#knitting some dishrags | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

itsabouttimex2 · 15 days ago

Text

Fizzling Neon

“…can I tell you something that bothers me?”

There’s not quite a sneer on your coworker’s face, but the expression he wears while turning to you is regardless unhappy. The man’s never much cared for your rambles, and especially not while the two of you were on kitchen duty.

Then, he’s never much cared for you in general.

But if he has to choose between his own thoughts (centering mostly on his ex-wife, if you had to guess) your awkward ramblings, or a droning and dead silence that was cut only by Chica’s muffled gorging, the gray-haired man would probably pick you, though he would do so reluctantly.

Very reluctantly.

“Well?” the aged man finally grunts, arms crossed as he leans back against the counter. His tense posture screams impatience, but at least he’s waiting for you to say something instead of outright ignoring you. “What is it?”

You hesitate, unsure if you should bother, even with his explicit approval. Your coworker doesn’t like you- he’s made that clear enough over the past four months. Still, there’s something gnawing at you, something you need to get off your chest before it eats you alive. A rattling clatter of pots and pans kicks up in the washing area, accompanied by incessant crunching noises- the avian animatronic must’ve gotten into an unfinished dish.

You don’t want to sound like some manic conspiracy theorist, of course- that type pops up on the premises of the Pizzaplex constantly, filming themselves as they harangue the workers and scare the children- only to scurry away when you pleaded with Monty to scare them off- the kids always got a kick out of that, at least.

Still, all antics aside… maybe talking about it would do you some good.

“…it doesn’t make any sense for them to be animatronics.”

He turns to you, sporting an expression that implies you may well have grown a second head, utterly dumbfounded by such an out of pocket (to him) statement.

His brows knit together tightly, lips twisting into a grimace that makes him look even less pleasant than he already does. “What in the blazing hell are you even talking about?” he finally asks, his voice a low growl that barely carries over the distant clang of metal on tile as Chica shuffles around.

You squirm for a moment, then spill in a hurried rush of words built around cobbled knowledge from your childhood.

“It’s just… these are… they’re robots. And, animatronics are, well, they… animatronics- real animatronics, I mean, they’re- they’re puppets! Animatronics are supposed to be puppets hooked to machinery hidden in the ground, machines that host the puppet’s programming for the routines they perform! They’re supposed to be fragile, breakable! You’re supposed to be able to shatter them, shove them around, pick them up and throw them- in case they break down and block people in an emergency! Or, or like… the design specs, in general, they’re- so like, if an animatronic closes around a kid’s hands, the design specs of these things are specifically built to be fragile enough to never exert enough force to hurt the kid! They’re not supposed to be able to move arcade machines, or jostle vending machines, or pick up kids! And-“

“You know what, kid? And I’m gonna be real level with you, just cause I don’t think the management bothers doing it when they really should- nobody gives half a damn about your autist bullshit. They were always called animatronics. From the first fucking pizzeria to the last pissing pizzaplex, they were animatronics, puppets, machines, and no one except for you gives a shit about the name they use. And look, you wanna obsess over this crap, fine. Just don’t bring it up with me again. Got enough on my plate without babysitting your paranoia about trivial corpo branding bullshit.”

He throws his soiled dishrag against the metal interior of the sink before him, then stomps off towards the staff room in order to punch out and head home, probably hoping to down a fifth of whiskey and pass out.

You stand there in shocked silence for a moment, throat tight and eyes growing wet, trying to compose yourself as the angry pounding of his footsteps fades away.

It hurts. You wish it didn’t hurt so bad, especially when the scorn comes from someone you don’t particularly know or care for, someone you know doesn’t particularly care for you.

You want to shove those painful feelings away, because you know if you dwell on it too long, you’ll start spiraling, and there’s no one here who wants to listen- not without mocking you or brushing you off.

Except- the sound of metal footsteps breaks your train of thought, and those steps are heavy and deliberate, echoing through the empty kitchen. You freeze, pulse quickening, because it’s late, nearly time to close, and you’re very certainly the last person in the pizzaplex.

“Oh, Superstar…”

His voice, as always, is smooth and warm, carrying an affectionate tone that he usually reserves for children. You don’t need to turn around to know who that soothing voicebox belongs to.

You swallow, hard, gripping the edge of the kitchen countertop as the sound of metal feet against porcelain grows louder. He’s close now, just behind you, and you feel the subtle hum of his mechanical frame, a strange, ever-present vibration that seems to radiate from him, and you are awash in the cyan hue that drifts from his mechanical body.

Glamrock Freddy.

You open your mouth to respond, but no words come out at first. There’s a lump buried deep in your throat, and with it there’s a fear that if you try to explain yourself, you might break down entirely.

Freddy waits, a patience so unshakable it mirrors the steel he’s built from.

And he waits a little longer still, right up until there are tears brimming in your eyes, threatening to spill, and then one of his large paws reaches to bundle around the back of your head, holding it there as though he’s cradling something fragile, something precious.

At his gentle, synthetic touch your lips press tightly together, unwilling to speak for risk of breaking a dam that spills regardless, and as the first of many tears trickle down your cheek, Freddy’s thumb; soft with synthetic padding, swipes it from your face.

“That was very unkind of him, Superstar. I will be sure to report his behavior to management, for it is in violation of the rules of the Mega Pizzaplex.”

“N-no, Freddy, it’s fine. Really… really, it’s fine, and I don’t want to cause any trouble.

The ursine machine, so many warmth welling behind his eyes that the kitchen feels cold in comparison, he tilts his head, his illuminated blue eyes narrowing ever so slightly, not in anger but in something softer- concern, and to some degree even disbelief. He doesn’t move the heft of his hand, still cradling your head with the care of someone holding glass. “It is not fine,” he insists gently, voicebox unwavering. “Everyone within the Pizzaplec must treat one another with respect. The rules are very clear.”

A bitter laugh escapes you before you can stop it. “Yeah, well, rules don’t really stop people from being jerks, do they? Just… just please let it go, Freddy. It’s not worth it.”

There is a long, lingering moment where he continues to stare, eye lights drooped at your insistence on allowing things to be. But, finally, he lowers his hand, though his frame remains close, looming like a shield against the sterile, fluorescent lights kitchen. “Your feelings are worth it, Superstar,” he says after a beat. “But I will not push.”

Then he pauses, awkward and almost ashamed, then kneels to level his gaze to your own, and quietly speaks. “And I did not mean to eavesdrop on the staff, but I did overhear the management speaking to one another about the weather.

Oh. Oh no.

“So I wanted to tell you that a snowstorm is predicted, and, on behalf of the Pizzaplex, I wanted to extend you an invitation to stay overnight, since you do not have a way to get home if the bus is out.”

Oh, Cassie was going to be devastated.

Freddy straightens up at your lack of apparent response, his hulking frame towering over you once more, though his demeanor remains calm. “I spoke to the daycare attendant about preparing a bed for you- his residence has many cozy spots, and I believe you will find it suitable.”

You cringe when he mentions the daycare, snapping your thoughts from the soon to be birthday girl.

The attendant's dual personalities were a lot to handle during even just the day- but Moon's presence at night, especially, would be downright unnerving. But Freddy, gentle and unyielding, he turns you around with his big paws and nudges you towards the kitchen’s entrance.

The white doors swing open as Freddy pushes you past them, and the sounds of the nearly silent Pizzaplex greet you. The faint hum of machines powering down for the night drifts through the air, and the glittering lights of arcade machines flicker in the distance, while the mascots painted on the walls seem to grin down at you with their smiles.

It dawns on you now, staring up at the acrylic likeness of the lead animatronic that you hadn’t said yes to his offer, hadn’t quite stuck yourself through with the promise of a full night with the daycare attendant… and with Freddy going in the opposite direction, no doubt heading to his own room for the night… well, there wasn’t exactly anyone around to ensure that your footfall led you to the ever-unnerving nursery.

And, for that matter, a revelation dawning quickly upon you- you didn’t even know if the weather had started turning for the worse. If the storm was so bad that it would put out the local bus, sure, then you might not have a choice. But a light sprinkle wouldn’t kill you, and the lost and found wouldn’t mind you “borrowing” a jacket or scarf.

You turn toward the far end of the Pizzaplex, where the staff exit looms. You could just… check for yourself. There’s a strange, dread pang in your chest like the bite of an icicle, the notion that you might be caught going off-course, then returned to your path like an errant child.

Freddy surely wouldn’t mind you only checking out the window, would he?

Definitely not.

But still you step lightly, shoes squeaking faintly against the polished floor as the exit grew nearer and nearer. The Pizzaplex, as well as you've grown to know it, comes to feel unnaturally large when it’s this quiet- without at least a dozen children to draw your attention from the winding halls and the sprawling white floor, sometimes the place feels more like a labyrinth than a glorified daycare.

Though the twin doors come into reach without obstruction, there's still a prickling sense of unease that crawls the length of your skin, sending shivers down your spine as you reach for the silver handles.

Just a peek isn't going to hurt anyone, you tell yourself with a measure of false confidence.

It does not stop the trembling chill that races your heart to pump erratically as you make the move to push the doors open, and your skin grows colder still at the sight before you.

Snowflakes.

Fluffy, chunky snowflakes, cascading from the sky in a relentless flurry, the parking lot and roads already blanketed in white. The wind howls, biting and sharp. The city looks almost like a desolate tundra, smeared in thick strokes of white. The last bus is nowhere to be seen, likely sent back to the station early to avoid the storm.

You pull harshly on the doors, snapping them shut to prevent a gale wind from blowing through, to prevent snow from spilling onto the tile, and then you turn back, resigning yourself to a long night in the daycare, and then there’s a flicker of movement in the reflection of the chilled glass. You freeze, breath hitching sharply.

Slowly, you turn around, expecting to see Freddy or perhaps one of the staff bots patrolling the area.

And there is no one around.

Not that you can see, at least.

But the sound -faint, metallic clicking- tells you something is near. It’s sharply deliberate, like the tapping of long nails against glass.

And then a gangly shadow falls over you, dragging half of a shriek out of your lips right before you slap your hands over them.

Your head snaps up, eyes wide, and there, in a fluid arc of motion, leaping from the ceiling, is Moon, his painted grin wide and unsettlingly toothy in the dim lighting. He cast an eerie silhouette across the room as he lands upright with barely a thud, tilting his head to regard you.

“Why are you out of bed?”

“I was just…”, you start to say, but the words catch in your throat as he draws nearer. “I was only…”

“You know it’s against the rules to wander, don’t you?”

Your heart races as you stumble back, desperate to put distance between yourself and the unsettling animatronic. For all that you (and perhaps none but you and Cassie shared this feeling) had a soft spot for Sun, there was no denying that Moon had grown strange of late, often over-bolstering his “child-caring protocols”, to the terror of his many, many charges. Too often you had to step in and watch over them in his place just to ensure the kids would get some measure of sleep.

“I-I… no, i was just… just checking the weather,” you stammer, trying to keep your voice steady.

“Oh, checking the weather!” he repeats, his tone exaggeratedly bright and overly cheerful, though there’s an unmistakable edge beneath it. “But the rules are very clear- no wandering after hours! And you wouldn’t want to break the rules, would you, Starlight?”

That nickname doesn’t feel the same way that “Superstar” feels, not as warm or bright or genuine.

…but it’s still nice (admittedly less so under these circumstances) to have someone care enough to give you a moniker- and unlike Freddy, who simply maintained that everyone he liked was his special “Superstar”, the lunar half of the daycare attendant was far more reserved with his affections.

If he had let that feeling grow a little longer, that slow drift of bubbling warmth rising around your heart, maybe you wouldn’t have screamed out even past the barriers of your hands as he lunged forward and snagged his thin fingers around each side of your waist.

Instead, you simply shriek and kick.

That doesn’t stop Moon from lifting you slowly, his grip more than firm enough to make escape impossible. He tilts his head, his painted grin never wavering, though there’s something unsettling about the way his glowing red eyes seem to scan every inch of you, as if gauging your intent.

“No screaming,” he chides softly, his voice lowering to a whisper that echoes unnaturally in the empty Pizzaplex. “You’ll wake everyone up. Naughty, naughty.”

Your breath hitches as you struggle against his unyielding grip, your hands clawing uselessly at his smooth, cold arms. Moon holds you aloft effortlessly, his glowing red eyes locked on yours with an intensity that makes your stomach twist.

“Please,” you manage to croak, weak voice trembling. “I- I wasn’t… I wasn’t trying to cause trouble! I just… I just wanted to see if the storm was bad.”

His metal grin remains fixed, the crescent of his face gleaming faintly in the low light. “Storms are dangerous, Starlight,” he murmurs, his voice mechanical but almost sing-song, and still dripping with a strange condescension. “You could get lost. Hurt. It’s better to stay where things are safe.”

There is an unsteady pulse pounding through your chest now, a staccato rhythm that you’re certain he can sense. His glowing red eyes narrow, and his rictus grin; for all that it is fixed in place by steel, seems to grow wider.

He cradles you closer, the warmth of his metallic hands seeping through your uniform. The hum of his inner workings vibrate faintly, a reminder of the sheer difference between your anatomies. His voice drops lower, head leaning in to hiss lowly in your ear.

“And safe,” he whispers, “means staying close to me, Starlight.”

#Platonic Yandere #Yandere FNAF #Yandere Security Breach #FNAF #Security Breach #Yandere Freddy #Yandere Sun #Yandere Moon #Yandere Animatronics

147 notes · View notes

olderthannetfic · 2 months ago

Note

As someone who some times works with disabled people who do handcrafts. It's not actually an accessibility support to make those thousands of sizes, so I really get your issues with it.

Most of those patterns work like shit. Most of the physically disabled people still do their own patterns and adjustments, they just need tools that are better suited their individual needs. A person in a wheelchair or with one arm has to adjust things, but the ones I've worked with, who've been into their crafting hobbies for decades, can do most these things themselves.

People with mental disabilities (lower functioning (IDK if Anglospeakers still use that term tho)) can't get a use out of these hundreds of pattern types because they need a different kinda help when attempting them. (Easier standard patterns with good instructions are way better than advanced patterns ranging from the XXXXXS to XXXXXXXXLs, basically)

All in all, these "inclusive" patterns whatever else falls into it is just another one of those "THINK OF THE DISABLED!!!" when in most cases it's performative and seems to be more of a "Lazy ppl/Hustlers use disabled people to demand/sell something."

Godddd.

The latest crochet thing was an issue where the pattern is written in a normal, traditional style. It has a lot of shorthand. It also explicitly says that it isn't for beginners. The free versions are a video or one of those oldschool blogs with bajillions of ads that make it impossible to read.

Now, I can see why this would be a problem, especially if you aren't willing to cough up the $5 for the download.

However, the solution is to either teach a person to read traditional-style patterns with their nice, succinct abbreviations or find them a crafting buddy who can work with them one-on-one on that particular pattern.

Learning to read patterns sometimes isn't easy. That's true for everyone with every type of brain. That's why it's a thing you teach. The moaning about this is like someone going "Some books are harder than See Spot Run and that's bad!"

The wank was a combo of people wanting every pattern written out fully in sentences the way one on etsy from last week would be and of people wanting to participate in some stupid viral tiktok trend and thus "needing" an accessible version of that specific pattern.

(Someone created said accessible version... i.e. they drove traffic away from the blog post with the ads. Good job, genius. Both this person and the pattern designer have ended up with a million haters descending on their heads, of course. Everybody lost.)

I'd trust a designer like Skeindeer Knits to have some idea how to design a sleeve that can fit over my upper arm. I would not trust Andrea Mowry and her weird stick arms ideas about biceps circumference. I love her patterns and especially her promo photos, but jesus.

I think there's a poisonous pattern of both ~needing~ to make what everyone else just did (so all patterns have to be all things to all people) and of everybody just picking whatever designer looks most aspirational in their photo shoots.

I'd have way more respect if "I only promote size inclusive patterns" was followed by "Here are designs from designers who found a plus size model or who are plus size themselves" instead of "I checked the size range listed on ravelry." (Who am I kidding? Of course they won't do that. So few big designers bother to get a plus size model that it would mean tons of extra work for the youtuber doing a pattern roundup.)

So it all ends up back at "The sophie scarf looks good on everyone!!!"

It's the holidays.

Everyone is making that overrated dishrag as a gift for their 20 nearest and dearest.

