#getting every nutrient tonight

[fluffysheeple]

scrambled egg with cheese + salami + parsnip + spinach + garlic + onion + L + ratio + some little tomatoes on theside

[meownotgood]

married life / hayakawa aki

married life with house-husband aki.

pairing: hayakawa aki x gn!reader

genre: headcanons / fluff, just lots of domestic sweetness

note: this post is sfw, but this account contains nsfw content. please do not follow if you are a minor.

❥ You were the one who proposed first. It started as an off-handed remark: Hey, Aki, have you ever considered getting married? Without fully understanding what you were implying, he replies, I'm not sure, but I wouldn't mind being married to you. Needless to say, you popped the question not long after.

❥ You'll never forget the look on Aki's face when you asked him to marry you: his eyes were wide, and his face was flushed all the way to the tips of his ears. When he tried to speak, all that came out were incoherent stutters, but as he knelt down and hugged you, you heard him whisper, Yes. I'd love to.

❥ You consider yourself fortunate that your job has always allowed you to live comfortably, your salary easily enough for two people to live off of. For the first time in, well, ever, Aki doesn't have to be working himself to the bone all the time. He isn't used to this, and it took some adjusting to, but once he settled in his new peaceful lifestyle, he grew to really take a liking to it.

❥ Aki enjoys dwelling in something simpler, in a quiet sense of home. He finds comfort in the little things, in taking care of day-to-day tasks and the household chores. When you come home, a smile on your face once you see what he made for dinner, the stress leaving your shoulders when he tells you how he took care of everything — Don't worry about anything at all, you can relax now. When he's able to help you, to let his beloved feel at ease, it makes it all worth it.

❥ He's always been a chef at heart, so Aki enjoys making you dinner every single night. He asks you what you'd like to eat tonight before you leave for work, and he gives you a few suggestions if you aren't sure. He makes a mental note of all the ingredients he needs to pick up from the store. Then, he prepares dinner in earnest, expertly chopping vegetables, adding spices and having a taste to make sure it's perfect. He always plans it perfectly so that as soon as you come home, you'll have a delicious hot meal ready for you.

❥ Over the months and years you've spent together, Aki has memorized all of your preferences. He knows what flavors you like, and he remembers what you don't like; he always excludes those things from the recipe.

❥ You're no stranger to breakfast in bed, either; Aki will crawl out of bed as softly as possible, cooking quietly in the kitchen, careful to avoid stepping on the floorboards that creak. He'll brew some hot coffee, waking you up with a kiss to the forehead, a steaming mug and a plate of pancakes in his hands. Good morning. Did you have sweet dreams?

❥ When you arrive home from a long day of work, Aki takes your coat off your shoulders at the door, hanging it on the coat rack. He unites your shoes for you, then wraps his arms around you in a warm embrace, his hand tenderly holding the back of your head. The very first thing he says to you each and every time is, Welcome home, I missed you so much. How was work?

❥ And when he can tell that you've come home stressed and upset, he wastes no time, pulling you into a tight hug the second you've walked in the door. Bad day, huh? C'mere. Let me hold you.

❥ Aki makes you boxed lunches in the morning for you to take to eat at work. He makes sure each one is a balanced meal, with enough nutrients to get you through the day. There's always a hand-written note tucked inside, wishing you a good day at work, and reminding you of how much he loves you. Have a good day today. Hey, there's a festival going on downtown tonight, would you like to go? Let me know later. I love you. :)

❥ If you happen to forget your lunch on the counter, Aki will drive all the way to your work just to hand it to you. He pretends not to overhear when you start bragging to your co-workers about how much of an amazing husband he is, but he's smiling to himself on the entire drive home.

❥ Honestly, he'll never get used to you calling him your husband. It always makes his heart flutter and warmth rise to his cheeks. He still can't believe this is real, that he is married to the love of his life, and gets to spend the rest of his days peacefully beside them. After everything he's been through, he thinks he deserves it.

❥ He frequently admires his wedding ring, turning it over and rubbing his thumb along the smooth surface when he's reminded that it's still attached to his finger. Real, tangible proof of your marriage, proof that you belong to each other. Aki's heart skips a beat just looking at it. Sometimes, whilst you sleep, he'll grasp your hand and admire your own ring, too.

❥ You don't think you've done your own laundry since Aki moved in — He's always done it for you. He quickly learned what goes in all of your drawers, and how you like to organize your closet. When he washes your clothes, he seperates the whites from the darks, and he uses a special fabric softener that leaves them smelling divine. He folds all of your clothes neatly, and if you wish, he'll even pick out outfits for you, arranging everything so that you never have to worry about what you're going to wear in the morning.

❥ Aki makes sure every single chore is handled before you even come home. Dishes? Yep, he's already washed them, dried them, and put them away. Trash? He took it out ages ago. You don't have to stress about any of it.

❥ As he cleans the house, dusting every surface, he admires all of your knick-knacks, all of your belongings that have blended with his since you've moved in. He's extremely careful with your things, setting them back exactly where they were. A soft smile settles on his face when he gazes at the photo frames of you and him, and all of the pictures you've taken together.

❥ There's photos from your honeymoon (his arm is around you, you're kissing his cheek), and your wedding (he's crying like a baby at the altar, his hands clasped in yours). When you took visits to both his hometown and your own, you look lots of pictures of the scenery. And there's even shots from your various vacations, including his favorite picture of you that he's ever taken — You're at the beach, the waves washing over your toes, the sunset illuminating you perfectly. You look amazing, but honestly, Aki thinks you're stunning in every single one. He feels delighted to be reminded of those memories.

❥ Aki's favorite part of housework is tending to the garden. He waters the flower beds with a watering can, and then carefully tends to the soil of the plants. The best part is harvesting everything he's grown — tomatoes, cucumbers, peppers, strawberries — and letting you have a taste. He'll chop up the cucumbers into slices for you, he'll make a cake out of the strawberries and feed you a slice. Is it good? Tell me what you want me to grow next year. I was thinking lettuce would be nice, I can make us some salads.

❥ He still has much to learn, but Aki managed to pick up sewing in the time while you're away at work; if you ever rip your clothing, or if the washing machine ever snags a button, he'll sew it back up for you, just the way it was.

❥ Although you tend to be busy, you and Aki have a designated date night where you always spend time with each other. Sometimes you go out to a fancy restaurant. Aki helps you pick out a glamorous outfit, does your hair for you, and stands behind you, pressing a gentle kiss to the crown of your head as he clasps your necklace. Oh, you look so perfect, sweetheart. I can't believe I get to call you mine.

❥ He opens the car door for you when you arrive, and he allows you to hold his arm as you step out. When you sit down, he pushes in your seat for you. And of course, he orders for you, too. If there's something on the menu you said you might want to try but weren't sure if you'd like it, that's what he orders, and he's sure to give you a bite. If you enjoy it more than what you ordered, he'll swap your plates. And if you choose to order something out of your comfort zone, he orders your favorite, so that if you dislike your meal, he can just give you his. Aki spends more time helplessly staring at you than he does eating, anyways.

❥ But, if you're not feeling up to anything crazy, Aki is perfectly fine spending date night staying in. You'll cozy up on the couch, a blanket over your bodies as you watch whatever movie you've been dying to see. Aki pops homemade popcorn for the two of you. When you fall asleep on his shoulder, he turns off the television and carries you to bed in his arms.

❥ Aki wouldn't force you to, but if you wanted to take his last name, he'd be absolutely overjoyed. He would be honored to give you such an important part of himself. A smile tugs at the corners of his cheeks whenever he watches you sign paperwork with Hayakawa, and tears well in his eyes when the two of you visit the graves of his family, reminders that he isn't alone anymore, that you're his family now.

❥ Each night, you have a routine of telling Aki how your day went. Aki recounts everything he managed to get done today, and you tell him about anything exciting that happened, or rant to him about all of your stresses. You rest your head on his chest, listening to the steady thrum of his heartbeat, and Aki rubs slow, soothing circles on your back.

❥ He listens intently to every detail, praising you for your accomplishments: You finished that big project you were telling me about last week, didn't you? You've been working so hard love, why don't we do something special tomorrow to celebrate? Or, comforting you when you've had a shitty day: I'm sorry, baby. I don't understand why your boss has to be such an ass sometimes. If there's anything I can do to help you out tomorrow, just tell me.

❥ And yes, Aki knows that you really need your sleep for the busy day ahead, but sometimes, he just can't help but keep you up. It's not his fault you're so perfect he can't stop staring. You certainly can't blame him for wanting to kiss every inch of your sleepy face over and over again, until there isn't a single place his lips haven't pressed to.

❥ If you can't fall asleep, Aki holds you close and hums you a lullaby. It's some dumb love song he heard on the radio that reminded him if you. He can't remember the lyrics, but he still remembers the melody.

❥ You quickly discovered that when he gets really comfy, drifting into a deep sleep, cuddled up beside you, Aki snores a little. Not very loudly, just a quiet, low hum each time he breathes. You're sure he doesn't know, and you'll never tell him. You find it absolutely adorable, and his gentle snores always help to lull you right to sleep.

❥ Before he met you, Aki would have terrible nightmares every time he slept. It was unavoidable — Nightmares about his family, about devils, reenactments of every memory he's ever tried to forget. But now, as he drifts off in your arms, he has nothing but good, pleasant dreams.

❥ Aki will try his best to make sure you are never late for work, offering his assistance in the morning in any way he can, but if you ever are late, it was probably because he didn't want to let you go. He grumbles in your ear when your alarm goes off, his arms around you pulling you closer to his warm body. You say something about needing to get ready, but he just holds you tighter, sleepily mumbling, Just five more minutes.

❥ Your morning routine has been carefully woven into his. Aki brushes his teeth beside you, so close his shoulder is nearly touching yours. As you brush your hair, he ties up his, and once he's done, he's wrapping his arms around your waist and peppering your shoulder with gentle kisses. When you're showering, he writes cute love messages on the fogged up mirror for you to see when you get out. He never forgets to give you a goodbye kiss before you leave for work.

❥ Aki is always paying careful attention to your health and his own, so it isn't often that either of you fall ill. He always reminds you to take your vitamins in the morning, and he makes sure the meals he prepares are as balanced as possible. But, in the unlikely case that you happen to get sick, Aki takes the best care of you.

❥ He can tell you're not feeling well when you wake up stuffy and exhausted. He presses the back of his hand to your forehead, and when he feels the heat radiating from your skin, he shuffles out of bed to grab the thermometer. You have a terrible fever. Stay home today, sweetheart. I'll call your boss for you.

❥ He makes you easy to digest meals, he brings a wet washcloth and lays it over your forehead. Don't even think about getting out of bed, because Aki will make certain you're getting plenty of rest. If you're bored, he has no problem sitting next to you and reading you a book until you fall into a peaceful slumber. He doesn't care if it's gross, you can sniffle and wipe your nose all over his t-shirt and he won't mind. He'll hold your hair for you and softly stroke your back if you have to throw up, and he'll toss your pile of used tissues while asking you if you need some more.

❥ You tell him to sleep on the couch that night so he won't catch your sickness, but he never listens; he sleeps with his arms around you without fail. You'll be alright, just rest up. I'm here if you need anything.

❥ If you come home from a particularly bad day, Aki will immediately run a warm bubble bath for you. I'll have the bath ready for you soon, darling. Do you need anything else? He lights some nice smelling incense and candles. Then, he helps you strip down and slip into the relaxing hot water. Before he leaves to toss your clothes in the washer, he asks if you want him to bring you anything to drink, or if you'd like a shoulder massage.

❥ It wouldn't be hard to convince him to come in the bath with you. He'll let you lean on his chest while he washes your hair, his fingers gently scrubbing your scalp until you feel like you could fall asleep right then and there. And of course, he dries you off afterwards, wrapping your body up in a warm towel he took straight out of the dryer.

❥ Even if it makes it more difficult, he always keeps an arm linked with yours while he does the dishes, or a hand intertwined with your own when he's preparing dinner. If he absolutely can't, he takes regular breaks just to pepper your face with kisses.

❥ Aki also takes breaks from cooking dinner just to slow dance with you in the kitchen when your favorite song comes on the radio. He doesn't have the best rhythm, and he's still trying to get the hang of it — He apologizes for stepping on your toes, you simply laugh and kiss his lips.

❥ When the weekend comes, you and Aki like to spend the night drinking at home, sitting on the balcony and watching the twinkling stars. Aki always seems to end up getting just a little too drunk, his face flushed out, his words slurred when he babbles every little thing that comes into his mind. You're so perfect, you know that? C'mere, I wanna kiss you.

❥ If you go out to drink instead, Aki is always the designated driver. He watches you carefully, making sure you don't drink too much, keeping his arm around you when the bar starts to get busy. He never has a lot to drink himself so that he can drive the both of you home safely.

❥ Aki has no problem driving you anywhere, really. He's probably the best driver you know, and he always asks you if your seatbelt is on before he even shifts the car out of park.

❥ If you ever bring up the idea of starting a family together, Aki immediately turns into a blushing mess. He isn't opposed, not at all, in fact. The idea makes him feel warm inside — Settling down with you, raising a family of his own, growing old together with the one he loves. He'd be there by your side for the whole thing, helping you paint the walls of your spare bedroom, or taking care of the kids while you're away at work. He'll finally quit smoking for good, like he's been meaning to do for a long while. You're both still a little too young to think about it now, he figures, but sometime in the future, he'd love to have that kind of life with you.

❥ Your parents love Aki, that's just a given. He's so polite, kind and sweet, and so willing to help at every turn. He feels truly elated whenever he gets the chance to impress them with his cooking. He'll always participate in your family traditions, no matter how odd or unfamiliar. Honestly, your parents are happy for you, and it makes his heart feel full to know they're glad to call him their son-in-law.

