touch of a button or a voice command. Smart mirrors, voice-activated assistants, and automated window treatments can add both convenience and luxury.

Art and Collectibles

Showcase your personal taste and appreciation for art by incorporating a dedicated art gallery or display space within your home. Collectibles, sculptures, and fine art pieces can be strategically placed to become focal points of your Luxury interior design.

Indoor-Outdoor Living

Make the most of your outdoor space by seamlessly blending it with your interior. Install large, retractable glass doors that lead to a well-designed outdoor area featuring a pool, lounge area, and landscaping. This creates a sense of continuity and expansiveness.

Home Theaters

Create the ultimate entertainment experience with a state-of-the-art home theater. High-quality sound systems, comfortable seating, and acoustically designed rooms can transform your space into a private cinema where you can enjoy movies in style.

Conclusion

Luxury homes offer a canvas for creating an environment of unparalleled comfort and style. These interior design ideas can help you transform your home into a lavish haven that reflects your taste and success. Whether it's grand entryways, high-end materials, or cutting-edge technology, every detail contributes to the overall ambiance of luxury. With the right design choices, your home can be a true testament to the art of living the good life.

#luxury interior designer #main line interior designer #interiorstyling #philly interior designer #interior designer #bryn mawr interior designer #interiordecor #interior design

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catmansquad · 1 year ago

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Excerpt: "Fitting In"

Gabriel spends time raiding with familiar faces, while Miguel struggles with the weight of a new, heavy secret... (Modern AU)

He stood at the door to his brother’s apartment, a bag of two takeaway boxes in one hand as his other nudged his tinted glasses back up his face, then knocked on the door.

‘Gabri!’

He could hear his brother on the other side of the door; the click of keys on a keyboard, an almost frantic tapping, and his brother’s muffled voice. Miguel rolled his eyes and knocked once again.

‘Gabri!!’ He had told his brother he’d be stopping by, and that he’d be bringing dinner.

Exhaling in soft annoyance, Miguel counted to three, then slammed his fist on the door hard enough that he felt the whole frame rattle.

‘GABRIEL!’

He heard his brother yelp, cursing and muttering apologies, then footsteps squeaking across the room towards the door. Miguel relaxed as he heard the door chain being removed, the click of a lock, and the door was pulled open to reveal his brother’s sheepish expression, hair messier than usual, and a white headset resting around his neck that Miguel could hear noise and chatter from.

‘… Aha…. Hi, Brother… Sorry, I uh… There was a raid happening and I got distracted, and kinda forgot…?’

Miguel’s gaze narrowed softly behind his glasses and he lived in hope that Gabriel could feel the weight of his stare. Once again was his brother wearing an explosion of mismatching colour, worst of all were the bright pink slippers on his feet, designed like rabbits with googly eyes that squeaked with each step he took.

‘Gabri, why do you always dress like you have a hurricane in your wardrobe?’

His brother gave him a judgemental stare, resting hands on his hips.

‘Why are you still mumbling, brother? Why do you not seem to have any colour in your wardrobe?’

Gabriel grabbed at his headset, lifting one side to his ear and listened to it.

‘Uh-oh… C-come in, Miggy. Thanks for bringing dinner- what do we have?’ He stepped back, allowing his big brother into his apartment.

‘Chinese.’ Miguel muttered simply, glancing around the apartment.

Much like Miguel, his brother’s apartment reflected his personality and interests. It was a bright and colourful thing, walls covered in posters of Discordance’s various expansions, plush pastel furniture and a great sofa that faced a very large wall-mounted television. In sharp contrast to Miguel’s far more calm and monochromatic choice of décor. His brother scrambled back to the sofa, dragging a keyboard and mouse back into his lap and pulling his headset back up.

‘Yo! I’m back, sorry… My brother’s here- So, do we need any stuff mended? We’re good for food and pots, yeah?’

Gabriel flicked his headset back to mute as Miguel sat in one of the soft armchairs, placing the takeaway bag on the coffee table and taking out the two white boxes of oily prawn noodles.

‘Thank you, Miggy… They say hello, by the way.’

‘How are you doing on your… thing, Gabri? Your food’s going to get cold.’

At Miguel’s question, Gabriel rested with a finger on the mute button of his headset, eyes darting between his brother and the television screen; where a group of five adventurers in styles ranging from medieval to futuristic were standing in a ravaged street of a post-apocalyptic city beneath blood red skies and an eclipsed sun.

‘I… I’ll just reheat it… Sorry, they’re getting impatient… Yeah, sorry, I’m here. I’m good to go-! Hobie, did you change jobs again? Again? Yeah, I know you “don’t believe in consistency”, but in the past month, you’ve been; Rebel, Gunner, Apostate, Rebel, Chronomancer, Martialist….’

Miguel held a prawn between chopsticks, listening to his brother’s continuing rant before popping it into his mouth. His brother was, once again, going to be left with cold food.

‘…. Extant, Rebel, Technician, Bulwark, Scholar…’

Miguel found his brother’s continuing rant far more interesting than what was happening on the screen. Instead, he focused on his food, rolling the prawn around his mouth, teasing it with his fangs as he focused on learning how to dry bite. It was all well and good not being affected by his own venom, but would still like to not taste its powerful bitter tang on nearly everything he ate.