Kill me now.

50 notes · View notes

oldfarmhouse · 2 years ago

Text

- We use unplastic wraps instead of cling film or plastic bags. The pretty ones in the pic are from @ohbeeco and are handmade in Finland using recycled cotton, and they decompose. We use them for food storage, for wrapping snacks in, etc. and from all the brands I’ve tried so far, these are definitely the best.*

- Ever since we stopped using paper towels back in 2010, we’ve been using reusable wipes in the kitchen; I knit dishrags as well as smaller wipes from bamboo or recycled cotton, which can be washed on a hot cycle even though their labels usually suggest cold. I’ve also bought some bamboo dishrags, the oldest of which date back to 2012!

- Instead of paper napkins we use linen ones (in the big basket) —

- For all my scrubbing purposes, I use wooden scrubs with bristles made of natural materials. I even reuse old toothbrushes for scrubbing on tight places. When we’re done with them, into the wood burning oven they go.

- The linen tea towels with pink stripes used to belong to my grandmother who passed away a few months before my daughter was born (A is now eleven!). I use her towels for all kinds of purposes from wiping my hands to drying tableware to covering bakes that are cooling down.

- Instead of plastic cutting boards, we use wooden ones. I bought the one in the picture back in 2011 when we moved to a new flat in the city, and every now and then I scrub it clean with some soda & lemon, then oil it (olive oil will do fine for this). It’s one of my favorite items in my kitchen because it reminds me of our past life in the city.

₊‧.°.⋆☠️•˚₊‧⋆.

I’d love to hear about the ways in which you try to reduce waste in your kitchen — share your tips so we can all come up with more tricks for less waste!

https://www.instagram.com.ohbeeco

#sustainable living #living life organically 🌿#green life

122 notes · View notes

atmilliways · 2 years ago

Text

15 questions, 15 mutuals

Tagged by @anzelsilver

1. Are you named after anyone?

My first name is my mom’s middle name.

2. When was the last time you cried?

No idea. In lieu of an answer to that question, here’s this: my go-to “I need to cry about something and this will do” movie is Interstellar.

3. Do you have kids?

I have 5 cats.

4. Do you use sarcasm a lot?

Why would I need to be sarcastic when just swearing says plenty. /sarcasm

5. What sports do you play/have you played?

Soccer, but I was afraid of being hit in the face with the ball. (Actually happened at least once, and not from trying to do headers.) Softball, also afraid of the ball. Cross country for like, one semester in 7th grade.

Does marching band count? Some of those field shows were intense.

6. What’s the first thing you notice about people?

What they’re talking about.

7. What’s your eye color?

Blue.

8. Scary movies or happy endings?

Both. During the pandemic lockdowns I ran out of actually good ones to watch while working from home and watched many movies with varying levels of quality. Some really great foreign horror films, though. The Eighth Night is fascinating.

9. Any special talents?

I remember song lyrics and quotes from tv shows and movies really well. 75% of my communication with other human beings is references.

10. Where were you born?

West coast, best coast.

11. What are your hobbies?

Writing, reading, herding cats, knitting (square or rectangular things only, the fanciest thing I can make is a dishrag with decorative holes).

12. Do you have pets?

Yep, five shelter cats. I’ve got Frankie (cranky tortico girl), Louie (blue-eyed Siamese mix girl), Noodle (black girl cat, possibly some Bombay in the woodpile), Chandler (black boy cat, with some white markings that kind of look like an itsy bitsy bikini), and Ozzy (black and white boy with a kinked tail, either some amount of deaf or really doesn’t care about his name).

13. How tall are you?

5'5"

14. Favorite subjects in school?

Creative Writing, Literature, and some Art in college

15. Dream job?

I’m in marketing, and I kind of have my dream job right now with a behavioral health non-profit. I have benefits and shit. Good ones, even. It’s amazing.

Tag 15 people (no pressure!)

Nah. ❤️ Tag yourself if you wanna.

#jean rambles

2 notes · View notes

imamwolf · 10 months ago

Text

Turpentine as Holy Water

Sterile. Empty. Bleach doused white tile. So strong it curls and burns your nose hairs.

April-Jacqueline sat squat on a lacquered pew, donated that past spring from the church to the hospital. It was long. And it was empty.

Expect for the one little ol’ Apple, trying to fill up the space as best she could.

Big Mac was still off down the hall, apologizing to nearly half the hospital staff after Granny damn near yelled their ears off.

Normally AJ would have been the one to apologize, or at least support her brother from behind. But like the change in the weather there was an ache inside her, a tightly wound knot that didn’t fit into ridged notches of her momma’s kitchen table.

Granny was in the room that cradled her mother’s life. Just one hallway over, just some plaster and lights.

April could see the room perfectly in her mind; the buttercups just outside her window that grow wild out here, the books of French with unsent letters bookmarked at the end on her side table, the thick quilts they normally use for winter piled high on the sunken hospital bed.

AJ’s hair was done up in pigtails, still drip-drying in the feeling of her momma’s fingers. Steepled into a comb pulled back in a cough wracked lullaby. Sweat-slick baby hairs splayed free and stuck to her face, clutching like wispy nightmares.

She was still in daddy’s shirt, tucked down to her knees into her hand-me down patch-work jeans.

It hung off her in the only way his heavy church fannel’s could, the kind that lulled her to sleep in the backseat of his sputtering truck, a kind of weight that kept her warm in the belly of the pews before winter fully dried into spring.

The shirt was stale with his memory. Present, but only if you looked for it.

The faded ash stains of bonfires spitting in his face, old dough caught under fingernail thin hemlines, with a hatch pattern that matched his shadow-puppet soft calloused hands.

A joint-knotted hand gently grabbed her shoulder, making April jump before seeing the crow feet laugh lines of her Granny.

Her wrinkled dog-eared skin from many years of love was soft, but still tinged with the warmth of spice and vinegar. In her arms was a pink blanket she had been knitting just for this very reason.

“This is your little sister Aj,” Granny’s dishrag wrung hand’s shook. “Her name is Abagail. You have to protect her now, okay?”

April-Jacqueline didn’t respond, the curly tuffs of her daddy’s hair not fitting a pudgy rosy baby face.

A little sterling silver bracelet on her chunky baby wrist glittered in the hospital light, the beautiful loopy letters that dated and labeled every jar of jam and every late night wax letter read; Abagail Applegate.

Little Abagail gurgled and wriggled in Aj’s too weak arms, her little hands peeling out from her pale pink blanket and reaching up to grab at her big sister’s face.

Despite her being so small, so new, so unaware, her touch was familiar, in the way a casket carries you home like a father; fleeting and yearning to be stuck in that moment forever.

Swallowing the jagged teeth of nails stuck in her throat, April-Jacqueline put on her mother’s hands. Her father’s hands, her brother's hands and then her Granny's hands. Took them off and put them back on again.

The apple-skin thin of her lips with big bite’s of blue bruises ache with every push against her teeth. But she was strong. She had to be.

“Hey, there sugarcube.”

Orphans.

#mlp #applejack #applebloom #mlp fim #my little pony #my litte pony friendship is magic #writing #fanfic #ficlet

8K notes · View notes

alvfr · 4 months ago

Note

MISS ALV‼️‼️‼️ SALUTATIONS‼️‼️‼️

I HAVE COME TO DO MY IRREGULAR DAILY CHECK UPS OF MY FAVORITE TUMBLR BLOGS‼️‼️‼️

FIRST‼️

I am very glad the ultrasound went well!!!

SECOND‼️

How are you? Hopefully you've been able to somewhat settle into your new house!! Eating well, sleeping well, drinking lots of liquids!! And hopefully life hasn't been too chaotic or hard on you!!

AND THIRD‼️‼️

Some questions :DDD

1. How do you say good morning, hello, I love you in your native tongue? 👀👀

2. What are some things you like to do in your spare time?

3. How many marshmallows do you think you could fit in your mouth? 🤔🤔 (not to brag or anything, but I can fit five 😏😏)

4. And lastly‼️ Have you heard of this new invention Google is coming up with? It's called Google SIMA :00

SIMA Balls 😏😏

ANYWAYS‼️‼️ HOPE ALL IS WELL AND GOOD!

And I'm very late to the party BUT a movie I recommend is Ice Age :D All five movies are great but the first one will always have a special place in my heart 😌😌 HAVE A GOOD DAY‼️‼️🫶🫶🫶

Salute salute 🫡

1) Thank you, it was a big relief and I’m trying to relax about everything until the next one in a few weeks

2) I feel like a wrung dishrag in a way. The toddler/OG baby brought home a bug from kindergarten and I got a cold on top of the nausea and everything else. I’m drinking my own body weight in carbonated water with apple juice (nurse recommended for nausea) but my bladder is the size of a thimble so… ya know at least I’m getting my steps in that way. Hopefully fingers and legs crossed this passes in the second trimester.

3.1 Buorre iđit = good morning

bures= helli

mun ráhkistan du = i love you

I went with Sami instead of Norwegian because being pregnant always makes me nostalgic and full of mourning for the language we were supposed to speak

3.2 Write!!! At least when I have the capacity lol. These days I’m barely managing a hot girl waggle walk and then rotting on the couch scrolling for hours. I also like to knit and sow, but it comes in waves.

3.3 zero right now because just the thought is ufbdhdhdh. (Maybe three normally depending on the size I’m positive American marshmallows are much bigger than ours. Fun fact the marshmallow bags here have a little American flag 🇺🇸 on them hahahaa)

And I love ice age!!! Especially the first one but also the second and third and I don’t remember if I’ve seen the latest one. (Also I’m an old fan of Nicki Minaj so her as a mammoth is just yes)

#asks #tw pregnancy #thank you for this and sorry for taking long to reply and not matching vibe because these honestly make me so happy #but I’m tired and I guess that is obvious hahahaha

0 notes

acacia-may · 2 years ago

Text

What They See

Description: Grey's can't figure out what Gauche and Gordon's "secret project" is. She has always known that Gauche and Gordon are both much more crafty than she is, but she has never before been so confused by what they are working on. Will she ever figure it out or will her friends manage to keep it a sweet surprise?

Rating: G

Warnings: A tiny bit of Grey's insecurities and Grey being an unreliable narrator. But mostly just fluff!

Fandom: Black Clover

Genre: Friendship Fluff, G-Squad Crafting Club, and Surprises (and just the tiniest bit of hurt/comfort because Grey is insecure and an unreliable narrator).

Characters: Gordon Agrippa, Gauche Adlai, & Grey

Part of the Friendsgiving Event 2022 Series, But Stands Alone

Word Count: 1,847

Link to original post on AO3. Please do not repost to another site. Thank you for reading!

Grey bit her lip in concentration as she stared down at the scarf she was knitting with a sigh. She had messed up her stitching again and was seriously contemplating whether she would need to unravel it and start over. It wouldn’t be the first time and probably wouldn’t be the last either. She sighed again. Perhaps she should add knitting to the abandoned crafts pile she had been accumulating ever since Gordon had had the idea for a crafting club. Only Gauche and herself were regular members though some of their other squad mates flittered in and out if they were around. Today, however, it was just the three of them.

“Marie, my angel. You are as lovely as ever,” Gauche cooed at the small Marie sculpture he was currently painting. Gauche’s keen eye for detail made him a wonderful painter and sculptor. Grey was often left flabbergasted by how closely his crafts of Marie’s likeness resembled her. She had tried her hand at sculpting a few months back when she was trying to decide on a craft project, but her sculpture ended up looking more like a misshapen blob than anything else. Luck had asked her for it but only so he could throw it at Magna when he ate the last of the pudding.

Gordon had tried to reassure her by teaching her how to sew, but her stitches had ended up messy and uneven. Needless to say the handkerchief she had been working on quickly became a pot holder—then a dishrag. When Grey had thrown her needle and thread in the abandoned craft pile, however, Gordon had felt bad and "rescued" them, whispering something about how he didn’t want them to get discarded despite the fact that, as Gauche rolled his eyes and pointed out, they were inanimate objects.

Gordon was using the end of her spool of thread now actually—tailoring what appeared to be some clothes for his dolls. Out of everyone in the squad Gordon was probably the most crafty and had a natural talent for sewing—second to only Vanessa and her thread magic. Grey couldn’t help but wish she was half so crafty, but, unfortunately, she was always left lagging behind Gauche and Gordon.

Grey sighed. She supposed it was to be expected—after all, she had spent her whole life lagging behind others, particularly her squad mates who were all stronger, braver, and more powerful than she was. They were always out doing wonderful things with their magic while she stayed cowering in the corner—too shy, embarrassed and weak to do much of anything. Though her friends tried to encourage her, she worried that she just dragged them down and could only contribute as much to their squad as she could contribute to their crafting club, which, if her tangled attempt at a knitted scarf was any indication, was not much at all.

“Done!” Gauche declared triumphantly, pulling her out of her introspection. He leaned back in his chair to admire his work with a smile.

“That’s great, Gauche. It looks just like her!” said Gordon—quiet but enthusiastic as he shifted to get a better look at Gauche’s Marie statue.

“It’s…it’s really nice…” Grey stumbled, somewhat nervously before she buried her warm cheeks in her hands.

Gauche nodded. “They’re getting more realistic with practice.” He reached into the box of craft supplies and pulled out another block of wood and begin chiseling away. Another Marie statue, perhaps? Grey wondered, but as she kept glancing over at Gauche’s new sculpture, she noticed the figure was taller. Her brow furrowed, but she lost her nerve before she could ask Gauche who he was carving.

This continued for several more meetings of their crafting club—Gauche’s statue becoming all the more beautiful and Gordon tailoring the tiniest clothes—too small for even a doll. Meanwhile, Grey picked away at her knitting and tried to be brave enough to ask her friends about their projects. When she finally plucked up the courage and asked Gauche who he was carving, however, Gauche had just told her that “it’s a surprise” with the slightest twitch of a smile in the corners of his mouth. Asking Gordon was much the same—or so she thought anyway. She was getting much better at understanding him over time, but it still proved difficult for her when he returned to his usual quiet mumblings, like he did when he almost sheepishly told her that he was also working on a surprise project. And so, she merely sighed and returned to watching them work with a quiet contemplation and curiosity.

*-*-*

“I’ve finished the base,” Gauche declared proudly one afternoon when Grey’s scarf was nearly two-thirds complete, and Gordon clapped murmuring something about being nearly finished himself.

As Gauche rose from his seat to get his paints, Grey’s curiosity got the best of her, and she leaned over for a better look at his statue. She gasped. It was absolutely lovely—the likeness of a beautiful girl taking a step forward with her shoulders squared and resolute, arms at her sides, smiling proudly, confidently.

“Let’s try the cape on her,” said Gordon excitedly as he wrapped a tiny black cloak around the statue's shoulders. Grey could only blink at its intricate stitch-work and the embroidery of their magic knight squad emblem. Gordon had created a near painstaking replica of the Black Bulls’ robe for Gauche’s statue. Her brow furrowed—did this mean that this girl Gauche had carved was on their squad?

Grey tilted her head at the statue again. Her hair was too short for her to be Vanessa, and her frame was too tall for her to be Charmy. Noelle perhaps? Or Secre?

“You weren’t supposed to see that yet,” huffed Gauche with a twitch of his mouth as he returned with the paints.

Flushing, Grey buried her face in her hands. “I…I’m so sorry…”

She could hear Gauche sigh as he took his seat again. “It’s fine. It’s just not finished yet." He paused. "That cloak looks good though.”

“Thank you,” Gordon mumbled as Grey peeked between her fingers. Her blush deepened as she met Gauche’s eye and caught sight of his frown.

“You don’t have to keep closing your eyes...”

Swallowing hard, Grey managed a nod and stammered, “S—sorry.” Her hands shook as she found she could only fan out her fingers rather than uncover her eyes completely.

Gauche sighed again, but Gordon interjected, “Maybe she wants a big reveal?”

“Sure. Fine. Whatever…” he huffed with an eye roll. “But there’s a streak of paint in the hair now so it really looks unfinished.”

Gently, Gordon took one of Grey’s hands—pulling it from her eyes and leading her in front of the statue as a tint of pink flushed in her cheeks. “Ta da,” he said motioning to it as Grey let her other hand fall to her side and opened her eyes. Though she didn’t expect it to look any different than when she had just seen it, she intended to act as excited as she could to show her appreciation to Gordon and Gauche.