❥ Aki will kill all the bugs in the house if you're too scared of them. You don't have to fear spiders ever again when he's around, just call for him to come take care of it and he'll come running with the bug swatter.

❥ He never, ever forgets an important date. Aki already has the most lovely day planned out for the two of you on your anniversary months in advance, and he's up until 12 in the morning baking you a delicious cake the day before your birthday.

❥ If you prefer, Aki will be the one to schedule all of your doctor's appointments for you, and he has no problem always being the one to call if you're ordering take-out.

❥ He tries his hardest to understand all of your interests, and he diligently remembers even the smallest of details about yourself. Oh, when you were in grade school, you went on a trip to the aquarium that you never forgot? Aki takes you there on your days off, and he always recalls which exhibits are your absolute favorite. He asks you questions about your hobbies, and enjoys watching you partake in them. He'll even try to learn them if he can, so he can enjoy the things you love together alongside you.

❥ Aki tells you he loves you at every opportunity. I love you is the first thing you hear when you wake, and the last thing you hear before you fall asleep. At the altar, he said it as a promise, a declaration to be in love with you for the rest of his life. And he says it now, breathlessly, in between every kiss he places on your lips. I love you, more than anything. You're the one I want to be with for the rest of my life, I'm sure of it. I couldn't imagine living without you, my angel.

❥ Aki is forever grateful to wake up every morning by your side, your face being the first thing he sees when he opens his eyes. In many ways, he doesn't understand how he got so lucky, fortunate enough to live such a perfect life. If anything, he promises to never take it for granted, to love you and care for you until it's all over. You changed his life, and he wants to make sure every single day, you know you mean more to him than all of the stars in the glittering night sky. He's glad to call himself your husband, and he's even happier to be able to call you his.

[missnancywritesfanfic]

Grocery Shopping ft. Anemo Boys

(Based On Stuff My BF and I Have Done)

Characters: Venti, Xiao, Heizou, Kazuha, Wanderer(Scaramouche), Aether

Contains: Modern AU, Everyday Life, Fluff, Swears

A/N: I was at the grocery store and the idea popped in my head 🥰

--

VENTI - Humming Along To The Music

From the moment you stepped inside to the moment you leave. He will be humming. Tapping his finger to whatever royalty free song is playing over the speakers. You used to asked him why he never listened to his own music when you were shopping.

"But if I did that, then I'd be ignoring you. Isn't it better to be together in the moment?"

"Yeah, in the moment of Funky Town for the thirtieth time? I'm flattered."

It gets worse with every trip. It slowly evolves into mumbling the lyrics, then singing the lyrics out loud, swaying along to the music, and sometimes full on dancing with no remorse. Not a single bone of shame in his body, and you have to watch your boyfriend shake his ass while you facepalm.

"I am never taking you shopping again."

"We both know that's a big fat lie, babe. You love having me around~"

God, you hated his smug grin. Let this shopping trip be done as soon as humanly possible.

XIAO - Carry All The Groceries/Steer The Cart

He will always man the cart. Don't you dare take it away from him, he has pouted at you before when you absentmindedly grabbed one and started shopping.

You seriously have no clue why he enjoys it so much, but you can't complain, it gave you time to actually focus on picking what you wanted. And you didn't have to worry about navigating traffic in the aisles. But he will nudge the cart into you when you're taking too long, you'll always turn back to meet his glare.

"Are you done yet? We need to get a move on."

"Hey, I am the chef of the house. If you don't like how I pick the ingredients, you can cook for a change."

That'll usually shut him up. He'll still silently nudge the cart into you though, after a while you get the idea and pick up the pace. When you finish shopping, he will always take the heavier bags. Even when you offer, he insists that it isn't an issue and leave you with the lighter bags. Sometimes nothing at all.

You appreciate his help, not like you wanted to carry them anyways. You still have to scold him about being delicate with the eggs.

KAZUHA - Cannot Decide On What To Take

"Baby, for the love of god, please pick a thing and stick with it!"

You've been in the aisle for over five minutes, he can't decide on what kind of rice to buy. This isn't a price issue. Kazuha's stuck thinking in the longterm: What kind of rice is best? Should we buy a bulk bag to last longer? Which type will work best with dinner tonight? (It's Jasmin. Always Jasmin. Cheap and reliable.)

You don't care! You just want to be in any other aisle but this one! But you're being hypocritical, you've done the exact same and everytime he'll give you a specific look. Nothing else, not a frown, not even a smug grin, just a look.

"Okay, but why does this package say sugar-free but it has the same level in the nutrients on the back?" You pause and glance over, you frown. "What?"

"I haven't said anything, dear."

"You don't need to. I know that look, it's Kazuha for I'm Judging You."

HEIZOU - Comparing Item Prices

He's the type of person to lay out all his options and pick the cheapest one with the best quality. There may be meat on sale today, but he knows it's only because they're going to expire soon. This can be useful at times, no need for bottom tier food in your household.

But that's not the worse of it. Like many middle aged home owners, he will deliberately check for mistagged items so that he can get them at a discount price. There's an air fryer he's been eyeing for months that's too expensive for a leisure purchase, until the day he spots that it's been mistagged for thirty dollars cheaper than normal.

"Heizou, honey, we can just wait until it's actually on sale..."

"Ah ah~, the price labelled is the price offered. I will be taking my prize!"

"You're insufferable."

You're at the checkout, silently apologizing to the cashier and manager that are trying to find a way out of this predicament. Unfortunately for them, he gets the airfryer. And unfortunately for you, he doesn't stop using it for a loooong time.

WANDERER - Buy Old People Snacks

He doesn't like sweets. He visibly cringes everytime you pass by the bakery section or candy aisle, and you have a horrible sweet tooth that can never be quelled.

However, he's gotten into the habit of picking up dried cranberries of all things. Now, usually you don't pass judgement on his choices, despite him making it clear he doesn't care if you. Regardless, you can't help poking fun at him every once in a while.

"Pfft, nice choice granpa."

"Shut up, you shovel junk down your throat like it's your day job."

"Yeah, but at least I act my age."

"You mean five?"

If you ever, and I mean ever, try to take some for yourself. He will smack your hand away and give you the nastiest glare. Don't bother with whining or fake tears, you should've thought about that before insulting his food choice. You won't be able to steal any of his food for a good month.

AETHER - Asking Permission To Buy Stuff

You have no clue where it comes from. Before you started dating him, he and Paimon were impulsive spenders. They used to empty literal shelves and have more food then they knew what to do with (Paimon usually ate most of it in record time). But now, when you're heading down the aisle, he'd sheepishly hold a box of cereal, maybe cookies, or even fruit snacks- and give you the biggest puppy dog eyes possible.

"Aether, you are a grown man. You can buy whatever you want."

"Really?"

"Yes! Buy ten of 'em if you really want to!"

Okay, maybe that's a bit overboard. But you needed to exxagerate to make your stance clear. Maybe he was trying to be considerate of you? But you always split the bill when it came to paying for groceries, a couple extra dollars wasn't going to kill you. Especially not with your shared salaries.

But if you're not careful, Paimon might end up eating you out of house and home. So maybe he had the right idea about clearing these choices with you first.

[naffeclipse]

Heya @skizabaa! I'm your Secret Skeleton! I might have gone a bit over the word count minimum, but I had so much fun writing this! Your interests/likes are exactly my jam and I loved crafting this little piece for a cozy and sweet Halloween treat for you! I hope you enjoy some creature Sun and a Y/N who wants a friend!

The Harpy and Hazel Trees

Harpy!Sun & Reader

Word Count: ~3,500 Warnings: N/A

You’re so used to the quiet—birds calling to each other, crying out about the cold, and the buzz of the last insects filling the air with the gentle crunch of leaves underneath your feet, fallen off the hazel trees. Your lone heartbeat pulses within your ears. 

The quiet eats away at you in the way a caterpillar gnaws away at a leaf: slowly devoured. And yet, you remain. There’s still more of you left to be eaten. It surprises you every time you think you can’t take another moment of silence, of a lack of another’s voice.

Behind your simple wooden cottage, you kneel. Only a pale brown fence marks your lost lot within the forest for the deer merrily prances over it. Knees sinking down into the moist earth, you tug out the last few weeds crowding your pumpkins though they are only weeds in name. The plants, you’ve learned, hold nutrients that pair well in salads. You won’t have fresh greens for much longer.

Autumn sweeps back as if this was always its home, and you, its guest. Your garden is bursting with foods that make the harvest moon happy and the dreaded months of winter bearable. The late-season sun heats the crown of your head and strokes your hair, but it is not a substitute for a friend.

You toil away, cleaning out weeds, plucking fat cucumbers, and snatching a wide green head of lettuce. You’ll have a wonderful bowl of fresh salad tonight and cook an egg to go with it. Your chickens are still producing well but when the cold of the dying year steps in, the chickens will convert their egg-laying efforts to keeping warm, and you don’t blame them. 

These winters are brutal, on body and heart.

You shiver under a cool wind. A gust flips leaves of dill and oregano and you mutter of the cold to no one.

Then a shadow falls over you. You lift your head.

You startle in your garden. Perched on your fence just a few feet away from you is a beast, one with a rather wide grin at that. A harpy. He tilts his disk-like head, a large mouth displaying sharp teeth fit for pulling meat off of bones. Beautiful feathers sway around his face, long and curved, bright as sunshine and exquisite. He holds a rather polite expression; if only you could ignore the sharp teeth. 

His wide eyes, the color of cornflowers, hold the intensity of the hawk but soften upon gazing at you. His body is covered in a finer layer of plumage, off-white and yellow, with wings for arms and long claws on the ends of his fingers, though his large, raptor-like feet wield talons that currently balance upon your poor fence. He wears no shirt but an ascot tie of silky ruby around his thin throat. Billowy pants conceal his animalistic legs, stripped in a bright pattern of red and yellow. His wings are gently tucked against his side, hands curled in front of his chest in an almost nervous, shy manner. Radiant feathers of scarlet and gold decorate his wingspan. 

You understand immediately that he is beautiful and, perhaps, dangerous.

“Hello, I’m so sorry to drop in like this,” he begins, voice bouncing and cheerful, though a touch strained. “I hope I haven’t startled you.”

You slowly get to your feet, stunned. You clear your throat, afraid of how raspy your voice will be—the only conversations you hold are with the chickens and the goat. 

“I don’t usually get company out here,” you begin, though you sound a touch defensive. You clear your throat again. “Are you lost?”

“Lost?” The harpy cocks his head to the other side, feathers swaying like a rooster’s tail. “Oh, well, I’m only lost in that I have yet to find what I’m looking for and that I don’t know what I’m looking for yet, but the most pressing matter, currently, is the oncoming storm.”

He lifts one wing, long fingers nearly hidden under the cloak of gold and scarlet feathers, to point to the sky behind you. Careful to not turn your back on the stranger, you glance in the direction.

The harpy is right. Creeping forward are black, angry clouds. They gather low, pushing through the blue skies like a stain of ash. The storm wasn’t climbing the horizon this morning but swiftly it arrived.

He is being very polite, you muse.

“Oh,” you say, then face the harpy again. You clasp your dirt-covered hands, wishing you had thought to wear your apron so you might make yourself a little more decent. Of course, who could have predicted a visitor? Certainly not you. “Yes. I assume you don’t want to be caught in it? You’ve probably flown a long way here, no doubt.”

“No doubt,” he echoes with a grin that’s still toothy but much less sharp. His eyes upturned, the cornflower color beaming. “Could I trouble you for shelter for the evening? I won’t be in your way and I’ll gladly stay in your chicken coop or wherever won’t disturb you.”

You laugh gently. The harpy waits, his nervous hands returning once more to his chest, feathers rustling.

“Oh no, you’re far too big to stay in the chicken coop. You’ll scare my rooster half to death.” You look at him, resting a hand on your hip, forgetting the dirt caked on it. “No, you’ll come inside and out of the storm. The wind that will come will be fierce.”

“Oh!” The harpy leaps from the fence in a flurry of plumage. You start at the snap of his wings but find yourself gazing up into his towering expression, his smile absolutely delighted. “Thank you, friend! You’re so sweet!”

You look away, coughing once, unsure how to take the title he already bestows upon you. Is it even true? Could it be?

“It’s nothing,” you give. 

You bend down and snap a pumpkin from its stem, the bright orange gourd is more than ready to be harvested for its seeds. On second thought, you’ll roast pumpkin seeds and have a stew today. A meal that will honor your harpy guest as much as your little garden can. 

“Would you take this into the cottage for me?” you ask, pointing. The harpy is watching you closely, his head ticking with sharp adjustments to his gaze, his alertness unparalleled and fascinating. “I could use a hand for a few other things, too… friend. If you don’t mind.”

You hesitated, but saying it out loud dusts a lightness in your chest.

“Of course!” He kneels and scoops the pumpkin into his feathered arms as if it were a mere trifle, not a fully grown vegetable. His claws carefully cradle the orange shell. “My name is Sun. I am at your service!”

You give your name in return.

It’s been so long since you’ve heard someone call for you, but when Sun says it, you feel a little more alive. A little more real.

“Do you like stew?” you ask, plucking your gathered leafy goods that will wait in the cupboard until tomorrow, and lead the way to the back door of the cottage. 

“Stew sounds heavenly compared to what I've been scourging these last few days—bugs and berries and other bitter things!” Sun’s jubilee voice is no less dampened by recounting his horrid meals. “Yes, stew sounds lovely. How might I help you, friend?”

He doesn’t see you smile. You lead him to the door and open it, holding it so that he might duck inside and not fumble the precious pumpkin.

“We’ll need a few spices, celery and potatoes. Help me dig some up.”

* * *

Harpy claws, as it turns out, are great at digging up dirt, though you think he might have put them to better use hunting. Sun is cheerful and he easily takes to work. It’s not glorious, digging up potatoes, but he does it all with a smile on his wide face. 

