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ribbonskiss · 23 days ago

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ANOTHER ROUND -> CS55

Part 1 of 3. Read Part 2 here.

Pairing: Carlos Sainz x reader

Summary: A spontaneous night out alone lands you in a new bar in town, owned by a man whose story seems to intersect with yours—not that you know it, yet.

Tags: strangers to lovers, meet cute, pretty fluffy, slow burn, multi-part fic

A/N: okay so I got REAAAALLY carried away with this one so it’ll probably have to be a two or three-parter 😭 in other news, happy new year everyone! I’m excited to be writing more things and sharing them with you all in 2025 ☺️ IF YOU SAW ME PUBLISH THE WRONG DRAFT NO YOU DID NOT

It is eight o'clock in the evening and you’re not ready to go home yet. It’s a beautiful Thursday night, the air is crisp, the city is bustling with people, and the streets are lit up by ornamented lampposts that line the sides of the roads. You stumble out of the restaurant with a satisfied stomach, your leather bag slung over your shoulder, but your legs don't want to take you to the metro. The idea of returning home now when the night is still so young fills you with dread instead of relief.

So you don't. It’s been a while since you’ve had time for a night out—or rather, a while since you’ve allowed yourself to have a night out—and since then, new things have popped up in the city. In the financial district, only a ten-minute walk from your work’s building is a newly renovated record bar that smells like tobacco and leather, now popular with the vest-wearing yuppies; almost directly across it, a respectable upscale quasi-pub where lower-level white collars sing karaoke together after a long week. Away from the business district and just to the side of the city’s centre is an area of distinct character: cosmopolitan but residential, filled with terraced houses and stylish small bars. It’s an area where young parents have to put their little ones to bed, so the little cocktail joints are designed for jovial chatting and conversation, not riotous boozing and bad decision-making. To you, this is the place to be. Naturally, you set off.

The walk is breezy and gentle on your heeled feet; you’re not quite wearing stilettos, but the heels are still dangerously fiddly. A blink of an eye later and you’re turning around the corner into the main street, one side littered with dazzling storefronts that have turned their lights out for the day and bars that have only just started their work hours. You furrow your eyebrows, halting to a stop as you lean up to squint at a sign you don’t recognise. El Matador. You look inside—dark green interiors, tasteful brown leather booth seating, sleek black stools at the bar if you dare approach the broad man in a dress shirt currently turned to the shelves of alcohol on the wall behind him. The place is tiny, cosy, bebop played at a low volume softly transitioning into Sade. The lights aren’t so dim, lamps hanging over the patrons’ heads so the light hits them like a halo. Everyone looks beautiful in here tonight—

—Least of all, the bartender. The moment you settle onto a stool, you regret being so unprepared for such a situation. It’s not that he’s audacious or brash; he’s nothing like a charging bull eager to sweep you off your feet. When he smiles modestly at you, it’s less on his lips than in his eyes, those soft doe eyes that twinkle in the dim lighting, even as his thick arms and messy hair suggest he’s no Bambi. He quickly folds a towel and throws it into a bucket before turning back to you.

“What can I get you?” he says. Thick accent; explains the tan.

Your eyes dart from side to side, looking for any spare menus on the bar counter. He shakes his head, chuckles softly to himself, and the sound of it makes you feel a heat start to pool in your stomach. “Sorry,” he says, seemingly genuinely apologetic. “No menu. Just tell me what you want, and I’ll tell you if I can’t do it.”

You let out an awkward sound that’s somewhere between a nervous chuckle and a sigh of relief. “I’ll just take a gin and tonic,” you say, and he nods briefly before wordlessly turning his back around again. “Good choice,” he says. “Testing the new guy with a classic, ah?”

“So you are new?” you ask timidly, embarrassed at how uncultured you sound. “Sorry—I just haven’t been out for so long, so many of these places seem new to me.”

He glances at you over his shoulder briefly before pouring the tonic over a spoon into the glass. You can’t tell what expression he has on his face, and it makes you chew on the inside of your cheek. “We just opened a week ago.”

“Change of location?”

“Change of occupation,” he smiles, garnishing your drink with an inspired choice of kumquat citrus before serving it to you. He’s rather mild-mannered, and strangely precise for someone new to the business, you think. He points around with his finger. “This is my baby now.”

Your eyes widen. “So you own the place. What were you doing before?”

He winces a bit, and it makes your stomach feel bad and weird when you notice it, hoping to have not offended him. “Finance,” is his succinct answer. “It’s high-pressure. Antagonistic. Then eventually, your conscience catches up to you.”

Ah. You smile bitterly. “I know that all too well.”

He seems to light up at your words, cocking his head a little to the side as he places his rough hands on the counter. “What do you do?”

“Definitely nothing on your level of ranking, if my assumptions are correct,” you say, and it earns you a chuckle from him. “But something similar. Nothing fun, nothing fulfilling, but the situation is stable.”

He nods. “But at some point, life has to be more than just stable, no?” he says, pushing your glass towards you again. “Drink. There’s no poison, I promise.”

You smile, pinching the straw towards your lips with your fingers. He watches you in anticipation. “It’s good,” you say with a satisfied nod.

His shoulders seem to loosen in relief, and it makes you chuckle to yourself. “You’re quite modest for a matador,” you comment.

“Ay, no,” he shakes his head with a smile. “I am not the matador. My father is El Matador.” His eyes drift above your head towards the photo framed on the wall behind you. “He wasn’t thrilled when I went into finance. He was right, it took a lot out of me, but I’m here now and it just made sense to name it after him.”

He lets out a sigh, takes a moment to think to himself before shaking his head. “But I won’t bore you with the details,” he says, hands still firmly on the counter.

It seems more like he doesn’t want to unload on you. And you won’t push him. “But you can make me another drink, yes?” you smile.

With a soft chuckle, he nods. “That I can do,” he says. “What’s your next choice?”

You return the week after on a Friday, after deciding it would be too miserable staying in after a whole day working from home. It’s less the dinner that you’re looking forward to and more so the painting of a bullfighter in red that adorns the wall at El Matador, and you finish up your pasta quickly to take a brisk walk towards the bar. To your surprise, it’s someone else manning the bar tonight, a man considerably more boyish and fresh-faced even with his scruffy facial hair.

You take a seat at the bar again. “Bonsoir,” he smiles, drying his hands off on a towel tucked into his back pocket. “What can I get you?”

You blink, looking around on the off chance the owner will somehow magically appear. The new bartender furrows his eyebrows. “Hello, good evening?” he quips, tilting his head as he looks at you with a puzzled expression. “Ah, I’ve lost her. I must be terrible with the ladies.”

Awkwardly, you laugh and start to explain yourself, but then he does magically appear—from behind the shelves. “We both know that’s not true, Charles,” the tanned man snickers, patting the new boy fondly on the shoulder. “But I’ll take this one, anyway.”

Then he settles in front of you. “Hey.”

“Hey,” you smile.

“You came back,” he says, and you nod affirmatively. “Next time, just ask for Carlos, the better barman—”

“—I heard that,” sneers the man you presume to be ‘Charles’ as he reaches for a liquor bottle on the shelf. It makes you giggle, watching them banter smoothly like this, seeing a side of Carlos that isn’t just quiet introspection.

“How��d you find another bartender on such short notice?” you ask, once the laughter dies down in your chest, leaving behind only a gentle smile.

“I didn’t,” Carlos shrugs, leaning over the counter now. “He just didn’t show up last Thursday—”

“Again, I hear everything you say, and again, that was a mishap in communication,” Charles snaps again from behind Carlos, his peculiar accent growing thicker as his tone turns playfully irritated. The older man simply waves away his words. Soon enough, they take turns narrating the story of how this place came to be (though each insists that his version is the more accurate one, you manage to piece together a more likely timeline from both of their contributions in your head). Charles was Carlos’ co-worker; they were always friends, but work was turning them into fierce rivals; and when Carlos dropped out of the rat race, Charles realised he no longer had his heart in it either. “Why not?” he says, telling the story like a true showman. “I’ve got more than enough in the bank, I’m set for life, and Carlitos bears the majority of the brunt if this falls through.”

“To be clear, he stands to lose a lot as well as an investor,” Carlos clarifies with a roll of his eyes.

“Eh, still,” his impish friend shrugs, with a mischievous smile that suggests an incredible case of the gift of the gab. “Carlos, do you plan on making the poor girl a drink or should I swoop on your customer?”

You end up staying until closing time. Thursdays are the new Fridays, and a spot in this part of town was never going to be bursting with people anyway, especially when it’s new, so Carlos and Charles manage to keep conversation with you just fine even as they’re working. As it turns out, you’re not the only one who’s a returning customer—especially when Charles, with his frisky demeanour and polished looks, has grown adept at attracting a certain kind of clientele. You can see why that is, absolutely, but Carlos catches you off-guard often; you find out that he’s bitingly funny, often going quiet for a few minutes just to slide in with a quip that makes you heave with laughter. He’s lowkey about it, eager to fade into the background as his colleague plays the role of the raconteur, but you notice every little joke he makes, his blink-and-you’ll-miss-it digs at Charles and all of his little expressions when something unexpected happens. Carlos knows that you notice them, too. He’s glad that you do.

Soon enough Charles bids you both goodbye, rambling on about how his girlfriend Alex is waiting for him at home and how she rags on him for having forgotten to bring home a jug of milk three nights in a row. Carlos shoos him away with a smile, wishes him a goodnight’s sleep and sends him off with a pat on the shoulder. And then it’s just you and him, together, alone. He’s turning the lights out one by one, running a hand through his hair as he lets out a long, deep breath, almost as if he’s sad to go home.

“Are you sure you don’t want my help?” you ask.

“No, no,” he shakes his head. “Absolutely not. You’re a customer. But I suggest you pick up your things now, before it gets too dark.”

You nod, flinging your bag back over your shoulder and picking up your coat. You walk out the door, watching as he flicks the last of the light switches and locks the front door. His keychain jangles; you notice he’s got a charm on it in the shape of a chilli pepper and bite back a smile.

“I hope this isn’t weird.”

He smiles at you, his hand turning the key to finish off the final lock. “It’s not. I’m glad you stayed,” Carlos says. “I’m glad you came back.”

Your stomach is doing that weird thing it always does whenever you make eye contact with him now, but you choose not to read into it. He puts his keys back on the carabiner on his belt loop, shoves his hands into his pockets. “Do you live near?”

“Kinda, yeah,” you answer. “I’m a 20-minute walk away.”

He looks down at your feet. “…Not in those heels, no,” he shakes his head, motioning at you to come with him. “Come. I’m driving you.”

Hesitantly, you walk with him towards a carpark nearby, where a sleek silver Mercedes SUV sits idly. “Jesus,” you chuckle in surprise. “You really were a rank above me.”

“A rank or two,” Carlos shyly admits, reluctant to make a show out of it. He’s walking towards the passenger’s side now to open the door. “Get in, come on. You must be tired.”

He’s right, but you say nothing, thanking him as you slip into the seat. You wonder if you said it too quietly. You wonder if he thinks you’re ungrateful. When he makes it over to the driver’s seat, he tells you to punch your address into the GPS and promises not to break into your home. You laugh and it makes it hard to type the words in fast.

The car sets off and you lean against the leather, eyes shutting for just a moment. Carlos allows himself a split second to glance over at you. “You’re very observant,” he says.

Your eyes shoot open at the sound of his voice. “How do you mean?”

“I mean, you’re a good listener, at least,” he continues, eyes on the road now as his GPS’s voice chirps, telling him which way to turn. “I’ve never made anyone laugh as much as you.”

You turn your head. Even in the darkness of the car, the street lights passing by illuminate his tan skin, sparkling brightest in his eyes. “But you’re very funny, no?”

The words seem to resonate with him, the corners of his mouth twitching for just a second, as if he’s trying his best to not smile. He has very seldom thought of himself that way; in the presence of friends like Charles, or god forbid, Daniel, it is easy for him to fall under the perception that he is a charmless man. He’s never complained or allowed himself an inch of self-pity anyway, but this is nice. This feeling is nice. “I could be,” Carlos says, perhaps pausing a little too long. “I don’t get that one very often.”

