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sheawritesstuff · 6 months

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Meeting the Alpha

[Gabriel Shaw and David x Angel]

[Meet the parents Fluff - 1391 words]

[Little bit of a twist ending ;p enjoy]

“Alright, Angel. How are you feeling? You ready?” David asked, putting the car in park. Angel fidgeted nervously in their seat and stared out the window. Their attention darted rapidly between the big, rustic house in front of them and their own shaking hands.

“What if he doesn’t like me?” Their voice was uncharacteristically quiet and almost shaky. “What if I fuck it up? Davey I- “ David cut them off with a gentle grip of their hand. They finally turned to look at him, mouth tugged down in a frown. He held their hand firmly and took a dramatically slow, deep breath. They followed suit, filling their lungs with air and breathing out their worry.

“He’s going to love you, Angel. I promise,” David said, soft and genuine. “It’s going to be ok, it’s just my dad.” Angel nodded, still breathing deeply. They squeezed their boyfriend’s hand and forced a smile.

“I think I’m ready now.” They said it more to themself than to him. David kissed them once before the two of them hefted themselves up and out of the car. The wolf came to their side and looped their arms together, keeping them nice and close. They walked together to the front door, waited a moment for a few more deep breaths, and David knocked firmly on the thick wooden door.

A moment later the door opened, revealing the man of the hour. If Angel thought David was big, Gabe was gigantic. He was at least three inches taller and almost as wide as his son, but not quite as muscular. Angel stared up at him, eyes wide and mouth hanging open slightly.

“Well hey! You must be the little Angel I’ve heard so much about,” Gabe declared. He spread his arms, a bright smile plastered across his face, then paused. “Wait, can I- do… do you do hugs?” He pulled his arms back toward his body awkwardly as he questioned the forwardness of his action.

Angel giggled at him and opened their arms too. They nestled against his chest in a firm, familiar hug. They both sighed, relaxing in their shared embrace as the mutual nervousness faded. They pulled away and found David standing off to the side, arms folded across his chest.

“Aw, Davey, are you feeling left out? C’mere baby,” Angel teased, approaching him arms first. David groaned, but hugged them back, running his hand over their back. Gabe took the opportunity to ruffle David’s hair, wasting the agonizing half-hour he put into perfecting it. The beta scrunched his eyebrows together and huffed at his father.

“I did not come here to be ambushed,” he complained, pushing his mate away from him. He turned back toward the door, quickly trying to tidy up his hair. “Are you gonna let us in or not, old man?” David’s grin gave away the fact his dismay was all for show. Gabe rolled his eyes, still smiling wide. He motioned toward the door with both arms and bowed slightly.

“After you, Davey,” Gabe remarked, stepping inside behind them and closing the door. David mirrored his elder and rolled his eyes. The trio entered the front room of the house together. Angel openly gawked at the gorgeous childhood home of their lover.

“Dinner is on the table if you two are ready.”

The dining table was huge, stretching about as far as one end of Angel’s apartment to the other. It was bare, though, save for three neatly arranged placemats on one end with a variety of dishes scattered around them. David led his mate to their seat and pulled the chair out for them. He sat across from them, leaving the head of the table empty for the alpha.

“Wow.” Angel stared at the feast in front of them. “It looks amazing, Gabe.”

“It’s crazy, huh. Some people cook and eat actual food,” David joked as he scooped a spoonful of potatoes onto his plate. Gabe half-heartedly swatted at the back of his son’s head.

“Be nice. You weren’t always the healthiest eater either, y’know.” The older wolf turned to Angel with a smile. “You would not believe how hard it was to convince this boy to eat his vegetables. When he was still a tiny little thing he-” David covered his face with his hands and groaned. The tips of his ears were bright red as he listened to the retelling of his childhood stubbornness.

“-and he wouldn’t even look at anything green unless I bribed him with some sort of treat until he was damn near 15,” Gabe laughed and glanced toward the man sitting next to him. David still had his head bowed down in embarrassment, but he had uncovered in face in the interest of actually eating his dinner. “Your mama would be so proud of you,” Gabe said softly.

David perked his head up and stared at his father, surprise clear on his face. Gabe smiled at him and patted his shoulder with a nod. He turned back to Angel with the same kind grin. “She would love you too, Angel. You’re sweet like she was. I think you two would’ve gotten along well.” His voice was quiet and filled with a fond nostalgia. “You picked well, David.

David stopped eating for a moment, just pushing the food around on his plate as he searched for the right words. He looked across the table and met his partner’s eyes for a moment. He smiled back at them and sighed.

“Yeah, I did, didn’t I.”

The rest of the evening was filled with good food, laughter, and a plethora of embarrassing childhood stories. As the couple finished their food, Gabe stood to take their plates to the kitchen. Angel peered across the table with a smile painted on their face.

“I think he likes me,” they sighed. David laughed and pushed himself up from the table. He came around to the other side and draped himself over the top of their chair. A kiss to the top of the head accompanied a soft squeeze to their shoulders.

“He loves you, Angel. Just like I said he would.” He tilted their head up and kissed their forehead. “But I’m afraid if we don’t leave soon he’ll end up liking you more than me. And we can’t have that, can we?” They giggled and shook their head. He pulled their chair out to give them room to stand as Gabe reentered the dining room.

“You two heading out?” David nodded and replaced the chair.

“It was really great getting to meet you, Gabe,” Angel piped up. Gabe smiled down at them. His smile had been almost permanently painted on his face since they arrived, but it never seemed any less genuine.

“It was lovely meeting you too, Angel. Don’t be a stranger, ok?” He leaned down to hug them again and they happily returned it. He patted them on the back as he pulled away. David hugged him too, but it lingered a little longer as he reveled in the moment.

“I love you, Dad.”

“I love you too, David. Drive safe, alright?” David nodded as he turned to open the door.

“Always.”

Gabe stood on the porch as he watched them get back into their car. Angel let out a long, low sigh as they sat down. David turned the key with a hum and turned to face his mate. They smiled at him before waving out the window as they pulled out of the driveway. They leaned across the seat to plant a quick kiss to David’s cheek-

The feeling of gentle kisses scattered across David’s face pulled him back to reality. His eyes opened just enough to peer up at his mate on top of him, waking him up “the romantic way”. He smiled softly as the warmth of sleep ebbed away. Angel kissed the tip of his nose and pulled away just enough to make proper eye contact.

“Good morning, Davey,” they said, voice still hoarse from sleep. “Did you have a good dream?” David tucked their hair behind their ear and smiled as his core thrummed solid in his chest. He stared up at them, admiring the beauty before him for a long, silent moment.

“Yes, I did.” He pressed a soft kiss to their lips. “I had a very good dream, Angel.”