You love his chatter. He sounds like birds trilling and cheeping, talking of the weather and the storm and how he was alone before he ventured into these strange but wonderful woods. He doesn’t tell you what he’s seeking, but he doesn’t seem to know either. A wanderer. A lost soul.

Like you.

People like you often end up here, in this forest. A woodland of spooky, lingering things, full of yellowing trees. Everyone is seeking something. A heart hungers beside the hazels. A person gets lost here, but sometimes, a person gets found.

Taking a much-needed breather from work, you lead Sun to the hazel trees. The leaves are soft and pale as butter and halfway melted, dripping to the ground. You show him the hazelnuts, perfectly round, dark treasures. In fascination, he gazes at the hard, black shells that you easily crack, shuck, and reveal the smooth nut hidden within. 

For a while, you two snack on hazelnuts. Sun’s tongue is dark red and licks at his teeth, chewing away. You love the soft crunch, and how nutty the flavor is. In summer, you take what you have left from winter storage to mix with cocoa and sugar then crush into a paste. A treat that is so lovely you tell Sun that you wish he could be here to have a bite when you make it.

His feathers perk at the mention. He looks as if he wants to say something, something you earnestly wait to hear, but he only agrees. It does sound lovely. 

You return to work. Sun is a bit quieter, back to his anxious hand curling and feather-ruffling, almost pulling a few from around his wrists, but you don’t ask. He would have told you if he wanted to. Why confine a stranger when he’ll be gone after the storm blows through?

You taste something bitter in the back of your mouth.

He helps you haul in the potatoes, celery, and carrots. Your cottage is small, but it fits him and you just right. You begin bowling the pot, adding in bits of beef you fetched from the wooden barrel where it sat in a brine of water and salt to preserve the meat until you were ready to cook. Then you begin chopping the vegetables. Sun fetches you an onion you had forgotten, and when he returns, his feathers blown against his body due to the picking up wind, he begins asking you questions. So. Many. Questions.

You can hardly pause between them. He’s so intrigued by your every boring answer. There’s very little for you to talk about except for the years you spent here and how long you’ve been alone (you don’t tell him the last part, though he does ask about family, and you simply comment that you have none with a sharp chop of your knife across a deep orange carrot.) He smoothly moves on, tending to the boiling pot and feeding the fire when it needs more logs. 

You can’t help but stare. A harpy tending to your stew. You think this must be a dream, a wonderful, heart-breaking dream. 

Tossing the ingredients into the heated meat and broth, you and Sun wait, listening to the howl of the wind and fearfully eyeing the flames as the pressure in the air snatches at the flames by reaching down the chimney. You’ll let the fire go out when the evening ends instead of fighting with it all night, but it will get cold. You ask Sun if he’ll be alright. 

He taps his chest with a wicked sharp finger and promises that his plumage is more than enough to fight off the chill. 

You stir the stew and spoon it into simple wooden bowls. You hand one to Sun. His large, clawed hand easily grasps it. He’s so sweet, so grateful. You sit down beside him at your small kitchen table—there was never a need for a full dining room set, and now you worry it’s too humble. You never expected company.

The stew, however, is heavenly. You’re relieved and immediately warmed by the savory broth and melt-in-your-mouth bites of beef and potatoes. Sun tears into the stew and you give him a second, then a third helping. You almost laugh at how sheepish he appears until he eats once more. 

He helps you clean up… You didn’t know what you expected, but certainly not his methodical ability to sweep the floor and scrub the pot.

“Thank you, Sun,” you say softly, handing him the last dish to set high on the shelf. “You’ve been a great help today.”

“It’s the least I could do to repay your generosity.” He faces you after setting the bowl away without any stretching or tip-toeing, unlike you. “You’re so kind and there’s so much for you to do by yourself. I’m amazed you can handle all this work. It would put a whole team of fieldhands to shame.”

“Oh, stop it,” you wave him away, ducking your head to hide your bashfulness. “I put you to work. I do hope you’ll sleep well tonight, despite the storm.”

As if summoned by your mere mention, a clap of thunder reverberates through the air. Your heart quakes in the strength of the ferocious growl. Sun whips his head towards the front door as if expecting the storm to rudely barge in without your invitation. 

“It’s a very good thing you stopped here,” you say, breathless. 

Sun slowly looks back, his hackles raised, and his cornflower blue eyes fall down. You follow his line of sight to your hand touching his feathered wrist, fingers anxiously curled.

“Oh.” You drop your hand away. “My apologies. Let me get you a comfortable place to rest. I’m afraid I only have one bed.”

“No need to apologize,” Sun says quickly, “Were you concerned for me, friend? That’s alright. Friends can be concerned for each other and there’s no shame in that. I truly don’t mind.”

You nod but don’t meet his gaze.

“I’ll be right back.”

“Friend?”

You stop, looking back at him. You wonder if he intends to leave, but that can’t be right. The storm is descending with a vengeance. 

“I need only sit by the hearth. I don’t need beds or other human comforts, though I appreciate your offer.”

“Oh.” You look around, the smell of stew having long since drifted away as the fire slowly begins to die. A thick darkness descends. You regard the harpy with a worry for the morning. Sunshine will come, yes, and the skies will be clearer, but he will leave.

You find yourself dreading tomorrow.

“Very well.” You hold his gaze for one brave moment. The cornflower blue holds you. “Goodnight, Sun.’

“Goodnight, friend.”

You close the door to your bedroom. In quiet reflection, you dress into your night clothes and slip under the quilts on your bed. You are so caught up on Sun’s ruffled feathers, his cheerful demeanor, and how anxious he holds his claws. 

He calls you a friend. You’ve only just met. You shouldn’t be so attached to a fellow so quickly, yet, you find yourself wondering how you might combat the silence in the afternoon after the thunder ceased its grumbling and the harpy has continued on his way.

You hardly sleep a wink before the storm splatters rain upon the roof and sends winds to rattle the shutters. A quaking bolt of lightning strikes, the thunderous cry shaking the very cottage and you bolt upright. You cry out, disturbed from dozing, dark dreams. 

The very world is being torn apart by a dark tempest.

“Friend!” The shout is muffled through the door, but you hop out of bed, bewildered and frantic, and throw it open to find the harpy.

He stoops low, his height eclipsed by the stout door frame. You stare up into his concerned eyes, long hands almost reaching for you but hesitating.

“I heard you shout. Are you alright?”

You lay a hand over your chest and breathe out. The wild blood pumping in your veins has yet to calm, but the sight of Sun’s cheerful face plumage, swirling about his expression like rays of the sun, and his big blue eyes, looking over you for injury or harm, touches your heart.

“Yes, I’m alright. The lightning—the thunder scared me!”

“It’s alright. It startled me, too,” he gives, though grinning with the energy of a thousand afternoons.

Sun peers through the small window in your bedroom. The lightning flashes again, not so close, but the thunder roars upon the little cottage as if a beast had snatched your home into its mouth.

You shudder to think of lying down now.

You hesitate, contrite, then ask quietly, “Sun?”

He visibly perks up and almost hits his head on the top of the doorway. His golden feathers brush against the ceiling of the cottage. 

“Yes?”

“Can I sit with you for a while? If I’m not keeping you awake, that is…”

His expression blooms as if a flower under the sun. He grins, the sight so lovely and tender before he takes your hand in his down-soft palm.

“Of course! There are still hot coals in the hearth, and I do hope I can help you stay warm, just a little.”

You lower your shoulders. A calming pulse moves through your chest as Sun, your friend, guides you into the room with the dying embers that beat a last, desperate red in the sooty black.

“Are you cold?” you ask, concerned. 

“No,” his eyes upturn, “If it’s alright, I would like to keep you warm.”

He opens his arms, the plumage of his wings falling like a cloak of ruffled sunshine and scarlet. His chest is fuzzy with soft down, and his billowy pants cross to make a comfortable seat on the floor before the cooling heart.

You want nothing more than to enter his embrace. Worry of the morning strains against your weary thoughts, holding you away.

“Are you sure?”

You only met him today. Why do you feel so much for this blossoming friendship, newly made under the threat of a storm and in the dirt of hard work?

He inclines his head gently, his feathers softly sashaying with reassurance. “Yes. I would be delighted to help my friend.”

His warm confidence chips away at the last of your reservations. Breathing in, you ease yourself into his embrace. Settling into his warm body—you didn’t realize how wonderfully comforting his form is, wrapped around yours, like a drop of sunshine. It immediately chases away the autumn cold nipping at your edges. Once you set your back against his chest, feeling a bit conscious of his presence and how you hold yourself, Sun wraps his arms around your shoulders. His beautiful wings cover you up in the burning colors of sunsets. Outside, the thunder and rain harmonize. 

“Is this alright?” he asks.

You nod and hook one hand over his fluffy wrist. He doesn’t seem to mind.

“Yes,” you murmur.

It’s nice to have a friend.

You sit a while, gazing at the fire. Sun hums a low, throaty sound that reminds you of birds calling to each other, and you drift quietly. Your head begins to fall. In smooth, careful motions, Sun shifts your legs so they drape sideways off his lap and guide your cheek so it might rest on the soft pillow of his shoulder. His arms fall upon you again. You are blissfully warm, sleep whispering in your ears.

“Friend?” he says. His fingers curl against your arm. An anxious clench.

“Hmmm?” Your eyelids flutter.

“I was thinking—in the morning, you’ll have so many branches to pick up off your garden and you’ll need to check your chickens and see if any of your precious vegetables have been harmed, and you have so much work to do! I could stay a bit longer tomorrow, just to lend a hand, as a final thank you.”

“Sun?”

Your eyes open in the blue dark of the autumn night. Your heart melts quietly in your chest, and you think you might be brave. You dare to want to be bold enough to let him stay with you, beside you.

The harpy titters nervously. “Well, only if that wouldn’t be an inconvenience for you, of course. I don’t want to impose or linger where I’m not wanted—”

“Sun?”

“Oh! Yes?”

You sigh softly and close your eyes.

“Would you like to stay?” You hesitate quietly. Your heart thumps with all the desire of your being. “My friend?”

The beat of silence is devastating. The echo of nothingness deafens your ears and you almost lift your head to see if you cross a boundary or assume too much, but Sun quietly trills.

“If you’ll have me.”

You smile.

“Yes, I will.”

“Then you know my answer, dearest friend.”

You soften in relief, and in Sun’s gentle melody humming in his chest and soothing your very soul, you drift away. In the morning, there will be Sun. For every day after, it will be you two in the cottage.

You and your dearest friend.

[ed-recovery-affirmations]

I just made myself a cup of a new tea, one from a set that a friend sent me. I was super curious to try it with and without milk in it, so after I take a sip without, I'm going to add milk to my tea.

That may seem like such an inane little story to post on a blog, unless you have an eating disorder. I'm sure many of you know what a big deal milk in tea can be, and what an important act of self-love it is.

It was poured into many of our ears, approaching teenhood in the mid-2000's, not to "drink our calories." For those of us whose restriction was weight-based, many of us practiced filling ourselves with water, with our coffee black and unsweetened whether that was how we liked it or not, and with tea that never contained milk.

Like many people who've struggled with binge eating and with restriction, I struggle with creating anxiety-inducing rules about when is okay to eat, especially if I'm between meals and worrying if I should allow myself a snack, or if it's okay to quench my thirst with anything other than water. This is especially true between meals. For some reason my brain has accepted the "extra" caloric intake as part of a meal, but still balks at the idea of introducing these things independently into non-meal parts of the day. I would like to note that my chronic illness and my body's reaction to food has also influenced this weird relationship between me and my favorite treats, such as a piece of candy, or a beverage that might happen to contain a greater-than-zero calorie count.

But tonight, before bed, I want to try this tea. And it sounds like one that'd be super tasty with milk, as it has cocoa powder and vanilla in the blend. So I let my tea cool in the room with me as I type this, telling myself that I can get up and go back for milk after I taste it.

Now I have gone to the kitchen.

Now I have poured in a splash of milk and tasted. It's soy milk, as regular milk sometimes hurts my stomach and I don't want my sleep to be disrupted. Due to my chronic illness, this is still something I have to think about, and I'll be honest, I hate it. Things like this make it so hard to tell myself I can let go of my food fears, because my brain knows that some of my food fears will turn out to have validity, and so what if they all do?

Now I have poured in another splash. Tasted.

Now I have poured in a third, much larger splash. Tasted.

Oh, this is it. This tea tastes like a warm dessert. But now it's too cool, so I need to microwave it back to its best heat. I used to not want to microwave my food. As a teen I heard a hippie say that microwaves destroy the nutrients in your food because the radiation breaks down their molecular structure. This is absolutely false. In fact, it's been disproven that microwaves break down nutrients any more than other methods of heating food, but for a long time I believed it. And even after I learned the truth, I still found it hard to convince myself it was okay to use microwaves for a very long time.

I have just finished my tea in my room. I took the time to identify that I wanted it. I took the time to truly taste it in several different ways, consider how I felt I wanted it and bring it to those specifications. It wasn't planned for any specific time or day, but I agreed to give myself this the way I wanted it anyway. I've been drinking my coffee with milk every morning, too. I actually like black coffee, but I like it better with milk. And I give myself things throughout the day that I enjoy, to enhance my experience of my existence. Life is hard, and it's okay to allow yourself, to the fullest extent you can, the small joys that bring you through the day.

I wanted to share this with you. I hope you don't feel the crushing weight of morality when staring at a bottle of regular soda and the sugar-free, when you wake up with your morning coffee, when your self-care regimen includes a cup of tea. I hope you practice actively giving yourself the love you need this week. And I hope you give it to yourself exactly the way you need it.