You arrive at your apartment block too soon. The car halts gently to a stop; he’s a very smooth and skilful driver, just as smooth and skilful as he is with bartending. You wonder how one man could be so careful with everything as he is—especially a man who had only just left such an aggressive occupation. “Well, this is me,” you say, and he leans over you to look out the window, sizing up your building.

Picking up your things, you try to open the door yourself, but he beats you to it, hand stretching out to tug at the handle. You bow your head down a little in gratitude (what, oh God, who does that, this is so embarrassing) and bid him goodbye, walking towards the front entrance. He watches as you struggle to open the glass door, always underestimating how heavy it is. Carlos chuckles to himself. You don’t hear his engine rev again until you’ve disappeared into the elevator shaft.

Questions? Thoughts? Feedback? Ideas for the next part? Feel free to leave anything you want (except hate mail) in my askbox. All my love <3

#carlos sainz x you #carlos sainz imagine #carlos sainz x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 x you #f1 x reader #f1 imagine

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phantomspiderr · 2 years ago

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Always

Pairing: Marc Spector x gn!reader

Word Count: 1.3k

Warnings/tags: fluff, fluff, fluff, look i think Marc would be into Formula 1, is that just because I love F1... maybe?, sleepy!reader, soft!Marc🥰

a/n: 😬… I’m backkkkkkkk. Not that I think anyone noticed I was gone but I started anxiety meds and they've taken some getting used to. But I opened up my drafts the other day and found this and finished it, so essentially I started making it, had a breakdown... bon appetite?

(not my gif)

The other side of the bed’s cold, your hand swipes across the empty space in search of the warmth that is normally there. Your sleep-addled mind pauses to think—had your boyfriend even come to bed? What time was it? Is that noise in your head? Slowly, you pull yourself up from the warm cocoon of the duvet and your hands rub at your face in an attempt to erase the sleep that still clings to you. Blinking a few times you try to adjust your eyes to being open again as your hands fall into your lap. You can just make out some light in between the gaps in the bookshelf that separates the bed from the rest of the room. Your tired eyes look to his side of the bed again, still empty and the alarm clock shines the time a little too brightly, 6:22am. Reluctantly you move your stiff legs, pushing the warm duvet off of them and whining a little as the cold air in the flat hits them. You pull yourself out of the bed, immediately grabbing the blanket from the end of the mattress to wrap around yourself. The noise you’d heard becomes clearer now, it sounds like someone talking but it’s fast and all mushes together in your head. You take steps toward it, rounding the bookshelf to find exactly what you were missing.

“Hey,” Marc’s voice comes out in a whisper and he sits up the second his eyes clock you, his hand reaching for the tv remote immediately. The volume goes down with each push of the button, “I’m sorry, did I wake you?” You keep taking slow steps towards him, passing in front of the tv and going around the coffee table until you reach the couch.

“Are you okay?” You completely disregard his question in favour of asking your own as you sit next to him, he nods whispering out a yeah and so you move your body to lay down, placing your head in his lap.

“I woke up and couldn’t get back to sleep,” you look up at him as he speaks. One of his hands comes to rest on top of your head, “plus there’s a race on.” He looks back to the tv and you follow his gaze, twisting until you lie completely on your side.

“What’s a red flag?” Your head turns so you can look at him again briefly, a little smile graces his face and then you go back to staring at the screen, trying to understand why in the middle of a race none of the cars are moving.

“One of the drivers went into the barrier and they have to stop the race to clean it up before they continue. It just means it’s not safe for anyone to be on the track,” Marc explains it so gently, no annoyance or condescension crosses his tone for your lack of knowing.

“Are they okay?” There’s a slight hint of worry and you almost sound like a scared child.

“Yeah sweetheart, look, that's Albon there.” He points towards the screen and you watch as it briefly shows a young-looking guy speaking with someone else, “it was his car that hit the barrier but he got out of it straight away.”

For a minute it’s quiet, you both just watch the screen as it shows different people. Marc had turned the volume up a bit and you could make out what the commentators were saying now they’d slowed down their talking. Without any prompting, Marc starts to quietly tell you who everyone is every time the picture changes to someone new. He shares little pieces of knowledge with every name and you find listening to him soothing. You knew he sometimes watched these races but you’d never really taken the time to sit down and watch one with him. You’re starting to regret never doing it before, you’d been missing out on this beautiful opportunity to get to know his interests better.

Ultimately, though that tiredness still clings to your mind and the way his voice is quietly lulling you makes you think of the times when Steven reads you to sleep. Just as the race starts up again, your eyes begin to feel heavy, the blinks start getting slower and longer. You’re unsure if Marc’s noticed because he keeps calmly explaining what’s happening as it happens. His fingers had absentmindedly started rubbing circles into your scalp which was not helping the way you were quickly slipping back into your sleeping state. The tv eventually disappears, and your eyes are finally sealed shut again but some conscious part of your brain can still make out the race commentary in the background alongside Marc’s soothing voice.

The next thing you know it’s daylight, the sun shines brightly through the uncovered windows. It hurts your eyes when they open and instinctively you turn your body away from it, glad when you’re met with darkness. You comfortably bury your face into the warmth of Marc’s stomach while trying your best to stretch your stiff limbs without really putting much effort into it. You take in a deep breath before just relaxing for a moment. Your mind slowly wakes as you lay there, coherent thoughts begin to form and you start to feel more awake with each passing second. You could’ve sworn you’d only been asleep for a few minutes. The tv is still making quiet noise in the background and you can feel Marc taking slow deep breaths.

Once your brain has managed to come back to some semblance of consciousness, you slowly pull yourself to sit up on the couch. The sight you’re met with makes your heart melt it doesn’t matter how many times you wake up next to him, each time feels like the first. He looks so peaceful, his head propped on his fist that leans on the arm of the couch. Eyes closed, hair sticking around every which way and lips slightly parted. You admire him for a minute before you think about how much his neck is going to hurt after sleeping in this position. As slowly as you can you twist yourself around again and stand, taking a second for your brain to catch up with your body’s movements. Then gently you tuck your hands under his knees, pulling on the deadweight and turning them to rest on the couch. All the movement rouses Marc from his sleep, the top half of his body reluctantly following the bottom with a grumble.

“It’s okay, go back to sleep.” Quietly you shush him as he continues to wiggle around until he’s settled down on the couch where you were just laying. The crease in his eyebrow slowly relaxes as your fingers comb through his hair, you’re crouched next to him trying to push him back into his little slumber. A long sigh comes from deep within his chest and you just know he’s back in dreamland. With a gentle kiss to his temple, you stand again, grabbing the blanket that had fallen to the floor at some point and draping it over his body. Satisfied with how much more comfortable he looks now you go to pull yourself away to shower and maybe start on breakfast—or maybe brunch at this point, but a hand grazes your leg.

“Stay,” the mumble of a plea falls past his lips as his hand blindly searches for yours. Without a second thought, you give in, encouraging him to lift his head so you can slip back onto the couch. Thoughts of how good a shower would be right now or of what to cook to rid the rumble in your stomach disappear completely. Now you sit with Marc’s head in your lap, mirroring the exact position you’d both been in just moments prior. You take a long moment to just watch him, the way he nuzzles his head into your thighs and how relaxed he looks for a change. Then you’re thinking about how happy he makes you. How lucky you feel to be a part of this moment and how you only ever want to be right here with him, always.

#moon knight x reader #moon knight fanfic #moon knight fanfiction #moon knight #marc spector x reader #marc spector x you #marc spector fluff #marc spector fanfic #marc spector fanfiction #marc spector x fem!reader #marc spector fic #marc spector #moon knight x you #moon knight fluff #marvel fanfiction #marvel fic #marvel fanfic #moonknight #moon knight system

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zorlok-if · 4 days ago

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One more sneak peek today because you all deserve it (and I have a busy week at work coming up lol so I probably won't be able to post much).

This leads to a page with 35 possible thoughts of cool things that randomize each time you load it and rotate through as you select them, you get to pick six:

If you selected "Mary and Terry get what's coming for them":

Image 1:

"Imagine what it means to be cool and I can look inside your mind again."

There's a flash of panic, a flush of adrenaline. "No!" Tommy cries.

"Why not?"

"Why not?!" His voice cracks. "Because I don't want to go through that again!" Tommy gestures emphatically at his chest. "I don't want to be hurt."

"I understand that, but as long as you let me in, it won't hurt. You won't feel anything at all." Tommy's eyebrows raise. "Look," the demon exhales heavily. "What you experienced only happened because you rejected my presence."

"But, even if what you're saying is true, how am I supposed to not do that? I don't know how to just let people enter my brain."

"Fortunately, it's rather simple. Imagine yourself opening up your mind and welcoming someone in. That's all it takes. I promise, Tommy." Its tone shifts and its volume drops to a near whisper. "Open your mind to me and you won't get hurt. You have my word."

Tommy's instincts beg him to say no but, for whatever reason, he trusts this being. "Okay." With a deep breath, he forces his muscles to relax, to drop the knotted tension they've been carrying since he first entered this house.

Just picture a door. The front door of his house immediately pops into his head. Tommy reaches out, swings it open, and steps to the side. It feels oddly cold. Like he's let in a draft. "I'm ready."

"Great." Suddenly he feels like he's being watched. If Tommy wasn't paying attention to it—expecting its arrival—there's no way he'd notice the alien presence. The demon speaks directly into his mind. "Now think of what it means to be cool."

Image 2:

Hmm... what is cool?

Mary and Terry getting what's coming to them

Leaving a conversation by putting on a pair of sunglasses

The feeling of finally beating a really hard video game level

Levi's keyblade collection

Guys who wear eyeliner

Image 3:

The presence vanishes from Tommy's mind. His eyes flutter open, blinking rapidly as his vision readjusts to the intense light from the portal.

"Interesting." The demon leans back. "Who are Mary and Terry?" It asks. "You had very strong feelings around those two."

Tommy winces. He feels a book hitting the back of his head. Hears jeers echoing down the long linoleum corridors. Sees Jin make guilty eye contact, then jog off to catch up with Mary. "They're a couple of... jerks." Tommy spits out. "Really awful people."

"Hmm." The demon growls, but it sounds almost delighted. "You want them to get what's coming for them. That's what you thought."

"Yeah." Tommy admits.

"Am I what's coming for them?" There's hunger in the demon's voice. So much so that it sends shivers racing down Tommy's spine.

He hesitates. What does he want? He wants them to pay—they have to pay. But what would that look like? Does he just want them to apologize? ...or does he want them to suffer?

"Maybe you are," Tommy whispers without thinking. "Er, I—I don't know! I'm not sure." That's too big a question for tonight.

#full text under the cut!#sneak peek #tommy #mary and terry #the demon

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mumms-the-word · 10 months ago

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guys

GUYS

you’ll never believe what nonsense I came across while I was brainrot doomscrolling through all the books and notes on the BG3 wiki trying to find stuff I might have missed in act 2

druid self-insert romantic fanfiction about the first battle against Moonrise and Ketheric

fanfic that Halsin read and criticized!!

Okay if you played early access you shouldn’t be surprised because these books existed in EA. I’ve tried to find them in my game post patch 6 but all I can find is volume 3, which is disappointing because I was hoping to find volume 4

But as a treat, if you’re like me and completely didn’t know about this, buckle up and please enjoy the self-insert adventures of a certain “Roa” who totally isn’t Roan Featherway, a druid of Silvanus and colleague(??) of Halsin himself

———

Book Draft - Volume I

The name on the inside of this faded journal suggests it belonged to a 'Roan Featherway', a druid of Silvanus.

[Neatly written chapters fill this journal. A list of what appears to be book publishers in Baldur's Gate are on the first page. The cover has a multitude of titles, all crossed out: 'The Unforeseen Alliance, volume 1', 'Druids and Harpers, a fight for good!', 'The Shadowed Evil: who dares to stand against it?'] Our hero, the [brave? mighty?] druid Roa arrives in the grove. When he received the summons from the Emerald Enclave, he knew something was afoot. Filled with druids and rangers alike, members of the Enclave are scattered across the realm. They fight to preserve the natural order, keep the elemental forces of the world in check, and do battle with those who would upset this delicate balance. They are fierce warriors, though none as fierce as Roa. Built like [an ox? A bear?], he stands head and shoulders above the crowd. The grove is buzzing with activity. Roa spots a beautiful woman with ebony hair flowing past her shoulders, her eyes as blue as a [summer's day? bluebird?]. His smile turns to a frown as he notices the crescent moon and harp pinned to her chest. By Silvanus, what was a Harper doing here?