#I only feel a little evil #cause it's still sweet and cute #just not quite as much as it could've been y'know #redacted audio #redacted asmr #redacted david #redacted angel #redacted gabe #david shaw #gabe shaw #gabriel shaw #redacted fanfic #shea writes

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johnwickb1tsch · 8 months

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bittersweet ~ a yandere!John Wick x fem!reader sunshine/grump coffee shop AU... Part 5 all chapters

-You take him home, and you can't help but stare in awe as you go through the gate. The Wick residence is quite the cabin-style manse, a behemoth in dark painted wood and stone and massive mirrored windows.

“Do you...want to come in?” he offers as you park in the circle drive. “Dog would love to see you.”

You look at him, not sure if that is code for he would like you to spend more time with him. It’s so hard to read this man. It doesn't seem like he's hitting on you though. Just…being nice? You know he must be lonely, and you truly have nothing better to do.

“Ok. I can stay for a little while.”

The mudroom leads into the kitchen, which is dark cabinets and black marble countertops. Dog trots up to you immediately upon entrance, snoofing your outreached hands and leaning heavily on your legs. “Hi sweetie,” you say, scratching his side.

“How about a snack?” John offers, opening the refrigerator. “I’m always hungry after a hike.”

“Okay.”

“Want some coffee? Tea?”

“I can make it, if you show me where your stuff is.”

“No, it’s your day off. Let me take care of you. You always take care of me.”

You're a little dumbfounded, standing in this man’s kitchen who by his own admission, you barely know. Never once have you been invited by any of the wealthy visitors from the coffee shop into their homes. Why would you be?

You aware again of how he towers over you. It makes your very bones weak, when he looks down at you with those shining dark eyes. He does not look away from you, holding your gaze. You don't know why, but you feel a little like a butterfly caught in a spider’s web.

“Have a seat,” he directs, nodding towards a leather-upholstered stool at the island.

“Ok...”

You are not used to being taken care of. You’ve been on your own for so long.

You feel a little out of place, and cautiously slide up onto the stool, looking around. It’s an open plan, you can see into the recessed living room with its cavernous ceiling. The house is painted in dark shades, masculine, but very stylish. It's classy but comfortable, with large windows to let in the light and the natural beauty from outside.

Then you watch with more than a little fascination as John sets up a kettle and a French press, then starts putting together a little charcuterie spread on a wooden board. His hands are poetry in motion, and like when he’d helped you with your burn, you cannot look away. He slices artisan sausage and cheese, expensive locally crafted treats from the grocer you can never afford on your ramen budget. They look delicious.

You feel like quite the honored guest. The kitchen fills with the heavenly scent of coffee as he pours the hot water into the carafe, and you relax slightly.

“You didn’t have to do all this for me, Mr. Wick,” you say as the selection on the charcuterie board expands to sliced apple and herby crackers, still a bit mortified.

“Call me John,” he insists, looking at you through his hair. Your heart does an extra hard tha-thump in your chest. “And it’s my pleasure, really.”

With sundries in tow you go to the living room, where there are soft leather couches and a rustic walnut wood coffee table. He turns on the gas fireplace, lending the room a warm glow. You notice there are bookshelves flanking the fireplace that rise almost to the ceiling, completely full. This place is incredibly cozy, and as you settle into the cushion you regret already that you’ll have to leave.

Dog clambers up on the couch with you, practically climbing into your lap. You laugh, hugging the affectionate canine as he licks your face, but John gives him a funny look.

“Is he not allowed on the couch?” you ask, feeling sheepish.

“Not usually, but I'll let it slide.” He says it with a slight smile, looking at the animal bemusedly. “It's not often we have company.”

Dog offers a canine smile, undoubtedly well aware that he is getting away with something this special day.

You take a sip of your coffee, and sigh. This is the good stuff. “God. You make better coffee than I do. Why do you even bother to come into the shop when you could just stay here all day?” You could just sit and read in this room for hours, you reckon. Look out the window. Watch the fire, and forget the outside world even exists.

“The shop has its perks,” he says quietly, looking at you out the corner of his eye. As usual, you're not sure if he's talking in double speak. In the end you decide it’s all in your head, and you relax a little more.

After snacking on tasty tidbits and sipping a bit more brew, you look around more. A wrought iron staircase leads up to a landing. You can tell the house sprawls a long way further back than just what you can see. Before you can stop yourself you blurt out, “Do you really live here all alone?”

You’ve never noticed a wedding ring, but then, he’s missingthe appropriate finger.

“Yes.” He looks off into the fire. “I was married once, but she passed away.”

Shit. You and your big fucking mouth.

“Oh. I'm so sorry.”

“Thanks. It seems like it was a lifetime ago now.” He frowns, clearly still deeply pained about it, and you feel so terrible for bringing it up. But sometimes once the scab is open, it's best to remember something good.

“What was her name?”

“Helen.”

“How pretty.”

“Yes. She was...a lovely woman.”

“What was she like?”

He smiles then. It's slight, and completely to himself. But you feel some validation in your train of inquiry. “She was smart, and funny, and she lit up any room she walked into.”

His total opposite, it sounded like. There’s a reason opposites attract, to make a whole.

He sighs, a forlorn sound that squeezes your heart. “And, I loved her with all my heart.”

“What a lucky woman,” you say before you can stop yourself.

You absolutely feel the weight of the sidelong look he pays you this time.

“We had some luck, before she was diagnosed. But when you love someone like that...eternity wouldn't be long enough.”

You're not sure why there are tears in your eyes for someone you never met.

“I wouldn't know,” you admit.

No one has ever loved you so much.

“You're young yet. You will, someday.” You can still feel him looking at you, out the corner of your eye. His gaze has such weight to it, a heady, heavy thing that is like a hand on your skin.

“I’m not sure I want to,” you admit frankly. “It sounds…terrifying.”

“It is,” he agrees. “But when it hits you...you don't really get a choice.”

Before you can think of an answer to that, somewhere in the house a phone rings. With a little frown John gets up to answer it. “Make yourself at home,” he tells you. It sounds a bit like an order.

You take an impossibly soft blanket and drape it over you and dog, snuggling up in the cozy warmth. You don’t really mean to fall asleep, but you close your eyes, and you ae done for.

You dream that someone is gently touching your face, tracing the curve of your cheek ever so lightly.

You only wake up when there's a small noise, and you find John cleaning up what's left of the charcuterie board.

“Sorry,” he whispers, glaring down at the cheese knife that dared roll off onto the table.

That he would apologize to you, when you're the one who fell asleep in his house, is pretty absurd.

You sit up a little. The weight of dog has made one of your legs go numb.

“I'm sorry,” you counter. You are mortified as you wonder if you were snoring. Waking up early for your shift at the coffee house tires you out so badly. It can be hard to have a real life, when you wake up at four in the morning. “I didn't mean to doze. It's so warm and comfortable here.”

He frowns again, but you don’t realize it’s because he’s wondering if you are warm and comfortable in your own tiny apartment. He holds up a hand when he sees you struggling to get free of the blanket.