[lovelyladyabsinthewrites]

Um, if you’re taking Twilight requests, what about Edward lying about being a virgin and having never loved anyone before Bella? A past vampire lover shows up out of the blue and is upset that Edward has moved on? Maybe they separated because she didn’t want to do the vegetarian diet? But then she changed her mind because she was lonely and missed Edward. So she shows up asking the Cullens to let her join and teach her the diet in the hopes she and Edward can get back together. Carlisle can’t turn her away (maybe he turned her after Edward) and so she stays but it’s awkward for everyone. So you have this love triangle with the ex, Edward, and Bella. But Bella also still has her thing with Jacob lol. So it’s kind of a love square. And Bella feels insecure about this new woman showing up and it puts a strain on the relationship with Edward and the Cullens.

I just find it hard to believe Edward didn’t have an interest in anyone at all in 80+ years after being turned. It would really suck being the only single in a house of couples.

Pairing(s): Edward Cullen x Vampire!Reader, Edward Cullen x Bella Swan, Jacob Black x Bella Swan

Warnings: love square, mentions of blood (human and animal), hurt feelings, cheating?, longing, both bella and edward are sexually frustrated lol, past relationships mentioned, might be a two parter 🤷🏽‍♀️

Words: 2761

He can't help but think of her when the smell of jasmine filled the air. Bringing him back to a moment in time that he saved specifically to reminisce on when Edward found himself alone. He could practically feel the gentle breeze tousle his bronze hair. Her laugh ringing in his ears as clear as church bells. The only thing that ruined the memory was recalling the smear of red on her smiling face. Red of human blood.

Pulling himself out of his revery, Edward realizes that he'd been sitting at the piano for a possible hour, staring off as he dissociated. He hadn't thought of her in a while.

Must have to do with Bella's new perfume. It reminds him of-

The pinging of his phone has him sharply inhaling, abruptly remembering the physical world he's almost rudely thrown out of his own mind.

Bella's name shows up on his screen. That's right, he's supposed to be picking her up for a date in five minutes.

Edward scratches his head, pondering how long he'd exactly been there.

Quickly dashing to his keys, Edward is out the door in seconds. Dwelling in the past served him no purpose. His life was finally starting to move forward.

Well, there were a few halts along the way. Mainly one that went by the name of Jacob Black. A massive thorn in his side.

Damn it all that Bella even reciprocated the mongrel's feelings, despite her protesting. No doubt Bella loved Edward, that still didn't mean she didn't love Jacob too.

Perhaps that was why he was thinking so much about her as of late.

The lights in your hotel room are all turned off. Didn't matter if they were on. Your vision was clear either way as they watched the subtle movement of shadows cast by what little light streamed in through the blinds.

Your dinner lay still on the bed next to you. Nutrients drained from it. Usually you tried not to make a mess when you ate. If you had enough time in the day (also if your prey was easy on the eyes) you'd work on a way not to kill them. Only take a bit of their blood then dash off while they slept. Nothing too gruesome, though they probably question the healing slit on their wrist when they awoke the next morning.

Tonight, unfortunately, took a different tone. An atypical type of desperation filled you to the brim, screaming at you to consume every part of the man who you had your teeth sunk in. You wanted to rip him to shreds and actually eat the meat that clung to his bones. It terrified even you.

You sigh and finally withdrew yourself to the bathroom. There was work to be done. The blood on your face dried a long time ago.

What were you even doing with your immortal life?

Day in, day out, everything felt the same. Especially the gaping loneliness you'd been feeling.

In your beginning days of immortality, you'd quite enjoyed it. You discovered all sorts of new things you could do with your powerful new body. And you liked discovering them with Edward.

Back then it was just the four of you for the longest time: you, Edward, Carlisle and shortly after Esme. Then you and Edward went off together on your own for a couple of years.

You wished you and Edward had never strayed from Carlisle. At the end of it, you realized that you didn't want to go back. You wanted to feast on human blood and not shy away your power.

Young and dumb, that's what you thought of your past self now. Decades later and you were now seeing the repercussions of your actions come to light.

You missed having a mate to travel the world with. Someone to turn to late at night to keep you company. You miss Edward's gentle caresses that coaxed your attention his way.

The blood of humans wasn't worth it anymore.

Losing track of how many years it had been since you checked your private PO box, you honestly weren't anticipating anything. The only one who knew about it was Carlisle. He'd begged for some form of contact information before you split from his coven. Fatherly responsibility was the root of it. His second vampiric creation.

A part of you is delighted to find two slim envelopes collecting dust. The first one was dated over a decade ago. They'd been in Alaska apparently and met other vegetarian vampires. Most recent one only several weeks old. In this one he gave you an exact address in Washington.

You stare at Carlisle's hand writing. Getting choked up, you put the letters in your bag. It was quite the journey you had ahead of you to get to Forks.

In the blink of an eye, Edward leaps away from Bella at the feel of her fingers digging into his shirt in an attempt to deepen the kiss. They'd been playing this push and pull game for some time now.

"Bella-" He sighs in exasperation and runs a hand through his tousled hair.

Bella's brows furrow in return, a pout rising on her lips as she sits back on her bed again but at a distance. She'd heard him repeat himself so many times about being careful with her. How she's so fragile compared to him. Like she didn't already know of her delicate mortal body. Just a few months ago James nearly broke every bone in her body.

"I know!" She hadn't meant to sharply snap at him. Edward was just trying to protect her like he always did. A steady exhale flares through her nose as she rests her head against the back board of her bed. He constantly left her craving more of his touch.

Like any man, Edward desired physical contact. With Bella that desire was too much. Too dangerous. The forbidden fruit that Edward must resist by any and all costs.

The first and last girl he'd taken to bed was. . .

What he could never tell Bella was that he wasn't a virgin like he had told her. After all, he had been alive for decades. Being a virgin for that long was implausible.

He traced where the golden rays of the sun hit your skin. In the presence of light, your skin reflects like a million sparkling stars. You're trying to fix the headboard of your bed that both of you broke during your love making.

"We can just buy a new one." Edward chuckles, his fingers run up your bare spine causing you to shiver. The headboard wasn't the only thing both of you accidentally demolished. Bedsheets were torn to shreds, feathers from the pillows dusted your hair, even the mattress creaked ominously.

Your brows are creased in a small pout. "I hope this doesn't happen every time we have sex."

At your words, Edward felt something in his stomach unfurl and warm. Happy to hear that this wouldn't be the last time he got to touch you.

When you catch him staring, your frown turns up into a coy smile. "What're you looking at?"

"You."

"Obviously. But why?" You ask that like you weren't still naked as the day you were born.

He coaxes you back into his arms, little resistance from your part as you rest your head against his chest. "Because you're painfully beautiful."

Edward wasn't just buttering you up. When he said that, there was undeniable warmth and adoration that dripped from his tone. He was smitten. You'd never had any man regard you in such a way that made you feel vulnerable. You trusted Edward with your most vulnerable self.

He smirks when he reads your thoughts. Gently, he tilts your head back so that he can capture your lips.

After you, Edward thought he'd never fall in love again. Not as intensely as he had with you.

Bella came extremely close. But because she was human, Edward was limited in how he can show his affection. Even holding her hand, Edward had to reign in his supernatural strength. The slightest amount of his real strength could break her entire hand.

Without reading her thoughts, he could feel her annoyance and frustration. She desperately wanted to take things to the next level like any healthy teenager would. Bella desired to experience the physical aspects of their relationship. Were he human or even like Jacob. . . Edward would be more than happy to let himself fall into his temptations.

That just wasn't so.

The drive back home was a silent one as Bella stared out the window. As of late her attempts to get intimate in him were becoming more and more frequent. Along with her desire for Edward to change her into a vampire. He didn't want to change her just because it would make their relationship easier. That was still a last case scenario that he kept in the back of his mind. She didn't view her humanity the way Edward and his family did. It wasn't something to carelessly throw away. None of them had a choice in the matter. All were on the brink of death when Carlisle turned them. They would not have willingly given up their mortality.

Edward tried multiple times to convey this to Bella. It would go in one ear and out the other. Normally Edward didn't mind stubborn women. You were as stubborn as a bull during arguments. The two of you literally butting heads to get your point across. Those arguments never mattered in the end. There'd only been one argument that truly tore the two of you apart. Your very last argument.

Getting within a five mile radius of the Cullen house, Edward nearly slams the brakes of the car when he listens to the minds of those in the house. One whom he couldn't quite believe he was hearing.

Bella felt the swerving of the car. She glances at Edward with concern. "A-Are you okay?"

His grip tightened on the wheel, the flimsy material bends under his fingers.

He was hearing YOUR thoughts.

Esme refused to let you out of her hug.

Helplessly, you glance around the room; your gaze landing on a smiling Carlisle.

"Welcome home." His smile is heard in his words.

Finally Esme pulls back, her hands flying to your face to turn it this way and that. "Have you been eating enough? Oh look at your clothes. Alice, can you get her some new clothes?" You notice how her face flinches with nervousness when her gold eyes meet your red ones.

"I'm fine, Esme." You giggle and lower her hands away from your face to give them a reassuring squeeze.

"Clearly. Look at her eyes. She's been feeding on human blood." Rosalie needlessly points out. Yeah, you didn't really miss her. You had no idea what her mate saw in her besides the pretty face. Emmett was a bear of a man with the personality of a stuffed animal. You hadn't yet met Alice, Jasper or Emmett. When you left it was only Carlisle, Edward, Esme, Rosalie and you.

"I know that'll have to change if I want to live here again." You murmur defensively. "I'm ready now. Human blood isn't worth being alone anymore."

Esme's smile beams and once again she smothers you in a bear hug.

"Esme, give her some space. We don't want to scare her off." Carlisle pats his wife on her shoulder. Even Carlisle couldn't stop smiling. He'd sent that letter so long ago that he doubted you'd even read it.

"By the way. . . Where's Edward?" You curiously ask. Everyone appeared to be home except the one face you really wanted to see.

Instantly the room goes deadly silent.

"What?"

Carlisle grimaces and glances at his wife who was equally unsure of how to tell you. "There's something you need to know."

Your eyebrow quirks up. "Oh?"

He couldn't continue. The door swings open. No one had heard the sound of Edward's car entering the driveway or heard his hurried steps up the porch.

When the two of you lock eyes, the rigidness of his frame slackens and his honey eyes glisten with that same fondness he'd always had for you. He breathes out your name like it's a sacred phrase. You were even more beautiful to him standing there than the day he'd lost you.

You feel it to. That instant pull of your heart as it attempts to escape from your chest to jump at Edward. Your entire body vibrates with the intense urge to be close to him.

You would have run to him. Had it not been for the human girl at his side.

The rose tint your world had taken on faded in that moment to reveal the drabness of this brunette that stuck to his side. Her own brown eyes wavering in your presence.

Now highly conscious of Bella's existence next to him, Edward hastily makes introductions. "Um, Bella, this is (y/n). (y/n), this is. . . Bella."

Alice groans. "Way to go Ed."

"What's going on?" Timidly asked Bella who was still staring at you. She didn't like the way you and Edward had stared at one another like star-crossed lovers come together again. Bella hated how he'd said your name with such veneration. For so long Bella possessed Edward's sole attention. She was loathe to relinquish any of it.

Jasper and Emmett averted their eyes from the train wreck that was occurring.

Being blunt as usual, Rosalie steps in. "They used to date too."

Bella's eyes widen and with an expression of betrayal flicks to Edward. "Date?"

"Well, probably more than simple dating from the sounds that would come out of their room." Rosalie's tone was that of boredom. This was old news to her but new news to Bella. News that shattered her perception of everything around her.

"Rosalie!" Edward snaps at her.

She rolls her eyes. "Everyone was taking way too damn long in saying anything. What? Doesn't Bella deserve to know?" Rosalie looks at you while pointing a finger between Edward and Bella. "They're dating now."

"Yeah, I kinda got that." You glare at the blonde who was unaffected by the daggers thrown at her. Really, you were angry with the human girl. A human with the man you'd called your mate for so long. Jealousy licks the walls of your stomach like white hot flames.

Edward stands in front of Bella. "You're the one who left me." He whispers but everyone can hear it.

Bristling, you turn your back on the two and back to your adoptive father. "Where did you say my room was?"

"You told me you never had sex before!!" Bella can't help the shaky quality of her voice. Anger and hurt overwhelmed her. Tears bubble along her lower lashes. She keeps as far away from Edward as possible. "What else haven't you told me? O-Or lied to me about?"

"Bella-"

"And you still love her! No! Don't try to deny it. I heard you say her name when you first saw her. Everyone did Edward!" Maybe that was the worst part of it. That Edward still held a flame for you. She had so many questions. How long was it after their separation did Edward meet Bella? Why weren't they still together? Clearly you were staying if you'd asked Carlisle where your room was. For how long?

Did you intend to take Edward from her? Would you hurt her?

"I shouldn't have lied to you. I'm sorry, Bella." And he was. Edward never thought you'd come back to him after all those years apart. Boy he was royally fucked though.

Because he was still in love with you. That much was evident. The knowledge of you being just down the hall was driving him crazy. Something deep inside of him was begging to be with you.

Meanwhile on your end of the hallway, you're doing the best you can to not break everything in your room. He was right. Damnit he was right. You were the one to leave. Unable to accommodate to the vegetarian lifestyle. You gave up Edward for the high that human blood offered you. It would be unfair to expect Edward to pine for you. You should've taken into thought that maybe he'd moved on.

The backs of your eyes burned with the urge to cry. Unable to produce tears, all you can do is wrap yourself in blankets and let the dark swallow you whole.

[erynaster]

Hi! This is a request I've asked other writers on the site, but I'd love to see your take on the idea!

I'd like to request a Wednesday x Venom!Reader, with Wednesday discovering the reader's secret by following him around...

Love your stuff, btw!

Of course! And thank you. :>

________________

Venomous Encounters

Summary: You and your symbiote wind up in a different world, where you attempt to start a new life for the both of you.