———

Book Draft - Volume II

Formed from several journals, paper scraps and, in one case, the back of an envelope, this book has been carefully glued together to form the second in a series of romance novels.

[This seems to be the second volume in a series written by an amateur novelist. The title on the cover, 'Love in Shadowed Lands', is crossed out.] The ebony-haired woman notices Roa's gaze and crosses the grove, [winking? smiling?] as she stands by the druid's side. 'I don't usually wear it out in the open,' she says, tapping the brooch on her cloak, a crescent moon and harp pinned to her chest. 'Except for special occasions.' 'What's a Harper doing in a grove of Silvanus?' Roa asks. 'Not just one.' She gestures to a group by the sacred pool. 'We're generally more cloak and dagger,' she continues, 'thwarting tyrants and [guarding? protecting?] the realm is best done in secret. But you lot have a fight on your hands. We're here to help.' 'Since when do the Emerald Enclave need a bunch of Harpers?' Roa says. 'You haven't heard?' She laughs, her laugh tinkling like a bell. 'Strap in, sweetie. We're about to take on Dark Justiciars, their demented leader Ketheric Thorm and, if we're very lucky, Shar herself.'

———

Book Draft - Volume III

The third book in a series of romance novels, this once beautifully bound book has had pages ripped out, glued back in and even tied to the book's spine using a piece of twine.

['Volume Three' is written in bold on the front. The title 'The Cost of Sorrow' is followed by a number of question marks.] 'But why?' Roa screams, the beast within barely contained. 'Why follow Shar? Why destroy Moonhaven?' Ketheric stares down [haughtily? cruelly?] at Roa as he steps over the bodies of Harpers and druids alike. 'Shar knows all.' He smiles [maliciously?]. 'She gave me a holy mission. I'm merely fulfilling it.' 'The people of Moonhaven trusted you!' Roa cries, his anger rising. 'How could you turn your Dark Justiciars on them?' Ketheric smiles, 'They needed the target practice. Can't have Shar's elite getting rusty, now can we? As for you...' a crescent blade appears in his [cruel?] hands. 'You are but one lone druid, Roa. Who are you to stand against me?' Roa forces himself to his feet, Silvanus' fury coursing through him. 'I'm your downfall. Today you die, Ketheric!'

———

And for the pièce de résistance 😮‍💨🤌

Book Draft - Volume IV

The fourth volume and final novel, this book has had almost every single page ripped out, except for the last twenty or so pages.

['Shadow's Kiss' is written in bold on the front. Pages of crossed out lines have notes in the margin reading 'finale!', 'more exciting!'. The final entry reads:] 'Get out of here.' Roa whispers, clutching his side. Blood pours from his fingers, a final gift from Ketheric's blade. 'I'm not leaving you,' Selene sobs, blue eyes filling with tears. Roa cups her face. 'I won't make it out in time. But you can.' Selene presses her forehead against his. Her ebony hair falls forward, forming a curtain that envelops them both. Roa closes his eyes, a smile lifting his lips as her scent, wild roses, washes over him. 'That grappling hook. You still have it?' He asks. 'Of course. Why do you -' With the last of his strength, Roa pushes her from the balcony. He watches her fall, watches her pull the hook from her pack and expertly throw it, swinging gracefully to the ground. A mighty crack splits the floor beneath him as the tower crumbles. He smiles contentedly. Selene was safe. That's all that mattered. Epilogue: 'Selfish bastard.' Selene says, kicking the base of the grave. Balsin places a comforting hand on her shoulder. 'He was the greatest of us all,' Balsin says, a towering behemoth of a druid, although not as tall as Roa. 'We will forever honour him, for he single-handedly broke Shar's hold on the land, and helped -' [A different hand appears beneath the final entry.] Roan, you had one job. This is not a historical record of what occurred, it is poorly written romance with no basis in fact. And if I ever see the name 'Balsin' again, I will personally feed you to Ormn.

Halsin you’re such a critic

we were robbed

#bg3 #baldur’s gate 3 #bg3 discourse #bg3 screenshots #bg3 lore #bg3 fanfic #I mean that last tag is technically true #also I’m sure Halsin was very upset with roan but like #still funny #halsin #halsin silverbough

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wafflepatterns · 4 months ago

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New sewing pattern <Kikyo> 3-in-1 Jacket

A new item is just released from Waffle Patterns. Meet the 3-in-1 Jacket <Kikyo> sewing pattern. This is a set of 3 items; an outdoor style jacket + zip-in/zip-out removable hood + zip-in/zip-out removable liner. Convenient and fun utility item for your trip, outdoor activity or daily use for all seasons!

You can make only an unlined utility jacket or a full set of items.

-Jacket The jacket is unlined with a zipper+button opening. There are a lot of functional pockets. Please mix and combine the pocket designs as your usage.

The waist pockets have 2 kinds of hand-warmer layer designs. One is easy to sew patch type, and one is a welt type. The chest pocket designs are 2 types, too; flap+patch or zipper type.

My personal favourite is the zipper pocket on the chest and the sleeve pocket. I find they are very handy. I always put important things here like keyholders.

There are other functional details like a back belt, sleeve pleats, or shoulder tabs. You can skip some details.

The fit is loose-regular for room of the removable liner.

-Removable Liner The liner is zip-in / zip-out type. You can attach it to the shell at the front facing with zippers supported by small buttons and elastic loops.

It has a pocket and you can use as an inside pocket.

Of course, you can skip the liner. But it is very fun to add! And pretty easy to sew compared to the shell.

Btw, it is not really impossible to wear this liner as a jacket, especially if you make both inside and out clean. But the front area of the fitting goes off, so I do not recommend it officially.

-Removable Hood The zip-in / zip-out removable hood is lined and has a front button opening. You can attach it to the shell at the neckline on the collar by a zipper. The zipper is attached to the inside of the hood, so the hood layer comes outside of the garment. I found it is functional because when it rains, the rainwater should not sit between the layer of the Collar and hood. It has a string, but you can skip this.

Please make your creative style by mixing your favourite details!

<Shell> The pattern is drafted for woven fabrics. Light to medium weight durable but not too stiff woven jacket fabrics are recommended. like denim, gabardine, twill, canvas, etc.

Please consider the fabric with some body because it has to support the removable liner.

If your fabric is very thick/stiff, please consider using other lighter fabrics partly to avoid the thick layers, like pocket flaps or layered pocket parts.

Please choose a suitable one for your design intention and how you want to wear it. I strongly recommend checking with actual samples.

<Lining for shell> The hood and the pocket bags use lining fabric. Normal lining fabrics like plain cotton or acetate will work, but functional ones like quilted or faux fur will be fun, too.

<Removable liner> The liner constructed from; -Lining fabric(outside) -Thermal lining fabric (inside when you wear)

-Lining fabric(outside) Light weight lining fabric with a smooth texture will work like plain cotton or acetate etc.

-Thermal lining fabric (inside when you wear) Consider fabric like thin quilt, light weight fleece, flannel, or light faux fur, etc.

I recommend avoiding too heavy fabrics which cannot be supported by the shell. I made one with boiled wool. It is very warm but a bit heavy. A thick quilt may be too much volume. If you want to go with a volumy liner, maybe going 1-2 size up is a better idea.

For flannel and fleece versions, I used slippery fabric for the sleeve parts of the inside liner for comfort, but maybe no need to do that depending on your intention. If you use thick or fluffy fabric and worry about comfort about this part, please remember slippery fabrics are a safer choice.

<Sample fabrics in the photos> Here is a fabric list I used for the samples. I could not get all the shops which I bought from because some are too old or from wholesalers.

- Brick orange x plaid Shell ; cotton mixed twill Liner (thermal inside) ; wool mixed flannel Liner (outside) ; plain cotton lining

- Yellow sample Shell ; light weight water repellent outdoor fabric (from kniphal.nl) I think it is not for garments originally, but not very thick so it still worked. Liner (thermal inside) ; thin pre-quilted (thin insulation like under 80g backed with satin) Liner (outside) ; plain cotton lining

- khaki sample Shell ; cotton mixed twill (from nnstoffen.nl) Liner (thermal inside) ; light fleece (from nnstoffen.nl) Liner (outside) ; plain cotton lining

The fabric choice all depends on your design intention and how you want to wear it. I strongly recommend checking with actual samples as much as possible. Also researching store bought jackets will help your ideas.

<Size>

The fitting is loose-regular. I made just size for the yellow and khaki, but the orange one is one size smaller because the liner is thinner. I strongly recommend making a muslin for perfect fit. Some of my testers made 1 size larger with a mid-weight liner. If you use very fluffy volumy liner or want to wear thick sweater underneath, maybe considering 1-2 size larger is a good idea.

-Zipper for attaching the liner I used general width (about 28mm) plastic teeth zippers. Because 2 zipper tapes come on the R-side facing(see the 1st photo), wide type zippers are not suitable.

-Zipper for attaching the hood This part is curved, so should be flexible. I used plastic teeth type and have no problem. Maybe some coil types are more flexible. But, I avoided coil type because I broke them often for some reason (maybe only me?)

Also, this jacket comes with many zipper tapes, I prefer plastic type because of the light weight.

-Other I attached the tabs on the pocket flaps. Those are pieces of folded twill tape(keperband).

<Other>

-Because the jacket is unlined, I finished the most seams with flat fell seam. If you do this, maybe it is better to add extra 2-3mm to the seam allowance. Some parts are not suitable for flat fell finish like bulky parts or armholes. I used bias tapes for armholes, and serger for bulky parts(like front yoke with flap).

-If you do not like visible zipper tapes, you can add twill tape or folded strips of shell fabric over the zipper tape.

-Some store bought jackets with a zip-on hood use a placket over the zipper. I think it is suitable if your fabric is thin. (I tried one and find too bulky)

********************* The sewing pattern includes 18 pages of instructions and all the sewing processes are described with detailed illustrations. The pattern files are available for both home printers (A4 or US letter) and copyshop(A0 format).

You can check other photos of this model on my Flickr page.

The 3-in-1 Jacket -Kikyo- (size 32 - 54) PDF sewing pattern is available here. Also in the Etsy shop.

Special discount price until 14th Oct. 2024 (CEST) with other popular patterns. No discount code is needed! The sale page is here.

***** Special offer for Paper pattern and free shipping Paper pattern + PDF option is available limited time. *The paper includes only the pattern, please print out the instruction by yourself or read it with your tablet or PC. The PDF + Paper listing page is here.

Enjoy your sewing!

(Japanese post here 日本語ポストはこちら).

**********************

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#sewing #sewing patterns #wafflepatterns #diy fashion #sewing pattern #other tip #jacket #outdoor jacket

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safination · 10 months ago

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Partners in Death...And Life

Part 5: Glimpse of Me and You: Part i

|Part 4: The Radio Stars' Co-Host Just Wants To Do The Dishes| |Part 5: Gimpse of me and you: Part ii| |Masterlist| Ao3| Taglist| Pairings: Alastor x wife! Reader Tags: fem!reader, established relationships, Asexual! Alastor, Reader is in hell for a reason Warning: Blood and dead bodies <3| A little bit suggestive Series summary: After a seven-year absence, you find the man you were married to in life, not only back in town, but also helping...*checks notes*... the Princess of Hell run a hotel aimed at rehabilitating sinners who were sent to the bad place for a reason. Now, I know what you must be thinking. Part 1? Yeah…this chapter is supposed to actually be much longer, but the second part of the fic isn’t complete yet and I have like two more exams. And biochemistry isn’t something to laugh about. I am slowly losing my mind. I close my eyes and I see aldehydes and hemiketals. Anyway, part two of this will be posted in like two or three days. It’s already drafted, just need to edit it. So here’s a bite size chapter. It contains marriage years 1930 and 1931. 1932 isn't complete yet, sadly. It was quite long, so part 2 will just be 1932.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

1930

That blasted car is too far.

With each step, the tip of your heels scrape the pavement. Shoe maintenance tells you that dragging the rubber tip shortens its lifespan, but your toes pinch when you lift your shoe.

Alastor takes long strides, walking with the pace of a man with his ass on fire. Pick a struggle. One either walks fast but takes short strides, or walks slow but takes long strides. It’s unethical to have both.