“It's alright. Stay as long as you like.”

He takes what little is left of the sundries back into the kitchen.

You manage to get up, and stretch, reawakening your limbs. You join him in the kitchen. The sun is hanging low in the sky. It will be dark soon. You have sooo overstayed your welcome, or so you think.

“You might as well stay for dinner now,” John says. As usual, you can't really tell if he's joking.

He’s not, in fact, but he is being careful about how he handles this delicate thing between you. Seeing you snoozing contentedly on his couch with his dog moved him to his toes, and the notion of keeping you there with him is becoming harder and harder to resist.

It would be so easy, he thinks, just to keep you.

Fat snowflakes have started to fall outside.

“I think I've imposed on you enough for one day. Thank you, this was nice.”

He looks out at the snow, which is falling even more heavily now.

“Sure you want to go out in this?”

“Right now? Yes. In two hours, probably not.”

He nods at that, seeming to think on something. “Will you...text me that you've gotten home safe?”

You are finding out that this outwardly stone-faced man has a protective steak that is totally endearing. You never would have guessed from his prickly exterior.

“Sure. What's your number?”

He tells you, and you punch it into your phone. “Alright. See you later, Mr. Wick.”

He doesn't correct you, and is it just you, or do his pupils dilate when you call him that?

Hard to tell, with eyes so dark as his.

There is a pregnant moment between you, in which you wonder if you should offer him a hug, or if that would totally ruin the balance of your companionship. You briefly wonder what he would do if you stood on tiptoe, steadied yourself with a hand on that muscular chest, and kissed him on the cheek, before you decide you need to go.

Later you text him a funny string of emojis involving a house, snowflakes, the wide-eyed smiley, and a penguin, imagining how they would make him scrunch up his brow.

Does this mean you're home safe?

Yes, Mr. Wick.

Glad to hear it. Good night, y/n.

#john wick #john wick x you #john wick x reader #john wick x y/n #keanu reeves #john wick fic #keanu reeves x reader #yandere john wick #bittersweet john wick imagine #i just feel like dark academia cabin in the woods would be johns jam 😂

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raven-at-the-writing-desk · 11 months

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"Mirror, Mirror, on the Wall, Who's the Fairest of Them All?"

This set of headcanons was the most difficult for me to write for of the 7 dorms. I think it’s because I don’t immediately associate Pomefiore with any group activities, unlike most of the others.

Note: Rollo does not canonically dislike apples, I just decided to run with it to go along with the whole joke of him being Catholic... and how apples are representative of "the first sin" in much of pop culture.

A Big Pomefiore Welcome to Rollo!

Four dormitory visits in, and Rollo's dreading the next. He expects it to be every bit as exhausting as the first four were, whether physically or mentally. But no, he won't let his spirit be broken, won't let these NRC students under his skin!! Rollo trudges onward.

Pomefiore boasts a pleasant atmosphere right as he enters their realm. It is filled with soft birdsong and lush greenery, sunshine coming down upon his face. He shields his eyes and squints at the rustic castle towering ahead. it's grand, imposing, and filled with rich history. So far, so good.

At this point, Rollo expects someone to jump out of the bushes to annoy him, but the entire walk to the entrance is uneventful. Something is very wrong here, he thinks, slowly rapping on the doors. Does a jump scare await him beyond it? Rollo braces himself when the doors creak open and push out.

“Bienvenu, Roi du Mouchoir!!” an irritatingly familiar voice calls out to him. Rook rushes at Rollo at a frightening speed, nearly crushing the man's bones in a hug he's too slow to avoid. An arm coiling around him like a snake, a hand on the small of his back, Rook happily welcomes Rollo inside.

The huntsman talks. Incessantly. He talks about how happy he is to be reunited with him, he talks about the beautiful weather, he talks about the wonderful reception Pomefiore has painstakingly planned to welcome his arrival. He just about never stops talking, never wipes that big, dumb smile off of his face. It’s plainly unsettling.

Rollo utters a sharp “Tais-toi!”, which finally silences Rook (but only for about all of 5 seconds). His eyes crease, and something about his expression reminds Rollo of a hungry fox. “Ah, I see that your fiery fervor has yet to dim. Harboring such unyielding ideals… Fufufu, that tenacious spirit of yours makes you a wonderful fit in the realm of the Beautiful Queen.”

“Tch. You keep speaking in that overly familiar tone of voice,” Rollo snips as he and Rook come to a new set of doors, “acting as though we’re on amicable terms, ushering me into your fold. Make no mistake, I do NOT plan on becoming intimate with…”

The doors open into an opulent lounge decorated for a fancy reception. Streamers are suspended from the ceiling, confetti dusting open seats, vases of flowers topping ever counter, petals spilling in a luxurious waterfall from one table. Sitting upon elegant purple cloths are plates of hors d'oeuvres and flutes with sparkling liquids.

Students in robes with billowing sleeves are scattered around a throne where a beautiful man sits. Nervously standing at the seated queen’s side is a shorter boy with fluffy lilac hair and large eyes. Their gazes momentarily meet, and there’s a flicker of recognition in both of them. It’s Epel Felmier from the masquerade.

Rook approaches, sweeping his feathered hat off and bowing. “Je suis revenu.” There’s a nod from the beautiful man—the dorm’s ruler, Rollo believes—as he raises a hand to the onlookers. “Thank you for escorting our guest to the venue, Rook. Now then, let the festivities begin.” The Pomefiore students clap politely for him as soft orchestral music begins to play, as if by magic.

“Well then, my friend—” (“We are NOT friends,” Rollo sharply corrects Rook.) “—please enjoy yourself! As sorrowful as it is to part ways, cruel Fate dictates it must be so. Worry not, our paths will surely cross again! Until then, I leave you with this token to remember me by.” Rook produces a rose from his sleeve and slips it into Rollo’s hat, then prances off to his dorm leader.

Rollo removed the the rose crushes it in his palm like a stress ball. He lets the crumpled flower fall to his feet, mingling with the petals already on the polished floor.

“Erm, Rook-senpai… Is it okay to really let him walk around the party without supervision?” Epel asks as his upperclassman draws near. “Won’t he… um, you know??” (To this, Rook chuckles. “Non, we needn’t worry. Acting so boldly in broad daylight is not to his style.“)

Rollo tries to minimize his presence, finding some quiet corner to stand in until the reception ends. Unfortunately for him, Pomefiore students keep walking up to chat. He’s on edge, expecting them to be combative or nosy—but no, he finds that they’re a more insidious kind of evil… the underhanded, subtler sort.

Many of the mob students compliment his outfit. However just as many of them raise their eyebrows when they see him up close. They coo about how Rollo’s complexion looks so haggard and how he has such dark circles under his eyes. (A few of them also remark that his haircut is “a choice”.)