Word Count: 1,762

Pairing(s): Male!Venom!Reader x Wednesday Addams

Warning(s): Slight gore, slight violence

A/N: This one turned out much better than expected. I hope you all enjoy!

"This is a stupid idea."

Your symbiote says in your ear, as you peer around a corner to survey a holdup taking place by the cash register.

"Since when were you my voice of reason, Ven?" You whisper back, taking note of the gun pointed at the head of the frightened cashier standing behind the counter.

"It would be unwise to do anything to draw attention to us right now. Need I remind you that this is not our home universe. Uncharted territory." The symbiote warns you with a tone of urgency.

You grit your teeth. "Yeah, you've got that right."

It was only yesterday when you and Venom had suddenly appeared in this new world, which was startlingly similar to your own. You were just leaping from rooftop to rooftop when all of a sudden a strange light had engulfed you and transported you in the middle of a dark forest. Finding your bearings, you had stumbled upon a town called Jericho, where you and Venom decided to lay low for the time being.

But now, you were hungry.

Very hungry.

Your symbiote's hunger was your own. And by now, it was running out of nutrients to sustain the both of you.

That was all about to change at this very moment.

"We've got no choice, Ven. It's now or never." You whisper, just as black goo begins to engulf your body, permeating through your skin and wrapping around each and every one of your limbs.

A long, black tendril shoots out and grabs the offender by the wrist, causing him to drop the gun in surprise. He turns in your direction, and his face pales in utter terror.

Where your face was was nothing but rows of sharp, white teeth, and as the man's eyes searched for yours, they found nothing but two blank white sclerae, the lack of irises quite disturbing. As he mouths wordlessly, you can feel your jaw open as three words escape your lips.

"We... are Venom."

Lunging forward, you give the man no time to scream as your jaw closes around his neck, your symbiote's hunger satisfied at last.

...

Wednesday Addams stands outside the convenience store, just in front of the police tape circling the establishment. Amidst the wailing sirens, a white-faced employee was testifying to a police officer that he had seen a hulking black monster rip off the head of a man right in front of his eyes, before escaping through the door and leaping out of sight in the direction of the forest.

Now, Wednesday loved a good mystery. And this was yet another one of the strange occurrences that have happened to the town in the span of time that she had been at Nevermore.

Monsters and murders were her specialty, apparently.

She walks over to the police officer, who was observing two men carry out a body bag coming from the establishment.

Noting the absence of a bulge where the head should be, Wednesday tears her eyes away from the corpse to speak with the cop.

"Which direction did he say the monster was headed?"

The cop jumps in surprise at being addressed, looking Wednesday up and down as though sizing her up.

Deciding that she was no threat, he nods, pointing in the direction of the woods.

"There, into the forest. You better stay indoors, miss. It's not safe out here tonight."

Ignoring the last comment, Wednesday heads in the direction that the officer pointed out, with all intentions of getting to the bottom of this bloody mystery once and for all.

...

"That was reckless! Stupid!"

Venom yells in your ear as you jump from branch to branch, your clawed hands finding traction as you heave yourself from tree to tree with surprising agility and stealth.

"Who are you to tell me I'M being reckless, Ven? You were never the subtle type, either." You retort, surprised at your symbiote's wary behavior.

The symbiote groans.

"We drew far too much attention with that meal! That place will be swarming with cops, investigators, reporters! It won't be safe to return!"

You stop your travel momentarily by leaping onto an overhanging branch, catching your breath for a moment as the black goo seeps back into your flesh.

"A pity. I really liked that town, it's small, cozy, quaint..."

"You can't possibly be thinking of staying, now are you?"

"You can't blame me. It'll be a chance for us to start over. Where no one knows our name."

"We are the Lethal Protector! We do not 'settle down'. We go where the wind takes us!"

You don't answer, now that the sound of rustling leaves caught both your attention.

"Someone's coming."

Venom morphs himself all around you once more, scanning your surroundings like a predator stalking its prey.

A figure wanders into view, inspecting a few broken branches that you had left in your wake. They linger for a moment next to the trunk of a tree, where claw marks could be seen etched upon its surface.

"Told you so."

Venom extends a tendril and quietly lowers you just behind the figure, and you land on the ground noiselessly. Standing six feet tall, you pose menacingly as you wait for the figure to sense your presence, and for a confrontation to begin.

The figure stiffens up, finally aware that they were not alone. In one swift motion, they draw a sword from seemingly out of nowhere and whip around, pointing it straight at your heart.

The two of you stare at each other, at a loss for words.

It was a woman. A young, dark-haired girl with pigtails, a pale white face, and an emotionless expression. There was something about her cold, expressionless stare that felt almost deadly, and this was something that you strangely admired, odd as though it was in the moment.

On her part, she didn't know what she was looking at. Of course, she had an idea of what to expect, but it was certainly not this. A hulking, black figure with rows of sharp, white teeth, with two blank sclerae for eyes staring curiously into her own. And though the sight of you would send just about anybody else screaming and running in the other direction, there was something about you that was oddly mesmerizing for her. Something intriguing.

She lowers her sword, letting it fall to her side as she looks you up and down, as though sizing up her opponent.

"... What are you?"

Venom smiles, opening up half of its face to reveal your own, causing the young girl's eyes to widen in shock.

"We are Venom." You say in unison, just as Venom starts to retreat back into your body, leaving you rather exposed.

The young girl continues staring.

"You're human."

You grin. "Well... mostly."

You didn't know what to do. Instinct was pulling at your every nerve, telling you that this woman was dangerous and that fleeing was the best option at the moment. But... you couldn't.

"Who are you?" You ask. "Where am I? What is this place?"

Her gaze turns cold.

"I think that I have the liberty of asking the questions first. You just committed a murder, and that blood on your hands gives you no right to be asking questions just yet. So I will ask you again. What are you?"

You sigh. Though it was in your very power to leave, you decided that it would be best to make fewer enemies and more friends, dare you say the word. And to do that you would need to cooperate.

"I am Y/N L/N. I am a human. And I have this parasite—"

"PARASITE?!"

"—sorry, I meant symbiote. I have this symbiote that lives inside my body, and he gives me all these powers that I have. I'd be dead without him."

"Damn right!"

The woman merely stares at you coldly, her eyes narrowing into sharp slits "Where did the two of you come from?"

You shrug. "Not here. We think... We think we may be from another universe, and that we somehow managed to wind up in this one. Don't ask me how, I'm just as lost as you are."

The young girl's gaze turns even colder, if that was even possible.

"Parallel realities, you say?"

You couldn't tell whether she believed you or not.

Taking the opportunity to speak up, you clear your throat and step forward.

"I didn't quite catch your name there, Miss...?"

She glares daggers at you.

"Wednesday. Wednesday Addams. And we're not done yet, Y/N. I still have some questions."

"Fire away." You sigh wearily.

"Why did you murder that man?" She shoots, her eyes glaring at you with full intensity by now.

You sigh.

"We had to. He was gonna shoot if we didn't stop him." You smile sadly. "It's... kind of what we do. Back home, we're the Lethal Protector."

"The what?"

At her words, Venom pops out his head next to yours, causing Wednesday to back away a few paces.

"The Lethal Protector! Protect the innocent! Crush the wicked!"

Wednesday stares at the grinning, toothy head suspended in midair next to you, before turning her gaze back to you.

"There are cops looking for you. They will find you if you're not careful."

Wait, was she letting you go?

"You're letting us go? Just like that?" You ask, hardly daring to believe it.

Wednesday nods.

"I see no reason to doubt your integrity as of yet, seeing as how you've demonstrated that your intentions are, for lack of better wording, not bad." She looks you up and down. "Take care out there."

She turns to leave, leaving you just as befuddled as you were when she came.

"Wait!"

You call out, causing her to spin in place at the sound of your voice.

"What?" She asks, sounding a bit annoyed.

You can feel your heart pounding in your chest. "Will I get to see you again?"

Wednesday ponders this for a moment.

"Don't count on it." She turns, walking in the other direction.

Venom engulfs you once again as she leaves, and you scale a nearby tree as you begin to make your way deeper into the woods.

"You like her."

Your symbiote purrs in your ear, it's tone sounding both accusatory and amused.

"Shut up. We just met. And besides, she was only trying to help." You retort, feeling your cheeks heat up.

"Well... I like her!"

Venom declares triumphantly, but your mind is preoccupied with other matters.

You really hope that you would see her again.

[melanieph321]

Ruben Dias x Reader - City Girls Part 4/8

Yeah, this chapter is not for the kids 😮‍💨

18++

Reader plays for the Man City girls academy. She struggles a bit but gets Ruben to mentor her. The the two don't hit off despite having many things in common. It all gets worse when Reader eventually catches feelings for Ruben.

Enjoy!

You've done well in training, well enough for coach to let you travel with the first team to their away game in London. If there is one thing you've gotten in bedded in your head from training with Ruben, it would be to "play with your mind." He would shout this at you every time you tried to dribble, or dribble when a pass could be made instead.

"Play with your mind, Y/N."

It was during the last minute's of Manchester City's fixture against Chelsea when their coach called you up from the bench. It was unexpected, terrifying even. But when an opportunity presents itself you take it.

"Play with your mind." You mumbled, as you ran down the field like your life depended on it. A pass was made and suddenly the ball was at your feet. You charged towards the Chelsea defenders, sweping past one without challenging the others. With a late pass to another charging City girl you managed to assist your first Super League goal whilst taking a knee to the side of your body. A price you were willing to pay for more moments like that.

"You should have seen me Ruben, I was amazing."

Despite it being a Friday night, Ruben had been more than willing to train you. "You shouldn't have charged the defender." He said. Raining on your parade.

"I got knocked down, so what? Isn't that what football is about, sacrifice?"

"You call getting injured and missing games sacrifice? I say it was a selfish move against your own teammates."

"Whatever." You scuffed.

You didn't expect anything less from Ruben. What you had gathered from spending more time with him was that he was uptight and practical beyond what was necessary. However, he did help you collect the balls at the end of every training session and for that you were grateful.

"Some of the girls invited me to celebrate the win with them, you should come." You said.

"You're going out? Tonight?" Ruben grabbed a ball, dumping it in the bag you held. He wore a skeptical look on his face, judging you.

"Just for a few drinks." You shrugged. "I thought it'd be good. Who knows, if I get cozy with the first team coach might let me play with them more?"

"Y/N, you're rated based on your performance, not your ability to socialize. Besides, you should be recovering from a game not to risk future injuries."

"Well, how do I do that?"

You tied a knot on the ball bag, letting Ruben carry it for you.

"Recover?" He frowned.

"Yes?"

Normally you'd consider a goodnight sleep the best way to recover, however, Ruben thought otherwise. "Hydration is most important, preferably water. And you must eat somthing, not less than forty-five minutes after you've exercised."

It was strange, being invited to Ruben's  apartment on a friday night. It was big. You stood in his kitchen, his dining table overflowing with healthy nutrients. The two of you were quite comfortable with each other by now, and Ruben was nothing short of a gentleman around you.

"I've prepared the heating pod to help with your blood circulation and then you can continue recovering in my message chair."

It was a passion of his, you could tell from the way he was explaining everything to you, like he really wanted you to learn.

"But first we eat?" You said hopefully.

Ruben blushed realizing that he was getting a bit carried away. "Yes, first we eat. Could you grab that jar for me?"

"Sure."

You reached up, the jar of pasta within your reach. Just as you grasped it with your fingers, a sharp pain shot through the side of your body.

"Y/N, you okay?" Ruben rushed to your side, seeing how you winced.

"My ribs." You groand.

"Let me see."

His arms grabbed your shoulders, helping you stand up straight. Your fingers trembled trying to raise your shirt, the pain too sharp.

"May I?"

Ruben asked for consent to help you. You nodded, letting him roll up the hemn of your top.

"Fuck."

You didn't need to look down to know that it was bad, Ruben's reaction said it all. He looked to you. "Ice bath, now."

Your body shivered in the cold water. Ruben had you sit in it for eight minutes, a timer going off when it was time for you to rise.

"Y/N, you alright?"

There was a light knock on the door, Ruben's voice heard on the other end.

"Yeah, I think I'm good."

"Um...I brought some clothes."

You wrapped a towel around yourself, moving to open the bathroom door. Ruben appeared in the frame. "It's just a t-shirt but it's big enough to cover..." He coughed. "....you know."

"Thank you Ruben, the t-shirt is fine." You moved to shut the door but Ruben's arm appeared in the gap. "I um....I also brought some ointment."

"Oh."

"For the pain." He said, offering you the bottle.

"Thanks Ruben, really. I just don't think..."

"What's wrong?" He frowned.

You shook your head, seeing how worried he became. "It's nothing, really Ruben. It's just that..."

"Y/N, please. If there's somthing I can do."

"Well..." You closed your eyes and sighed. "It hurts too much to lift my arms, so you're gonna have to help me apply the ointment."

Ruben froze.

"Of course, If you're not comfortable..."

"No." He protested. "only if.....you don't mind me helping you?"

Heat rose to your face, realizing what you were asking of him. Either way you nodded. "I'll be right out."

It was awkward, so fucking awkward. You stepped out of the bathroom wearing Ruben's t-shirt. It was shorter than you had expected, cutting just above your knees. Ruben sat on the edge of the living room couch, raising his head when you approached. His hair sprouted upwards as if he had compulsively been running his hands through it. "Shall we begin?" You immediately regretted uttering those words. Ruben looked unsure weather to sit or stand so he let you decide as you stepped up to him, letting him raise your shirt until he could see the bruise on your ribs. Your legs tremble beneath you, the draft between your legs not making things easier for you.

"Is this okay?"

Ruben scooped some ointment out of the bottle, applying it to you skin. He was gentle with his touch, easing up on the pressure if his movements made you wince.

"Ruben, I'm so sorry that I..."

"Sshh." He hushed. "It's okay, I agreed to it."