She smiled brightly, and began, “It’s lovely! Who is—?” She gasped noticing the streak of blue in the carved wooden hair. No… that couldn’t be right…she thought. It must just be the lighting or…Her brow furrowed. As she tilted her head curiously at the statue, she began to almost absent-mindedly reach out her hand towards the streak of paint before Gauche grabbed her wrist. Her blush deepened, and she inhaled sharply.

“Careful. It’s still wet,” he said curtly, and he let go of her wrist as quickly as he had taken it.

“S—sorry. Sorry…” she stumbled, fighting the urge to bury her face in her hands in embarrassment again. “I was just…um…wondering…wondering…um…”

Gauche’s brow furrowed. “Wondering what?”

Her face flushing, Grey stared at her shuffling feet and mumbled so quietly she wasn’t sure if Gauche or Gordon would even hear her, “Wondering…um…why her…um…her hair…um…why it’s…um…well…um…is it…? Is it…blue…?”

“Do you not like the color?” Gauche huffed—a bit irritable perhaps. “I’ve been trying to mix the right shade for weeks. I thought this was pretty close.” Out of the corner of her eye she saw Gauche grab the paintbrush in one hand and hold it up next to her.

“It looks right to me,” said Gordon. “Grey?”

Slowly, Grey looked up from the ground at Gauche’s paintbrush—its tip coated in a light blue paint. As she tilted her head at it, Gauche asked, “It’s the same color as your hair, right?”

Grey gasped. “My…um…my…hair…?”

“Yes, your hair. This is a statue of you after all.”

“Of…of me…?” Grey repeated almost incredulously. She stared at the statue again and shook her head. There was no way this was a statue of her. Everything about this girl from her pose to her expression exuded beauty, strength, and confidence—the complete and totaloppositeof her.

“Doesn’t she look just like you?” asked Gordon excitedly. “Gauche did a great job.”

Gauche huffed, but his mouth twitched with a smile before he twisted it to one side. “We were going to try to keep it a secret, but it was a lot easier to work on it when you were sitting right there and could model.”

“You think…you think this is…” Her voice hitched before it began to trail. Was this really what they thought she looked like? Was this what they saw when they looked at her—someone who could stand tall and protect her friends, who didn’t cower in corners or try to hide from the world? Did they really see more in her than even what she could see in herself? She took the wooden statue in her hands and stared at it—blinking back the tears that glistened in her eyes.

“It might be a little hard to picture now since it’s not fully painted yet and all of the clothes Gordon’s been making aren’t on yet, but…” Gauche didn’t finish that thought as his brow furrowed at her. “You okay?”

Somehow Grey managed a nod as Gordon asked with a slight, kind smile and earnest eyes, “Do you like it, Grey?”

Sniffling, Grey nodded again. “I love it! Thank you!”

As she took a step back to admire the little statue, the brightest smile spread across her face. She could never find the words to express how much her friends’ gift meant to her, but she hoped to repay them someday, hoped that someday she could be strong, brave, and confident for them—that someday she would be everything they could see in her. Grey knew that with her friends by her side, someday she would be the best she could be, and as she stood with them now as they smiled back at her, she couldn’t help but wonder if in their eyes, she already was.

#friendsgiving event #black clover writing request #black clover writing request event #gordon agrippa #gauche adlai #grey #friendship fluff #I love the G-Squad! They're so underrated!!#G-Squad Crafting Club #black clover fanfic #thank you for reading!! 🥰

20 notes · View notes

astralaffairs · 4 years ago

Note

(i could never nag anyone to do anything thanks to my handy dandy anxiety disorder) BUT in the spirit of the spicy content you've provided in the past few days, imagine pres thom and aftercare. i mean how sweet he must be....

i got carried away w/ this oops :)) it takes place btwn their wedding n his inauguratiom

—————————

“Hey, shh, c’mere.”

Y/N could feel herself crying, even if it wasn’t fully conscious; the minute Thomas untied her hands, she curled into herself, but she didn’t put up any resistance when he pulled her into his arms, cradled her against his chest.

“I’ve got you, alright?” he murmured, and the concerned look he wore softened when she clung to him, her arms around his neck. He rubbed circles softly into her lower back. “You’re safe. It’s alright; just relax, sweetheart.”

They sat in silence a few moments, then, leaning against the headboard as Thomas pressed soft kisses to her hair and to her arms, where they were close enough to his mouth. He shifted her on his lap, and she whimpered against his skin.

“You okay?” he whispered. When she just gave a noncommittal hum, he muttered into her hair, “I love you.”

“Love you, too.” Her words were muffled, her face buried into his chest, but they made him smile. He smoothed her hair back and lifted her chin. Her eyes still watered; her gaze was hesitant as she glanced up at him.

“Everything feelin’ okay? Anything hurt?”

“I’m fine.” She reclined against his arms, tilted her head back when he kissed the red marks his fingers had left on her neck.

“You sure?”

“Promise.” Her smile was halfhearted, and he furrowed his brow when she didn't meet his eyes, cupping her face in his hand.

“What d’you need? Water? Food?” he asked, “If you want, I can draw a bath, get you cleaned up, or we can just go to sleep ‘n worry about all that in the morning.”

She sniffled, shrugged. “Food sounds nice,” she mumbled, but when she frowned, she went on. “But ‘m okay. Don’t go off to the kitchen. I don’t wanna be alone.”

“Relax, I’m not gonna leave you.”

"Okay," she whispered, pulling herself up to bury her face in the crook of his neck. He massaged her back when she turned to straddle his lap, and she hummed contentedly. "That feels nice."

"Good." He kissed her shoulder. "Want you to feel good."

"I do." She finally leaned back, looking him in the eye. His hands were gentle as one came to rest at her waist, the other pushing her hair away from her face. "Are you alright?"

"Am I alright?" he repeated, and when she shrugged hesitantly, he gave her a reassuring smile. "I'm just fine, sweetheart. 'M a little more worried about you, right now." He leaned in toward her, but he stopped himself short, running his thumb along her cheekbone. "It okay if I kiss you?"

At the concern in his quiet voice, the tentativeness in his actions, she smiled, pulling him closer. "Of course," she whispered, kissing his lips softly, and when he went on, kissing her cheek tenderly, her smile widened. "You're sweet."

"Dunno if you're gonna be singing the same tune when you wake up covered in bruises tomorrow," he warned, and although he meant the words to be playful, worry permeated his voice; she could feel it in every press of his lips against the side of her head, with every nervous brush of his hands against her body. He was treating her like fine china, afraid that if he held on too hard, she just might shatter. She shook her head.

"Don't talk like that," she murmured, pulling his face back to hers with a hand under his cheek. He raised an eyebrow. "I hate when you talk after sex like you did something wrong. You know I wanted all this, don't you?"

"Yeah, I know," he reassured her, resting his forehead against hers. "I just worry."

"I know you do." Her hold on his body tightened; she pulled him closer, if only because she could tell he was too hesitant to do it himself. "Love you, Thomas."

His smile was watery. "I love you, too."

She rested the side of her head against his chest, kissed his collarbone, and her expression softened when he wrapped her in a blanket; she let her eyes fall shut. When he tucked it under her side and pulled it over her legs, he looped his other arm under her knees. She could’ve fallen asleep there quite easily as he nosed into her neck, kissed the blossoming hickeys on her soft skin, but when her stomach growled loudly, he sighed.

"Alright, we needa get you somethin' to eat." His words sounded final, and when he shifted under her, she pulled back with a concerned look.

"You said you'd stay with me," she protested, and he smiled, kissed her forehead.

"I know. I'm not leavin', but you should have a snack before you fall asleep, here."

"Forget a snack, I could go for a whole meal," she muttered, curling back into his chest, and he raised an eyebrow. "Can you make pancakes tomorrow? A big breakfast sounds nice."

"Aren't you hungry now?"

"I can wait."

He huffed at her words and a surprised yelp escaped her when he swung his legs over the side of the bed and pushed himself to his feet, her still resting in his arms. Her eyes flew open.

“Thomas, what are you doing?” she asked, and despite the trace of panic in her voice, a laugh permeated her words. He grinned.

“What, don't you want pancakes?” he asked, and her sigh was exasperated. “We’re going to the kitchen.”

“You could’ve given me some warning before carrying me through your penthouse,” she murmured, shoving his chest lightly.

“Our penthouse,” he corrected her. She rolled her eyes, curling back into his chest.

“Your penthouse. I just live here.”

“Oh, hush.” He shook his head as he turned to the side, shuffling her through the doorway. “This place is every bit as much yours as it is mine. I don’t wanna hear it.”

“Whatever. Nothing in this place is mine.” She glanced up at him, wearing a wry smile, and he met her eyes with a raised brow. “Except you, of course.”

Her words made him laugh, but the quip was reassuring as she stretched up to kiss his collarbone; he was relieved that she was still feeling alright.

“What, you wanna remodel this place?” he offered. She cocked her head to the side. “We can redecorate, if you wanna.”

“You’d do that for me?”

“Sweetheart, if I haven’t already made it clear, I’d do just about anything for you.” He kissed her forehead as he set her down on the kitchen counter, tucking a cushion from one of the kitchen chairs under her. She hummed contentedly, pulling her blanket tighter around her. "You need ice for anything? I know tonight got intense."

She shook her head. "Nothing hurts too bad. It's nothing that I won't be able to sleep off." He furrowed his brow, and when she met his eyes, she added, "but I'll let you know if anything still hurts tomorrow, okay?"

"I'm holdin' you to that," he warned as he turned to withdraw a dish towel from the cabinet above the sink, ran it under the water from the faucet. He wrung it dry. “C’mere.”

Her eyebrows jumped when he pulled her to the edge of the counter by her thighs; her eyes widened when he parted her legs by the knees.

“Thomas,” she whined, shifting in his grasp when he used the rag to wipe both their drying cum from her inner thighs. The lukewarm water and the feel of his calloused fingers on her sensitive skin sent shivers down her legs. “Let me do that.”

“Ah, ah, ah.” He pulled the cloth away as she tried to take it from him, and she looked at him impatiently. He took a step closer to her; she raised her eyebrows, and he rested his forehead against hers. “C’mon, baby. Just lemme take care of you, alright? I’m the one who made this mess, anyway.”

“To be fair, it’s both our mess.” She rolled her eyes as he ran his hands up her legs. Despite everything, the feeling still made her skin jump under his touch as she rested her arms across his shoulders.

“Just lemme clean you off,” he said, and his pleading pout made her bite her lips, suppressing her endeared smile. “Please?”

“Must you be so overbearing?” she asked. He shrugged, unapologetic, and reluctantly, she leaned back onto her hands. His smile was soft as he leaned down to kiss her shoulder. She squirmed when he used the dishrag to wipe her pussy clean, and he laughed at her tiny whimper.

“Can’t you sit still?” He pulled back to look her in the eyes with his brows raised. Her scowl was playful.

“Not my fault you left me so sensitive.”

When she swatted his arm, his smile only widened as he leaned in to kiss her. She could feel his grin against her lips, more teeth than technique, and when his mouth found its way to her neck, she giggled.

“Love you,” he murmured against her upper chest, and she knit her hands into his hair, lifting his head back up to hers.

“I love you, too.” She kissed his nose. “Now, are we eating, or what? C’mon, Jefferson; I was promised food.”

“My apologies, Jefferson,” he replied, tone ironic, and she rolled her eyes.

“God, maybe marrying you was a mistake,” she huffed. His grin only broadened.

“‘S a little late for that regret, sweetheart,” he said frankly. “Can’t get an annulment, now, ‘n we’re moving into the White House in a month. You’re stuck with me.” He bumped his nose against hers, and she snorted.

“Oh, the horror.” He rolled his eyes at her words as he walked over to their pantry, and she watched him with a small smile. "Can you put chocolate chips in the pancakes?"

He peeked his head out from behind the pantry door. "I was thinkin' blueberry pancakes, tonight." When she stuck her bottom lip out in a sulking pout, he wore an amused smile.

"Oh, c'mon, I'm the injured one," she whined.

"Thought you said you were fine."

"I changed my mind." She shrugged when he emerged with the pancake mix and syrup, but he rolled his eyes.

"See, you manipulatin' me tells me loud 'n clear that you're doin' okay, sweetheart."

She huffed. "So no chocolate chips?"

"How 'bout half and half?"

She pursed her lips as he pulled the griddle out and plugged it in. "Only if you put sprinkles in the chocolate chip ones."

He laughed. "Alright, fair enough."

Her smile matched his when he kissed her forehead in passing before retrieving a bowl from the cabinet under her. His soft humming as he made the pancake batter, flicked water onto the griddle to see if it was hot enough, made her smile. He drizzled the first couple pancakes on, and she laughed softly when he made a smiley face out of chocolate chips in one.

"You're adorable," she said softly, and he glanced over at her with a smile.

"I try." The self-satisfaction in his voice made her laugh. She sniffled.

"I'm gonna go put on some clothes, alright?"

He raised an eyebrow. "You sure you're feeling good enough to be on your own, right now?"

"I'm fine, T," she promised, kissing his upper arm as he flipped a pancake. "Be right back."

"Can you grab me a pair of pants?" he called after her, and she only nodded.

She yawned as she padded across his cold hardwood floor, tugging at her hair to try and get the worst of the tangles out of it. She went straight for his dresser in their bedroom, disregarding her own, and when she slipped on one of his old college t-shirts, she pulled the hem up to her nose, inhaling deeply. She didn't bother to put anything on under them.

When she returned to the kitchen, she pushed herself up to sit on the counter right beside the griddle, watching Thomas as he cooked (and popping several of the blueberries he'd retrieved from the fridge into her mouth). He turned his head, raised a skeptical eyebrow.

"Thought you were the one who didn't want the blueberries."

"And I thought you wanted to put on a pair of pants." She raised her eyebrows, holding up his sweatpants, and he grinned as he took them from her.

"Hey, I was just gonna let you enjoy the eye candy for a little longer, but if you've had enough, I guess I can get dressed."

"Please," she snorted. "I have a whole life ahead of me to look at your limp dick. I think I'll manage."

"So mean," he complained, but as he put on the sweatpants, he leaned over to kiss her. "I still like thinking about the fact that you're stuck with me for the rest of your life, now. It doesn't get old."

"Yeah, but we will." She ate a handful of chocolate chips. "Are you really looking forward to bingo nights at our nursing home in fifty years?"

"Fifty years," he repeated softly, and when he sniffled, lifted his hand to wipe at his cheek, her eyebrows shot up.

"Thomas, are you crying?"

"No." His defense was weak; as he lifted his head, she could see his watery eyes.

"You're tearing up."

"'S not my fault you're makin' me sentimental," he said, jabbing her arm with his spatula. She giggled as she ducked away from it. "You know that kinda talk gets me emotional; don't you tease me."

"You're just giving me more reason to tease you, baby," she replied softly, but when he gave her a flat stare, she giggled. She kissed the corner of his mouth. "I'm sorry. I can't help myself. I love you."

"Yeah, yeah, sure you do," he dismissed, and before she could defend herself, plastering on a pout, he turned to their spice cabinet. "What kinda sprinkles d'you want? Chocolate? Rainbow?"

"Rainbow, of course." He pulled them down from the shelf. "Chocolate chips and chocolate sprinkles would be overkill. Aren't you supposed to be the chef in this relationship?"

"Oh, shut it," he grumbled, and she squealed when he poked the side of her waist. He paused, though, when they heard his phone buzz behind him. "Hey, can you check on that for me?"

"Mhm."

He went on humming a tune she couldn't quite place as she grabbed his phone from where it was charging in the kitchen, and when she unlocked it, she laughed.

Thomas turned around. "What's so funny?"

She held up the phone with a grin. "Lafayette says he's going to file a noise complaint if we ruin another night of sleep for him."

Thomas rolled his eyes. "Guess we'll have to be quieter, next time."

"Maybe you should just buy me a gag."

Her words made him choke on his own spit.

210 notes · View notes

sunshineandrosesnoraincamemyway · 1 year ago

Text

yay! So excited that you're wanting to try knitting!