Streetlamps illuminate the sidewalk. The dried leaves scattered around catch on your shoe, and the city’s smog particles stick on your skin.

The city sucks ass.

Alastor will have to drag you by the hair to force you to take another step on this cockroach infested streets. One taste of that fresh air surrounding your shared home, and suddenly, you’ve gone soft. Gone are the days where second-hand smoke reminded you of home. Now, home is the radio’s volume turned up in ungodly hours.

Alastor tightens his arm around yours, pulling you closer to him.

He’s wearing his favorite bowtie tonight. Everything from the shine of his shoes to the way he combed his hair screams fancy . . . except for that bowtie.

It’s not something meant for exquisite dinners with your wife.

You didn’t understand his instance. It was something you picked up on your way home one day, a measly scrap of fabric you purchased back when you didn’t know what good quality bow ties were. Alastor should know of its poor quality, yet he calls it his favorite.

Alastor lowers closer to your ear. “Is this your way of telling me you wish to visit the city’s zoo?”

“Zoo . . . ?” you echo. These shoes are going straight in the garbage bin once you get home. “Why would I want to go there?”

Alastor presses a kiss on your cheek. “I thought you were doing a penguin impression. It's a rather fabulous one, might I add.”

“Ha . . . Ha . . . Ha. It’s because I’m walking like a penguin. Not your best one, dearest,” you say, patting his biceps. They’re firmer than they look. “That’s a little bit on the nose. Is it an off night for you?”

“Your feet are hurting,” Alastor tells you like you don’t feel the way your toes slowly lose blood circulation. “I wonder . . . . Will you deny it? Or are you willing to humble yourself before me, and ask for a seat? There’s still a few more blocks until we reach the car.”

Now, there’s absolutely no way you are going to tell Alastor how your feet pinch and your ankle wobble.

With a bright smile, and sheer acting, you continue walking. “Did you do this on purpose?”

Alastor raises his eyebrows. “You were the one who insisted on accompanying me.”

“Well, my feet feel perfectly normal,” you say as your toes buzz. “This is nothing. You should see how long I’m on my feet during work.”

“Yes, because that is a perfectly acceptable thing to happen in workplaces, dearest.” Alastor tightens his arm once more. His thumb brushes up and down your arm. “I would say it pains me to say this, but we both know that would be a lie. I told you so.”

“You did not, actually,” you say, shaking your foot to dislodge the leaves sticking to the bottom of your shoe. “You barely took one glance and said, ‘ Those look lovely, dear! ’.”

Alastor pauses his steps, and turns to you with a smile. The night does little to dull how bright his brown eyes shine like stardust to you.

He reaches out towards you, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. He tugs on your ear, and you slap his hand away.

Alastor massages his hand. “That hurt, you know,” he says. “But I meant about waiting. You should still be enjoying your drink.”

“And leaves my dearest, darling husband out here? Alone?” you snort, pulling him to continue walking. “I think I remember someone telling me that thieves don’t dissolve in the sun. Imagine them in the dark!”

“And what would be your plan if we both get robbed?”

You show Alastor your biggest smile. “It’s a good thing I have such a big and scary husband to protect me . . . You . . . You would protect me, right?”

Alastor’s laughter rings across the air. It’s breathy and light and absolutely everything to you.

Alastor grabs your hand and intertwine his fingers around yours. He leads you further into the streets. Soon, smooth pavements replace the pot holes. Leaves replace the scattered beer cans. Grass replace the asphalt roads. Treen replace the buildings. Alastor pulls you deeper into some tiny park where the streetlamps are brighter, and the air smells closer to home.

You follow him, squeezing his hand.

Alastor squeezes back.

At the corner of this park, a children’s playground stands.

The dark does little to dull the bright colors of the seesaw and monkey bars. In the middle, a pirate-shim themed deck connects to a slide. The swing sways lazily with the nudge of the night’s breeze. There’s not a single living soul except for you and him. It’s eerie to see such a place empty when it should be filled to the brim with the life of children’s laughter.

Alastor’s strides become longer, and his pace even faster as he pulls you closer to the playground’s swing.

He releases his grip, and suddenly, your hand belongs to you once more. Alastor brushes the sand off the swing, and offers you a seat with a bow and outstretched arms.

You take the seat. The pressure lifts from your buzzing toes. It’s almost heavenly.

Alastor slides his coat off his shoulders. With soft giggles and a stupid smile, you watch him pull his arm out. Sleeve garters are worn for practical uses, but as a fashion piece . . . .Hmmm, it’s a great look on him. It’s a shame Alastor often hides how those garters compliment his biceps with a coat. How long would it take to hide every single coat he owns?

Alastor slides his eyes to you. It lingers. “Stop that.”

You offer him your most innocent smile as a reply.

Alastor inches close enough for you to inhale his scent. He drapes his coat over your shoulders, pulling on the lapels to secure it around your shoulders.

You press your lips on the corner of his mouth. “Thank you.”

Alastor kneels on the ground. He pulls your ankle towards him, sliding off your heel. “That’s all you’re going to say?”

You kiss his cheek. “Was there something else I needed to say?” you ask. “That seemed like a proper response.”

He glides his thumb over the reddened parts of your skin, massaging your foot. “Exactly . . . .It was a proper response,” he tells you. “Aren’t you going to question me? Demand to know if I’m going to kill you?”

“I think what you’re doing is rather obvious.”

Alastor stores your shoes to the side, and leaves your feet hanging out in the air. He circles behind you, hovering close enough to feel his presence, even with the coat. He wraps his hands around the metal chain connected to the swing, and sways you back and forth. “Did you enjoy the restaurant? A co-worker recommended it to me.”

“And in the off chance I don’t, will I be seeing that co-worker lying in the middle of our basement?”

Alastor smiles at you. “That depends,” he says. “Did you enjoy yourself?”

You tilt your head backwards to catch his eyes. “Is this a trick question? Am I supposed to say that nothing can compare to your cooking, or something along those lines?”

Alastor shakes the chains, jerking the swing. “You’re supposed to give me an actual answer,” he says, rolling his eyes. “We can come back if you liked it.”

You lean on Alastor’s leg, using it as a backrest. “Every meal is enjoyable when I am in your company, my love” you say. “But that crab was something else. It looked expensive . . . We’re, uh, not suddenly going to become poor, right?”

Alastor stares at you. “I’m going to push you off.”

You wrap your hands around Alastor’s, keeping his hold around the chains firm. “What did I do this time?”

Alastor sighs, and swings you gently. “I can afford nice dinners with you.”

“Just me?”

“Only you.”

Alastor pulls you to your feet. Sand pools around your toes. You pull his coat closer around your shoulders as he drags you closer to the pirate-ship themed deck. He releases his hold on your hand, and your fingers brush against each other.

He walks to the platform. The entrance was made for children, so Alastor has to crawl and duck underneath to access the slide.

You fiddle with the lapels of his coat. “What are you doing?”

Alastor glances back at you, smiling as he crawls underneath the entrance. His ass sticks out when he does. “What does it look like I’m doing?”

“If your ass gets stuck,” you begin, crossing your arms, “I’m going to leave you here.”

Alastor rolls his eyes, shimmying further into the entrance. “How lucky then that it’s, apparently, horrendously flat,” he says. “There’s nothing there to get stuck.”

“There’s nothing horrendous about it,” you say with a smile. “I see you’re wearing the pants I like.”

Alastor snorts. “Oh, shut up.”

“Not a chance.” Your smile twists brighter.

Alastor grabs the railing, and pulls himself up. His biceps contract when he does. Sleeve garters and railing are for practical uses, but the only thing echoing through your mind were impractical uses right now. Impractical but exciting . . . .You need to get it together.

“ . . . Flirting,” Alastor says, pulling your mind from wherever it wandered off to. “Really?”

“That was hardly flirting, dearest.”

Alastor ducks into the slide. His ass lands on the sand, and he curses into the air. You cough to stifle a laugh.

He hops to his feet, brushing the sand off his pants. His lips twist and his eyebrows furrow as he cringes in pain. “This is a hazard,” he says, glaring at the slide. He turns to you and smiles. “You should try it.”

“How brave of you to risk a shattered tailbone for me,” you say. “But I’m not sliding down that thing when you just called it a hazard.”

“You are an incredibly boring person,” he tells you. “Is it not a fad nowadays to be loose and goofy against these depressing times of economic downfall?”

Your raise your eyebrow.” You want me to crawl up there and slide down in this outfit?”

Alastor leans on the side of the slide. “I don’t see any good reason not to.”

“If you wish to ogle my undergarments, there’s no need to concoct such a scheme,” you say, smiling at him. “You merely need to ask.”

Alastor’s lips twist. “I’m not—”

“Oh, calm down, I’m just pulling your leg,” you say, snorting. “You would need to think of someone besides yourself to do such a thing. So, there’s no need to get your perfect little head into such a fuss.”

“Stop it.”

You smile innocently. “No.”

Alastor walks closer to you. “And you wonder why no one wanted to play with you as a child.”

You take steps to walk closer to him as well, meeting him halfway. “Everyone wanted to play with me,” you say. “I’ll have you know that I was quite the delight.”

You stand before each other, inches apart.

Alastor stares at you. What do those eyes tell him as he watches you stand before him, buried into his coat? He leans closer to you. “I doubt that.”

You take a step closer and slide your arms around him to bury yourself into his hold.

“How rude,” you say with a smile. You look up at him to hold his gaze, propping your chin on his chest. His arms tighten around your back. “I was such a delightful child that I would have played with you, even when no other kid wanted to do so.”

Alastor leans down, pecking your lips. You inch upwards to chase his lips, but self-control takes over. “You are and always will be a nerd,” he says. “You were probably the type to read during the afternoon.”

You tighten your hug on him. “What an incredible assumption to make.”

Alastor places a hand on your head. “Am I wrong?”

“I’m not telling you that,” you say, leaning your head into his chest.

Alastor pulls away from the hug, grabbing your hand to drag you to the monkey bars.

He climbs to the very top, and swings his legs to sit between the bars. He offers his hand, and you take it. His thumb brushes over your fingers and you climb up the steps and onto the bars. It’s difficult to maneuver with such a fancy outfit. Alastor keeps a steady hand on you, and the other goes on your waist as you slide to sit next to him.

The whole playground can be seen from the top of the monkey bars.

“If you weren’t a nerd,” Alastor begins, bumping your shoulder with his, “then you were probably a bully.”

You grip the bar, leaning back to stare. His hair brushes over his eyes. Alastor runs a hand over the strands to push it back. You reach out and push his glasses up his nose. “What makes you say that?”

Alastor boops your nose. “You’re a pretty little thing who works in healthcare. Isn’t there a stereotype for that?”

You blink at him a bit dumbly, cheeks flushed and tingling. Heat trails up your skin, and you have to turn away to hide from his gaze. “You think I’m pretty?” you ask rather idiotically. Deep breaths are needed to calm yourself. “Look . . . look who’s flirting now.”

Alastor hooks his legs on the bar, and swings backwards. He hangs in the air, the force of his legs the only thing keeping him from falling.

“Don’t do that,” you say, hissing. “You could break your neck.”

Alastor catches your eye with a wild smile. “I won’t.”

“And I’ll be sure to tell that to my next husband as we’re spending all your money,” you tell him. “Now get down from there before you make me a widow!”

Alastor releases his legs from the bar, and his body smacks on the ground. He lies motionless on the sand.

With a sigh, you carefully climb down the monkey bars. You nudge Alastor’s bicep with your foot when you reach him. “You’re not fooling anyone.”

Silence.

You fold the skirt of your dress, and sit across him. You slam your head onto him, using his chest as a pillow.

“Oof!” Alastor curls into you a bit, eyes twitching. He drapes an arm over your stomach, and draws spirals with his finger.

“I think we could have been friends when we were children,” you say, smiling as you feel the way his chest rises up and down with each breath he takes.

Alastor studies the sky. There are no stars to look at here in the city. It’s covered by the lights and the smog. “We wouldn’t. I probably would have hated you.”

“You—Hate me? Impossible!” you say with a laugh. “You think I’m pretty.”

“Ha. Ha,” he says. “You think you’re so clever.”

You intertwine your fingers with his, tracing the ring on his finger. “Sadly, I think I’ll have to agree,” you say. “I probably would have hated you as well.”

“I’m impossible to hate.”