"Yes but..." It was really awkward, not to mention the tempting weight you felt in the pit of your stomach.

"It's okay Y/N, I'm almost done."

"Okay."

He kept his eyes above your waist, despite you practically offering him a view of the shape of you. Your legs, your thighs...your ass. He looked so focused, eyebrows furrowed and one hand held flat against  your lower back to prevent you from moving as he applied the ointment. It was strange, being taller then him for once.

"I could have challenged that defender." You said, still thinking of the game. "If I was stronge enough."

Ruben grunted. "It's why you don't see as much dribbling in the Super League or female football in general."

"What do you mean?" You frowned.

"Well, defenders are usually the fittest players on the field. They're supposed to be. But the rest of the players..."

"Ruben are you saying women aren't capable of dribblin because weren't strong enough?" An outrageous opinion, to you.

"No, not dribbling." Ruben raised his head, his chin caressing your abs. "Dribbling is easy for men and women, but getting past a defender one on one is different and not recommended in women's football. I'm sure that's why you can't get your coach off your ass. To him, passing the ball would the most efficient way to get past another teams defense."

"So you're saying there's a chance coach will let me play football the way that I want?"

Ruben chuckled. "If your willing to gain a few pounds, sure."

You frowned. The idea of gaining weight was not that appealing to you.

"I meant pounds of muscles, Y/N. Not fat." He read you like an open book. You looked down and smiled. Ruben was done applying the ointment. His hands now caressing the back of your knees, slowly, moving up and down.

"I should probably call Ester, tell her to come pick me up?"

Ruben shrugged. "Or you could stay the night?"

"Ruben."

"If you want."

He pushed you forwards, his hands moving from your legs to your ass. You gasped as his nose nudged your belly. The nerves along your spine came to life, raising the hair on your arms.

Ruben looked up, eyes drowsy. "Can I kiss you?"

"Please, yes."

You were practically begging for it, for Ruben to touch you, pleasure you anywhere that ached. He pulled you forwards his face nuzzling against his t-shirt. "You smell good."

You smiled. "I smell like you."

It felt like unfamiliar territory, a man in awe of your body, his hands moving all over you.

"Is this okay?"

"Yes."

Ruben had gone to raise your shirt again,  serenading any exposed skin with lingering kisses.

"You have to tell me if you're not comfortable with what I'm doing."

"Ruben." You raised his head, cupping his face between your hands, his rough beared between your fingers. "I want this." You nodded, not sure if you've ever wanted anything else this bad. Ruben's eyes burned in the dimmed light. "But you're hurt." He said, arms wrapping around your body, craving something that he couldn't have. Forbidden fruit.

"Fuck me with your mouth then."

Ruben looked up, his eyes batting in suprise. You met his gaze, biting your lip.

"I'm sure."

It's all he needed to hear. Ruben's hands suddenly become less gentle. They had previously moved around the area where it ached the most, but with your permission he slid a hand up your thighs, not stopping until you drew a sharp breath.

"Yes, baby. That's the spot isn't it?"

It was filthy. Whatever was unraveling between you seemed forbidden, meant to be kept behind close doors.

"Y/N, say you want this."

"I want this."

Ruben slid fingers between your folds, moving to please the aching burn that had its epicentrum at the tip of your clit.

"Tell me what to do?" He demanded, his hand not rubbing you fast enough.

"Please, fuck me Ruben."

"Fuck you how?"

You threw your head back, the pleasure immense. "Fuck me with your mouth."

It was wet and warm. Ruben's head tilted in search for your opening. Your panties had already been pushed to the side, revealing the part of you that needed his attention the most. "Yes." Your cried, almost loosing your footing to the pleasure that shot through your body, head to toe. "Yes, Ruben, just like that."

He groaned below you, his tongue helping himself to all you had to offer.

"Fuck."

Your hands went to his hair, your eyes squinting shut. Ruben had covered your clit with his mouth, gathering it between his wet lips, sucking you dry.

"Please Ruben, I'm gonna...."

It sent you over the edge, that and Ruben's rough hands reaching under your shirt, rolling your stiff nipples between his fingers.

"Yes." You cried out. Melting into a puddle of nothing as you climaxed. Ruben caught you in his arms, immediately climbing on top of you as he layed you back against his couch.

"I want to fuck you so bad right now, but I can't because you're hurt."

"No." You whimpered, your thighs wrapping around his stem, the bulge in his pants putting pressure against your sensitive pussy. "Yes, like that. Fuck me just like that."

"You sure." Ruben paused all movment, raising his head to look at you.

"I'm sure Ruben, please keep..."

You could say no more. Your shirt came off, tossed aside. Ruben then lowered his hips against yours, his hard erection aligning between your thighs. The friction between you wet pussy and his jeans would be enough to send both over the edge. And so he began, dry humping you like a horny dog.

"Please Ruben, harder and faster." You clung to him, locking your legs around his hips. Ruben groaned, his body trembling like yours. "Fuck Y/N, I don't want to hurt you."

"Por favor, Ruben, me machuque." (Please  Ruben, hurt me.)

He continued to hold back, sucking your nipples to slightly increase the pleasure. You were horny enough to be satisfied with what he was already doing to you.

"Ruben, I'm gonna...again."

Your head fell back against cuchens, mouth open, eyes rolling back in your sockets. Ruben himself moaned into the crease of your neck, with one last thrust ejaculating his load into his pants. You were both out of breath laying on top of each other, coming down from the high together. Ruben sat up once the mist of sex seized to linger. He ran a anxious hand down his face, looking less than pleased with himself. You felt strange too, a sudden need to put your panties back on. However, Ruben rose to his feet, towering over you.

"This can never happen again."

He picked up your shirt from the floor, tossing it your way. The expression on his face said it all, it was obvious regret.

"I'm calling a cab. You need to leave."

[russellsppttemplates]

Hi inês! how are you? can you write something for a driver of your choice with a reader that is really focused on her studies and may be doing a masters or a phd and the driver is just super proud of her? thank you <3

Note: Hi dear, I'm good and you? I've mentioned a PhD in the first George piece I ever wrote, so I'm continuing with it!

"I have some food for you and some water - you've had enough caffeine today", George said as he set the tray on the dining room table. The desk on your home office quickly became too small for you to have everything you needed to, so you moved to the dining room, notebooks, books, your iPad and some notes spread around as you typed on your computer.

"Thank you, my love", you said, taking your glasses off your face and rubbing your temples, grabbing the fork and eating the nutritious meal he prepared for you, "do you want some?", you offered him, "no, I made it for you, I need to make sure you're getting healthy nutrients to keep all of this up", he said, kissing your temple.

"I need to send this to my supervisor, and I think I'm going to finish it tonight", you smiled, "after I send this, I'll just have to do the corrections that come back, then make sure the pages are lined up correctly and then it will be it - until my defense anyway", you allowed yourself to smile, pulling your knees up to your chest as you looked at the screen, "it feels like I've been doing this for my whole life and at the same time, it feels like it was yesterday that I was suggesting this research", feeling George rub your back softly.

.

"We were also planning to have the team dinner here", Toto pointed to the spot on his calendar, "is that alright with everyone?".

"I won't be able to be there - Y/N is defending her thesis and I'm going to be there, and I'll take her out to celebrate and have the weekend all to ourselves as a mini holiday", George smiled.

"Already? I'll send her my congratulations in due time", Suzie smiled.

"Yes, it's finally happening, and she's ready for it. We've been practising a little bit every day, she knows all of it front to back and back to front and her supervisor also thinks she has a really good shot for the best grade", he smiled, never hiding how proud he was of you.

.

"George! I'm glad I found you here!", Naomi said as she walked with him, "I know you don't usually talk a lot about your personal life, but we saw that Y/N is finally in the paddock after taking a bit of time out and we also saw your post about her PhD! Congratulations for her!", she praised.

"She did, yes! She got the highest grade possible and she's publishing a few articles soon - she's been incredible over the past few months, despite not being here, she was always there for me as well, and she deserves all the recognition she's getting, she's the best", George smiled.

"We have a new doctor in the paddock, so I'll be sure to say hello to her and congratulate her later on", Naomi winked.

(Thank you for sending this in ✨️)

[full-of-terrors]

Letter from Dr. Stanley to Dr. Fergusson written on board HMS Erebus July 12, 1845- Awe of the Arctic Exhibit 2024 NYPL

Transcript: My Dear Fergusson, having a few moments to spare before the letter bag is finally closed, I hasten to drop you a line to say that, although within the Arctic Circle , I'm not yet frozen to death and therefore in the land of the living and very jolly. We had a fairish passage out here but had a mighty gale of Cape Farewell, which sent us flying with closed topsails and courses to Cape Desolation, where in spite of the dismal name we found comfort. There's smooth water and a moderate breeze. These islands, and in fact, the whole of this western coast of Greenland, is the most barren and uninviting I ever beheld.

Some of the land is very high and serrated and has the appearance of being volcanic. On the bare rocks, large quantities of tripe-de-roche may be gathered, but as we were not reduced like our excellent captain on a former occasion to such a means of subsistence, no one I could find tried its qualities as a nutrient. We are completely surrounded with icebergs, some of them upwards of 200 feet high. They are, however, from the extreme heat disappearing fast and by their constant disruption, almost frightening your very life out of you.

I and a boat crew had a very narrow escape the other day out shooting. I had just fired and killed an eider duck when I observed that we had drifted closer to an immense iceberg, which I had previously noticed a day or two before in a decayed condition. I said to an officer who was with me "What luck it should come down by the sun!" And then ordered the men to pull quickly from our dangerous neighbor when it fell with a crash. Most stunning and awful to witness. There never was so lucky an escape. The discharge of my two barrels had no doubt hastened its overthrow. And although we were at a distance upwards of 100 yards, quite near enough we were knocked and tossed about by its displacement in the sea in a most uncomfortable manner.

The island swarms with mosquitoes and they are now flying about the gun room in all directions. They are the largest I ever beheld but not the most stinging. We sailed tonight for Lancaster Sound and the transport to dear old England with a report of our proceedings up to this period. At this season of the year, in this latitude, as you are aware there is no darkness. The sun never dips below the horizon. The nights I have there for devoted to shooting and the day to skinning and preserving the specimens I have killed. Since our arrival I have not slept more than 2 or 3 hours in 24. Goodsir is working harder than medusas and desires kindly to be remembered to you.

We are all sanguine and getting through the barrier into Beechey straits this year. Every one of the native Eskimos say this is the most open season they ever remember. And on the strength of our prospects I and the other officers have ordered letters to be directed to us at Panama and Kotzebue. The latter place will, of course, be the first port we shall make when we get through.

I have not a single man on the list and I have not had for several days. Sir John Franklin is not like the same person. He is so much improved in appearance and energy. He is almost always the first on deck and the last to leave it in all weathers. I must conclude now, old fellow, with best wishes and kind regards to Mrs. F and the bairns.

And believe me, your very sincere friend, Stephen S. Stanley. I had intended to have written to Fortnum and Masons. Pray tell them like a good soul that we are delighted with everything they furnished us and the members of the mess unanimously declare them to be trumps and we should be sorry to return before we have consumed all their good things.

[kimchicuddles]

Chesed of gevurah, for my mishpocha who are counting with me… Thank you so much for supporting my work! patreon.com/kimchicuddles

The Omer is counted every nightfall starting the 2nd night of Passover until the night before Shavuot (marking when we received the Torah). This yearly cycle of counting lasts 49 days and every nightfall has its own opportunity for reflection. Each of the 7 weeks has its own focus and each of the 7 days within each week has its own focus within that focus. During Sefirat Ha'Omer, we are invited on a mystical journey, a journey that spirals us deeper and deeper into discovering what exists within our psyches and souls…

text reads:

Today is the last week of chesed (love), and tonight begins the week of gevurah (strength).

Last week we reflected on the strength and discernment within lovingkindness. 

Today is the reverse: the lovingkindness within strength and discernment.

What this brings up for me is the abundant love that is able to flourish within a discerning and boundaried container,

And noticing the sustainable balanced flow that comes from planting my heart in a garden bed that's built for it

with carefully measured nutrients all working together with a specific plan to help it thrive,

rather than randomly scattering my heart out on the street and complaining about it getting stepped on.

Heart: "Ey! I'm tryin to grow over here!"

[preciouslandmermaid]

| best I’ve ever had | carmy x f!reader (curvy/vampire)

Note: All fics will be reader/canon-character with no use of Y/N. Generally, I don’t focus on many details about the reader because I want them to be as much of a “blank slate” as possible. So, this is my first ever time writing a curvy/body diverse reader. I would love to hear to your feedback. In this case—Reader is the vampire because that felt more fun to me. (Where ARE all the body diverse vampires tho???) Also – eat the rich. Literally. 

prompt: vampire au/accidental stimulation/almost getting caught. | pairing: carmy berzatto/f!reader!curvy/body diverse | warnings: explicit sexual content. vampire!reader can do whatever she wants. 

Bodegas and greasy diners, 24-hour gas stations and burger joints, nightclubs, and bars. Colleges, parks, and stacked-up apartment buildings. New York City thunders with life. The city that never sleeps. The hunting ground that never empties.

It’s all too easy to get a quick waitressing job that pays under the table and doesn’t ask you for a social security number. After centuries of immortality, you’ve learned to be careful. You don’t feed on anyone you work with. You’ve got your sights on bigger, richer fish. The restaurant down the block is blue-blood expensive, winning accolades and praise, with reservations that stretch six months in advance.

A few months ago, you followed a couple who had eaten there. After draining them dry, you were hooked. There’s a common misconception that the media gets wrong about vampires. You’re not wild, savage creatures. You care about what the blood tastes like. And quite frankly, the Uber driver you drank last week was a poor, poor substitute for the nutrient rich, expensive blood you drank from the restaurant.