YouTube can be a great place to learn knitting, and if you ever want books to use just let me know (I don't have much experience with the tutorials on YouTube, but I can try and find some good ones)

I really love the cotton yarn from Walmart as it is really sturdy and holds up well. (We have some dishrags my mom made over 15 years ago with this yarn and they are still holding up well to daily use. If you want to make something to wear, you'll probably want to go with acrylic since it stretches better and is warmer than cotton

I love circular needles because you can knit flat or in the round. The only thing that's hard about knitting in the round (in my opinion at least) is getting started with it, but once it's started it's incredibly easy. (The magic loop method makes it even easier to knit in the round, but it's not necessary)

For your first project, I agree that a hat is one of the easiest ways to get started with knitting in the round. If you're wanting to knit flat, I learned by knitting square washcloths to practice different stitches. And again, knitted cloth rags hold up very well, plus they are relatively quick to make.

Good luck on your endeavors!

Alright, Fiber Craft Tumblr, I have:

Never knitted before not even a tiny bit don't know the first thing about it

Intentions to teach myself via YouTube videos

A very very (very very very) limited budget

No way to get to places like discount stores or thrift stores I'm limited to what I can order from Walmart.

What needles to do I want, what yarn do I want, what do I want my first project to be?

(Please reblog I want lots of answers thank you ^_^)

26 notes · View notes

marlahey · 4 years ago

Photo

under the same roof part three: all the time you need

a harry styles rpf part three of six written by annie and aj (marlahey and formerly harryonstage) ratings/warnings: disaster gays, endangered ovaries from dad!harry, women aggressively supporting women notes: enter the rest of harry’s family unit! in case anyone’s curious, annie tells sylvia to give her dad a kiss in vietnamese, to which he responds, good girl. before anyone comes for me, there will be plenty more opportunities for bed-sharing to come. side note: aj always pictured olivia coleman as officer warren. masterlist | part one | part two | part four (21.12.20)

............................................... • saturday, 5th january 9:18 am • The second time you’re roused from sleep, sunlight illuminates Harry’s room. You lift your head, squinting, but more quickly you recognize where you are.