Some mob students start giving him (uncalled for) beauty tips and product recommendations. Retinol creams, vitamin C serums, sleeping masks—all manner of lotions and potions to supposedly “fix” his dark circles and sickly look.

Rollo takes their words as gracefully as he can, but inside his annoyance steadily accumulates. (How shallow and frivolous their interests are!! And how dare they try to impose their vain standards onto him?!)

The conversation soon takes a turn into history, a subject which he finds much more enjoyable. He hears of the Beautiful Queen and passes on stories of the Righteous Judge—equal parts give and take.

Rollo learns that their dorm leader, Vil, is skilled in the laboratory. Potions, poisons… he can brew them all. “He even tends to our plants and harvests them to create his own cosmetics,” a mob student excitedly tells Rollo. “That’s our Vil-sama!”

“What a coincidence. I, too, partake in gardening as a hobby.” Rollo chooses his words very carefully, but still a smirk finds its way onto his face. He can’t help but sneer a little at these hapless fools (who misinterpret the look as an awkward attempt at a smile). “Fufufu, yes… I do so love flowers of a crimson color in particular. Lotuses have a charm to them as well. The red ones are reminiscent of fire.”

Every time Rollo has to take an aside to cover his (frequent) grimaces with his handkerchief, the Pomefiore mobs remark on how thoughtful and graceful it is for him to do such a thing. They start talking about how they, too, should invest in their own handkerchiefs—what colors and designs should they consider? “… Any will do,” Rollo grumbles.

When he thinks about it, a lot of the Pomefiore mobs’ admiration for Vil reminds him of his own peers back at NBC. They stare at him with sparkling eyes full of adoration, praising him for every achievement, falling over themselves to be at his beck and call. Hmph, how foolish.

A feeling of unease never fully leaves Rollo as he converses with others. He feels as though he’s still being watched by Rook—yet when he glances over to check on the huntsman, he seems preoccupied whispering into Vil’s ear or laughing a something Epel said. As soon as Rollo looks away, that eerie sensation returns.

When the mob students finally retreat into their own smaller circles and cliques, Rollo decides to have a light snack to regain all that energy he just expended entertaining nosy idiots. He’s pleased to find foods that remind him of home: charcuterie boards, cheeses, grapes, breads—

An awkward cough sounds from behind him. “W-Would you like some juice, sir?” It’s Epel, shyly offering a glass to him. (From a distance, Rook nods encouragingly and gives him two thumbs up. Vil sighs, swirling around liquid in a goblet of his own.)

“You were sent personally,” Rollo remarks. (Epel was; Vil had prodded him to go so he could observe how he handled himself in a strained social situation.) “Why?” (“You um… seemed thirsty?”)

“It’s not poisoned, is it?” Rollo asks suspiciously, cautiously accepting the glass. (“N-Nossir! It ain’t! I swear it on mah life!!” Epel insists.) He peers inside and finds golden juice. “This must be apple. Do you have an alternative? Perhaps grape.”

“E-Eh?” Epel seems surprised (and mildly offended) by the request. “You prefer grapes to apples?” ("I do. Apples may keep for a long time relative to other fruits, but I find the texture of them to be quite mealy and difficult to get down.")

"Mealy?!" Epel's outburst draws the attention of everyone in the room (including Vil, who does not look pleased). The first year mutters an apology before returning to Rollo. "I'm sure there's some kind of apple you must like...? There's many new breeds out now because of advances in MMOs."

"Magically modified organisms?" Rollo sneers at the idea. "What makes you think I would want to ingest produce that has been touched by magic? The concept itself is abhorrent. Apples were simply meant to be the lesser fruit."

"LESSER FRUIT?!" Epel's even louder (and more appalled) this time. “You oughta take that back ‘fore I…!” Vil frowns and rises from his throne. Epel pales and instantly shuts up as his dorm leader sashays toward them.

"My, I do hope our Epel isn't imposing on you," Vil drawls, glaring at the first year. Epel's prepared to be chewed out--but miraculously, he's spared with the wave of Vil's hand. (He scrambles off with Rook, leaving Rollo to Vil.) "As you can plainly see, there’s still much work to be done in terms of his manners and temperament. Some potatoes take more time and effort to whip into shape than others, I'm afraid."

“Of course. I completely understand.” Rollo’s reply is terse and stiff as he regards Vil—a famous face he recalls seeing in various works, posted about almost religiously online. An idol for the masses, is his immediate thought, flaunting about like a primping peacock. Pushing products and an excessive lifestyle for others to ogle and covet. Encouraging sin.

Epel gives Rollo a dirty look when he’s sure Vil isn’t looking. “No way can anyone hate apples and be a good person!! His heart is pure black, Rook-senpai!!" Epel clutches onto the robes of his upperclassman. "He definitely still can’t be trusted!!”

“I don't believe I've had the chance to formally introduce myself." Vil slowly swirls around the carbonated apple juice in his own goblet. "Vil Schoenheit—a pleasure. I’ve heard so many stories about you.” None of them good, Rollo suspects.

With a glance around the room, Vil sighs. He gestures to the garden that awaits beyond a window. “It’s getting to be a bit stuffy in here. Would you care to take this outside?”

Rollo seizes the opportunity to escape from the suffocating space and prying eyes. He enters the night, finding comfort in the darkness and silence. For a moment, he almost forgets that Vil is with him—until he hears the distinctive clacking of a sharp nail against glass.

“I hope Pomefiore’s hospitality has met your standards,” Vil says nonchalantly. “Rook tells me you’re very particular.” And truthfully? Rollo confesses to him that it’s been the least abrasive of the dorms he has visited thus far. Vil makes a face. “… I had my expectations set low for some of the others, but I can’t fathom what horrors you’ve experienced at the their hands.“

“You have some sense in you.” What a shame it is that you are a mage. Rollo doesn’t speak his true thoughts out loud, but Vil seems to sense the animosity radiating off of him.

He gives a snooty laugh. “You must think little of me. As an A-list actor, I can see easily through your facade. Let’s drop the pretenses, hmm? I’d like to speak with the real Rollo Flamme.” At the invitation, Rollo scowls. Vil smirks right back. “That’s more like it.”

“… What is it that you want? There must be a reason why you’ve gone out of your way to isolate us from the rest of them.”

“A queen can be curious,” Vil explains in a dismissive manner. He sweeps a golden lock behind one ear, treating the scene no different from another set. The moonlight on him as he delivers a soliloquy. “… It goes without saying that I do not approve of your methods. However, there is something to be said of your doggedness. That, at least, deserved to be lauded.”

“You’re congratulating me.” Rollo says it as a statement of disbelief.

“In a way, yes.” Vil’s laugh is low and cruel. “The more you want something, the harder is it to obtain. It’s never quite so simple. You’re promised the world as a child, and then you grow up and realize the world doesn’t owe you a happy ending no matter how hard you bite and hiss and claw for it. I know of that frustration well myself.”