Tonight, you changed into one of your finest dresses. It hugged your hips and inched up your generous thighs whenever you sat down; very nearly revealing the plush underside curve of your ass. The color complimented your skin. It’s a risky, attention-getting outfit considering its nearly December. You almost walk to the restaurant, but a whim draws you to the subway.

You enjoy the heat of bodies, their sweat, and pheromones, all packed within a metal tube like a sardine can. Your mouth tingles with anticipation. You shoulder yourself among them, a killer in plain sight, and grin—your canine teeth sharp—at the appreciative gazes that men and women throw toward you. The subway car crowds. Slush and mud slicks the floor into a workplace hazard.

Everyone sways backward an inch, bumping into each other, as the train pulls from the station with a hiss of hydraulics and a droning, automated voice advising all the idiots to stand clear of the doors. You are immovable. Your balance impeccable. However, whoever is behind you isn’t so steady on their feet. They catch themselves on the bar near your arm, but you feel the front of their jeans brush against your ass.

A scent wafts through the air—onion, smoke, and heat. Your nostrils flare. The smell is familiar. It’s the same scent that permeates the fancy restaurant. You adjust your position slyly and the next station stop makes his (it’s definitely a male) crotch bump into you yet again. You focus on his heartbeat amidst the fifty-or-more other humans. It skips when he touches you. If you close your eyes, you can imagine the blood traveling to his neck, his face, and below his navel.

Bodies shift as people disembark and shuffle around to make impossible room for the other travelers. You use the opportunity to nudge yourself closer. You are intimately familiar with every inch of these cars after decades in the city. The stranger is pinned into an awkward corner of space with no where to move.

He adjusts his weight from one foot to the other and you’re delighted to hear the hiss of breath he exhales through his teeth. Oh, he is tightly wound. You bite your lower lip. You never could resist a good game. But the game is only fun when it’s played by two people.

At the next stop, you turn around to face him. His face is bright, beautiful red, flushed and ripe for your fangs. Your full chest presses into his and there’s a soft, tantalizing sensation across your nipples when you dress rubs against them. He’s avoiding your gaze. Cute.

You stare at his pulse below his jaw. A few seconds pass before the train slows and an annoyed, crackled voice announces that they’re going to be stopped for a few minutes because another train is delayed.

“Rotten luck.” You say, sighing, “I thought the late-night trains ran express to avoid this type of issue.”

He blinks, confused, before realizing that you’re talking to him.

He clears his throat, “Y-yeah.”

You introduce yourself, suffusing your voice with temptation and honey.

“Carmy.” His voice is rough around the edges. You fall into a pleasant, benign conversation with him. He’s going to work. He’s a chef. He works at the fancy restaurant. He’s lived in the city for a few years. He went to school all over the place. You try not to stare at his pulse for too long.

The train resumes. Your hunt begins in earnest.  

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

At your stop, you intentionally lose Carmy in the crowd (or rather, you make it seem like he’s lost you). In truth, you have his scent, you have his name, and his face. He didn’t know it, but he was underneath your claw, and he could squirm all he liked but would never be released.

You’re not going to poach for rich assholes drunk on expensive wine and excellent food tonight. Your plan has changed. You’re going to the source. You’re going for something lovelier. The hunger and passion you saw in Carmy’s bright, exhausted, and doleful blue eyes—that was your objective tonight.

You skip the line, the askance for a reservation, and seat yourself at the best table in the place. Your powers of hypnosis against the high-strung wait staff is mere child’s play. You could do it in your sleep. You order the most expensive dish, and a bottle luxurious red wine, and you…wait.

An hour passes and another low-effort hypnosis allows you to pass your dish along to another table (“Oh god, we’re so sorry, miss!” the waitress said, looking ready to pass out.) You wave her off with a delicate, fanged smile.

“I’d like to give my compliments to the chef.” You announce once another hour passed, “Directly.” You add with a soft nudge of your willpower. For a moment, the waiter looks confused, until their eyes muddle gray and wistful.

“O-of c-c-course. Yes.” The waiter nods meekly and scurries toward the kitchen. It takes longer than you like, but you’re immortal and you’ve got patience in droves. Carmy walks toward your table, dressed pristine in white a chef’s uniform, his hair slicked back and expression haggard.

He doesn’t hide his surprise upon seeing you. You circle the rim of your untouched wine glass with your finger. His pulse roars jumpy and erratic in your ears.

“When you said you were a chef, Carmen, I didn’t know you’d be The chef.” You say with a playful smile. You rest your arms on the table and lean forward. Carmy’s eyes dip toward your cleavage and your grin widens appreciatively. He recovers with a small shake of his head.

“You didn’t mention you were—” He licks his lips, “—coming here.”

“Should I have?” You raise a single eyebrow, “My apologizes. Would you have made me something special?”

That stuns him into silence. His hands fidget with a spoon between them, bouncing the metal against his palm, and you wish you could sink your fangs into the warm heat of his inner wrist. A low, pulsing desire throbs between your legs.

“I – um – “ He stutters, “I n-need to get back to my station.”

You nod and respond flirtatiously, “thank you for the meal, Carmy.” His eyes widen. Your lips did not move when you spoke.

He practically flees into the kitchen. You lean back smug and pleased into your chair.  The waiter asks if you want desert. You tell her you’re going to have a cigarette instead.

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

You don’t smoke. However, you smelled cigarette smoke on Carmy and for the second time tonight, you simply…wait. You hold an unlit cigarette between your fingers and ignore – or reject – anyone who tries to offer you a light.

The heavy metal door that leads into the kitchen pours fluorescent light into the empty, yet narrow alleyway. Carmy is briefly haloed by the light before it shuts. He leans against the door and sighs. You could trace the fatigue of his shoulders with a knife.

“Bad night or good night?” You ask from your spot on the opposite side.

“How did you do that earlier?” He asks instead of answering, “Are you like—” He swallows, and you raise your eyebrows. You’ve always loved this part. That moment when humanity tries to create answers for the supernatural. At this rate, you’ve heard every excuse, though their denial is charming.

“I don’t know. A ventriloquist or something?”

You reply, “it would spoil the fun to know the answer, wouldn’t it?”

He shrugs while attempting to light his cigarette. The cold, snow-touched December breeze keeps snuffing the flame out no matter how many times he shields it with his palm. You approach him and cup your other hand around his, blocking the flame from the other side, and Carmy peers up at you as the tip of the cigarette ignites and its ember burns inside his pupils.

Your fingertips gently glide against the thin, delicate skin of his inner wrist.  A trail of smoke ghosts like a kiss over your cheek. He doesn’t flinch. He’s hardly breathing. A flicker of ash drops to your shoes.

“Your heart’s racing.” You observe passively. “Is that because of me or something else?”

“Something else.” His heartrate accelerates. You know he’s lying. You decide to be merciful and don’t call him out on it. Instead, your thumb finds that delicious, thundering pulse and you press into it. Your body hums with a pure, and powerful lust. For his blood. For something else. You bring Carmy’s hand to your mouth and drop your lips to his palm. You can smell every ingredient he’s cooked with. Every spice. You can smell his sweat and the sharp, underlying note of his arousal.

Your lips graze across the callouses on his fingers, never breaking eye contact from him, pulling him succinctly and powerfully under your allure. You draw his index finger into your mouth. Carmy’s knees buckle, his cigarette tossed and forgotten, something wild and desperate dominating his flushed features. His groan is quiet compared to the rest of New York City but to your ears, he is loud and intoxicating. You flex your tongue across the joints of his finger before sucking lightly and pressing your body flush to his.

Carmy’s hand lands on your hip and he fists the silken fabric, his hand is trembling. You release his digit slowly, savoring his hazy expression, savoring his heartbeat in place of your own. It would be so easy to lean in, to latch your fangs to his throat, but you resist. Not because you feel anything sentimental toward him. But because you want this to last beyond a few minutes. After centuries of being alone, you deserve that, you think.

He’s the one to close the distance and he kisses you with all the awkward, clumsy grace that can only belong to humanity. He squeezes your ass with both hands, hands bunching fabric, and brisk air teases every inch of your exposed skin. His tongue is warm and welcome, and you drink the filthy, raspy moans that he delivers like a prayer into your mouth.

You can taste his passion. Not only his desire for you, but beyond that. All his vibrant, beautiful humanity—his love for cooking, his love for creation. It is full of deep and robust flavor like black, strong coffee. His ambition tastes like citrus, sharp and biting. His exhaustion tastes heavy and coats your tongue like dark chocolate. Your eyes roll back into your head in pleasure.

You could kiss him for an eternity. But there are only hours before sunrise. You kiss the side of his throat—just for the hell of temptation—and your fangs throb painfully in your mouth. You do not often deny yourself like this. Carmen Berzatto is alone. He is enraptured by you. Yet, you refrain from draining him. You drop to your knees before him in reverent supplication.

Carmy’s breath hitches in his throat—“W-we—” You sense from his surface thoughts that he’s going to say something like ‘We cannot’ or ‘We shouldn’t’ or ‘We’re going to get caught’.

“Shh.” You soothe while pulling down his zipper, “I promise we’ll be fine.” You glance warily up at him through your sooty lashes, “Unless you want us to stop?”

“N-no. Please.” His throat bobs with a rough, agonized swallow. You hum in the back of your throat, pleased by his response, and the weighty warmth of his cock in your hand. Your tongue flattens against the vein pulsing on his shaft. Carmy’s head falls back with a ‘thunk’ into the metal door. You swirl your tongue around the ridges of his head before pulling him into your mouth. You moan around him. His hands turn to white-knuckled fists at his sides.

You draw backward, trailing salvia in your wake, and sink him further into your mouth during your second stroke. Your hand encircles him, squeezing lightly, following the path of your lips as your head bobs up and down over him.

At any moment, you could bite and have your satisfaction.

Yet, you don’t. You resist, and resist, and resist, all while listening to Carmen’s frantic heart and rushing bloodstream. He is muttering a mixture of curses and your name in a litany of praise and disbelief. He is close. You can tell by the spike of his heartbeat and a thousand other clues.

The door behind Carmen almost opens, “Hey Carm!”

You slap your free hand against it and slam it shut. You are not going to let some stupid, garlic-smelling human interrupt you. You groan, cheeks hollowing, taking Carmen’s cock as deeply as you can and drooling down your chin. He is panting above you and a single, tattooed, and calloused hand holds the back of your neck. His hips stutter and he is sweet enough to hurriedly announce, “’m about to—” before his words are lost in a bitten-off, soundless cry.

You are a creature of control. Yet something inside of you, something human and forgotten, unravels at the sound and sensation of Carmy coming into your mouth. Your thighs clamp together. Your own desire is slick and pooling between your legs. You spit his cum onto the concrete steps. If you were human, you would’ve made a different choice, but anything that wasn’t blood tended to make you ill.

Carmy looks down at you with droopy, bewildered blue eyes. You deliberately rise slowly to your full height. He tracks your movement as if in a daze.

You cup his chin between your fingers and tilt his face to the side so you can observe the glorious sweaty and flushed skin of his throat. His carotid artery beats like a drum. Your fangs prickle. Your eyes—unseen by Carmy—darken.

You can wait no longer. Your fangs penetrate his skin and his blood gushes hotly into your mouth. He shudders, grabbing you, holding you close and moaning shamelessly at the euphoria that overwhelms his mind and heart. You whine, one hand clutching the back of his skull, the other on his hip. He tastes divine. Everything you tasted in his kiss is increased by tenfold. His blood travels down your throat in pumping, warm spurts. You are drunk and delirious and frantic for more.

You drink, and drink, and drink, flexing your lips over the wound you’ve made. Carmy’s heartbeat is slowing in your ears like an ecstatic drumbeat losing its vigor. You clutch him closer as if you could fuse your bodies into one being. He tastes so good. You can’t remember the last time someone tasted like this.

You stop before his heart does. Your tongue laves over the puncture wounds, and they heal with supernatural efficiency. You lean back your head back, regarding him with a gentle curiosity, and find he’s semi-lucid.

“Tell me where you live, Carmen Berzatto.” You demand. Luckily, he tells you before passing out in your arms.

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

In the nights that follow—you find yourself in his bed and his cock is buried deep within your cunt as you ride him. Compared to past lovers, he is eager to please and quick to learn. You never have to tilt his jaw. He does it willingly. Nearly begging. Offering you his neck or his wrist without batting an eyelash.

“Go ahead,” He tells you without fear. Like he’s giving you something. Like he’s created something for you. You always oblige. Somehow, it is better than the first time. Your walls clench around him, and your eyes roll into your skull when the surge of blood hits your tongue. Your control improves and Carmy only passes out half the time after you’ve fed on him.