Harry is nowhere in sight, but a fresh glass of water is within reach on the nightstand, and a cardigan knitted with primary-colored patches lies folded at the foot of the bed. After slipping your arms through the loose sleeves, you take a few gulps of water and make sure to shut his bedroom door quietly on your way out. You hadn’t spent much time in the living room as per Officer Warren’s instructions to avoid the windows, but you can see into it from the hall. And since there’s still no sign of Harry, you take a minute to discreetly look around at the place he and his daughter call home. His flat is obviously larger than yours—he has two bedrooms versus one—but the morning light seems to stretch the space even further, like an open armed welcome. The atmosphere bustles with a little dose of chaos. Two brimming bookshelves span one wall of the living room, and plants line the windowsills. A half-sized Christmas tree stands off in the corner, wrapped in twinkly lights and strings of popcorn. A white fender guitar decorated with various stickers stands with a speaker beside the couch, and records tile the wall behind it: Pink Floyd, Fleetwood Mac, The Stones, The Cars, Hello I’m Dolly. There is ample evidence that a child lives here, too. The walls are dotted with drawings in watercolor, crayon, and sparkles. You can see pieces of Lego strewn out on the carpet; they must be from that towering box Harry had towed into the lift a week before Christmas. A small smile tugs at your lips as you follow the smell of espresso into the kitchen. You find Harry leaning against the counter looking contemplative, holding aloft a cup of coffee that he seems to have forgotten about. He’s wearing the same shirt he’d slept in, but thrown on a pair of joggers. You bid a quiet, “Good morning.” He inhales sharply as his head whips toward you, his drink sloshing over the edge of his mug slightly. “Jesus, sorry,” he laughs softly, shaking his head at himself. You watch as he wets a dishrag and cleans the small mess. “Not really used to company my age.” “Oh… Sorry.” “S’alright.” His voice is covered in sleep; it almost sounds like he has a cold. “Coffee?” You hum appreciatively. “Love some.” “Were you able to get some sleep?” he asks, pulling a mug from the cabinet. “Enough, yeah.” All you can think about is waking up locked in his embrace, on the still-dark cusp of sunrise. “Thank you for letting me, um…” “Course. Cream?” “That’s great, thanks.” Harry nods over his shoulder towards the bedroom. “It help at all?” How are you supposed to answer that? “The real bed?” he clarifies, like it is at all necessary. You listen to the spoon clink rhythmically against the ceramic, and settle on “I think so,” as noncommittally as possible. “How did you sleep?” “Very well.” In passing you your mug, Harry catches your eyes for the first time today in a way that feels like not an accident. “More importantly, how are you feeling about everything else?” You shrug, eyes glued to the cream swirling in your coffee. “Better, a little.” “That’s good.” “What about you?” you ask. “You’ve kinda been through the wringer, yourself.” “I’m good, yeah.” Harry pushes up his glasses. “I was thinking—if you don’t mind—I’d like to come with you to the police department this morning.” “No, no, Harry.” You wave away the offer. “Don’t worry about that.” “No, really. It might make more sense. I saw him in the hall last night, and I was with you in the lift. They might need to ask some questions of both of us.” You consider this a moment. “I don’t want you to feel like you have to.” “I don’t have to,” Harry counters. “I want to. I want you to, y’know… ” he trails off. “I want them to get this guy.” You blink at him. There’s a strange feeling in knowing that Harry has clearly thought about your wellbeing beyond the night that you’ve effectively been trapped in his flat. Regardless, it’s too early for a battle of wills, and he has a point. You slouch against the fridge. “Alright. Well… I still have India’s car so I can drive us,” you concede. A smile lights Harry’s face. Suddenly your stomach rumbles so powerfully and for so long that it interrupts the conversation. You cover a small, mortified laugh with both hands as Harry’s eyebrows raise. “Well,” he begins, exaggerated. “Let’s take care of that… You take the first turn in the bathroom, I’ll fix us some breakfast.” “You sure?” “Go ahead.” He grabs a skillet from the drying rack, turning on one of the burners. “Thank you, Harry.” “It’s no problem.” You wash your face with something you find above the sink and brush your teeth on auto-pilot before considering your bundle of clothes from the night before. Your cardigan lays at the top of the stack. Four of your fingers fit through the gaping hole in its collar, and dirt covers one of the sleeves. You hadn’t forgotten about the shape it was in last night, but you didn’t consider it a problem until now, as you hold it up in front of you by the shoulders, frowning. You try to tame your hair with a purple, sparkly brush to no avail, so you take a quick look around to see if Sylvia has any spare barrettes or pins. Thankfully there’s a single hair tie floating in the bottom of your purse. You shrug back into Harry’s patchwork sweater—oddly comforting in how fully it swallows your shoulders and hands—and slip back out to the kitchen, where Harry plates grilled tomatoes and bacon. “We’re about ready to eat.” Harry turns the stovetop down to a simmer as the toaster pops. “How do you take your eggs?” “Sunny side up, please.” He salutes you with his spatula, attention already returned to the pan. “Can I help with anything?” Harry nods to a drawer. “Yeah can you pass us a couple napkins from just there? I’ll be right back,” he rushes, already halfway out of the kitchen. You pull a few paper napkins from their packet as he returns with two chairs that you recognize from his small wicker table. “Blinds are open in the other room, thought it might be best if we just eat in here.” He sets the chairs apart, facing one another. “Now this is living,” you deadpan. Harry laughs lightly as he gestures for you to sit. The two of you get adjusted with your plates on your lap, and your knees almost bump in the small space. “This is great, Harry. Thank you.” “I’d make you bubble and squeak, too, but we’re fresh out and Sylvia hates beans so we don’t keep them on hand. So technically...” Harry lowers his voice to a whisper. “S’not a full English fry up.” You can only smile around your mouthful, unexpectedly endeared. The rest of breakfast passes in silence. You shouldn’t have slept on an empty stomach; you’re ravenous from skipping a meal last night. He looks up at you eventually, a touch more serious than before. “Shall we think about heading to the police station soon?” You dab your mouth with your napkin and nod. Harry stands from his chair and reaches an open hand down to you for your plate. “No, no,” you nudge him away with your elbow. “You cooked, I’ll clean.” “Let me deal with these. You’re a guest.” “I’m a captive.” “No you’re not! You’re—” He breaks off, hesitating a moment before plunging on with an amused slant to his lips. “You’re my sort-of friend.” Your assumption he hadn’t overheard that comment to your mother last night on the phone was clearly in vain. You press your lips together against any inadvertent reaction. Your head swivels toward him, eyes full of lighthearted reproach. “Look, just let me do the dishes to give myself the illusion that I’m not just a freeloader here. Besides, I’m already ready to go.” "Fine,” he caves disapprovingly. “I’ll get myself sorted and be out in a minute.” “Take your time.” While Harry is preoccupied, you finish slotting the clean plates from breakfast carefully into the drying rack and pull out your phone to message India. Hey, I have a lot to update you on but it’ll be much easier to explain in person. I still have your car and I need it for one thing this morning but I promise I’ll fill the tank ASAP. It’s about the guy that’s been following me. Just know that I’m safe and everything’s okay. I’ll call you when I can. Love you. Send. That’ll have to do for now. Harry returns in jeans and a sweater. It’s still strange to see him so dressed down. “Ready?” he asks. “Yeah. You mind if I wear this to the police station?” you ask, pinching the fabric of his cardigan. You feel the urge to explain yourself—the hole in your sweater, the grime—but Harry’s already shaking his head. “Not at all. Do you maybe want something a little less… loud? I don’t even wear that one out, myself, really.” You consider the bright cacophony of color like it’s brand new to your eyes. Loud is right. “Yeah, that’s not a terrible idea.” Harry’s lips twitch. “C’mon then. You’re welcome to pick anything you’d like.” Pick? You nod because you’re worried the surprise is painted on your face. “Okay.” Harry leads you to his bedroom again, and over to the large wooden wardrobe. He pulls the double doors open and you cannot help yourself from gawking a little. You’re taken by all the exquisite patterns and intricate textures of the suits, but it’s oddly wistful to run your fingertips along all of them hung in a row. You smile privately, a bit removed. “What?” Harry laughs from behind you. “Nothing!” you reply, glancing over your shoulder before saying more softly, “I just recognize some of these.” “Oh, thought you were sizing them up. My mates all take the piss… They say my suits are eccentric.” He rolls his eyes, reciting the insult like he’s quoting their words verbatim. You turn back around to his closet. “I think they look nice—I think you look nice in them.” You take a step back and crane your neck to the shelf of folded sweaters above the hanging rod. The extensive array of muted wool and cotton is a bit overwhelming. You spot the planet sweater he’d worn the first time you saw Sylvia, the oversized yellow one that reminded you of Charlie Brown, the black one with half a red heart and the letters, NY in bold white text… It takes a minute of jogging your memory before you can recall him wearing something more plain. Harry doesn’t own a lot of plain. You still can’t quite reach the shelf up on your tiptoes, but Harry is at your side immediately. “The brown?” He tugs it from the stacks and passes it down. “Yeah, thanks.” You examine the camel colored fabric with tiny flecks of black thread, and run your hand along the smooth purl. “This should do.” You tug the sweater over your head; it’s boxy, your arms aren’t long enough to fit, and it isn’t doing any favors for your shoulders. You have to roll the sleeves up past your wrists before the outfit can half pass as something you purposely wore out of the house. You spin around to face him. “Does it look normal?” Harry’s jaw flexes as he gives you the up-down. You fiddle with one of the sleeves. “Yeah,” Harry says stiffly. “Looks normal.” It’s bizarre walking through the level six hallway; it’s identical to your own, but the last time you’d been here, everything down to the carpet and light fixtures had been tainted by your deafening fear. What’s more is that riding down in the lift with Harry feels entirely different now. You see it all from his perspective, and try to visualize what you look like to him most mornings, standing in the corner with your school bag and a book tucked beneath your arm. The lift picks up a few people on its way down, but by the time it reaches the garage, you and Harry are alone. You catch his eyes in the reflection of the doors a second before they open. He clears his throat. “I know it’s probably… we’ll be fine, but stay close, yeah?” You look up at him and nod. It’s easy to keep to your word. Harry guides you to walk in front of him the entire way as your eyes scan the shadows in between the rows of cars. You’re sure you will never be able to see this garage quite the same way. “It’s the old Volkswagen.” “I see it.” You’re so out of it that you almost try to get in on the passenger side. It’s the kind of slip up that Harry might have teased you about, but he’s quiet and looking around, too. You pull the jacket you’d left on the seat last night into your lap, the two of you strap in, and you cannot pull out into the street fast enough. The mustard yellow envelope in the back seat is an unwelcome passenger, visible in your rearview mirror. Who else knew about these photos? How many are there that weren’t in your envelope? Are they online somewhere? Would they follow you to law school? Your grip tightens on the steering wheel as you grind your teeth. “Alright?” Harry asks. His voice brings you back down to earth. He’d asked you that question when you pricked your finger on the poppy in your jacket pocket. He’d asked you in his bed on the most terrifying night of your life. And he’s asking you now. You nod. “I will be.” • saturday, 5th january 10:42 am • In the parking lot behind Lavender Hill Police Station, you’ve killed the engine but remain in your seat. Part of you is still reluctant to have Harry come along; keeping your composure in front of the police feels hard enough without the prospect of him being there, too, but maybe that’s the one thing that will get you through this. “Sorry.” You shake your head, suddenly aware of how long you’ve been sitting motionless at the wheel. Harry’s gaze is unperturbed. He watches you push anxiously at the sleeves of his sweater. “Take all the time you need.” It’s the same phrase the initial officer who’d taken your statement all those weeks ago had used. It’s what Officer Warren had said to you on the phone last night, and you’re so tired of hearing it. You don’t want to have as much time as you need to feel calm or steady or normal again. You want your time back. You want to reclaim all those extra seconds spent checking over your shoulder, the minutes lost to changing your routes, and the hours spent staring up at the ceiling when you should have been asleep. Rationally, you know that there will be time to relearn how to walk down the street and feel at ease, and plan that trip to Brighton you and India have been talking about for months. There will be time with Harry that isn’t this… stuck in a cramped space, crushed by the weight of your own fear. You hate the way you felt with him in the lift this morning; you want that back most of all. “Faster we get in there,” you say—half to Harry, half to yourself, “the faster we’ll get to leave.” Harry nods. “C’mon then.” The heather grey of the building is no less intimidating than it was in October, but at least this time you don’t have to pull the heavy glass doors open on your own. Inside, you speak with the woman at reception, who gestures for you to sit in a small waiting area just beyond the desk. People in uniform bustle back and forth. Harry’s leg brushes against yours as you sit. He doesn’t move. Neither do you. You have no sense of how long you sit waiting—this doesn’t feel like a place where it’s appropriate to play Solitaire on your phone. You can feel Harry looking at you periodically, but you don’t glance back until a woman with a familiar voice appears before you. She ushers you to follow with a quick, professional smile. Harry doesn’t quite offer the same, but you’re reassured anyway. “I’m Officer Warren.” She stops at a desk with an empty chair beside it. You take care to shake her hand firmly, introducing yourself with all the confidence you can scrap together. “Are you comfortable sitting here?” “Yes, this is fine.” If either Harry or Officer Warren notice your voice is an octave higher, neither of them make any sign. “Good.” She reaches past you to shake Harry’s hand too. “Harry.” “Nice to meet you both. We can also find a conference room, if you’d like somewhere more private, or if you’d both like to sit.” Harry speaks up when you don’t right away. “I’m fine standing.” He looks exactly as he had in the car—calm and willing to take your lead, so you sit before you can change your mind. Officer Warren smiles again, clearly trying to put you at ease. You wish it was more effective. “Right, well I won’t take up too much of your time. Since I took your statement last night, I’ve already got a copy of the transcript from our conversation over the phone, and you won’t need to go over all of that again.” Your shoulders cave a little in relief. Harry’s fingers hook gently over the top of your chair. “Okay.” “But,” she continues, “there is the matter of how to proceed. What we talked about regarding your flat still stands… it really isn’t safe for you to remain there, especially since the suspect seems to know which one is yours, and we still don’t have a clear idea of where he is now, or how he was able to access the car park in your building in the first place.” “So…” You shake your head, in either confusion or denial. “I can’t even go home?” “I’m afraid not, for the time being.” Her eyes are soft, regretful. “Not if he knows where you live. Not if there’s a chance he could get more photographs, or try to break in again.” Your stomach twists. “Were you able to figure out who he is?” You’re not even sure you want to know. Officer Warren’s mouth pinches apologetically. “Not yet. We have a couple technicians working on the security footage and the photos you’ve turned in, so hopefully we’ll be able to get something from them. The car he was driving had no plates. You haven’t seen any sign of him since we spoke last?” You shake your head, and she glances up at Harry as if to confirm. “Alright, that’s a good sign at least. He knows we’re watching, now. On the other hand, there’s a chance he’ll carry on, but be stealthier about it. Is it possible for you to physically stay inside, completely out of sight for let’s say, a week?” “I mean… where?” “Do you have somewhere else you can stay for the time being? With a friend?” You open your mouth, but the “Yes,” is not your own. You force yourself not to turn back to look at him; Harry’s fingers touch your shoulder again. “Yes, she does. She can stay with me. We live in the same building after all, so it’ll hardly be disruptive.” Officer Warren gives him a long look. You can’t tell if she approves or is displeased with him for speaking for you, but now that the initial shock has worn off, gratitude washes over you. Asking India to stay with her indefinitely would have been out of the question; there’s no way you’re endangering your best friend any more than you already have. You’d be putting her in a position where she couldn’t say no. She has four roommates. She doesn’t even know about the photos yet. “That works,” you hear yourself say. This will only be for a few days, you reason—it’ll buy you just enough time to find your feet. By then, you can sort out a longer-term place to stay if the police still haven’t found the man. Officer Warren is speaking again, and it takes effort to actively refocus on the conversation. “The objective here is to make it seem as though you’re gone. On holiday. He’ll be keeping an eye on the building, no doubt, so he’ll notice if the car is gone, or your flat is empty. Is there any way you can take your classes remotely?” You find you can barely speak, so you just nod instead. She leans in a little, her eyes finding yours more carefully. “I know it’s frightening, but you’ve been incredibly strong. This won’t be forever. In the meantime, we can send an officer back with you this afternoon so you can gather a few of your things.” You nod again. “Do you have any questions for me?” You force yourself to say, “No, thank you,” which Harry echoes. Officer Warren nods, almost perfunctorily, and stands. “If you wait here just a minute, I’ll introduce you to the officer who’ll take you back to your flat. You’ll be in an unmarked car, and we can arrange for yours to be retrieved.” “Thank you. I’ll call my friend now,” you say. “Maybe she can… I'll have to ask her to look after my cat. And it’s her car, anyway.” Officer Warren nods, apparently satisfied. You shake her hand again, though your mind is stuck on this won’t be forever. As you rise from the chair, you feel the gentle pressure of Harry’s hand on the small of your back. When Officer Warren returns with another uniformed policeman, you don’t want to move, but your legs carry you anyway. Harry’s gaze finds the side of your face periodically like a lighthouse beam while you call India from the backseat of the police car. After reassuring her again that you’re fine, you gloss over the details of staying in Harry’s flat. You can tell even in her silence that she’s not going to let you off the hook that easily, so you start rambling about what to do with Chowder before she gets the chance to say something embarrassing while Harry is sitting right there. “Of course I’m taking Chowder,” she says before you get the chance to phrase the question. “Don’t even worry about it. I’ll get in a cab right now. Do you need help packing up?” “Yeah sure, thank you. But what about your car?” “I’ll take the keys from you and get it after. Honestly, it’s fine. It’s not like it’s gonna get stolen from the bloody police station.” It’s a stupid joke but you’re comforted a little anyway. “Okay.” “Be there soon. I love you.” “Love you too.” Harry glances over at you. “Everything okay?” “Yeah.” You smile a little and for the first time in ages, it doesn’t feel forced. “She’s gonna meet us at home and take Chowder for me.” “That’s great.” “I know,” you reply, a little distant. “Harry, thank you for coming with me… It was nice not to have to, y’know, do that alone.” “That’s alright.” His voice is equally gentle. “We’re gonna… They’re gonna find him. And they’re gonna fix this, and then everything’s gonna go back to normal.” You aren’t sure which of you he’s trying to reassure, but Harry meets your eyes and you nod. Back at your building, you meet up with India. “Think I might just pop home, if that’s alright,” Harry says, going in for the sixth-floor button on the keypad. “I told Annie a bit about what’s going on, but I owe her an update.” “Of course.” You look up at him in the reflection of the doors. “We’ll see you down there.” It’s your first time seeing the dent and scratches on the door to your flat in person. You shiver, turn the key, and push the door open. “Chowder!” you shout as a flash of orange darts through your legs, meowing down the hall. The officer’s hand lands reflexively on his baton as your cat scares all three of you half to death. Once you manage to corral your cat back to your corner of the hallway, you struggle to keep him still in your arms. “Indy, his crate is under my bed—” “Hold off a minute, I’m going to do a quick walkthrough. I’m sure everything’s fine, but wait out here.” The officer leaves the door cracked open behind him. India offers a small, encouraging smile when you flinch at the sound of him announcing himself in your apartment. You stroke between Chowder’s ears; he is heavy and warm in your arms, and his fur sticks uncomfortably to the sweat on your palms. “All clear.” The officer reappears. “Let’s try to be quick about this.” India immediately ducks through the door following him, but you have to take a deep breath before stepping through the threshold. The place looks completely untouched. Had you been expecting company, perhaps you would have thought to clear the dishes from the sink or remove your laundry from the drying rack. After coercing an unusually talkative Chowder into his travel crate, you and India work as a team to stuff as much into your duffel bag as will fit. Shirts, bras, and pants hurtle past your head. “Indy, I’m staying at a neighbor’s for a few days—what on earth am I going to need this for?” You hold up the silk, strappy dress that just landed on your neatly-folded stacks, shooting her a disapproving look. “I’m just grabbing and throwing!” “Well just, y’know… let’s make sure we’re not speeding through this at the expense of packing with a little common sense.” “I’ve got this,” India says, waving down at the open duffel. “Go sort whatever toiletries you need, yeah?” Thankfully you’ve stayed overnight at her place enough times to warrant a travel case of essentials that lives under your bathroom sink. There’s makeup cluttered all over the counter. You stare at it a moment before rolling your eyes at yourself. “We should probably get going.” The officer’s voice from the other room startles you both as India zips up your duffel. “Are you two about ready?” As you stick your head out of your bedroom, the officer is peeking through the blinds across the street. “Yes,” you reply. “We are.” Overnight bag and Chowder in tow, you clamber back onto the lift. “Did you get your toothbrush?” “Yes.” “Face wash?” “Yes.” “Pillow?” “Indy, you saw me putting it in—” “Towel?” “Yes.” “Phone charger?” “… Shit.” Ding. The officer steps out with you on the sixth floor as you thank him, and bid a quick goodbye once he reassures you to call if you need anything or, of course, if anything happens. India turns to face you next. “He’s this way.” You nod down the hall, and she leads. “It’s right at the end. The one with the wreath.” The doors of the lift close. You don’t want to think about the last time you’d been walking down this corridor and heard that sound from behind you. India moves aside holding Chowder’s crate by the handle, and the shopping bag full of his supplies as you step up to the welcome mat with your things. Harry swings open the door to his apartment after the second knock, immediately taking the duffel bag from off of your shoulder. “Oh, Harry, you don’t have to—” “I got it.” India elbows you in the ribs. Harry turns to carry your bag to Sylvia's room, and when you look behind at her, her eyebrows are raised above an animated smirk. “Don’t,” you whisper through gritted teeth. She raises a hand in defense as Harry returns before reaching out to accept his offered hand. “Hello, I’m India.” “Harry.” “Pleasure.” He flashes her a warm smile. She nods appreciatively as they shake hands—at you, however, instead of Harry and your cheeks ignite. “Okay great. That’s settled then. Shall we—um… Indy?” You cut in, then turn to her, nodding to the door with I’m going to kill you in your eyes. “Lovely to meet you, Harry!” “Cheers, dear. You as well.” Harry’s attention returns to you for a moment. “I’ll just be…” He gestures vaguely to the kitchen. You step out into the hall with India. Chowder meows from the crate in her arms and she almost drops him. “What,” you hiss, “was that?” She ignores your tone, then says your name like it’s a plea. “Call me if you need absolutely anything, or text me—no matter what time it is. I’ll drop everything and come straight to you.” “I’m sleeping two floors below where I usually do, Indy, I’m not dying.” “I know, I know… How’s a Skype dinner tomorrow night? I’ll order us a take away.” “Definitely.” You wish you could squeeze her in another tight hug, but Chowder’s crate impedes you. “Thank you.” “Love you, babe.” “Love you too.” She looks unsatisfied. “It’s going to be fine, I promise. Text me when we’re eating, okay?” You begin to walk backward into Harry’s apartment and blow her a kiss. “I will… Bye!” “Please don’t kill my cat!” You lean on the door frame, watching India’s silhouette shrink as she heads back down the hall to the lift with Chowder. You sigh and close the door, but as you turn around, your hand rushes to your chest in a gasp; Harry is standing just behind you, rubbing his face. “So I’ve just rung Annie while you were upstairs… ” He steps aside to give you a clear path through the hallway. “Oh?” “I’m sorry—they’re just coming,” he rushes, sounding a little panicked as you step into Sylvia's room. You set your phone and laptop down with the rest of your things. “They insisted ‘cause they’ve got a spare mattress, and I told them you needed a place to crash for a bit and also that you stayed here last night so… yeah. You don’t have to be here for that. When they come—oh, and they probably have Sylvia, too, if that’s… ” Harry trails off.” “Wait, I’m sorry.” You close your eyes and shake your head. “Annie? You mean—” “Sylvia’s mum, yeah, and um… her fiancé, AJ.” Harry tilts his head down, as if to gauge your reaction. “And they want to give… they have a spare mattress? But you already have a mattress.” “That’s what I said!” Harry gestures wildly. It must have been a lively phone call. “Oh, well that’s… awfully kind of them,” you begin, trying to keep up. “Would it be easier if I wasn’t—” “No.” He’s clearly surprised at his own volume as he cuts you off. Harry literally leans back, hesitating. “I mean… stay. They’d love to meet you. They’re my family and you’re…” His eyes flit back to yours and hang on. “You’re obviously gonna to be staying here a bit, and they drop by all the time so I jus’ don’t wanna overwhelm you, is all.” Suddenly, it’s your turn struggling to look at him. “Well, I—” “H, open the door! This is heavy!” a voice bellows from beyond the front door. Harry’s eyes shut momentarily. “Coming!” he calls. You stand there, in the doorway to Sylvia’s room, stunned at the pace with which this is all unfolding. Harry jogs to the door. You poke your head out as an explosion of noise disrupts what had before been so peaceful. A child’s high-pitched shriek rips through the flat, followed by a long, labored groan from Harry as Sylvia barrels into his arms and he crouches down to lift her. “How’s Daddy’s girl?” he greets. Sylvia simply continues screaming and tries to bend over backward out of his arms. “Hi, Harry.” A striking woman with jet-black hair waltzes in, carrying a large dish of food wrapped in tin foil, seemingly unphased. Harry shifts Sylvia to one arm, bending over to greet her in a side hug and quick kiss to the cheek. “Hi, love.” What appears to be a twin sized mattress with twig legs follows in suit, grunting softly. “Still heavy.” “Right, sorry.” Harry hands Sylvia off to who you assume is Annie as he hurries to take the mattress, revealing a second, much taller woman with sunglasses atop her blonde head of hair. She’s wearing red lipstick and bright suede pumps. “There we go,” she sighs. “I need a fag.” Harry almost takes out a light fixture as he hauls the bed. You press yourself up against the wall as he offers a quick, “S’cuse me,” and passes you to Sylvia's room. The two women look at you as simultaneous smiles light their faces. “Hi!” “Hello!” Sylvia waves at you, too. “Guess this one doesn’t need an introduction,” the dark-haired woman laughs, approaching with a hand extended. You notice that she’s the one wearing the ring. “I’m Annie.” “It’s great to meet you, Harry has spoken so highly of both of you.” You turn to the other woman after introducing yourself. “AJ.” One corner of her mouth quirks up. “It’s a pleasure.” “Thank you so much for the mattress, ” you begin, wringing your hands. “It seems like everyone’s done so much to help me in the past few days… It’s really meant a lot.” AJ tilts her head to look at you with a more meaningful gaze, and Annie steps forward to rest a hand on your forearm. “Harry hasn’t gone into a terrible amount of detail but… we’re so, awfully sorry for what’s happened to you.” She squeezes gently, her fingers in the crook of your elbow. The strange familiarity of the gesture disarms you. “I can’t imagine what you must be going through, and with your family so far away—I just… we heard about what was going on, and that was it. We had to help.” You nod and suddenly have trouble swallowing. There’s just something different about discussing this with women. “Harry’s air mattress,” AJ chips in, sardonic, “belongs in an incinerator.” “Hey!” His voice comes muted from the open door of Sylvia’s bedroom. Now that you’ve seen the both of them together up close, you realize how wrong you were in thinking that Sylvia only took after her father. Annie’s features are evident in her daughter’s deep, brown eyes, her nose, and the high angles of her cheeks. “Well,” Annie starts, raising her eyebrows at everyone, “we’re obviously feeding you.” You laugh in disbelief. “No you’re not!” “We are!” She smiles as she sets Sylvia down, who weaves through everyone’s legs to her bedroom. “And relax, it’s already cooked so there’s no use in turning it down.” AJ pulls you in for a side hug, which you were grossly unprepared for. “Thank… you.” In your bewilderment, it’s all you can manage to say as Annie removes the tin foil from a full pan’s helping of chicken and vegetables. “Isn’t this supposed to be tomorrow’s roast? The Sunday roast?” Harry appears in the kitchen with Sylvia on his hip. He frowns, poking his head over Annie’s shoulder as she preheats the oven. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she replies. They lock eyes. Something tender passes between them; part of you feels like you should look away. “Annie… ” Harry says, softer now. “You didn’t have to do all this.” She ignores him, setting the timer on the oven as AJ slides a small mountain of tupperware into the fridge. The kettle starts to scream. You hadn’t realized someone started tea. You’re not sure what to do besides stand by the sink and stare. AJ rushes over to fill four steaming mugs, portioning different amounts of cream and honey into each. She turns to the few stray dishes in the sink, beginning to wash. “AJ, stop tha—” “Harry, relax would you?” She whips his leg with a dish towel and he relents. “Why is she staying in my room?” Sylvia pipes up from Harry’s arms. He looks across the kitchen at you, and then down to her. “Well see, bug, Daddy’s got a friend who’s gonna stay here for a little while.” Harry points at you and twists so she has a better view. You wave your fingers at her, and Harry asks Sylvia if she can say your name, but she simply buries her face into his sweater. “Like a slumber party?” “Um—” Harry falters. “Sort of, but not quite.” “It’s a grown-up slumber party?” AJ chokes on her tea. The tips of Harry’s ears go crimson. “Honey, it’s like when Auntie Kristen comes over to Mummy and Mum’s to stay on holiday,” Annie salvages. Harry’s shoulders visibly relax. Sylvia tugs at the collar of Harry’s sweater. “How long?” she begs. Your heart falls. “‘M not sure, Vi.” Harry moves some hair from her face as she pouts, then kisses her forehead. “Not forever.” “This’ll be good for you, Harry. You need more friends.” Annie pinches Harry’s side before turning to you with a smirk. “Maybe you can finally start hanging out with people your own age.” You shrug to play along, pursing your lips against a smile. “I mean… ” “Harry doesn’t go out much.” Annie’s comedic whisper fills the room as she carries your tea over to you. “Neither do you!” Harry retorts, frowning playfully over his shoulder, attempting to smack her; she narrowly dodges. “Yeah, just the one time,” AJ deadpans, pointing between them and then nodding to Sylvia. “Jesus Christ,” Harry breathes before they break into laughter. You can’t help but join in. Sylvia’s head swings from parent to parent, smiling in oblivious delight. “Alright, alright,” Annie wipes a tear from the corner of her eye. “Just leave the roast in there until you’re ready to eat. We should get going soon.” “Have you got sheets that fit the bed?” Harry asks, bouncing Sylvia on his hip. “Right!” Annie’s eyes go wide. She turns to AJ, “Darling, you mind popping down to the car to get those?” “Since I already hauled up the mattress, am I allowed to play the gender card?” AJ throws eyes at Harry. “Hands are full,” he replies cheerfully. He holds one of Sylvia’s arms up to wave. “Fine,” she relents, plucking the keys from Annie’s back pocket. “Thank you!” Annie calls after her. AJ simply waves a hand behind her head. “Promise I’ll make it worth your while later!” AJ begins to walk faster. Harry shoots Annie a jokingly scandalized look with a hand covering his gaping mouth. She squints at him and rolls her eyes. He puts Sylvia down, whispering in her ear as he points to the miniature arts and crafts table in the living room. Sylvia takes a seat on the colorful stool, her tiny features already pinched in concentration as she finds a crayon and begins to draw. Harry crouches at her side, watching her for a moment before kissing the top of her head. He breezes past you before you hear the bathroom door lock shut and now it’s just you and Annie alone together. “I love Harry, but he’s a man and he doesn’t know anything.” You shouldn’t laugh, but you do. “We live ten minutes away. If you need anything at all—anything, I mean it, please call us. Mine and AJ’s mobile numbers are both on the fridge.” “Thank you, Annie.” She hesitates, playing absently with the tag of her tea bag before nodding to the living room. “Let’s sit.” You have a seat on the couch; Annie takes the small leather armchair on the other side of the coffee table. Her eyes are warm. You see a flash of that expression that had passed between her and Harry. “He is a good man.” Annie’s voice is so low, it’s almost a whisper. “One of the best I’ve ever met… You’re in good hands, I promise.” There isn’t a chance for you to respond as the sound of the faucet running in the bathroom interrupts. Harry re-enters the living room, his eyes flitting between yours and Annie’s with a curious look on his face. “Am I interrupting something?” “Course not, lovely. We’re just waiting for AJ with the sheets,” Annie replies. She must be killer at poker. AJ slips through the door with a folded bundle of checkered sheets nearly covering her face. “Miss me?” She perches on the armrest of Annie’s chair upon returning from Syvia’s room, an arm wrapped around her shoulders. You are acutely aware of the warmth of Harry’s leg against yours, suddenly too nervous to shift and potentially draw attention to it. Though you try hard not to, you can practically see the silent conversation happening between the three other adults in the room; if you had to guess, it’s probably about you. You categorically refuse to look at Harry, so you’re left with AJ’s nearly imperceptible eyebrow-raising, and a curl of Annie’s lip that seems to be a question and a confirmation all at once. The three of them are a little… too quiet. “Well we should be off then,” she says, drawing her hands together in a clap. “Someone needs a bath tonight.” Sylvia hurries over and locks her arms around Harry’s legs. He scoops her up like she weighs absolutely nothing. “C’mon now, angel,” he murmurs, glancing over his daughter’s head to look at you with a vaguely resigned expression. “Gonna see you tomorrow, aren’t I? Gotta be good for your mums.” Harry fixes Sylvia’s wobbling lower lip with a stern look. “Hey, now. What’s this about? S’not any different from Mummy’s normal turn with you, right? You know you’ve got too much love pumpkin, we gotta share ya.” Sylvia mumbles something too soft to make out; Harry ducks his head close. “Tell me?” You don’t catch all the words, except, “stars.” His face crumples a bit. “Oh honey, of course you’ll still have your bedtime stars. They’re not going anywhere. Nobody’s gonna take your stars.” “And that sounds like the beginning of a meltdown,” Annie says, standing quickly and pulling Sylvia from Harry’s arms. “Best be on our way before she tests all our eardrums.” Sylvia momentarily seems like she might reach back for him, but then she looks at you as though by accident, and shrinks back into her mother’s arms. Shame knots in your stomach as the two women head for the door. Sylvia peeks over Annie’s shoulder as AJ slings her purse over her arm with the car keys in hand. You busy yourself clearing the empty mugs of tea in some small attempt to give them privacy. “Come ‘round about six, yeah?” Annie says as AJ waves at you and disappears first out the door. Harry is sliding Sylvia’s arm through the second sleeve of her coat. His and Annie’s teamwork seems fluid and practiced. “Sounds good.” He tugs her tiny knit hat more securely over her curls. “Love you, bug.” “Hôn ba đi, Vi.” You have no idea what Annie’s just said to Sylvia but Harry leans forward to receive his daughter’s kiss, placing an audible one on her forehead in return. He says something else to Sylvia that’s not English. That deeply tender look in Annie’s face returns. Harry’s hand falls to her waist and she touches his jaw to place a quick peck at the corner of his mouth. “Call us if you need anything.” She turns back to you. “You too. Our numbers are—” “On the fridge,” you finish with a smile, waving. “Thank you, Annie.” Harry shuts the door behind them and the flat falls silent for the first time in what feels like ages. You hear him laugh once before he turns to you. “Sorry about that.” “No. Harry, I should be the one apologizing. Sylvia’s so upset, I feel awful.” Harry looks from you to the door and back again, shaking his head as he moves towards the kitchen. “Oh no, don’t worry about that. She was mostly tired, is all. Happens all the time.” He pauses before joking, “Sorry you had to hear my really terrible Vietnamese.” You watch as he begins to rifle through the cabinets. “What are you doing?” “I’m sure I left it in here somewhere—aha!” He holds an empty mason jar aloft before grabbing a sharpie and the magnetic pad of Hello Kitty sticky notes from the fridge door. Harry scrawls quickly, the cap of the pen between his teeth, before sticking a note on the glass and holding it up for you to read the big, block letters. APOLOGIES.