“I'm sure I, of all people, could find a way,” you say with a smile. “Kids can be mean. And you were probably a really weird one.”

Alastor raises his hand to the air, studying his ring against the dark sky. You do the same. Both rings shimmer in the night. “Yet . . . ,” he starts, “here we are, married.”

“I can’t believe we actually got married.”

“I can.”

“Is this where you’ll tell me all about how you fell in love with me at first sight?” your snort. “That my smile and incredible stitching told you I was the woman you were going to wash dishes with for the rest of your life.”

Alastor laughs and his chest rises and falls. “Well, it wasn't flirting.”

“I did not flirt with you.”

“You did.”

“I didn’t.”

“On our third meeting, you told me we walked to the wrong house, just to spend four hours with me in the rain,” Alastor says, and you see the smile creeping on his lips. “You were so entrapped by my very being that you couldn’t bear to spend another second without me. You looked like you wanted to kis—”

You slam your head down into his chest. “Oh, shut up.”

Alastor glances at you. “Not a chance.”

“Okay then, well I remember two people underneath that umbrella,” you say with a huff. “You accepted my invitation.”

“I did,” he says. “Although, I had the excuse of needing to gather information on such a suspicious person. That was purely professional.”

“And you decided that an additional four hours of walking was necessary,” you say. “You could have stopped entertaining me in the first hour or even the second, but you spent all four hours getting your shoulders wet.”

“I did, indeed.”

Laughter rings into the air. With each and every of Alastor’s laugh, your head bounces up and down. You bury your face deeper into his chest, laughing against it.

“We’ve been married for more than a year,” you say. “How has it been for you?”

“Nothing much has changed, surprisingly,” Alastor says, shrugging his shoulders. “The only thing that’s different is I get to say the most ridiculous thing like how completing it is to be able to just exist with you.”

You take his hand, bringing it closer to your mouth to brush a soft kiss. “There’s nothing ridiculous about it, my love. I enjoy how completing it is to be able to just exist when you are with me,” you say, and Alastor caresses your cheek, trailing the back of his fingers down your skin. “Shall we head home?”

There’s a brightness in Alastor’s eyes when he smiles. “Not yet,” he says. “Let’s stay like this for a moment.”

Maybe the city isn’t so awful. Alastor could ask you to stay in this park forever, and you would happily breathe in the smog. Later, you will have to stand and grab your shoes, and finally head home to prepare for the next day. But that’s later. This is now.

You giggle against his chest. “You think I’m pretty.”

Alastor groans, placing a hand over his eyes.

There will be a lifetime of moments like this waiting for you in a world where you both just exist.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

1931

The needle pierces through the fabric. You tug on it, pulling the blue thread up and then around to create a simple back stitch. The cat’s outline pieces together. Later, you’ll fill the cloth with grass and flowers, and a little butterfly to give the cat a friend. Should you gift this to Alastor? Well, either way, he’ll find a way to display it around the house sooner or later.

The radio crackles, and music fades into the background.

Soft taps sound on the speaker. “ Before I leave for the night ,” Alastor’s voice rings from the radio, “ I would like to call any attention to any wives out there, especially the one married to me .”

It doesn’t matter that Alastor is all the way at work, miles away, you still roll your eyes at him . . . but you turn the volume up, listening closely to what he has to say.

“ I know my voice can get, oh, so, entrapping ,” he says, and you swear you can hear him smile. “ Thus, this is a gentle encouragement to complete any tasks you are putting off. For example, you could take out the trash like what was agreed upon .”

You glare at the radio, flicking its wood. “Oh, I hate you,” you mutter. “I hate you so much.”

“ Now, now, dearest, we both know that is a lie ,” Alastor says. “ Don’t wait up! ”

The music fades back in, and the broadcast ends for the night.

He likes to think he’s so clever. Let’s see how clever he’ll be when you kill him in his sleep. It will be easy, barely an inconvenience. You’ll drop a pillow right over that handsome face of his, and laugh as he chokes on his own ego.

However, . . . with a sigh . . . you take out the trash . . . like what was agreed upon.

The air is cold at this time of night. The moon looks beautiful tonight, it’s light illuminating the garden. It would be a shame to waste such a breathtaking sight. A part of you wishes to share this with Alastor, that he could be here, right now, and stare at the moon next to you. And the two of you will exist in each other’s company.

You grab the unfinished art piece, and continue on the rocking chair, stitching and listening to the crickets.

It takes hours of stitching and sore fingers, but Alastor’s car finally pulls up the driveway. The engine dies, and he hops out of the car, circling to the trunk and popping it open.

You drop your things, and take a seat on the porch steps to watch him, the moon no longer being the most breathtaking sight.

Alastor’s still wearing his favorite bowtie. It’s too dark to see clearly, but you think he’s pulling out a body from the car’s trunk. He grabs the straps of the obviously filled cadaver bag, letting it drag across the floor.

A good wife would help their husbands carry a very heavy and very dead body. But . . . if it means being able to sit and stare at your husband hauling a very, very dead person, then maybe, being a good wife is overrated.

Alastor pauses when he sees you, dropping the straps of the cadaver bag. “What are—Is something wrong?”

You smile at the urgency in his voice. “No, not one bit,” you say, leaning on your head on your hand. “Don’t stop on my account.”

“You should be in bed,” he says, crossing his arms. “I told you not to wait for me.”

Your huff, blowing strands of your hair off your face. “Did you? This is the first I’m hearing of this.”

“I did,” Alastor tells you. “Did you not catch tonight’s broadcast?”

“It was a rather busy day. I had things to do, people to see, and all that.”

Even in the dark, you see the way Alastor’s grin widens. He steps towards the garbage bin, opening the lid to check its content. “You are such a horrible liar,” he says, snorting. “I see you got my message.”

Alastor steps into the light.

Part of his hair slicks back. It’s different from its usually neat look. His sleeves are pulled up, folded until his elbow. There are several red stains on him. It’s on his hair, stains his clothes, and paints his face. His eyes have never looked so brown before. How does Alastor manage to make murder . . . into . . . into . . . . You clear your throat a bit, already counting the day until the next time he goes on his hunts.

“Why, hello there, stranger,” you say, not bothering to fight the smile on your lips. “It’s rather cold tonight. Would you mind keeping a lady company?”

Alastor rolls his eyes, brushing back his hair. “I’m a mess.”

“Red’s a great look,” you say. “The seat next to me is empty.”

“Flirting, really?” he says, but he sits next to you. “You’re getting shameless these days.”

You press your lips on his cheek. “For you?” Another kiss. “Always.”

Alastor takes off his coat. The fabric pools around his broad shoulders and down his back before he pulls out his arms. He throws it at your face, smacking you with it. “I hope you don’t go around saying stuff like that to every man you see,” he says, smiling at you. “I might get jealous.”

You peel off his coat from your face, wrapping it around your shoulders. “Only the one married to me,” you tell him. “You should see how I flirt with my husband.”

Alastor props an arm on the steps, leaning back to meet your eyes. “How disappointing to hear you’re married.”

“Don’t be! This current one won’t be alive for very long, so there’s going to be an open spot,” you say, waving your hands. “Are you interested in taking his place? I hope you are—you’re much more handsome than he is.”

Alastor flicks your nose. “Funny.”

You rub your nose a bit. “So . . . ,” you begin, propping your legs across Alastor’s lap, “what is a charming thing like you doing in these woods?”

A strong breeze sways his hair into his eyes. Alastor pushes the strands away, smiling at you like he always does. “What an honor it is to be called charming by you.”

“Oh, not just charming!” you say, clutching your heart as you swoon. “Has anyone ever told you how handsome you are?”

Alastor laughs, and his glasses slide down his nose. You push it up for him. “Not nearly enough,” he says. “Maybe I should take your husband’s open spot, afterall. My wife never compliments me as much as you do.”

He traces circles on the skin of your legs. You give him a little kick for what he said. “Maybe she would say it more if your ego didn’t inflate every time,” you say. “I would go as far as to say she’s doing God’s work by keeping you humble.”

Alastor pushes your legs off his lap.

He reaches into his pocket and takes out his handkerchief. Your eyes catch on the little design embroidered on the fabric. “Since you insist on keeping me here, you should at least help clean me up,” he says, offering the cloth to you. “I would do it myself, but there’s no mirror here.”

“Why clean such a masterpiece?” you say, but accept the handkerchief anyway. “May I?”

Alastor nods, inching close enough for the smell of rusted copper and iron to hit your nose. Intoxicating. It was just plainly and simply . . . divine. Like a rose that fell straight from heaven’s garden.

You wipe blood off his face. Some of the streaks had already dried. There’s a stubborn spot right on his jaw. You brush the back of your fingers down his cheek, trailing it down until you hook it right under his chin.

How does your face look right now for Alastor to stare at you with wide eyes?

The smudge line of blood that paints his jaw isn’t clearing. It’s too dry. You inch your face closer, brushing your nose on his skin as you inhale the dangerous combination of Alastor mixing with the strong undertones of iron. Soft exhales land on his skin. Your lips part, giving way to moisten that dried spot with your tongue, trailing it up his jaw.

The hints of metal tingle against your tongue. It was sweet and salty, and it combined with Alastor to create something akin to aged fine wine. But not even the most expensive wine could be as intoxicating as this.

Alastor grabs your face, pulling you to meet his eyes. He squishes your cheeks. “That’s unsanitary!” he says, hissing. “You don’t know what type of bacteria mixed in it.”

You pull your face away from his hold, giving him your most innocent smile.

Hopping to your feet, you circle around the dead body that lies in a very dead position on the ground. You kneel, heart thumping, and pull the zipper down.

“Oh . . . ,” you say, taking in the violence this man experienced, “ . . . wow.”

Alastor was not kind to this man, for this one died screaming.

Alastor leans his arms on his knees, smiling at you. “ I got a little carried away,” he says. “Will you still be able to use him?”

“I think he’ll agree that got more than a little carried away,” you say, snorting as you zip the body back into its bag. “Shall I fetch the bone saw?”

“It’s that bad?”

You walk over to where Alastor sits on the steps, climbing to hover on top of him. The only thing keeping you from crashing down on his chest are the way your hands grip the wood behind him. Inches of space separate your bodies. How far will Alastor entertain you?

You smile down at him, trapping him on the steps between your arms. “I can have this one in pieces by sunrise,” you say, voice barely a whisper. “You can grab the spare, and we can call it a date.”

Alastor tilts his chin up to meet your eyes as he smiles at you. “And tell me,” he begins, voice just as soft as yours. He settles his hands on your waist to steady you above him, “how do you plan on achieving his?”

You trace his shoulder, trailing your fingers up his clavicle bone. “It’s like cutting a chicken,” you say. “All I need to do is take my knife and pound the edge across the joints to disconnect his limbs in one swift motion. Smaller pieces would require the saw.”

Alastor pushes himself upwards, and presses a kiss on your cheek. “And you would spend all night cutting this man for me?”

You hum with delight. “Only for you.”

Alastor tugs your waist, and you come crashing on top of him. You curse as your hands slip, and your face lands on his chest. Alastor hugs you, his laughter ringing in the air, breathy and light and so full of delight. “You are the most ridiculous person to be able to exist with.”

You laugh, accepting how Alastor is the one doing the trapping now. “I’m honored you think so.”

“I think that was the most romantic thing I have ever heard in my life,” he says. “I think I could kiss you right now.”

“Don’t let your wife catch you saying that.” You snake your arms around Alastor’s back, tightening the hug he shares with you. “I hear she gets extremely jealous, and it’s never a smart idea to cross a woman who owns a bone saw.”

Alastor’s back digs into the edges of the porch steps. If your added weight lodges the wood deeper into his back, then he makes no complaints. “That’s truly an idiotic thing to do.”

You press yourself deeper into his hold. It’s quite ridiculous. Hugging you on top of the steps must be uncomfortable, but Alastor does so anyway.

In the end, it’s you who pulls away first, but only to save him from an aching back.

Grasping the steps, you climb higher and press your lips on his forehead. You take the seat next to him. Alastor reaches for you, adjusting his coat around your shoulders to secure you from the night’s cold breeze.

“Bad day at work?” you say, leaning your head on his shoulder.

Alastor leans his head on top of yours. “I’m better now.”