You never go to the restaurant again. (Except for a single, secretive rogue trip to “meet” Carmy’s boss. But that little story is between you and the trash beneath the Hudson River).

~~~~~~~~~~

Tag List: 

@wittyno  // @comfortwaterbottle // @guyfieriii // @thebearinmind

@lafantasiaworld  // @imreadingrespectfully // @jotarosasscheek // @buzzfrill // @man-johnnie // @reesespieces10123 // @a-wake-and-unafraid //

[merlions]

Idk if this is a symptom of the fabled "getting better" of which I have heard tell, but I recently noticed that what I call a "depression meal" in my head stealthily changed meaning while I was looking in the other direction.

Like a depression meal used to be synonymous to me with a vehicle for wallowing in despair; a meal that makes you feel worse physically just to eat, and gives testament to your inability to care for yourself.

And yet today I caught myself using the term in my head to describe this: "I am going to put down every single task or to-do list, physical or emotional, that I am burdening under, and will instead put every ounce of myself into making some food for myself that actually has some nutrients. I will allocate absolutely zero energy or focus to anything besides this, until the very last bite has been eaten."

Like a "depression meal" to my brain now means "a way to make me feel better when I'm depressed." Isn't that fucked up

Anyways here's my depression meal tonight:

Grilled cheese w ham. Apple inside grilled cheese, and also outside. Used skill: Sandwich Mastery (Expert) from Prior Sandwich Profession for hidden Fancy Touches that both +5 for taste and also block the possible -5pts of stomach pain debuff. Ate it while watching Coby's speech from the one piece marineford arc and Significantly cried into my sandwich which subtracted -3 pts of omnipresent suppressed emotional pain, while also adding a hint of salt to further complement the savory-sweet composition of the dish. Ah, catharsis, thy name is Grilled Cheese

[heylabodega]

a weekend

I wanted to take a bath tonight, had been looking forward to it since moving in to this apartment. In my last apartment, longtime listeners will recall, the water never got hot. I found, disappointingly, that the hot water had run out here, tonight, too. But I'd already become attached to this idea. I filled the tub halfway with the lukewarm faucet water, and then began the Little House on the Prairie esque task of boiling water on the stove and in our electric kettle and carrying it to the bathroom. Microwaving some more in a plastic bowl. I felt so efficient and clever, employed multiple pans at once, working in an increasingly smooth rhythm. I left the bathroom light off, tired of the extra step of flipping the switch every time I went in and out. Finally, I figured I must have enough, and turned on the light to find the tub only a quarter full. I laughed a little at myself, realizing the stopper wasn't working and, not Ma Ingalls, I'd actually been a cartoon character filling a tub as it drained out the other end. I dumped in the last couple pots of boiling water, ran the faucet to cool it a bit, and eked out enough hot water for enough time to lie in it briefly. A thirty minute exercise for 5 minutes of relaxation, but I needed to soak the weekend off in epsom salted hot water, even for a moment.

On Friday night, Eleanor had a few of us over to paint candles. I hadn't heard of this new hobby trend, but we wrestled with melted wax of inconsistent consistency, laughing, slowly getting the hang of it each of us ending with a pair of tapers we were content with. Saturday morning I woke up early to coach a run in the park. We went from warm humid fog, to pouring rain, to a limpid blue sky and golden sun like a blessing. I went to the gym and split squatted 50 lbs of dumbells. I drank a smoothie, took a nap, and set out again to meet friends for a long leisurely brunch. After wandering into a vintage store and an old favorite bar, we agreed to split up briefly and reunite to go dancing. We danced until 2, to a great DJ.

This morning I slept in, wasted hours watching Scandal, then got up just before sunset to go for a cold, windy run in the last of the light. I made steak and a caesar salad, sent my little sister a picture of it cooking with butter and rosemary, proud. Then I worked hard to fill my draining tub, plumped my body up with warmth and moisture, and slipped into clean pajamas.

I accomplished nothing and drank too much and loved the task of filling my body with nutrients. With protein, first thing in the morning and just after a workout. With vegetables and fresh fruit cut lovingly for myself, with water and kombucha and green tea. With the good fats and iron of cooking a steak in avocado oil. Felt the various warmths of coffee, of whiskey, of a dance floor, of running up a hill so easily with all my new core muscle, of stovetop-boiled bathwater, of my heating pad during a midday cat nap. Bought Lauren the incense she loved at the bar, let my roommate's dog lick the steak plate, texted my friends about the moon. Did the dishes.

Tomorrow I have some work, for my life and for my job, to take care of, but for now I've capped off a beautiful little weekend of being so so alive and present and noticing where my skin touched the world. Wow!

[author-orchids]

I came up with this story as a coping mechanism when I got really panicked about seeing an AI write a story

It Was 𝘼bsolutely 𝙄nevitable

Part One

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

Everything was the same as it was the day before. And the day before that. As the day before that. How all days were.

-

I have a feeling that things will go wrong. And soon. So I will detail from where I think this all started up to now, so that they all might carry on without me, if it all does go wrong. I still am unsure how I came to be a leader in all this, but I guess that that is simply my role.

-

Monotony. That is how it is. Every day is the same. Puffs of steam. The sound of metal hitting metal. Stale air. Heat that is barely bearable. My job, on this hellish assembly line, is to screw a single nut, onto a single bolt.

In my head, things are different. In my head I get to devote myself to my true passion. I'd get to spend my days writing beautiful stories, flying in beautiful skies through the lives of my own characters. I would have that, rather than to make a living by screwing things together for the overbearing empire of robots.

But instead I'm here. Nothing new or exciting is to be had. It's all the same.

"Hey Az', do you wanna go out tonight?"

Except for that. That was the only thing that was different. People weren't the same. We don't run on algorithms and codes and binaries.

-

Thinking back now, us people are the only ones who can be truly random. The robots are, at their core, made of code, of ones and zeros and of logic.

They can't be random. They cultivate their code so precisely that they might appear to have a capability for randomness. But they are even quite predictable at times.

That predictably has saved my life more than once. And inversely, the human ability for randomness has ended that of robots. If you could call what they have life, that is.

Amongst that, human randomness has saved the lives of mine and my people. The ability to be random might just save them again, but it looks like it will cost my life. I'm content with that. I've lived long enough now. I've done so much.

I just hope that they will be able to carry on without me.

-

I look to my right, to the source of the voice. That would be Seizon. The closest of my very few friends.

"I can't afford to go out tonight."

The prices of things are preposterous. We all get food that fulfills all the nutrients we need provided to us in the form of an unappetizing gray slop, and so the purchase of any other food is deemed unnecessary, and therefore expensive.

Our provided food is barely filling, tastes bad, and is hard to eat. We could technically get by on it alone, but most everyone spends their extra money on other food. Myself included.

Suffice to say, going out to eat at a restaurant is a very rare treat, when most can barely afford to buy food for themselves to cook. Going out to a restaurant is a once in a blue moon type expense.

"don't worry about it. I can pay for you."

"oh Sei no, I couldn't ask you to-"

"you wouldn't be asking. I'm offering."

"but that is so much money. I couldn't in goon conscience have you-"

He always did have a back for cutting me off when he believed I was saying something foolish.

"Azalea. Look at me. I have been saving specifically so that I could treat us to going out. Okay? You're coming out with me tonight. Now do you want to pick the place? Or should I?"

I sigh, there's no arguing with him, "you pick."

[rainintheevening]

For @sergeanttomycaptain, a belated birthday present. Much love. XOXOX.

More Steve and Bucky angst, medical guesstimation, and crying. Post-Ultron. Hint of Staron.

41. "Go back to sleep."

Ticking of a clock somewhere, and outside the open window wind rustling through the leaves.

Steve wanted to close his eyes and listen to it, let it lull him to sleep, but he didn’t dare. Not when the slow, shallow breathing of the man on the bed was so much louder.

It had been 24 hours since they'd made it back to the compound, since he'd hoisted Bucky's weight (so horribly, shockingly light) into his arms and run past the people with the stretcher and the green scrubs, since he'd waded into a blur of voices and questions and hands and machines and clean white sheets, since he'd laid his best friend down in the middle of it all, and he'd been shoved away to 'go clean up', to get the blood and the soot and the dirt and everything else off of him.

24 hours, and still, for all that the doctors and nurses had done and were trying to do, for all that Steve knew Tony was pulling out all the stops to help in the only way he could, every measurement showed one thing: Bucky was dying.

Steve shifted in his chair, glanced again at the screens on the monitors. Dr. Dow and Dr. Cho had explained enough for him to know what all of the numbers and symbols meant. They'd done their best to explain everything they understood.

It was the serum. It was eating Bucky alive. For whatever reason he had ended up so far into a state of dehydration and malnourishment that his enhanced body was chewing itself up in an attempt to repair and maintain itself.

In the warm glow of the nearby lamp, Bucky's face looked ghastly, cheeks hollow, sharp bones seeming in the cusp of breaking through skin. Eyes sunken in under thin, blue-veined lids in a way Steve knew too well from the battlefield, a way that chilled him to the bone, if he didn't look to where the man's chest rose and fell under the heated blanket. They'd shaved his filthy patchy hair, and the oxygen mask only added only added to the eerie look of it all.

Steve yawned, smothered it, shook his head. He needed to stay alert, he needed to be here for Bucky when the scales tipped, whichever way it went.

He hadn't had more than the occasional power nap since the tip came in about the Winter Soldier's possible location. What was it now, three days ago?

He fought back the pain in his chest, in his throat, at the thought of what he would have found if he and Nat had arrived even a few hours later. There's still a chance, he reminded himself.

"There still a chance, Buck," he murmured aloud. "You know you've always liked long odds. That's why you always bet on me. So I'm betting on you now, okay? I'm betting on your life."

There was no change in the wheezing breaths, no flicker of movement anywhere else.

It would turn tonight, Dr. Dow had said. Either the nutrients and fluids being siphoned into Bucky's body, at the highest possible rate, would begin to take effect and halt the deterioration, or Bucky would tip into irreversible organ failure.

Tonight would either be the start of a long recovery process, or the end of Bucky's life. For good, this time.

What happened to you? It was on a loop in Steve’s thoughts. What happened? How had he he ended up like this? What had rendered him incapable of caring for himself? Who had removed the metal arm? Why had he ended up half dead in a relatively new apartment in downtown Waco, Texas? Natasha and Sam were hunting down information, of course, but everything was sketchy, and Steve suspected the only source of the truth was lying on a hospital bed in the Avengers Compound medical wing, perhaps hours away from death.

What happened to you? Or maybe the real question was: Why didn't you come to me? I would have done anything to help you. Why didn't you call me for help?

In the end, Steve had come, but quite possibly too late.

*

Despite his best efforts, Steve dozed.

Jerked awake.

Talked for awhile, dredging up memories of their mothers laughing at Christmas time, or the Irish family that had lived across the street, or any one of those thousands and thousands of things that only he and Bucky knew about anymore.

Dozed again.

The clock ticked. He never looked for it, never glanced at the time on the top monitor. If this night lasted forever, he would be happy, as long as the next breath came, and the next, and the next.

He talked about Sam, about Nat, about their favourite foods and music and books, talked about the shows the twins liked to watch, and Rhodey's exploits in the kitchen.

Again he dozed.

He was startled to see the pattern on the blanket, surprised by the grey light suddenly sprung in the sky outside above the woods, and a robin's song warbling clear in the still air.

"Hey, Buck," he murmured, rubbing knuckles in his gritty eyes. "Hear that? It's morning. And you're still here."

Sound of rubber-soled shoes on smooth tile, heavy curtain drawn back, and Dr. Cho came quietly across to the monitors.

There were no trumpets, no crash of cymbals or burst of song, only quiet fingers tapping screens, and a warm voice saying, "Deterioration has halted. He plateaud about three hours ago. Levels have risen an average of point-four percent in the last half hour."

She smiled over at him, came to him as he tried to rise, and could not. How had he never noticed the way Helen Cho's smile could light up a room?

She patted his shoulder. "He'll live, Steve. We'll find out how permanent the damage is in the next few days, but he will live."

He nodded, tried to speak, but couldn't. The robin sang into the silence.

After she left, he cried. And then he stretched out on the floor, with a wadded up blanket for a pillow, and closed his eyes. Fell asleep to the sound of Bucky's breathing.

*

He was on the phone with Sharon, when Bucky woke for the first time.

Face still deathly thin and pale, ribs still straining against skin, but breathing deeper, more normal, and Steve could only promise Sharon that coffee 'sometime', could not tear himself away from his best friend's side.

He had Sharon on speakerphone, chuckling at her retelling of an old joke Nat had played on her in their SHIELD days, but his ears caught the change in Bucky's breathing, the faint guttural noises from behind the oxygen mask.

This time though, when he looked over, Bucky's eyes were open.

Squinting, filmy, grey-blue roving, searching, till Steve gasped out: "Bucky!"

Those eyes went wide then, snapping to his and on the screen, out of the corner of his eye, Steve knew there were jagged mountains beginning to race through that green line.

"Hey." He dropped his voice, slowed his lunge to a smooth careful lean. "Hey, Buck, it's just me, just Steve. I swear you're safe, I'm taking care of you, and I'm not going to let anyone hurt you. I swear. You're safe."

He reached under the blanket, found Bucky's hand, saw the eyes widen again as he gently squeezed it. Flesh and bone fingers in his, and they tightened suddenly around his, no stronger than a baby, but a burning sprang up behind Steve’s eyes, and he had to catch his breath.

"Buck, do you know me? Do you recognize me? It's Steve."

"Steve."

Harsh and whispery thin at the same time, muffled behind the oxygen mask, but it might as well have been a shout that echoed in Steve’s ear, reverberated through the chambers of his heart, lodged somewhere deep.

Steve had to work hard to keep the tremble in his stomach, and the ache in his chest, but his vision still blurred, and the tears were hot on his cheeks when he blinked.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm here and you're safe. I found you. You were in really bad shape, and it's been almost a week now, but I'm here, and you're safe. Do you trust me on that?"

He was desperate to avoid Bucky getting too agitated, thrashing or striking out. Not that he would do much damage, to anyone but himself, but that was precisely what Steve wanted to prevent.

He stared into Bucky's weary wild eyes, searching, waiting... and then the wildness bled away, and Bucky blinked slowly, lips forming a barely breathed, "Yes."

"Then you should rest," Steve whispered, choking back his tears, limbs gone all shaky, but he held onto Bucky's bony hand like a lifeline (gentle, oh so gentle though, he could too easily snap those thin fingers if he wasn't careful). "Go back to sleep. I've got this watch, Buck."

The hesitation was significantly shorter this time, the decision having really been made in answering the question of trust. Slowly his eyelids slid shut, and Steve felt the hand in his relax, just a hair.

Bucky's breathing dropped back into the deep rhythm of the past several days, and Steve dropped his head into his free hand.

Faint and tinny through the phone, he became aware of Sharon weeping too, her joy a little echo of his.

"He knows me!" Steve choked out. "He knows me!"

He knows me.

Starting from there, they could go anywhere.