#harry styles #harry styles imagine #harry styles fic #harry styles blurb #harry styles fanfiction #utsr redux

247 notes · View notes

songficsbyrissi · 5 years ago

Text

Ain’t No Way (Spooky x Reader)

“Ain't no way (ain't no way), I'm gone let you down (let you down). I know it's hard right now (hard right now), To see (it's in me). But I'm gone make you say you love me.” - Chris Brown

A/N: I know y’all think when tf did I become a Spooky writer but listennnnnnnnn I’ve caught up on On My Block and that man is Fine with a capital F. Gangsters ain’t even my flavor! But seeing him and watching season 3 got my creative juices flowing. The way I got this going, this is most likely gonna be a mini series. Aight now let’s get interracial! (I’m making a joke so don’t nobody come butthurt in my inbox. I will delete your shit.)

Oscar Diaz, also known as “Spooky”, was not your type at all. You hated to admit that once upon a time, he was. It was back in high school. He was this wannabe gangster and your young dumbass was into that. It was the whole “bad boy” image that almost every teenage girl drooled over. Once you got to your senior year, you grew tired of Freeridge and the gang bullshit so you went to college far away, got your degree, and came back home hoping to make Freeridge somewhat of a better place by opening your own restaurant that held a lot of community events. Unfortunately, coming back to Freeridge also meant coming back to Oscar, who was the head of the Santos. He didn’t know you were back. You planned to keep it that way. “Hey mami!” You stopped in your tracks. No, it couldn’t be. You decided to keep on walking until the familiar voice called you by your name this time. “Y/N!”

You slowly turned around and realization dawned on you. You moved into the only apartment with vacancy, which so happens to be a couple minutes away from Oscar’s house. This was a really bad day for your car not to start. When you’re walking and completely forgot that Oscar’s house was on the way to your restaurant. You were right in front of his front yard and could see his little brother Cesar walking out the front door with his school bag around his shoulder. He’s gotten so big since the last time you’ve seen him. When he was little, he had a little crush which you were both flattered and annoyed by. “Cesar....look at you! You got so big!” “Y/N!” He gave you a quick hug. “You got...um....” You tilted your head in confusion. “Got what?” The 14 year old sighed out of frustration. “You got hotter! But I’m not supposed to say that because I’m dating Monse!” You found yourself laughing at his confession and even more at the blush coming on his pale face. “Don’t worry. I’m not gonna tell her but thank you. Have a good day at school.” “You too.” He rolled his eyes groaning. “Fuck!” You snickered as he went on his way and followed behind him only to have your name called out again by his older brother. “Oh my God. What?!” You stared fiercely at the Mexican gang banger as he strolled up to you, checking you out from head to toe. Once he was a few inches away from you, he smirked. “Damn you look good.” “Is that all you gotta say? Because I got somewhere to be.” Oscar let out a soft chuckle before eyeing you down again. “When did you get back?” You raised an eyebrow. “Why you need to know?” He said nothing and just stared at you which meant you had to say something. You sighed deeply looking at your feet. “I came back a couple days ago.” “You’re lying.” You looked up at him with an expression that said “the fuck?” “Look Oscar-“ “Spooky.” You snorted. “I ain’t calling no grown ass man “spooky”. His smirk came back. “You used to. Back in high school.” You rolled your eyes. “That was high school. We’re both grown, Oscar. Now if you excuse me, I gotta take my grown ass to my grown ass job.” You pushed past him and continued your journey on foot. “Where you work at? I could drive you there.” You let a dry laugh turning to to glare at him. “Thanks but no thanks. I’m fine.” “Yes you are, mami.” You scrunched your face up in disgust and went back to walking to your restaurant. Oscar kept smirking as he went back to his front porch where some of the Santos were chilling in the front. “Who’s that hyna?” One of them took a drag of a cigarette, smirking in lust. Oscar’s smirk dropped as he slapped the cigarette out of his mouth. The Santo grew wide-eyed and the leader got close in his face with a menacing look. “That’s my hyna. I claimed her so nobody even look at her or even think about her. Entiendes?” All the Santos present held the hands up in defense, saying they understood. The Santo in question spoke up. “I’m sorry, Spooky. From what I saw, she didn’t seem like your hyna.” “But she is.” Oscar declared as he stared at you in a distance. *********************

“Damn, boss. You look pissed.” Your employee, Simone, observed as you approached your place of business. You put your glare on her, causing her to apologize and you waved her off. “No, I’m sorry. It’s just that this morning has been really annoying. I’m sorry for being late and leaving you out here.” “It wasn’t that long. It’s fine. Shit happens. Let’s just open this restaurant up!” You managed to put a smile on your face and you pulled out the keys to open the doors. You got the place open and your other employees came later in the day for lunch rush hour. When 3 o’clock hit, in came the kids who just got out of school. You didn’t want to be that person but you had to kick them out if they weren’t buying anything. “Hey beautiful. You sexy when you’re all assertive and shit.” This medium skinned cholo bit his lip at you and it took all your power not to gag right then and there. His friend came up to you two, pulling him away. “Ay chico, that’s Spooky’s hyna.” He informed him in a cautious tone and the one flirting with you backed up with his eyes widened. “Oh shit. My bad, mami. Don’t tell your man.” The two cholos scurried away as you stood there in confusion. You spotted Cesar and his friend having burgers and fries in a booth, diagonal from you. You approached them with a huge sigh. “Oh hey Y/N.” Cesar greeted you first. “Wait this is Y/N?!??!?!” Ruby stood out of his seat in the booth and got close to your face. “Hey girl. You might not remember me but I’m Ruben aka your future baby daddy.” You placed your hand on his right cheek and pushed him back down in his seat. “Eat your food, Ruby.” “What it do, cousin?” Jamal greeted you. You forgot one of Cesar’s friends was your annoying ass cousin Jamal. “What the hell does “hyna” mean?” You questioned the group and they all looked at each other in puzzlement. “So no one knows what it means?” “It means pretty girl. Beautiful girl. It’s a compliment.” Monse stated as she popped a fry in her mouth. “Ok but two cholos came in here and one tried to flirt but the other told him I’m-and I quote “Spooky’s hyna” you explained with air quotes. “So what the hell does that mean?” The group got quiet at your explanation and you stared at all of them anxiously. What the fuck did they know that you didn’t? “Hello? Earth to the Core 4?” You waved your hand trying to get their attention back on you. Cesar drummed his fingers on the table before looking up at you. “Let’s just say.... you finding a husband in Freeridge is probably never gonna happen.” Your eyebrows were knitted together in confusion and you folded your arms. “What do you mean by that?” “Oh wow it really do be the pretty ones that are slow.” Jamal whispered out loud and turned to you slowly. “It means that......Spooky....got dibs on you. He claimed you meaning nobody else can date you because if they do, they’re signing their death certificate.” You had to bite your tongue to prevent yourself from screaming “WHAT THE FUCK?!” In your professional establishment. You turned on your heel and just got back to work. Once it was close to closing time, no one was at your restaurant. You were walking to the front doors to flip the sign when Oscar showed up and walked through the doors. You sighed deeply. “You know we’re about to close.” Oscar pointed to the sign. “The sign says open.” “I was just about to flip it ov- what do you want from me, Oscar?!” He shrugged his shoulders in response. “I just wanted to talk to you. Maybe hang out sometimes.” You laughed loudly and sarcastically at his answer and the look on his face was not one of amusement. Is it ever is? “You got me fucked up if you think I’m hanging out with a fucking gangbanger. A fucking Santo at that.” You snorted and grabbed the dishrag to clean the tables. “You must be using some of the product you be selling.” He slammed his hand on one of the square tables, glaring at you. You were a little shell shocked but tried not to show it. “You talk all this shit about gangsters and shit like you weren’t feeling one in the past but you gonna feel one soon.” “And what the fuck do you mean by that?” You found your voice after taking a large gulp. “I’m gonna make you say you love me.” It took everything in your power not to laugh in his face in that moment because that shit was hilarious but you could tell he was serious. Word on the street is Spooky was the last motherfucker you wanted to piss off. You looked at the table he slammed and noticed a tiny piece of paper that read: 213-456-7893 The next day, your car ran smoothly today so you didn’t have to see Oscar on your way to the restaurant. That made you really happy. When it was close to closing time, before you could flip over the sign, a group of young boys pushed themselves inside and stared at you. You looked from side to side and back at them. “Can I help you?” “Are you the owner?” The one that seemed like the leader asked quickly. Straight to the point. You respected that. “Yes, I am. Why? Do you have a complaint?” “Yeah I do.” The leader glanced at the other two boys with him and focused his attention back at you. “This is 99th street territory and since your little restaurant is on it, you gotta pay us rent.” You let out a boisterous laugh at the audacity of these boys. Everyone was on a mission to make you ugly laugh lately. “I’m not paying you shit. You ain’t the government.” You spoke once the laughs subsided. “Now it’s either you order some food or get the hell out. I prefer the latter so you could run back home and do your homework.” You finished in a baby voice, ruffling the young boy’s hair. The group of boys began to chuckle as they began to walk out. “You don’t know who you’re messing with, lady.” The leader warned before heading out of the glass doors. You giggled to yourself as you wiped the tables. Suddenly you got the sense that something wasn’t right and you gut was right because as soon as you went into the kitchen, bullets sprayed throughout your restaurant. You grabbed Simone and forced yourselves to duck down. Once it finished, you remembered you had your employee, Marco, outside taking out the trash. “Marco!” You yelled out running outside which was probably stupid as hell because if the shooters were still there, now they got an easier shot. You found Marco slumped against the building with a bullet in his arm. He was holding onto it to prevent more blood from releasing. You heard footsteps approach you and you fearfully looked to see the boys from earlier. “We warned you, lady. Next time, the bullet goes in his head.” The leader stuck out his thumb, index, and middle fingers to make his hand look like a gun and gestured towards you. “Or maybe your head.” He began to chuckle and his boys joined in on the laughing fest. He stopped chuckling and they stopped too. “Don’t mess with us again, lady.” You waited until you were sure the gang was gone before dialing 911 to get Marco an ambulance. “Marco.....I’m so sorry.” You were on the verge of tears seeing your employee on a gurney, ready to go to the hospital. “It’s ok, Miss Y/N. I’ve gotten shot before. 7 more times and you call me 50 cent.” You began to smile as they wheeled Marco away. That’s what you always appreciated about him. Always finding light in a dark ass situation, even when that situation was his. You took out your phone and dialed a number as Simone stood next to you. “Who are you calling?” “Probably my biggest regret.” Too vague for her to understand, Simone shrugged her shoulders and went back inside of the restaurant. After your phone call, you sat down in one of the booths just waiting. After a while, he appeared right in front of you, saying nothing. He just took a seat in the booth facing you. You leaned in close. “First things first, take that stupid ass gang claim off of me. I’m not anyone’s fucking hyna, especially not yours. So cut the shit.” Oscar remained silent and just stared at you intensely. After a moment, he cleared his throat. “Is that it?” You took a deep breath, already regretting your next words. “No. I need protection.” He raised one of his thick eyebrows. “From?” You gestured towards the glass and bulletholes in your windows. “Do you see this shit? 99th street did it. I have employees and a reputation to protect. So I need protection from the Santos.” Oscar began to crack up suddenly at your words and you stared at him in annoyance. You knew you were going to regret this shit but you didn’t have a choice. The police said they’ll get them but that’s not enough. Besides, they are used to gang activity so they’re barely gonna do anything. “You know you’re one funny hyna. First, you talk all this shit about gangs and then giving me attitude since I first saw you. Shit, you gave me an attitude right when I sat down. And now, you’re asking me for a favor. Maybe food ain’t your thing, mamita. You should go for stand-up comedy.” “If I had any other choice, I would’ve took it but I don’t. So are you gonna do it?” Oscar sat in up in his seat, folded his broad hands, and leaned in close to you. “Protection ain’t free, mami.” You cleared your throat and tilted your head to avoid showing him that the look on his face kinda turned you on. Your fingers drummed on the table. “I know that. I’m willing to pay you for your tim-“ “Nah you not paying in money, hyna.” Oscar’s hands found yourself on the table and when you met his hands, you stopped thinking for a minute. You came back to your senses and removed your hands in disgust. “I rather have 99th street put a bullet in my fucking eye before I do that.” You hissed, gesturing to your left eye. “I don’t need sex from you, mami. Well, at least not now. But I need you to make it worth my while.” You shrugged your shoulders, completely defeated. “What do you want?” “How about you be my personal chef? Cook me and Cesar breakfast, lunch, and dinner. You do that and you, your employees, and your restaurant are under the protection of the Santos.” Oscar stuck his hand out to you. “Do we have a deal, mami?” You scowled at the man in front of you as he waited for your hand to meet his. To be honest, you rather slit your wrists than cook for him. But you’ll be cooking for Cesar too and you cared about Cesar. You knew he probably wasn’t having proper meals at home and you needed Santo protection. Fuck. You shook his hand. “You got a deal.” He slowly brought your hand to his lips, giving it a kiss, stood up, and left your restaurant. Simone emerged from the kitchen, staring at Oscar leaving and turned back to you, confused. “Wait what just happened?” You exhaled deeply, struggling to get your next words out. “I just made a deal with the devil.”