You press deeper into him, laughing against his dress shirt. It’s stained with blood, but you don’t mind. “So, tell me, who is this unfortunate fellow that was on the receiving end of your stress,” you say. “And should I be jealous?”

“I don’t know if I should answer that—Do you happen to own a bone saw?”

You swat his arm, rolling your eyes as you do.

Alastor presses his body closer against yours. “I would love to hear you guess.”

“ Hmmm . . . .Well, this is Larry, and he comes from humble beginnings,” you tell him. “He’s a self-made man who met this pretty little thing.”

Alastor takes your hand, thumbing the ring on your finger. “You’re getting better at this.”

There are too many stains on Alastor’s shirt. It’s beyond saving. You’ll have to burn his whole outfit. “Larry met this most darling belle. They were happy until tragedy struck.”

Alastor pulls off his gloves, intertwining his bare fingers with yours. “I do love a tragedy.”

“They fell in love.”

“That’s not tragic,” he says, snorting.

“Then you are a fool, dearest. Love can kill in a way no one has ever been able to describe. Not even the greatest poets can describe the true depths of loss,” you tell him, squeezing his hand. “Homes have been burned in its name.”

Alastor kisses your cheek. “And how did Larry suffer?”

“His darling got taken away from him, in more ways than one,” you say. “Even on her deathbed, she could not recognize him.”

Alastor clutches his heart. “How truly heartbreak!”

You glance up at Alastor. He’s looking at the moon. “Yet, here you are smiling.”

“That’s because you are the most fantastic story teller.”

You pull away to stand, and your fingers brush as it slips out of his.

The porch stairs creak with every step. You reach for the radio on the windowsill, turning the knob until a faint click. Alastor’s lips twist when you change his pre-set station for softer melodies. That man and his radios—Always so particular.

You offer a hand to Alastor, giving him a small bow. “Dance with me?”

“I’m not exactly dressed for the occasion,” Alastor tells you, yet he takes your hand in his.

“There’s no need to worry about such trifling things,” you say. “I think you look divine, like a rose straight from heaven made just for me.”

Alastor wraps his hand around your own, and settles the other on your waist. Dancing can barely describe what you’re doing, not when the both of you only had the energy to sway to the music. But nevertheless, Alastor takes the lead on this dance.

He raises his arm, twirling you underneath. Your eyes lock together when you face him. “Hi.”

You smile at him. “Hi.”

“I’ve been wondering . . . How did you know work was stressing me?” he says, as you dance to the radio’s music. “Why say work specifically?”

You tilt your head, motioning to the window behind you. “That radio over there,” you say. “The one you keep by your chair. You were listening to it this morning when I gave you coffee.”

You hum the lyrics of the song that plays on the radio. It’s quite nice. Maybe you’ll ask Alastor to play it during his broadcast as a dedication to you. But knowing him, he’ll take this opportunity to become a nuisance made for you, and find something to poke fun about.

His eyebrows furrow. “I don’t understand.”

“You listen to that specific radio when you’re happy,” you say. Those brown eyes of his shift to you. In your most humble opinion, they shine brighter than the stars. “You were fine when you left but somewhere between leaving and coming home to me, your mood turned sour.”

Alastor presses a kiss on your fingers, brushing his lips over your skin with each word. “I would love to hear more about this.”

“The one in the kitchen, that’s for when you’re tired,” you say, chuckling. “The one in the office is for when you’re bored. You listen to the one on our nightstand when you’re thinking or upset.”

“Then what about the radio in the basement?” he asks with a smile that could rival the moon. “Tell me when I listen to that one.”

“That one is for me. You leave it there so I have something to keep me company,” you say. “The saxophone, on the other hand, is for when you’re frustrated.”

“And now, you’re just a master of what I’m feeling.”

“Not at all,” you say with a shrug. “I don’t know how you feel right now.”

Alastor inches closer, leaning down to meet your eyes. “Would you like to know?”

“Sure.”

Alastor places a hand on your cheek, caressing you with his thumb. You lean into how gently he traces your face. He leans closer, nudging his nose against your own. Alastor brushes his lips over you, and the cracks on his lip prick you. Why he decided to torture you with soft touches and hovering inches away exceeds your understanding.

The strong scent of copper and iron on his skin intoxicate every molecule that makes up your body. He’s unfair. Too unfair of him to hold such power over you. Alastor would love to know how he makes your skin buzz with each and every glance of those too brown eyes that shine brighter than starlight. This is a fact you will take to your grave.

Your eyes flutter to a close. Alastor decides to show you mercy, finally kissing your lips.

Open!

The demand drums across your mind.

Your eyelids stay shut as you kiss him back. The need to look at Alastor’s too brown eyes shout at you. What face is Alastor making right now? How does he look? What do those eyes see?

But he kisses you gently. Oh . . . so . . . gently. Alastor kisses you like he had something to say. There are words being whispered across your skin as your lips move together. His thumb brushes your skin, and you can’t open your eyes.

Kissing him makes you wish you spent your youth studying poems and soft metaphors instead of the role of hexokinase in turning Glucose into Glucose-6-phosphate. This wish comes suddenly and out of nowhere. Not once have you ever wished for a different pursuit. But you would forfeit all your knowledge to be able to describe the way Alastor’s lips strike you to your very soul.

That thought disappears quickly, mind too preoccupied with the overwhelming sensation of soft lips placing kiss after kiss. The arm around your waist pulls you close, your body pressing against his own as if it was the most natural thing to place you there, as if the Seraphim creating your bodies carved you to belong.

Alastor pulls away with a soft smile.

It takes every ounce of your self-control not to chase after his lips and pull him back to you. Heat flushes your face. You can’t find the strength to open your eyes, not with how much he makes your cheeks tingle.

“You’ve been observing me.” Alastor brushes your eyelids with his thumb. “Open your eyes.”

Your eyes flutter, heeding to his demand. There it is, your favorite sight looking straight at you, holding a beauty that the moon cannot compete against—his eyes. “Hi.”

Alastor’s smile widens. “Hi.”

There are words that bubble on your lips. Words that are begging to be said. Three words that could very well make this man run when he understands just how deep those words mean for him.

And there it is again, that wish to become a poet because those three words can never truly describe what is imprinted on your soul’s very essence. Those three words are not enough for a man who deserves poems full of soft metaphors and sweet analogies.

“That’s because I . . . I . . . ,” you trail off, hiding your face in his chest. “I think that’s just called marriage, and I always was weak to such radiant beauty.”

Coward . . . You are a coward.

That’s okay.

You don’t mind the word being shouted to you by your heart, not when it means you can guard it with walls.

It’s okay to be a coward, because it means there will always be a tomorrow. There will always be another chance, another moment, another day to be brave. Another tomorrow. Another next week. Another next month. Another next year.

There’s no need to tell Alastor the word your soul desperately wants him to understand. Not right now, at least.

Not when the evidence is already there: You and him.

There will be a lifetime of moments like this waiting for you in a world where you are his.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

Next Part: |Glimpse of Me and You: Part 2| Don't be shy to talk to me. I don't bite at all! I would love to hear your thoughts on the chapter. And all comments really motivate me to work <3. 1932 will be posted in a few days. 1933 on the other hand….Well, let’s just say that such a grand year needs its own chapter. As I was writing this, I kept going back to the idea that Reader can flirt, but can't handle being flirted back. It was too funny not to add. And like I swear heart appears in my eyes, as well as Reaader's eyes everytime Alastor does anything just slightly unhinged. That too was too funny not to add. Taglist: @mybrainautocorrect @ray-rook @teavibesaf @valentique @qardasngan @alastorssimp @aestheticgals-blog @slaggylemon @reikamasama @obessivlyonline @okay-babe @lyralibra @holymusicalmothman @amoraneuro @tobyisher3

#alastor #alastor x reader #hazbin hotel x reader #alastor the radio demon #alastor x wife!reader #alastor x you #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel x you #hazbin imagines #alastor x wife reader #human alastor #hazbin alastor x reader #alastor hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel headcanons #hazbin hotel headcanon #hazbin hotel fanfiction #Hazbin Hotel #hazbin hotel imagines

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silverlining-ships · 2 months ago

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Music comms are CLOSED!! Check out the waitlist here!!

Ok y'know what, screw it. My brain seems to require three-four pieces at one time (genuinely cannot figure out why that is), and with the fact I only have two queued up right now and the game I'm composing for doesn't need any tracks at the moment, I'm getting composer's block again. So we're OPENING my music requests!!

I'm actually stunned at how many people seemed interested in getting a piece of soundtrack music for their f/o. I'm opening it to non-mutuals, and it's totally free! If you're concerned about paying/tipping for work, I'm always happy to receive content for my selfship, but I will not accept any money, and there's no pressure to tip content anyway. Again, this is for fun!

This is how it works:

Fill out this google form with the title of your ship, some songs you like, instruments, etc etc.

You can message on Tumblr or Discord (@/slipperson on Discord) on top of submitting the form too! I'll reach out myself once I get started on your piece.

I'll sketch out a draft, which is exactly like sketching out a basic pose for art - it'll typically only use piano/minor percussion. Sometimes I'll even give a simple concept before I flesh out a draft. I'll send it to you for approval.

If changes are needed, I'll refine the draft and re-update. If not, I'll go on to fleshing out the instrumental - this means adding instruments, changing volume (for example, in my first example, I used a lot of "dynamics"/volume changes to simulate the swelling of instruments). This is like adding the flat colors in a piece of art!

I'll send it to you again - I'll make changes upon your request, but if approved, I'll finally go ahead and mix the final draft. This means putting it through an audio program (audacity if you're curious!) and polishing the sound. This is like rendering the lighting!

After it's done, I'll send it to you for once last listen. Upon approval, I'll post it to Soundcloud, link it on Tumblr, and tag you in the post!

Important bits:

No comship/proship/aged up-or-down/RPF ships. Live action characters are fine as long as it's not the actual person. Familial/platonic ships are totally okay!

If you are a minor/ageless blog, I'm willing to write a piece for familial/platonic content, but not QPR/romantic.

Downtime is 1-2 months after I first open your request. I may finish it sooner, but no later than 2 months. This is because music generally takes awhile--30 seconds of music can take me 4-5 hours to concept! I also tend to work on 3-4 pieces of music at a time.

I will give frequent updates. Don't be afraid to reach out if you're curious on the status!

My work is never cleared to be used commercially or in AI programs. We're a bunch of selfshippers on Tumblr, so I know we all hate AI, but it's worth the mention. I tend to be strict on copywrite - it'll stay under my name, all rights reserved - however, you are free to use your piece wherever you'd like as long as it's not commercial use, used in a monetized campaign/video/form of media, and not used in AI.

I may put these tracks on a streaming service at a later date - not on Spotify, as the service is TERRIBLE with allowing their work to be remixed into AI. Something like Bandcamp or Soundcloud for Artists. If you are uncomfortable with this, please let me know.

Examples:

I will have my queue/completed list on my carrd here.

Thank you so much for your interest!! I'm actually so stunned I got so much love for this, and I'm excited to celebrate your ships with you!

heart border

#self ship #fictional other #yumeship #self ship community #silver musics #silver talks #SoundCloud #love letters 🎵

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jsprnt · 11 months ago

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Americano PT. 2 | Jude Bellingham x Reader

What happens if two individuals who absolutely despise each other are forced to interact after unforeseen events occur?

A/N: my exam took me out and I had the longest nap of my life but here’s part two!! <3

W/C: 3.757

part one

"No, I'm fine. You know, I get nauseous when we run around the stadium with a full stomach." I tell Luis as he offers me one of his packed sandwiches.

He hums, taking the last bite of his sandwich while observing the streets of beautiful Madrid, looking comfortable in the passenger seat.

It was match day against Union Berlin, the first in the group stages of the Champions League. We were all pretty optimistic about it.

"Can you hand me some gum instead? It's in the glove box." I point, placing my hand back on my steering wheel as I take a left turn. The Santiago Bernabéu Stadium coming into sight.

He leans over, grabbing the blue packet of gum, quickly removing the plastic foil.

"How many pieces do you want?" He asks, crumpling the foil with his hand.

"Two please." I say, lowering the volume of the radio as we enter the staff parking lot of the stadium.

I notice him unwrapping the individual pieces of blue gum and extend my hand so he can place them in my palm.

"Thanks." I mutter, popping them into my mouth after I manage to find a parking spot.