Vil wants the truth? He’ll get the truth. Rollo lets the vitriol slip into his voice, turning it pointed and poisonous. “I’m appalled that you would even imply that we are similar. Do not compare me with the likes of you…!”

“Am I wrong? Please, enlighten me.” There’s a newfound satisfaction in Vil’s expression. He knows he has not won, but that he has gotten under Rollo’s skin. “It’s difficult to put on a smile and act as though all is well, isn’t it? That’s the burden we bear. The roles we are expected to play.” Vil smiles a bit. “Perhaps in another life, I would have welcomed you as a student of my dormitory.”

“If a second life exists, I would want a life of normalcy—not to be jailed in your gilded cage of a castle,” Rollo spits out. “I would wish to be free of this burning curse. I would have him back.” I could be happy again in that fairer world.

Vil nods and solemnly lifts his glass. “… To your wish upon a star—and your efforts to realize it.” Rollo finds himself mimicking the motion, compelled by a feeling he doesn’t recognize. Is it a pledge to never give up, even if the world is against him? Is it a part of him acknowledging Vil’s harsh truth? He doesn’t know.

They toast and raise the cups to their lips. Somehow, the apple juice tastes bittersweet on both of their tongues.

With that, Vil turns away. Heels clicking rhythmically, he follows the warm lights spilling out from Pomefiore back inside. He will return to the reception, mingle with his subjects. Maybe scold Epel as he had initially intended to, or tell Rook off for coming onto their guest too strongly.

Rollo is alone in the night.

… Or so he thinks, until a hand comes upon his shoulder.

“Roi du Mouchoir,” Rook says softly, emerging from the shadows as though he were born among them, “Let us make haste back to the reception. You’re the guest of honor—it wouldn’t do to have you running off on us! Ah, but if you do… I would be more than happy to chase you down to the ends of Twisted Wonderland to retrieve you.”

“Wha…?! Where did you come from?!” Rollo jerks away from him with a yelp, which doesn’t seem to bother Rook at all. He keeps smiling that crude, large smile of his and claps. “Très bien, you’re still brimming with vitality for the rest of the evening! Come now, let us return!”

His patience snaps.

“If you know what’s good for you, you’ll keep far away from me!!”

#twst #twisted wonderland #twst headcanons #twisted wonderland headcanons #Vil Schoenheit #Epel Felmier #Pomefiore #Rook Hunt #Rollo Flamme #disney twisted wonderland #Rollo at the Writing Desk

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brf-rumortrackinganon · 7 months

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If you look at the trademark application for American Riviera Orchard, you’ll see that she’s trademarking it through a newly registered in Delaware company called Mama Knows Best, LLC.

Infact when you dig into the domain names etc, it seems this was thrown together last minute aka 2months ago after KC3/ PssoW C’s illnesses were announced. They are using PR to pretend they were working on it for an entire year, but even Scobie said they had nothing or whatever they had was all over the shop and he had no idea what it would be.

His comments don’t speak to a focused vision that is researched into whatever this is.

And what’s glaring about this launch is the lack of anything to sell. Not videos or actual products which speaks to the theory that this wax thrown together very quickly.

Russell Myers from the Mirror says if you sign up to the website, you get a respinse telling you that you’ll be notified of products when they are created/ available……if this was a year in the making and with proper marketing/ PR people, they’d have products ready to go. What it is right now is a landing/ holding page ( comments turned off on IG) until it produces products.

It’s also interesting that the video is showcasing cooking which Markle tried to manifest for years while dating Corey. She auditioned and or popped up on varioys cooking shows/ fashion segments hoping to be hired. Acvording to people magazine, this launch of a lifestyle brand will have a companion show on Netflix. If Network tv won’t hire her for dream job then she’ll use her distribution deal to make it happen aka pay herself to make it happen!!!

However, one thing she revealed which tells me she has no clue about aspirational lifestyles/ branding. Her home kitchen hasn’t been updated from the dated 2000s/ early 2010s decor. It’s tye same kitchen from the sales brochure.

Infact, glimpses of their home show a distinct lack of updating from the sales brochure. The onpy room thry updated is the one with the dining table as desk and their two side by side chairs. They removed all furniture and painted it white and addedva jute rug and that california bear poster over the fireplace.

The current trend in kitchens for the wealthy is marble counter-tops and sleek designs meanwhile she’s displaying faux country/ italianate kitchen from the 90s.

The women she is cosplaying eg GOOP, Martha and Ina Garten have upgraded to the current trend in kitchens. GOOP showed off her new kitchedn in AD. Heck, JLO is showing off her sleek kitchen.

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

That they haven’t updated their house to their taste is what I laugh about the most. Are they really that cash-poor? Do they really have that much debt that they can’t afford to redo anything? Surely Markus and Soho House can cough up a few million to keep her happy, and when the Sussexes default on the loans, they can make Soho Olive Garden, a Californian spinoff of Soho Farmhouse. Win-win, if you ask me.

meanwhile she’s displaying faux country/ italianate kitchen from the 90s. ➡️ Remember, Meghan’s whole aesthetic is 90s. Of course she wants the Italian Country kitchen.

And thanks, anon. You’ve just reminded me of a house I looked at when I was moving back in 2022. The homeowners were so into that Italian Country Kitchen theme that they PAINTED the entire kitchen like it was a rustic Italian restaurant. You know you go into a family-owned Italian mom-and-pop place (not a chain like Olive Garden or Maggianos, but something like your neighborhood Italian pizza place) and it’s got that orangey-beige sponge paint that’s supposed to mimic sandstone and there’s a huge wall-to-wall, floor-to-ceiling mural of Italy and dusty fake vines hanging from decorative columns? Yeah, that was how this kitchen was painted. Even the cabinets. And that was not even the weirdest house I looked at by a mile.)

#submission #ask #sussexes #roop

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vol2eddie · 1 year

Text

IS THIS LOVE OR AM I DREAMING?

Eddie Munson x Reader

Bare feet patter across the bathroom tiles as Purple Rain plays, crackling under the needle of your record player, and in soft spatters against every window. In the room across the hall, he was waiting for you. Waiting for you to crawl back into his arms, under the silken, ivory sheets.

The towel that had been warmed on the radiator wasn’t as soft as his hands were on your face. The light in his eyes, when he looked at you, was brighter than the one above you. His ambrosial musk clinging to your skin, the smell of leather and cigarettes invading your senses.

You’re content as your see your own reflection in the mirror. Satisfied. Comfortable. Loved.

Hanging the towel over the edge of the bathtub and switching off the light, you head out of the bathroom and back to your room. Back to him.