Tags: @cancerianprincess @drtycomputerx

(whoever else wants to be tagged just let me know :)

#on my block fanfiction #on my block fanfic #spooky x reader #spooky diaz x reader #oscar diaz x black! reader #oscar diaz x reader #spooky x black reader #spooky diaz x black! reader #oscar diaz x black reader #spooky diaz #oscar diaz

756 notes · View notes

thewildomega · 4 years ago

Text

Second Chance Ch.14

A/N: Ya’ll can’t tell me this man isn’t a hunk! Props for the awesome fanart goes to @insect_candy on twitter. I found it on pintrest. As always if the artist sees this and wants me to remove it just send em a message and I’ll take it down asap. I do think it’s really good though. Especially the eyes. If anyone gets a chance go check out their page. Link is in the name. Hope everyone likes this update. How much longer should this story go on? Is it still interesting and enjoyable to read?

Sitting quietly in your chair beside Ed you listened as they all spoke, Ed telling his sons what had happened when he had arrived in your world. You couldn't help but blush when he talked so fondly of you, telling his sons how you had helped him, taken care of him.

"Then it would seem we are in your debt Y/n. Thank you for helping our pops." Izo spoke to the woman who had remained quiet throughout dinner.

Looking to the man you shook your head. "Oh no, it's okay really it was no problem I..."

"It's okay Y/n you don't have to lie to us, we know how much of a handful the old man can be." Marco said making his brothers laugh.

"Agreed, I think we should congratulate her on not killing him in his sleep." Vista grinned.

"I am not that bad." He grumbled when he saw them all laughing. Looking beside him he even saw his lass giggling lightly at his son's teasing of him. All in all though he couldn't be mad, it was nice having some of his family all together again, even more so now that Y/n was here with him. Chewing a bite of his food he watched and listened as they went about asking Y/n about her world. Already his son's were starting to warm up to her and the sight made him smile softly.

........................

After supper you and Zella had moved to clean up while the men all talked and caught up. It made your heart warm to see Ed happy with his sons. Once everything was all tidy Zella had told you she was calling it a night. She had been very sleepy the past few days and while you wanted to ask her if she was okay you also didn't want to seem nosey. Drying all the dishes and putting them away you looked over everything and sighed. Walking out of the kitchen and into the living room you saw no one here as well, you could hear their voices from outside though and guessed they were all out there. Not wanting to intrude on their family time you looked down to your hand which you had successfully kept hidden the whole night. Walking to the guest bathroom you closed the door and finally unwrapped the dishcloth from it. Looking down at the bloody cut you winced. It wasn't that long, only half of your palm length, going from the middle of your palm to the space between your thumb and forefinger. It was decently deep though, especially the skin between your fingers. Setting the bloody dishrag in the sink you turned on the hot water and filled the sink so you could let it soak. Turning on the shower you pulled off your clothes, trying your best not to get any blood on them as well. Stepping into the shower you rinsed your hand, grabbing the soap you started washing, biting your lip and whimpering when it felt like you had poured salt into your wound. Washing your hair was annoying as well but you made it work. Quickly shaving and then getting out you grabbed a towel and started drying off.

Opening the closet door you moved to grab your clothes from the basket but when you looked down to the floor where they had bene you saw nothing there. "What... where..." you said out loud. Knitting your brows you looked all in the closet but didn't find anything but the spare towels and washing machine. Where the hell were your clothes? You had just did laundry the other day so you knew they weren't dirty. So where the hell... Ed. Closing the door you wrapped the towel tightly around you, thankful they were made for his size. Running your fingers through your hair when you also noticed your hairbrush not in the drawer or any of your other items he had bought you you sighed. Opening the door you peeked out to see no one in the house. Licking your lips you walked towards his bedroom which was the only other place you could think your things would be. Glancing around the room you tried to locate your basket. Seeing it on the dresser you moved over to it but saw it empty. "Where in the hell..."

"Darlin' are you back..."

Freezing when you heard his voice you looked up to the door to see him standing in the doorway, looking at you. Snapping your eyes down you felt your face, ears and neck catch fire.

"...here." he finished. Seeing her standing by the dresser in nothing but a towel he closed his mouth when he realized it was still open. The white towel that she had wrapped around her ended at her knees. While it revealed nothing but her lower legs, shoulders and arms he felt his manhood twitch all the same. She was naked, the only thing on her being a towel.

God you were so embarrassed. You both had only slept in the same bed for one night and now here you were just walking around his bedroom in nothing but a damn towel. What the hell would he think of you? "C..clothes?" you asked in a whisper.

She wouldn't look up at him but he could see the tips of her ears sticking out of her wet hair and noticed the blush on them immediately. "Right." Walking over to the dresser he opened the drawers where he had put her clothes in with his. Grabbing the black lace panties that she had on when they came here he clenched his teeth when his imagination decided to take over. 'NO'. Shutting the drawer he moved down to the next and grabbed one of his shirts that she was keen on wearing for a nightgown. Black lace panties and his shirt. God his pants were already tightening at the thought. Taking a deep breath he went to hand them over to her. "Here ya go lass." he said, his voice deeper than usual.

Keeping your eyes down some you went to take your clothes when he suddenly grabbed your wrist.

"What's that?"

Remembering your cut palm you looked up to him and shook your head some, "Nothing."

Refusing to let go of her wrist he turned her hand up and knit his brows when he saw the deep cut on her palm. "Sure does look like something to me darling. What happened?"

"I just nicked it when I was washing dishes earlier." you told him.

Humming he frowned. "This is more than a little nick lass. Why didn't you say something about, did Zella see it, she could have said something to Marco."

"No she didn't see it, it happened before..."

"Before when?" he asked and then shook his head and looked to her eyes, "Before supper? You did this before supper and you didn't say anything?" he asked in a disapproving voice. Now that he thought back he did think it was strange she had been keeping her hand under the table in her lap.

Sighing you took your clothes and moved towards his bathroom to dress. "It's fine Ed."

Walking behind her he crossed his arms over his chest. "Until it gets infected."

"It's not going to get infected, I cleaned it." you told him, pushing the door closed so you could dress.

Standing just outside of the door he waited for her to dress which only took a moment. Once the door opened and she went to step out he moved forward, scooping her up and sitting her down on the bathroom counter. "That's what everyone says. Trust me I have seen my fare share of injuries, little cuts that no one thought nothing of until it turns septic and then has to be chopped off."

Listening to his lecture you watched as he moved to grab something from under the vanity. Seeing him set a first aid kit on the counter next to you, you looked up to him. Placing your hand in his when he held it out for you. "How did you get those scars from your pictures, the ones on your chest?"

Beginning to clean the cut with alcohol he saw her fingers twitch but not snatch away. "Different battles. One from my old Captain, Rocks. Got one from fighting Roger and another from an old crewmate, Shikki." grabbing the roll of bandages and tape he applied a bit of cream to it to both help with pain and quick healing. "What about you, any scars on that pretty body?"

Blushing again you saw him noticed this time and heard him chuckle lightly. "That gunshot one..." you started but heard him grunt.

"Don't like the story of that one." he growled under his breath.

"I do, that's the night I got to come here with you."

Seeing her smiling softly at him he sighed. "While that may be true, it still should have never happened." taping down the bandage he lifted her up again to take her to their bed, cutting off the light to both the bathroom and bedroom on the way. Sitting on the bed he rested against the headboard with his feet stretched out and her straddling his lap. "Anymore?" he asked, knowing if he wanted her to relax he needed to keep her talking. There wasn't any light but that of the candle on the side table but he could still tell she was blushing.

Humming you tried to focus on the question he asked and not the fact you were currently straddling the lap of the man you loved. "Um well there's the one where Smoke bit me."

Looking down to her leg where she was looking he tilted his head at the faint scar on her thigh. Licking his lips he moved his thumb under the hem of his shirt and pushed it higher up her left leg, feeling heat pool to his pelvis at the feel of her soft skin. Seeing the bite there he huffed. "He got you good didn't he?" It wasn't a nasty scar but he could tell by each individual mark that the wolf had sunk his teeth in deep.

"Yea." you sighed.

Stroking her thigh with his thumb he glanced over the rest of her skin, looking for any other scars. "That it?"

"n..No. I have a 'W' on my right hip from where Keith branded me." you told him, having to steady yourself, the feel of his warm hands on your thighs making that tingling come back.

"He branded you?" he asked in a deep voice, a frown on his face as he lifted his eyes to hers.

"He didn't do it intentionally. He was making that new sign at Mel's bar for his dad and kept messing around. The letters that you use to burn the wood, he kept poking the 'M' towards me asking if it was hot. He wasn't trying to actually touch me with it but Trish came in and bumped into me and well yea." Seeing his brows knit together you took a deep breath, "It was definitely hot. Burnt straight through my shirt and everything. Keith felt horrible for it, he bought me dinner for the next week."

Looking down to her hip he thought for a moment before asking, "Can I see?"

Swallowing hard you felt your heart beat a little faster as you lifted the bottom of the shirt up enough to show him the 'W' over your left hip bone.

Forcing his eyes to focus on her hip and not the part of her covered by black lace that he wanted so desperately to look at he indeed saw the 'W' scar on her skin. He didn't like the idea of her being hurt like that and furrowed his brows. Rubbing his hand up her thigh and hip he held her with his hand over her side, feeling the material of her panties under the bottom part of his palm. Genty tracing the mark with his thumb he swallowed hard when his eyes dropped to the apex of her thighs for a fraction of a second. Instantly he knew that was a bad idea when he felt his cock come to life. Fuck he could make out the silhouette of her womanhood through the weblike pattern. Raising his knees some and spreading his legs so it wouldn't become too obvious he was aroused he held her steady as she slipped forward. Catching sight of the scar on her chest when his shirt moved some he furrowed his brows. Keeping his one hand under th ebottom of the shirt on her hip he raised his other one to touch the circular scar. It wasn't too bad since Marco had healed her with ihs power but it would probably stay there for the remainder of her life. To him it would be a constant reminder of how she had saved him, while noble he couldn't get the image of her lifeless body out of his head. Even now it made his heart clench painfully.

Seeing his brows and lips turn into a firm line as he looked to the scar on your chest you gently took hold of his hand that was stroking the area. Looking into his warm yellow eyes as when they lifted to yours you watched his face relax.

"Why did you run after that man lass? You knew he had a gun, knew that he wouldn't care if you got hurt." he asked her and saw her eyes shoot down.

"He took all the money that was in the safe, that was everything Mel had..." you shrugged.

"Money isn't that important darling."

"Mel is sick, he's dying. I know money isn't the most important thing in life but when they were barely making it as it was that money could have meant life or death for him when it was paying for his medicine. After everything that family did for me I couldn't just sit there and let that asshole take everything from them like that."

Hearing this he sighed softly, stroking her hip with his thumb. He fell more and more in love with her everyday. "How the hell did this old pirate get lucky enough to have an angel like you as his soulmate?" he spoke in a low voice.

"Soulmate?"

Just realizing what he had said he blinked and felt his mouth go dry. "Ah... well yes..." Clearing his throat he tried to think of a way to explain their destined love to her. "You see lass here in this world soulmates are a thing... a ah... a natural connection. Not everyone has them but some get lucky enough. It's when two people are destined to be with each other and they have this... well this pull and..." Seeing her smile grow and her teeth bit down on her lip some he stopped, feeling a blush over his cheeks and neck.

"It's okay Ed, Zella explained them to me last week." seeing him furrow his brows as he looked down to you, you grinned nervously. "I wasn't sure you felt the same way and I didn't want to lose you so I never said anything."

She had been afraid he wouldn't love her back. She felt their connection as well? The knowledge made him smile. Still he could tell she was a bit nervous. "So you knew what they were and still you let me suffer through that horrible explanation like an idiot."

Seeing him cut his eyes at you playfully, a smile still present on his lips you tilted your head. "It was fun to watch you be the nervous wreak for a change." you admitted with a small shrug.

Growling he grinned as he quickly wrapped his arm around her and flipped her to the bed, holding himself up above her while her hands held onto his back and shoulder. Gazing down at her sparkling eyes he felt that swelling in his heart and sighed softly. "Never thought I'd experience that whole feeling that comes with having a soulmate. My entire life I've always felt like there was something missing. Ever since I was a kid the only thing I've ever wanted was a family. I gathered many sons and daughters over the years, children of the sea that I called my own but it wasn't enough. There was still some part of me that was missing and I could never find that lost piece. When I died in Marrieford I accepted that it would be a mystery that would never be solved. But to my surprise my story wasn't over. I was found by the very person I had spent my whole life trying to find. I knew from the first time I saw you that you were the one, that you were meant to be mine. I don't know which higher power was looking out for me but I thank them for finally allowing our paths to cross." His heart was hammering so hard against his ribcage he was sure it would soon burst from his chest. "Lass you make me feel complete, I will love you forever. Long after the seas dry up and the stars fade in the sky." He was so nervous he thought he might have another heart attack. Staring into her eyes he licked his dry lips. "I promise to care for you. You will be the only woman I ever love. I'll provide for ya and you'll never want for anything..."

"Ed.."

"Darling I don't have a ring to give ya, not yet at least but I..." Taking a deep breath he swallowed hard. "I'll get you one, anyone you want. I can't wait till then, not a moment longer, I have to ask you now. Will ya marry me lass?"

Four months, three weeks and six days. That's how long it had been since you had found him on the shore of the lake. It wasn't that long really but you felt like you had known him your whole life. Even from the beginning he had always felt like this old friend who had just shown back up from out of nowhere. Somewhere along those few months you had fell head over heels for him but you had said nothing. So afraid that he would soon toss you aside like everyone else had you had distanced yourself as much as possible even when it made your heart ache terribly. He was patient with you, he listened. He made you laugh and cry and he was right about feeling whole because not once in your life had you ever been so happy than you were when you were with him. Almost five months, most would probably say that that wasn't long enough to know a person to marry them but to you, that was all the time you needed.

Looking up into those warm yellow eyes you smiled, your eyes tearing up a bit. "Yes."