"When is the team arriving?" He asks as we step out to collect the camera equipment out of the trunk. I make sure to hand him his staff badge, clipping mine to my lanyard.

"Twenty minutes, I think." I say, helping him with the equipment bag. We quickly make our way towards the pitch, greeting fellow staff members. Luis sets the camera up as I check our drafts quickly.

We finally finish taking videos and pictures of the pitch after a few minutes, our staff badges hanging off our necks as we walk back inside to capture the players walking into the stadium.

"Okay, I've posted the Instagram stories. Mind if you take a look?" I ask Luis, showing him the short clips of the pitch and stadium.

"Looks fine, but you know you don't have to get it double-checked anymore. You've been doing this for a while now." He nudges me, expression reassuring.

"I know, just making sure." I say, analyzing the posts one more time. I didn't want anything to go wrong or look particularly weird, plus it would give Valeria a reason to complain about me.

We make sure to get good shots of the squad entering the stadium, following them out to warm up as well. Finally, we get to sit down when the match starts. We update the social media platforms of the club accordingly during halftime, just as planned.

So far, it was still a goalless game, prompting us to have higher expectations in the second half of the match.

Though, the second half isn't that much more climactic, but we all sit on the edge of our seats when extra time is announced. My finger hovering over the 'post' button of a 1-0 ‘X’ post.

Luis and I look at each other anxiously as we get awarded a corner. A commotion starts right before the net of Union Berlin, the ball bouncing back at first, and then GOALLL!

I practically slam the post button, the stadium erupting in cheers along with us. Finding it difficult to calm down, so we can focus on the last minutes of the game. With the assurance that we would win, Luis and I start packing our equipment quickly. It would make sure we could follow the team back into the tunnel and, of course, towards the changing room for the post-match interview.

"Who got Man Of The Match again?" I ask Luis, noticing a smirk form on his face immediately.

"It's Jude." He says, and I look at him with wide eyes, pulling an annoyed face.

"Really? Now I've got to interview him? It's going to explode his ego, like it can get any bigger..." I sigh, following Luis down the stands.

"You'll live." He mumbles, prompting me to sigh again, wishing I could speed up the next few minutes as if it were a boring Netflix show.

"Tell him to- put his shirt on." I urge Luis, nudging his arm, my hands falling to my side when he shakes his head.

We'd both already been in the changing room, and my eyes had caught multiple half-naked

players. Prompting me to exit instantly. I didn't want to intrude when the guys were changing for obvious reasons, so I walked myself out before things became really awkward. Though, they probably didn't care, I did.

"Why does it matter?" He asks, pushing my head away from his face.

"It's distra- or just say-"

"I'm ready."

I whip my head around, my head almost colliding with a hard chest. I quickly take a step back, a smug-looking Jude looking down at me.

What the fuck was he so tall for?

"Took you long enough." I mumble, rolling my eyes. Trying to pretend he didn't scare the crap out of me.

He scoffs, the ‘Player Of The Match’ award glimmering in his hand as if he's trying to show it off to me.

"Can we just do the interview so I can stop talking to her?" He says, looking at Luis. His eyebrows raising in question.

I click my tongue in annoyance, tapping my shoe against the ground impatiently. I watch Luis nod, his hand coming up to my shoulder as he pushes me closer to Jude.

I turn my head, looking at Luis confused. I mouth a 'what the fuck?' to him, his smirk getting wider as my arm collides with Jude's. A sudden panic and disgust creeping up to me.

"Let's just do it without my face." I blurt, immediately detaching myself from Jude's side, like he's a scorching fire ready to burn me.

I feel his eyes follow me as I walk to stand behind Luis. I fight to urge to kick the back of Luis's leg for whatever that was and just request him to start filming. Glad that the mic was already attached to the camera.

"3, 2, 1.." he counts down, pressing the record button. I try to fake my uppermost enthusiasm when I ask the questions to Jude. Watching his own expression change within milliseconds. It's like he wasn't just begging for the interview to start, so he could stop talking to me.

"¡Hala Madrid! ¡Buenos Noches!" He finally exclaims, raising the award excitedly. The interview finally ending.

The two minutes felt like an eternity, and he'd probably uttered the same sentence about 50 times now.

I sigh in relief, stepping back as I watch Jude and Luis give each other a handshake. We make eye contact for a split-second, my gaze cold as he looks at me with pure arrogance plastered on his face. Walking away to join his teammates, who had already walked out of the changing room.

"Can we go now?" I ask Luis, massaging my temples. He turns around, blankly staring at me. It creeps me out for a split-second.

"What?" I ask, frowning at him, folding my arms defensively.

"Nothing. It's late, let's go." He says, walking ahead of me. I watch him walk away for a couple of seconds, trying to decipher why he gave me that look. His back almost disappearing out of my sight before I knew it.

He walks past a couple players and staff members, them having their own conversations and being loud. Notably, Ancelotti walking with them.

I curse, clicking my tongue in annoyance. I start to walk fast, trying to catch up to Luis, who, at this point, wasn't even in my line of sight.

Suddenly, I hear Ancelotti call out my name, and I turn around like a deer in headlights. Slowly starting to consider leaving Luis in the parking lot, instead of driving him home.

"Something wrong?" I ask, looking at him cautiously.

Was I in trouble?

"Come here." He says, waving his hand. I look to his right, seeing a familiar group of players glance at me. It consisting of Vini, Cama, Aurelien, and Jude, again. Them laughing and banter amongst each other.

"Can you tell your father to call me? I need to speak with him." He adds, looking at me.

I nod, my expression changing to a less confused one, before reassuring him I would tell my dad.

"Then go on, it's getting late." He says, patting my shoulder, squeezing reassuringly.

I smile at him, nodding and glancing at the guys next to him.

"Good game, guys! See you tomorrow." I say, fully in Spanish on purpose, waving and walking away as fast as I possibly can manage without looking crazy.

Luis was getting his ass left here, for sure.

"Dad! I'm home." I sing, taking my shoes off at the door, quickly storing them away in the shoe cabinet.

"I'm in the kitchen." He shouts back, and I make my way towards him.

"What are you doing?" I ask, seeing him stand in front of the open fridge.

"Grabbing dinner to heat up. You're hungry, right?" He says, and I nod, walking over to kiss his cheek in greeting.

"I'll do it, dad. You should go rest." I say, noticing him already dressed in his pajamas. I take the Tupperware of food out of his hands, placing it on the marble island.

"How was the match?" My dad asks, leaving to sit on one of the bar stools across from me.

"Good- we won." I say, pouring the tomato soup into a small pot. Placing it on the electric stove, before turning it on.

"I saw, Jude really saved the day. Amazing signing..." He chuckles.

My dad wasn't aware of the absolute disdain we had for each other, but I wouldn't want to bother him with it.

"Yeah, I guess he did." I mutter through my teeth, stirring the soup with a spoon. Making sure I don't scratch the surface of the pot.

"Oh! Mr. Ancelotti asked if you could call him. I think it's pretty important, since he asked me..." I remember, looking up at him from the stove.

"Why didn't he just call me?"

"Maybe, because you're always busy? He probably can't get a hold of you, or your secretary forgot to tell you. Which would be- weird." I say, watching him walk away to grab his personal phone off the dinner table.

"You're really calling him now? Dad, it's like ten at night. You need to stop thinking about work."

"It's alright, we're close enough." He says, calling the man of topic as he approaches the sliding glass door to the backyard, walking out.

I scoff in disbelief, shaking my head. I should've just told him tomorrow after breakfast.

I try to push those thoughts away, finally sitting down at the dinner table, putting on a binge-worthy show on the TV across from me. Enjoying my dinner with a can of Coke.

The ending credits of the episode and my empty bowl allow my mind to wander back to the day’s events. It was the first game of many for the Champions League. No doubt, our team would go far, we had a strong team with amazing support. I just hoped traveling while also studying could be manageable, especially this year.

I decide to give my brain a break from thinking critically, taking care of the dirty dishes, and sliding the backyard door open.

"Dad?" I call out, noticing him sitting on one of the pool lounge chairs. He turns to me, motioning for me to be quiet with a finger on his lip. I nod, mouthing a 'goodnight' and wave. He mouths it back, smiling at me. I nod, turning my back and walking up the stairs.

Arriving in my bathroom, I take a quick shower and do my nighttime skincare. Feeling very refreshed when I crawl into my bed, the silk pillowcase soft underneath my head as my eyes flutter shut.

The atmosphere today at the training center is very off.

Instead of the players looking happy and excited after their win yesterday, they look somber and tired. The vibe is gloomy, despite the sun shining brightly since early this morning.

Especially the younger guys. I didn't know what was wrong yet. They greeted me halfheartedly, unlike normally, and even Jude himself didn't give me one of his daily, annoying, egoistic looks.

I had asked around, and most other staff members told me they noticed the same, so it definitely wasn't just me making things up in my own head.

Maybe, just maybe, nosy Lina had some information.

I grab a tray, walking along the lunch buffet, and getting my food. I didn't want to bother fussing over all the options today, just opting to go for my usual. I don't forget to grab my drink, an Americano, iced this time to combat the September heat.

I look up to find Lina, my eyes finally catching her wavy, dirty blonde hair at our usual table, as I make my way towards her.

"Hey! Haven't seen you today. What's up?" I say, hugging her. I had been busy filming the recovery exercises of the players with Luis in the gym.

"Finished editing the footage you and Luis took yesterday." She says, smiling at me. Moving a lock of hair behind her pierced ear.

"Was the footage usable?" I ask, looking at my plate of food before looking back at her.

"Yeah, good as always. Posted it on YouTube already." She answers, and I turn to her after swallowing my bite of pancakes.

"Was the interview alright? Did it sound like we wanted to kill each other?"

"It was surprisingly good! You two just have that onscreen chemistry." A smile pulls at her lips, the outrageous statement causing me to freeze for a moment.

"Carolina! Don't ever say that again, please." I use her full name, giving her a look of disgust while shaking my head, horrified.

I hear her laugh mid-bite, she practically starts choking on her food. Prompting me to pat her back semi-aggressively. She finally calms down when I bring her drink up to her lips.

"Can I ask you something? It's about something completely unrelated." I say, changing the topic and looking around for any eavesdroppers.

"Go ahead." She says, clearing her throat for a moment.

"Have you noticed the younger guys- are acting a little off?" I say, choosing my words carefully, watching her eyes light up almost instantly.

She definitely knew what was up.

She nods, pulling me closer by my shoulders, and whispers into my ear.

"Apparently, last night after the match, the guys went to celebrate at a restaurant. When they dropped Jude off at his home- and I'm saying just what I have overheard. Someone tried to break into his place." She whispers, and I pull back to give her a bewildered expression.

"You're serious?" I ask, raising my brows.

"Yeah, something about his window being broken and a note being left."

"A stalker?" I ask, taking a sip of my coffee.

She nods, pulling away from me.

"That's what I've heard. Apparently, this wasn't the first time it happened, it being the second time already. The younger players probably feel bad for Jude. They've all gotten pretty close and are probably worried about his, but also their safety." She explains.

Despite the bad blood between Jude and me, I had the heart to feel a little bad for him. I had morals at the end of the day.

"Doesn't his mom live with him?" I ask, recalling what I've heard around.

"She wasn't home, thankfully."

"That's good, at least." I reply, looking away for a moment.

"He'll probably have to start a legal process.." She adds, and I return my attention back to her.

"Where did you even hear all of this?"

"A good gossiper never reveals their sources."

"y/n, could you come here for a moment?" I hear Hugo speak. The head of PR and marketing for the club. Whom I had the opportunity to grow pretty close to last season.

I place the folders in my hand back on my desk, walking over to him curiously.

"What is it?" I ask, looking at the grey haired man. He's smiling, so it must be positive?

"I'm sure you're aware I chose you to provide content during matches, but also the match preparations this season, along with Luis."

I nod, eagerly waiting for his point to be made.

"I've seen what you and Luis put out yesterday. I'm very pleased so far, especially the interview with Jude. Feedback has been great online. Looked very nice and casual."

"Thank you, we tried our best to create the best content. I honestly couldn't have done it without Luis." I quickly say.

That was true, I don't think I could've done the interview without Luis, even though he was being a little weird about it.

Why was everyone obsessed with that interview anyway? It was just a normal, run-of-the-mill interview I did most of the time.