Seeing him there had your gaze softening. Head half on the pillow, hair was strewn wild. His long eyelashes create shadows on the top of his cheeks. On his bottom half now are those flannel pants you love so much, strings tied in a knot at the waist. His knee is bent, one leg folded under the other. A strong, inked arm resting against his bare stomach as the other lay above his head, bicep flexing with the stretch. The low glow of the lamp on your bedside table highlights the right side of his figure, a warm yellow hue painting his pale skin. He looked peaceful on your side of the bed.

You watch the rise and fall of his chest, your presence looming over him.

His eyes crack open to see you standing there, at the foot of the bed, watching him, ogling him. A smirk takes over his face, small puffs of air leaving his nose as his stomach tensed, Adam’s apple moving up and down. You lift your head at the sound of his chuckles and finally meet his eyes, dark pools of honey, full of warmth and adoration.

He pulls both of his hands to his face, covering it, swiping them over his features as his face grows warm under your gaze.

The sound of the small thud as his hands hit the mattress pulls your eyes from him. A knowing grin present on both of your faces.

Sitting up from his lazy position, he beckons you over with a nod of his head, arms reaching for you. The veins that decorate them make your head spin. His stomach is soft and his hair falls perfectly in dark brown waves, framing his face. His sweet smile makes you ache, a deep affection in the well of his dimples.

You reach for his hand with intent before pulling away and twirling gracefully, feet tap against the wooden floor as you dance away from him, giggling, teasingly.

His jaw falls as he moves his hand to cover his heart. The sound coming from you makes his chest flutter.

“Stop teasing me, c’mere.”

He extends his arms towards you again, taking both of your hands in his as you lean against the rustic, metal bed frame. Calloused thumbs caress your knuckles as he holds your fingers gently in his.

One of your knees lifts to rest on the bed, balancing you as you lean forward, longing in your eyes, and in his.

His anchor. He’s pulling you in, grip never faltering. The front of your body drags along the bed, creasing the already wrinkled sheets, until your face is only a breath away from his.

Legs in between legs, chest to chest as he lays back with you. The weight of your body securing him, grounding him.

Letting go of your hands as his body twists, his leg intertwining with yours, an arm travelling along your back, enveloping you as his hand curls around your waist, holding you close.

One hand rests on his shoulder as the other comes up to the back of his neck in a tender embrace, your nails scratching, goosebumps arising all over his body. His hair snakes around your fingers in ringlets. Every part of you intertwined.

A hand comes up to move the fallen strands from your face and neck, the rough pads of fingertips dancing over your delicate features. He gives you a look as his arm tightens, your back arching into him.

Hair tickles you as he buries his face in the warm divot above your shoulder, peppering tiny kisses there, showering you in devotion. His pulse jumps at the sound of your honeyed giggles in his ear, a twinge in his chest.

His arm moves up the length of your spine, the hand once on your waist meets the back of your neck as your boyfriend pulls his head up to look at you again. His look of love never ceases, even when his gaze moves to your lips.

A fulfilled sigh falls from his mouth as he leans into you. Parting lips crash into yours, his hand moving to cup your cheek. His electric touch ignites a rousing sensation throughout your body. Noses pushed together, thumbs brushing your cheeks, lips moving together in gentle urgency.

To bask in this forever is all you could ask for.

#my writing!#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson drabble #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fan fiction #eddie munson fluff #stranger things #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fan fiction

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astroboots · 1 year

Text

RSVP

Summary: A prequel to Homecoming set 10 years before. The moment Santiago realizes he's missed his chance with you.

Homesick masterlist | Homecoming Masterlist | Astroboot’s Masterlist

We invite you to share with us a celebration of love for the wedding reception of William Miller and Abigail Jackson.

Santiago stares down at the invitation. It's a showy calligraphy font with lots of rounded gold-gilded curves offset with the pink blossoms, roses and carnation in the background of the card.

A bit tacky for his tastes, and personally he'd probably would've opted for something much simpler, but luckily he's not the one on the hook and three hours from getting married.

He leans back against the car seat, trying to make himself more comfortable, eyes drifting to the side mirror that gives him a decent angle of your front door.

Thirty minutes.

He's been sat in this car for thirty. Whole. Minutes.

You never take this long to get ready for anything. The normal routine is: throw on the cleanest shirt and jeans combo you have on hand. Or if you're feeling really fancy, a dress you have abandoned and forgotten in the corner of your closet before you jump into the car, applying makeup as best as you can, while he drives you to where you two need to go.

He's never had to sit in a car waiting for you for half an hour while you get ready.

Not for your graduation.

Not for your first job interview.

Heck, not even when you were a bridesmaid to your best friend's wedding (because you'd both overslept and you ended up clumsily pulling on the bridesmaid's gown in the backseat while he was racing down the highway to the hotel where the bride was staying with minutes to spare).

So why on earth you would need this long to prepare for Ironhead's wedding reception is beyond him. There's hardly going to be any royalty there.

Santiago sighs, reaching over the dashboard to change the radio station when from the corner of his eyes, you've finally decided to grace him with your presence. In the side mirror, he sees you locking up the front door and approach the car.

The pale blue of your dress sways in the mirror.

Santiago is confused. You're wearing a new dress. One he knows he's never seen before on you.

It's a pretty little thing. Sheer blue lace, and a flowing line that hugs your hips flatteringly. The fabric of the summer dress flutters in the wind when you walk, the edges of the skirt flirting with your thighs as it rides up slightly and he can feel his brows arch in question as you approach the passenger side of the car.

"That's new," he says, as you open the door and scoot into the passenger seat.

You look up at him as if you don't know what he's talking about, and when he gestures at the dress, you just shrug, like there's nothing unusual here to see.

"It's a wedding reception Santiago, what else am I going to wear?"

He catches you inspecting your makeup in the mirror, your chin tilted upwards as your lips part to make sure the red lipstick and gloss on top hasn't smeared.

It feels surreal somehow, like he's wandered into a house of mirrors at a funfair. It's you, but you're behaving like something alien to him.

As he starts the car and pull out the driveway, the thought vaguely occurs to him that he needs to rewatch Body Snatchers, because he's pretty sure this is how it starts.

Still, you do look very pretty.

"The dress looks good on you," he tells you when the car's at a standstill at a red light.

The corners of your lips curve into a soft smile, and you look so happy that Santiago tells himself that if you have gotten body-snatched, he's just going to have to learn to co-exist with aliens now.

It's a big gathering held in a beautiful garden space. There are all the usual trappings of a Pinterest wedding fare. Fairy lights hung up in trees. Pink balloons and mason jars scattered on rustic looking wooden farm tables that he knows must've cost a leg and an arm on Will's paltry salary check.

His body is tensing. Leg itchy and Santiago feels like he can't stand still in one spot. The lingering pain in his right knee acting up again. The last surgery should have fixed it, and the surgeon had warned him it's probably psychosomatic at this point, but whether it's real or make-believe doesn't help Santiago when the pain is there.

There's a lot of familiar faces from the army here, which Santiago doesn't love.