As soon as the word was out of her mouth he felt his face break into what had to be the biggest smile of his life. Without a moment's hesitation he lowered his body to hers, finally claiming her lips. Just as he suspected her lips were soft and smooth. A light sigh left his nose at being able to finally kiss her. Thankfully this time Marco wasn't here to interpret either. There was this strong pulling in his chest that turned into a comfortable warmth as he allowed his body to lower just above hers, still careful not to crush her. She had tensed the tiniest amount when their lips first met but quickly she had relaxed.

He was kissing you. You were getting your first kiss and it was so incredible. God his lips were so warm and only a bit rougher than your own. You could feel the slight scruff on his upper lip but it didn't bother you. Then there was the heat of his huge body laying over yours and that strange tugging that had turned into a comforting warmth. You could die happy right here and now. The hand holding your hip was gently messaging you while the one wrapped under your head made you feel secure and safe. When the need for air became desperate and he pulled away some you looked up into his soft eyes, his hair falling around the both of your faces making the moment even more intimate.

"...so what'd she say?"

"Yes of course!"

"I told you she would."

"Way to go Pops."

Hearing voices from outside of the window you peeked around his massive arm to look out of the window, you couldn't see anything because of the drawn curtains but when Ed let out a deep growl you knew someone was there.

Letting go of her hip he grabbed one of the pillows and threw it towards the window his sons were standing by. "If you four don't get the hell out of here I'll toss you all to the sea!"

"He does realize we are on land right?"

"Is that a challenge?!"

Giggling through it all you quickly wrapped your arms around his neck when he went to move.

Being pulled back down by his little woman he didn't get to say a word before her lips pushed their way back to his. "Overgrown children." he grumbled around her lips and heard her giggle lightly. Continuing to hold himself up with one arm he moved his free hand over to the table to pinch out the wick. Maybe if the room was dark his sons would get the hint to leave them alone.

..................................

"So what is it for?" Izo asked.

Seeing the three men looking to your phone you tilted your head, "Um well in my world people use them to call one another, like the den den's here. You can also use it to read books on, there's a calculator, a flashlight, a camera..." Showing them each feature you saw their brows raise when you turned on the flashlight. Taking a picture of the three of them you turned it around to show them and saw Vista smile. "Really there is a whole bunch of stuff on it. I can't make calls on it anymore since I'm here but I can still read some books on it and listen to music."

"Music?" Jozu asked.

Humming you nodded and brought up your music list. Tapping on a song you saw them all look to it in amazement when the song started playing.

"You'll soon be hearing the chime Close to midnight If I could turn back the time I'd make all right

How could it end like this? There's a sting in the way you kiss me Something within your eyes Said it could be the last time Fore it's over!

Just wanna be Wanna bewitch you in the moonlight Just wanna be I wanna bewitch you all night..."

"I want one of those." Vista said.

Giggling you held it out for him to take. "Here ya'll knock yourself out. I have to go pick up some stuff from town for supper anyway. Just don't hit anything that says delete okay." When they all nodded but kept their eyes on the phone you smiled again and stood.

Walking from around the house he looked to see Izo, Vista and Jozu all sitting on the ground playing with his soon to be wife's phone. Wife, the thought of being able to call her that made his chest swell with pride. Hearing the music playing from her phone he chuckled at the smile on his sons faces. Looking down at them with his arms crossed over his chest he chuckled. "So I see y/n has shown you her phone."

"This thing is amazing. Look at all the books she has.."

"There is over three hundred songs on it as well." Izo added.

"Yea she loves reading and music." he grinned.

"Marco said she likes cooking too." Jozu spoke.

"I bet Thatch would have liked her." Vista grinned.

"Ace too."

Sighing his grin turned bittersweet, he would have loved for her to meet the both of his fallen sons. He knew for a fact they both would have loved her. Looking to them all again he raised his brows, "Do any of you happen to know where it is my lass has run off to?"

"Yea, she said she had to go into town to get stuff for supper."

"Let us borrow her phone while she was gone."

Humming he nodded, "Don't break it."

"Yea, yea."

Huffing out he started towards town. Looking all over for her he didn't find her anywhere and when he finally asked around they said she had already left a little while ago. Knitting his brows he stood in though, if she had already left then he would have met her on the way back home but he hadn't. So where was she? Deciding to let his heart lead the way he started walking out of town and towards the entrance to the town. If she was going to get groceries then why would she need to come out here? Going up the hill and towards the ruins of the old town he had grew up in he looked across to the edge of the cliff where his and Ace's grave was. He had been to it a few times to talk to his son but he found it strange looking at his own headstone. A part of him wondered if there was anything buried there? Marco had told him that they had buried him, hell even that red head had helped but if he was here now was that body now gone or was this a whole new one? As tempted as he was to dig it up he figured he was better off not knowing.

Getting closer to the top he saw her h/c hair blowing in the breeze and knit his brows, what was she doing up here? Going to call out to her he stopped when he saw someone standing by her, the two of them looking to be speaking. Realizing who it was he clenched his teeth and marched a little faster towards them. As soon as he was close enough he saw Garps eyes shoot to him, his brows raising. Moving y/n behind him he stared down at the man, "What the hell are you doing here Garp?"

"What am I doing here, what the hell are you doing here? You're supposed to be dead damnit! And why are you young again?!" Garp yelled. "Wait a minute, am I dead? Did I die and for some godforsaken reason end up in the same place as you? If I did die how come I'm still old?"

"You're going to be dead if you don't get off my damn island!"

"Go to hell Newgate, I'm here to see Ace..."

"NO! You don't get to pay your respects to my son..."

"He was my damn grandson before he was one of your sons!"

"Don't act like you care so much about him now, you let him die!"

"Ace made his choice, he became a pirate and then he joined up with you! I warned him but he wouldn't listen!" The marine yelled, his face turning red and his veins sticking out in his forehead.

"What a load of crap! That boy had a target on his back before he was even born! For being Roger's son, something he couldn't even control. Yea he became a pirate and he was a damn good one. Much like that other grandson of yours, that strawhat brat. Are you gonna sit back and watch him die too?!"

"Don't you bring Luffy into this!" Garp growled, his voice dropping even more.

Clenching his fists he sensed his sons coming up behind him. "Take Y/n back home." he spoke in a deep voice, never ceasing his intense stare down with Garp.

Having stayed behind him the whole time you felt your heart hammering as Ed and the man you had just met who you had heard Ed call Garp argued. You had never seen him so angry looking other than the time he had saved you from that man. There seemed to be this intense aroura coming off both men and it made you nervous. Hearing Marco and the others come up behind you and then Ed tell them to take you back home you furrowed your brows. Tightening your grip on his arm that had been holding you behind his bulk frame you swallowed hard and looked up to the back to his head. "Ed..."

Seeing Garp's eyes glance to the woman behind him he felt his lip lift into a snarl. Giving her hip a small squeeze he rose his chin, "Jozu." he called, knowing the man was bigger than her.

Being pulled away from him by Jozu no doubt you tried holding onto his arm but he let your hands slip away. Watching as Izo moved to grab the bags left by his father's feet you looked between the two men. "N..."

"It's best to stay out of it Y/n." Marco told her, taking hold of her other hand while Jozu held her arm to pull her back towards the safety of their father's home.

Getting past the waterfall you heard a loud slam and then a smack, the ground shaking a bit and making you gasp. "B...but will he be okay?" you asked trying to stop and look back towards the man you loved. Yes the other man was smaller but you still didn't want your Ed to get hurt.

Laughing along with the rest of his brothers Vista pat her arm, "Oh don't you worry about pops Y/n. He didn't get the title of strongest man in the world for nothing."

"Yea and pops never backs down from a fight." Jozu huffed.

Blinking you looked to Vista with wide eyes. "Strongest man in the world?" surely he had to be exaggerating. Seeing them all nod proudly though you could only open and close your mouth, turning your head back to see a cloud of dust flying up here and there, the loud noises still echoing from where you had left. Just who and the hell were you going to marry? You knew Edward but maybe it was time to learn who Whitebeard was.

#Whitebeard #whitebeard one piece #one piece whitebeard #whitebeard x reader #edward newgate #edward newgate x reader #feedback would be appreciated #soulmate au #fluff #so much fluff #big daddy whitebeard

51 notes · View notes

bleachanimefan1 · 4 years ago

Text

Oblitus Ch.21 Get Down With The Sickness

56 Days Left Until Extermination...

The next morning, Anna groaned as she rolled out of the bed. Her body felt achy all over. Her throat felt sore and scratchy and worst of all she couldn't breathe through her nose. As she stood up, her head felt very light that she almost stumbled as she tried to walk across the room to leave. Anna had to use her hand to balance herself along the walls as she walked down the hallway. She rode the elevator several floors down, after accidentally pressing the wrong button and pressed them all at once. Finally, the doors opened to the hotel lobby and she stepped out from the elevator.

In the hotel lobby, Angel was reading a magazine while eating a popsicle, Niffty was dusting some of the frames, busts, and other furniture in the room. Husk was busy preparing a drink at the bar. Charlie and Vaggie were talking to each other until they noticed Anna walking over to them. Charlie smiled and waved, however it dropped. She cringed and took a step back when she saw Anna's depressing state.

Anna's eyes were watering uncontrollably, snot was dripping down from her nose. She was shivering from head to toe and worst she was wobbly as she tried to stand. Charlie and Vaggie looked at each other then back to Anna.

"Hey, are you okay?" the princess asked in concern.

"Yeah, it looks like your about to fall over," Vaggie replied. "Maybe, you should get back to bed and rest. Me and Charlie will handle this." Anna coughed. She shook her head.

"No, I'm fine," Anna started to answer. Darkness overclouded her vision as she lost control of her legs. "I'm..." She fell forward, collapsing into Charlie. The princess caught her just in time before she fell to the floor.

"Anna!" Charlie exclaimed. Vaggie ran over to the two. Alastor peeked his head out from the kitchen, wondering what the commotion was about. He saw the whole group gathered in a circle. He walked over and froze when he saw that it was Anna lying on the floor. She was sick. It was probably from the dirty fountain water that he and Anna both fell into at the park.

"Shit! She's burning up!" Vaggie cursed. Alastor shoved the moth demon out of the way, who glared at him as he picked Anna up, carrying her in his arms.

"What do you think you are doing, you radio bastard!?" Vaggie shouted. Alastor turned to her.

"I'm taking her back up to bed." He replied. Vaggie stared at him with a distrustful look, crossing her arms.

"You better not do anything to her!" Charlie placed her hand on Vaggie's shoulder, trying to calm her down. She turned to Alastor.

"Thanks, Al," she said. Alastor walked away as he carried Anna towards the the elevator to take her back up to bed room. As the elevator slowly rode up the floors, Anna began to stir opening her eyes. Her vision was blurry and she felt very light like a feather.

"Are we floating?" She asked, completely out of it. Alastor laughed.

"No, my dear. We are in the elevator and I am taking you to your room. Go back to sleep." Anna stared at Alastor with a dizzy look on her face. Her vision danced as she saw two Alastors. She reached up and out of the blue, grabbed Alastor's cheeks with her hands. Alastor felt his whole body froze and he began grow tense at the feel of Anna's touch. He did not like to be touched. Only one person in his life was allowed to and that was his mother. His eyes widen in alarm as Anna leaned in closer towards his face.

"A-Ah, what are y-you doing?" Alastor asked, laughing nervously. He hated this feeling it made him feel vulnerable, weak. He felt his blood run cold as Anna's lips were close to his. He felt her hot breath as she breathed through her mouth.

"A-Alastor,... " Anna slurred as her head began to lop to side. "I think I lov-" However, she stopped then her eyes widen. Alastor saw Anna's face turn green. Before he could do anything, Anna had barfed over his shoulder. Alastor eye twitched as he had a strained smile on his face, angrily gripping Anna's shirt tightly with his hands. Disgusting...

Anna groaned as she pulled back with a little vomit stuck to the corner of her lips.

"I'm sorry..." She murmured before passing out again.

46 days left until Extermination...

It took a nearly a whole week for Anna to recover from her sickness. As she was put on strict bed rest, Alastor would take care of her. He would sometimes try to cheer her up by singing some old songs and some of his favorite songs, like "You're Never Fully Dressed Without A Smile!" Then sometimes Niffty would come in and look after her and sometimes bring her soup and sometimes knit together. Angel would bring Fat Nuggets to help Anna with her boredom. Husk would poker with her and always won until Anna found out that he had been cheating. Charlie and Vaggie would sometimes stop by to check on her. Now, after full week's rest, Anna feeling completely better back to 100%.

Anna was heading to the kitchen, to where Alastor was. She was going to thank him for taking care of her when she was sick. However, as she stepped into the room, Anna noticed that something was off. She saw Alastor was a little wobbly on his feet, and he was have a hard time focusing.

"Alastor, are you okay?" She asked as she approached him. Alastor felt dizzy as he turned his head to look at her.

"I'm fine, just a little cold, Cher," Alastor replied to her in a strange Cajun accent. Anna raise an eyebrow.

"Are you sure okay? You're talking strangely." she said. "I've never heard you talk like that before." Alastor didn't answer her as he shifted his gaze elsewhere focusing on anything but her. Anna frowned with a suspicious look on her face.

"Don't tell me, you caught my cold, too," she questioned. Alastor sighed holding his hands up.

"Fine, fine ya got me." He said. "I'm sick. I won't resist arest."

Anna followed Alastor up to his room making sure that he got there okay. As he say down on his bed and pulled his shoes off, Anna saw that Alastor had deer like hooves as his feet. He climbed into his bed and Anna pulled the blankets over him, covering him up.

"Comfortable?" She asked. Alastor smiled, tiredly.

"Yes, thank you, darling," he replied.

"Need anything else?" Anna asked. Alastor paused a minute before answering.

"Well, there is one thing. It always makes me feel better," he said.

"What is it?" Anna asked.

"My mother's jambalaya," Alastor answered.

"I don't know the recipe, Alastor," Anna explained unsure. "And also, I'm not that great of a cook."

"Look on the bookshelf," He said, pointing his fingers over towards the bookcase. Anna walked over to it searching through it. "It's a big red book that has recipes on it." She saw it and grabbed the book.

"Found it," Anna said. "Okay, I'll try to make it. But, I can't promise that it'll taste great." She walked out of Alastor's cabin carrying the book under her arm, heading towards the kitchen. This was going to a recipe for disaster.

Anna struggled as she tried to multitask through the recipe. She was chopping some of the ingredients, while trying to keep an on the sauce and some shrimp and questionable "meat" that she found in the refrigerator and let them frying on the stove. Angel walked in as he smelled something that was coming from the kitchen.

"Watch ya doing?" He asked.

"Making jambalaya for Alastor. He requested it," Anna answered, chopping up some peppers. Angel smirked.

"Huh, I've never figured you to be able to cook," he teased. Anna frowned.

"What's that's supposed to mean?" She asked, insulted. However, she wasn't paying attention and accidentally sliced her finger with the knife. Anna hissed as she covered her finger trying to stop the bleeding.

"Well, considering something bad always happens around you," Angel commented. Anna groaned and grabbed a dishrag then cleaned the cut as she washed warm water over it.

"It doesn't happen all the time," she replied. Angel smiled and hummed.

"You don't say?" He questioned. The spider demon pointed over toward the pot that was overflowing on the stove. "By the way, the sauce's burning."

"No!" Anna exclaimed.

Back in the cabin, Alastor stared down with a blank look on his face with a big smile, looking at a bowl filled with jambalaya that was sitting in his hands. It looked like an monstrosity that would probably crawl away. Anna took a seat on the floor next to him. "Here you go," She cringed, seeing the look on Alastor's face as he took a bite. He hates it...

"I know it's not the best. Some of the shrimp got burnt and some of the peppers got overcooked and I put too much hot sauce in-"

"This is fantastic!" Anna's eyes widen as she quickly looked at him with a disbelief look on her face. "Say what now?"

"This is the best thing I've ever had since I've been down here!" Alastor answered.

"You're just saying that. You don't have to lie, I know it tastes awful," Anna said.

"No, I'm serious," Alastor chided. "This is a best I've had, since my mother's. But, second best at that." Anna felt her heart began to skip a beat. This is the first time someone complimented on her cooking. She couldn't help but feel happy.

"Well, I'm glad you like it," Anna replied, happily.

#hazbin hotel #charlie hazbin hotel #alastor #alastor hazbin hotel #angel dust #fanfiction #hazbin hotel oc

6 notes · View notes