‘… Judge, Knight Errant, and now back to Rebel again. Please, can we just get started…?’

‘C’mon, we’ve just got the lass boss to get through- Pav… Pav- please let Hobie go first. I know you’re the tank, but he can see the… Traps- and you’re dead again. Big shiny treasure out in the open, what were you expecting?’

Miguel placed the chopsticks into his empty takeaway box, still stained with the traces of oil, and placed it on the coffee table beside the one that his brother had yet to touch. Well fed, and having apparently mastered the art of keeping his venom glands under control, the older O’Hara sibling kicked off his shoes and curled up, sinking deeper into the soothing comfort of his brother’s furniture, feeling very much like a lazy cat.

‘I think your food’s gone cold, brother….’ He had half a mind to pull off his sunglasses, night was starting to fall and Gabriel was far too engrossed in his raiding party to notice how his big brother’s eyes had turned blood red. He was sure his brother hadn’t even heard what he had said.

‘…. Well, it’s a Nightmare raid, Pav. It’s not meant to be easy. This is Nightmare, not “Where’s my medal and plate of orange slices for participation”?- Yeah, great, Pav. You can get your orange slices once we’re done here.’ There was a very subtle edge to his brother’s words, and Miguel knew him well enough to know that irritation was building somewhere deep beneath the surface.

‘I hope you like reheating cold takeaway, brother. God knows I love it as much as I love complete strangers grabbing my ass when I’m performing…’ Miguel murmured, eyes half lidded as he glanced at the screen; to where the raiding party were approaching a colossal figure that resembled Cthulhu, made from wood and dark red crystal.

‘…. I know that, but you’re just putting more strain on me and Peni, our heals aren’t bottomless…’

Miguel closed his eyes briefly, fingers resting on the frame of his sunglasses, ready to pull them off. He hesitated, then opened his eyes again and looked to his little brother, speaking in a tiny, broken voice as he allowed his guard to fall, vulnerability moving to the surface.

‘I… I have superpowers, Gabri…’

His heart skipped a beat as his brother glanced at him, their eyes met for a brief moment, then his gaze returned to the screen.

‘Hey, Peni? Yeah, Mig says your gun looks like a Supersoaker.’

The older O’Hara sibling quietly exhaled a soft sigh, putting his guards back up as he quietly decided that he would count his blessings with his oblivious brother.

‘YES! Get fucked, Bloodmoon Harbinger!’

Gabriel punched their air as the wooden Cthulhu crumbled, the night skies above resuming their usual night blue hues. The assembled party began to emote and celebrate; Hobie’s avatar popping and spraying a bottle of champagne, as Pavtir’s danced with glowsticks, and Peni’s was either dead on the floor or playing at being so. Miguel watched his brother celebrate, and he could even hear the muffled celebrations of his fellow raiders through the headset. He also heard Gabriel’s stomach growl like a hungry beast and watched his little brother’s expression change from joy to a soft frown.

‘… ‘kay, I need to get some food now, like… Desperately. Good job, see you next week, yeah? Yeah? Take care, see you! Bye, bye, adios!’ With a few keystrokes, Gabriel had disconnected from the game and pulled his headset off, hair getting even more messed up. He placed everything aside and grabbed the untouched takeaway box like it was his lifeline.

‘Ah…’

‘Oh, stone cold, Gabri?’ Miguel asked him with a raised eyebrow.

‘Yeah. Well, that’s nothing the microwave won’t solve! ‘

Miguel pushed up his sunglasses as he buried his face into the palm of his hand and sighed softly. His brother’s joy truly was irrepressible.

‘Have you got a costume for Halloween, Miggy?’

‘Cost-? You assume I still want to go trick-or-treating at my age?’

‘Well, we don’t need to go trick-or-treating, brother! Stop talking like you’re in your forties. Seriously, you’re thirty-four.’ He heard the clang of the door and beep of the microwave running, Gabriel leaned back in from the kitchen.

‘It’s just about dressing up and having fun. Being scary for a night. So, what do you think?’

‘I’m thinking September is too early to start thinking about Halloween.’ Miguel responded, rolling his eyes, already growing tired of the topic of discussion. The last time he had worn any kind of Halloween costume, it had been the year when he’d first started the gig as Spider-Man, his brother had decided in his infinite wisdom, to pick out a costume for him, and had returned with a scarier version of the costume he knew on the stage. It had been the one and only time he’d ever worn it.

‘Alright, alright, be like that… But how’s it going with you and your guy? You got a date yet?’

‘No. I don’t expect to any time soon, Gabri. He-‘

The beep of the microwave made his brother duck back into the kitchen and he emerged back inside, carrying a small plate with the steaming noodles on.

‘Ay… Ay, ay, ay! Caliente! Caliente!’ His brother’s footsteps squeaked across the room, and Miguel stared at the pink slippers, very well aware that a matching set, in bright orange, were left unloved and unworn in his own wardrobe; another one of his brother’s brilliant gifts.

‘He’s… going through a difficult time. Later, we will.’

‘Aww, that sucks…’ Gabriel managed through a mouthful of steaming noodles, trying to pull a pitying expression while chewing. He just ended up looking like he was about to sneeze.

#miguel o'hara #gabriel o'hara #miguel o'hara x oc

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