It's not something he does, bring you around where that world can sink its contaminated claws into you. He doesn't want you near it.

Doesn't want you to hear the confusing military jargon, and have to explain what "Dependa means", or to have one of his "buddies" refer to you as a "civilian".

He never likes it when you're reminded that out of the eight to ten months he's gone for the year, there's a dividing line separating your life from his that you are not part of.

Doesn't want you to be faced with the fact that when he's not here next to you, he's not your Santiago. He's not the guy you grew up, the one you always beat at Street Fighter and used to run a racketeering at the local pool hall for pocket money.

Doesn't want you to think of the fact that when he's out there, he's committing war crimes under a legal technicality courtesy of Uncle Sam, the way some dumb misguided 18-year-olds were shipped to both your motherlands once upon a time and burnt it down with napalm and bullets some decades ago.

Fuck, he doesn't want you to be here. Should never have invited you.

But Frankie had accidentally blabbed about Will's wedding last week, asking, in front of you, who Santiago was bringing as his plus one. You had looked up at him with such big excited eyes, because you fucking love weddings, and you are always his plus one. What was he supposed to say? No?

It's so uncharacteristically clumsy of the man and Santiago swears, if Frankie wasn't his best friend, he could've killed him for that.

Santiago scans the space, spotting more pink flower arrangements, carnations and pink tulips and hydrangeas, it looks like a pink confetti bomb went off in this space.

Under a large tree of heavy branches carrying pink cherry blossoms, Santiago spots the very culprit he was thinking of. Frankie is leaning against the thick trunk. He's looking as uncomfortable as ever in the big crowd, obviously hiding away so he doesn't have to make mindless conversation with the other wedding guests. Shoulders slump so low, the man looks like he's trying to shrink into the tree.

Santiago shakes his head. It's hard to ever stay mad at Frankie. He couldn't even if he tried.

Jutting out his arm, Santiago looks to you as your arm curl around his. The unbending tension in his neck seems to melt away when you are pressed to his side. He can feel your sun-warmed skin brushing up against him, as the two of you make your way over to Frankie.

"Hi Frank," Santiago greets.

Frankie looks up, those big brown eyes fill with absolute relief at seeing a friendly face. The man is all soft smiles as he lets out a long exhale, the tension fizzling out of his frame.

"What you don't like weddings?" Santiago teases.

From Santiago's side, you slip out your hand where it's looped against him arm, and wave at Frankie despite that you're not even two feet away from each other. You're acting a bit awkward, your greeting a bit stiff. There's a warm and almost nervous smile on your face that makes Santiago raise a questioning eyebrow.

"Hi Frankie," you say and your voice is all soft and buttery and breathless.

Frankie's eyes darts towards you and when the man sees you, he looks like he damn near swallowed his whole damn tongue.

It's bizarre.

Both of you are acting strange.

From the outside looking in, it probably looks innocuous, just two good friends having a conversation, catching up after not having seen each other for several months.

Except it's not. Something is different. He can tell because he knows you both so well. Something is just slightly off.

Santiago sips his beer as Frankie's telling you about how much he liked the book you lent him before he got shipped off. He's recanting how he'd read them in his mosquito filled tent, while sitting in the back of a truck waiting to be transported to another town. He's telling you the bits and pieces of his everyday life on the other side that Santiago never shares with you, and Santiago doesn't know how to feel.

The fact that Frankie can so easily share that part of his life with you, without batting an eye, like it's the easiest thing. The fact that you're nodding and smiling, responding with details of your daily life at school and work, like it's no big deal.

There's no dividing line between you and the two of you act like all of this is completely normal.

Except it's not normal.

Because Frankie's taken off his cap and he's no longer hiding under it. As at ease with you he might seem, he's also nervously running his fingers through his hair over and over again while he talks to you. He can't take his eyes off your face, tongue darting over his bottom lip while he's staring at your mouth while you laugh.

And you? You're smiling and laughing with your whole face as you listen to Frankie's story. It's a smile so big and bright and unrestrained in a way that Santiago's always thought was reserved just for him.

And he doesn't know how he feels about that either.

Santiago is watching Frankie's eyes trail over your collarbone down to your legs. Eyes rounding into big saucer and the effect is almost cartoonish. It makes Santiago want to roll his eyes, this man never could rein back his appreciation for a good sundress.

And oh.

Oh.

This is why you're wearing a new dress.

Santiago blinks, feet rooted to the ground, stupefied as the realization hits him.

You wore this for Frankie.

You took half an hour to get ready for Frankie.

You were excited to come here... For Frankie.

Santiago is the third wheel.

And he finally figures out how he feels about that.

Like shit.

That’s how he feels about it.

Not that Santiago lets it show. He smiles, he nods, he cracks jokes with the two of you. Makes jabs at Frankie and teases you, like there’s nothing wrong.

Still he smiles, he smiles so wide and so fake his fucking cheeks hurt with the muscle ache of it. Smiles like there's nothing wrong. Like his whole fucking world isn’t imploding before his eyes and he’s watching it burn down to a crisp to the background ambiance of the warm afternoon sun and the live music of a string quartet.

Dramatic? yes, doesn't make it any less true for him.

Fuck, his knees hurt.

Santiago’s eyes roam over the space filled faces that are all smiling and laughing. Everyone’s happy. Drinking and eating and laughing. In this intimate space, surrounded by a crowd of people celebrating life and love, he’s never felt more lonely in his life.

He feels like he’s drowning, head held under the surface. There’s a claustrophobic pressure hugging his ribs and his lungs squeeze painfully tight. He can’t fucking breathe, and he wonders if he could die here without anyone noticing that anything is wrong and--

“Santiago.”

His eyes blink, focusing in on your worried face as you’re peering up at him. “Are you ok? You look a bit pale.”

“Uhm, yeah sorry. I…”

Your eyes are staring back at him, piercingly sharp. They feel like a scalpel held against his raw tender skin poised to make an incision.

He looks away, unable to hold your gaze, eyes flittering over the crowd. “Sorry, I think I see someone I know that I have to say hi to… and catch up with.”

“Oh yeah?” Frankie throws a look over his shoulder, “who did you spot?”

Santiago scans the space for a familiar face, any familiar face that will serve as an exit route.

There’s Jones, his former captain back in the early days. The asshole who used to call Santiago ‘pretty boy’ derisively, and make him do pull ups until he felt so sick that the contents of his breakfast would end up outside of his body again.

To his left, Will is making the rounds from table to table, greeting and thanking the guests for coming. Will is too busy, which isn’t an option.

“Jones,” Santiago murmurs, and the moment he says it, Santiago already knows he made a mistake.

Frankie’s face scrunches up in distaste. “What are you talking about? That guy is an asshole. You hated him back in the army, why do you wanna catch up with him?"

Santiago laughs it off, because he can’t very well tell Frankie the truth. That Santiago feels the walls closing in and needs to get away from the two of you. So he makes up a cheeky lie.