"Right, extend my praises to him as well. As you know, the CEO of Apple will be visiting us on Saturday. I'd like for you and Luis to capture the moment. Would you want that?"

Meeting the CEO of Apple, Tim Cook?

I would be crazy to refuse.

"Of course, I'm sure Luis would also appreciate the opportunity. Could you send us the details via email later?"

This was definitely a dream come true, especially for tech-nerd Luis. He looked up to these CEOs for inspiration all the time.

After the conversation with Hugo ends, I decide to finally clock out. I walk down the stairs, my bag slung around my arm as my eyes are glued to my phone. Wondering how Luis would react to the news.

I couldn't tell him in person since he wasn't on site at the moment. So, texting would have to suffice.

I reach the last few steps, my shoes stomping against them, finally taking a right at a corner.

Suddenly, my shoulder painfully crashes against another body. My bag falling on the floor, along with my phone which flies out of my hand.

I look up instantly, eyes locking with someone I don't recognize by name, but have definitely seen around. He's dressed in a brown T-shirt with some dark blue jeans, interesting wear for the weather today. He did look a couple years older, something like late twenties or early thirties.

I clutch onto my arm, trying to ease the pain as I start to apologize profusely. I want to be rude so bad, but I hold my words back with everything in me.

I wasn't watching where I was going, but still, he could have heard me stomp down the stairs.

"No, it's fine. It happens." He says, no actual emotions detectable in his voice. I reach down to grab my bag off the floor. Watching him bend down to grab my phone, which had landed on the floor about a meter away from me.

I stand back up, holding my bag with my unhurt arm.

"Here." He says blankly, handing me my phone.

"Thank you." I say, grabbing the device. His cold fingers unexpectedly graze against mine, making me shudder as it creeps me, the fuck out.

I did not like whatever that was...

He was holding my phone right at its base, how did his hands even touch mine?

He looks at me for a second, his blue eyes piercing into my soul, as he then walks off, not saying another word. Leaving me standing there in confusion.

I snap out of my trance quickly, trying to forget whatever that interaction was. Finally, walking up to my car and unlocking it.

Most players and staff had left already. Recovery day was so fun, only because it meant getting off early.

After pondering for a few seconds, I decide to just visit my dad's law firm instead of going home directly. Mostly, because I hadn't been there in a while. I could see him, and work on my essay there at the same time.

Maybe, I could also convince the other lawyers there to give me feedback on my essay.

I connect my phone to the car, clicking on my current favorite playlist and increasing the volume of the speakers. Knowing my favorite songs could keep me company while I drove through the city.

I grab my own set of keys out of my bag after arriving. My dad had given it to me, so I could enter and leave the firm whenever I wanted. Giving me the freedom of not having to knock or press the intercom when I visited.

I insert the key in the keyhole of the front door, trying to twist it. I frown as the key doesn't actually twist, making me wonder if the lock was changed. I pull the key out, inserting it again, and try to twist the key.

I sigh as it doesn't work, looking around to see if anyone is staring at me. Only because I definitely looked like I was some stupid robber trying to break in, in broad daylight.

Thankfully, no one is looking my way, so I continue to struggle with the door. Mumbling some curse words in annoyance, a frown settling in between my brows.

I breathe in, inserting the key again, readjusting my grip on the doorknob as I twist the key. I push the door at the same time, the door unexpectedly flying open. My weight presses against the door as I fall inside, clutching onto the door handle for dear life. My ankle rolls painfully, and I let out a pained wince.

I hear a loud groan as I try to stabilize myself. I raise my brows confused, seeing my dad lean over to ask a guy who's cradling his head if he's alright.

I just slammed the door into a client’s face.

A mortified expression forms on my face as I realize the situation I caused. I immediately walk over to place a hand on the guys shoulder, apologizing repeatedly. My dad giving me the most disappointed look to date.

I glance over to the woman next to my dad, recognizing her within a heartbeat.

"Denise?" I ask, eyes widening in confusion. If she's here, then...

I notice my victim raise his head, a pained groan leaving him. We make sudden, unexpected eye contact. I freeze in shock and confusion, a little disgust following at the realization of who he is.

"Jude?"

"y/n?"

#jude bellingham #jude bellingham x reader #jude x reader #jude bellingham imagine #real madrid fc #jude bellingham fanfic #footballer x reader #football imagines #football fanfic #football imagine #bellingham x reader #real madrid

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iikisa · 10 months ago

Text

part 1

so. this is part one of a red dragon!krs fic ive been building up… this first chapter doesnt really have much much interesting scenes as of right now, and I’d love love love the input from everyone on how to continue, ideas for characters, and if theres anything i should consider changing!! that doesnt mean that i’ll be changing everything according to commenters, but i’d value all opinions to help build this plot 🥲

I’ve already finished around 3 similar length chapters and recently got stuck, so think of these posts as drafts and final revisions will probably go officially on AO3. thanks everyone 🤪

———

Oh, Pitiful Dragon (1)

Ever since his birth, the child longed for death. If it could take away his pain and grant his freedom, he’d trade anything he had so scarce of already. And on a particularly horrible day— the day that terrible man decided he would rip out his heart and use it for evil— the little child met a god.

The God of Death.

He thought it was ironic, seeing how soon his own demise was due soon. But this God didn’t come to reap his death, rather it came to propose a deal.

And the red dragon would accept any deal to be free of this pitiful life.

Kim Roksoo awoke suddenly from his slumber. His vision was black and only began to adjust to his blurred version after continuous blinking. Why was it so dark? And how had he fallen asleep? He was just finishing Volume 5 of The Birth of a Hero series and now— wait, are those chains?!

His eyes blew open and his vision was finally adjusted to the pitch darkness that surrounded him. He tried to stand but winced when pain spiked all across his body. Only then did he realize just how badly injured he was. Why was he so weak? Had someone kidnapped and beat him to a pulp?! He was completely blinded by the inexplicable pain that he hadn’t realized something much more important. No— wait, pain is important! It’s definitely concerning! But… why was his whole body covered in crimson scales?

‘Oh geez, well isn’t this new.’

Shortly after he had that thought he passed out from exhaustion and shock.

When Kim Roksoo woke again, he was practically being strangled. He quickly gasped for air and focused in on his current situation. He was being held up tightly by a metal collar on his (very, very sore) neck by some strange man in front of him. His hair was a long, spiky mess of blond and didn’t look very well-maintained. But his eyes… they were bloodshot red and had a crazed glint to them.

‘Crazy bastard…!’

Roksoo’s breathing was beginning to strain more and more, and suddenly he felt something prick beneath his scales painfully. He looked down and saw a clear tube running from his body all the way through an open passageway not so far from him. His blood began flowing through it.

‘Blood— They’re.. taking my blood?’

His thoughts were becoming even more incoherent by the second but after securing the clear tube into the little red dragon, the crazed man dropped him to the floor.

“You’re blood is so pure and vibrant, it’s so beautiful.. just like the color of your scales! It will definitely aid our liege and his cause. Haha!”

All Roksoo could think of was how crazy this lunatic was. He was still heavily panting, because honestly when was he not at this point, but thankfully he hadn’t passed out again. Instead, he glared with all his being towards the crazy bastard standing above him. Unfortunately, it only seemed to excite the lunatic even more.

“Maybe I really should visit you more. That look in your eyes gives me chills!”

Mumbling to himself, the psycho soon left the room through the very passage his blood was being drawn towards, and Roksoo was left alone; unprotected and cold. He hated feeling this way. These people didn’t seem to want him alive for so long, considering his “luxury” treatment. He was going to miserably die at their hands sooner or later. And he was too weak to do anything about it.

His eyes suddenly flashed with memories— no, records— of his fight with the second unranked monster to plague Korea. Lee Soohyuk and Choi Jungsoo… he had let them die. It was his fault and he knew it. It was something he’d regret for the rest of his life. But… they had told him to keep living. To keep living for them. He couldn’t die. It didn’t matter how he got into this situation. He’d rather crawl in shit than die this pathetically. He’d survive his new predicament— this new life that’s been granted to him. He’d survive.

He’d definitely survive to smack these bastards in the back one day.

Roksoo had spent weeks in that dark hell. His blood continued to flow from his body to somewhere unknown, he was paid violent visits by that lunatic, and he got weaker and weaker because of it. But his will didn’t waver for a second. Whenever someone came in to check on him, he’d mark it in his mind every time. Soon enough, he learned their patterns and found openings. He finally had a plan to escape this hell, no matter how many holes there were.. it was a chance.

With his limited information, there was only so far he could get, but somewhere deep inside him, he knew he’d manage. So, he followed his instincts. The minute his opening came, he used all the strength he had gathered and focused.

‘Concentrate. Concentrate on that feeling you’ve been accumulating, Roksoo!’

Suddenly, Roksoo felt as if he’d achieved some sort of enlightenment like the ones described in murim stories. He felt an overwhelming warmth spread throughout his body and a rush of adrenaline pumped through his veins exponentially. This power… He didn’t know where it had suddenly manifested from, but he was sure now. He could get out of here using it. His mind and body began working beyond their limits, and eventually everything around him felt like it was moving at a snails pace.

‘Instant..?’

His second ability from his past life, Instant. Time would seize and he could move freely for a short while. With a heavy cost on his body of course.

‘But this… it’s similar to instant, but it’s not completely it. I think— No, I can definitely handle this much better than what I’ve been able to before in Korea.’

His new body must’ve integrated Instant into another power. And this new power was about to help him escape. A small smirk graced his torn and bloodied face. Perfect.

Shackles that were tying his limbs down shattered beneath the little dragon’s feet in the blink of an eye, and in a literal instant he was darting across the passage with his slashed and scarred limbs.

‘Keep going. I have to keep going and get out of here!’

He was sprinting through the corridors, and if anybody had looked his way all they would’ve seen was a long, red blur. A bright light was beginning to seep in between the cracks in the ceiling of the dark man-made cave he was confined in.

‘Screw the consequences, we’re blasting through!’

With incredible speed, Roksoo was right beneath the seeping cracks of light and expanded his unused wings for the first time. His wingspan barely fit within the wide corridor as he spread them out and up, blasting off from his spot on the ground and flying like a rocket towards the ceiling. He was making it out.

Just as he impacted and the dust and debris had shot up everywhere, he spotted a few individuals standing far off in the sunlight. The most notable was a red haired main of fairly tall stature completely frozen in place by Roksoo’s sudden escapade. He wore a strange white mask over his upper face, his eyes a bright red with hints of brown. The person looked far to similar to Roksoo. His prominent crimson red and his own piercing reddish-brown eyes. They would’ve looked entirely the same if it weren’t for Roksoo’s current form.

He only locked eyes with the man for a split second, and continued shooting up into the sky. He began to hear shouts and alarms blaring within his vicinity. He had been encaged in a mountain with a large encampment stealthily surrounding it. He’d remember this exact spot.

Massive fireballs and arrows began piercing the sky in an attempt to bring Roksoo down, but he clumsily maneuvered around each and just barely grazed a few on his crimson scales. Suddenly, a blinding white spear had crossed his vision. And before he knew it, another had pierced right through his wing, tearing it open a considerable amount. Roksoo stifled the cry of pain that threatened escaping his lips, and instead gritted his teeth and continued to fly towards any kind of safety. Anything other than here will be safe, he just needs to lose these bastards first. The adrenaline rush he had originally received numbed all the pain in his body, but he knew that wouldn’t last with his current levels. He had to make use of every last bit of this power that he had in him.

He flew over an ocean and kept flying as far away as he could. Eventually he reached the mainland. The forest underneath him was dark and vast, a perfect hiding spot. He glides over the tree-line and with his remaining strength he just barely managed a suitable landing right by a flowing river. His landing was a little on the rough side and he was still so sore, but… he had finally made it out. He was successful. Now, he could truly live a slacker life! Wait— he still needs to get back at the bastards who had tortured him in the first place. Ah.. he also needs to secure enough funds for his slacker life as well.

Sigh.

Roksoo had much to do before he got to live a peaceful life.

‘But first, let’s just lay here a little while longer…’

Roksoo succumbed to his exhaustion and pain, entering a deep slumber.

———

THANKS FOR READING to the end !! please let me know ur input, things i could change, add, etc, i lack a lot in this field and value ur feedback ! 😋

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