“Guy owes me money.” He pats Frankie on the shoulder, and juts his chin in your direction. “Keep her company for me will ya?”

He turns to leave, and for a brief moment his eyes catch yours.

Maybe it’s just wishful thinking on Santiago's part, but he swears that for the first since you arrived, your smile falters. There’s something in your expression, the way your brows scrunches up, hands hovering mid-air as if you’re about to reach for his sleeve, that tells him you don’t want him to go.

A snide critical voice in his head thinks he’s delusional. He’s just reading into something that isn’t there. Because why would you care? You’re perfectly happy in Frankie’s company.

In this moment as Santiago stands here before his former captain, he is regretting every single decision in his life that has led him here.

That he was a dumb naive teenager at the age of 17 that was tempted by a shopping mall recruiter to go "see the world" by joining the army. That he ended up in this man's regiment. That he didn't RSVP Will's invitation with: 'thank you but no thank you'. That in all his years of being in close range fire he somehow hasn't ended up with hearing damage that would have spared him from listening to this man talk.

Santiago glances over to where he had left you and Frankie half an hour ago, because he can't even be bothered with the pretense of acting even vaguely interested in what Captain Asshole has to say.

Santiago's been observing the two of you throughout. At first, it was awkward between the two of you. Because even though the two of you are no strangers to one another, usually Santiago is always around to play intermediary when there's a lull in the conversation.

You were hugging yourself, eyes darting to the ground, feet shifting. Frankie wouldn't stop running his fingers through his goddamned hair even as it started to look like a bird's nest that's fallen off a tree. The two of you were standing some distance apart, and Santiago cringed inwardly at the scene...

But if Santiago is being completely above board and honest... there's a small tiny sliver of a piece of him that was happy about that. That there's still a space for him between you and Frankie.

It doesn't stay that way of course. As the evening goes on and the harsh bright Florida sun starts to dim, the fairy lights flicker to life. It bathes everything in that romantic soft amber light against darkening canvas of the sky.

Frankie lends you his old worn jacket as you start to shiver. Then gradually, you two are inching closer and closer until you're standing shoulder to shoulder.

Santiago gets to witness it in real time, how the space between the two of you is closing (as is his place between you). He doubt he could physically squeeze himself between you even if he tried.

It's never gonna be a pleasant feeling to know that his best friends have just made him redundant. He knows that, and running away the way he did was probably not the most mature thing he's ever done. But now that he's seeing it from a distance, he can see how happy you two look. He has two seeing eyes after all.

For the first time in a long time, Frankie looks completely at ease. There's a soft glow to his cheeks as he's looking at you, utterly besotted, and you're smiling so wide your eyes are crinkling at the corners.

Santiago takes another sip from his beer, and despite the sickly sweetness, the beverage still warms his stomach. There are worse things in the world than seeing the two people he loves the most in the world happy, even if he's not the reason for it... right?

He peers out over the setting sun, squinting against the amber brightness and even among the buzzing crowd he can pick up the sound of your laughter distinctly from everything else. It's all he can hear.

It's funny how he never saw it before. But the two of you would be perfect for each other.

Frankie’s a bit quiet, and maybe he’s a little bit shy sometimes and takes a while to open up. But he doesn’t run away from his problems. Not like Santiago does. He’d never leave you if things started to get too serious or too hard; Santiago’s not sure he could make that same promise. But he knows Frankie can. Santiago knows how good Frankie would be to you.

And you? Just looking at the two of you now, he can see how Frankie's comfortable around you. Practically lighting up like the Rockerfeller center. Frankie looks like someone took an electrical socket and plugged it into him and he's buzzing and alight as he talks to you, Santiago can't remember the last time he's seen Frankie so animated... so at ease. Except maybe when he and Frankie are left to their own devices, during downtime, just the two of them, without having to hold a weapon in their hands.

"Captain! Mind if I borrow Pope here for a second?"

Santiago blinks out of his reverie to see the man of the hour, the groom himself in front of him.

Like a guardian angel descending from the heavens, Will stands with the sun glowing behind him, the golden boy.

The Captain nods, patting Will on the back, making some crude and off-handed and inappropriate joke about how "it's all downhill from here" not even a handful of hours after the man's nuptials.

Will doesn't smile, just juts his head with a nod, as they both watch the man depart. Then when he's out of hearing range, Will turns to Santiago.

"What the fuck were you doing with that guy?"

Santiago sips his bottle, and tips his head in the direction where the two of you are sitting. "Just wanted to give the two of them some space."

Will turns around and observes the two of you.

"Right," Will says, but his tone is gruff and serious, grinding his teeth as he observes. Will has never been the type to make any comments about anyone's personal lives, it's not his style.

"It's not my place to say something," he starts, then he stops, mulls it over as if deciding whether he's really going to say something.

The man shakes his head, then takes a deep breath. "Look, just... are you sure about this?" Will says.

It's all he says, he doesn't flesh out what he means. Just looks Santiago dead in the eye, with that sober Ironhead expression that he's so famous for.

Santiago doesn't pretend he doesn't know what Will is talking about. The man is smart. Santiago's not going to condescend him and play the game of the dumb best friend who doesn't realize he's in love with his best friend. It'd be like spitting in the man's face.

Instead Santiago takes a deep breath, and down the rest of his beer.

In front of him, Frankie's waving his hand so animatedly he nearly knocks over a canape tray from a waiter that was walking by behind him, and you're having a laughing fit over it.

Santiago doesn't know the answer to Will's question. He doesn't know what there is to be sure or unsure about. But he does know one thing... The two of you look good together.

Who is he to be in the way of that?

After all, Santiago has always had hang ups about how no one is good enough for you. Because you are his best friend and you deserve the best, and if Santiago is not gonna pull his head out of his own ass, at least Frankie will always take care of you and be there for you.

Frankie is a good man. A patient man, a kind man. The type of man he wishes he could be sometimes. He'd be better for you than Santiago thinks he ever could be.

Who's to say this isn't going to be the best thing that's ever happened to the three of you?

"Yeah man," Santiago says as he tears his eyes away from the two of you. "I'm sure."

Credits and Dedication: To @thirstworldproblemss who already had to see this angst-fest a year or so ago and have to deal with my constant angsting over these three for funsies.

A/N: Sloppy written angst before I go on a two week hiatus as we're on a long holiday to get away from the rain and enjoy some sunshine on the Amalfi coast! I love you guuuuuys!

Follow me on astroboots-writes and turn on notifications to be notified when I post something new!

#oscar isaac #pedro pascal #triple frontier fic #triple frontier fanfic #triple frontier fanfiction #triple frontier #santiago garcia #santiago garcia x reader #santiago garcia x you #frankie morales #frankie morales x reader #frnakie morales x you

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simstorian-blog · 6 months

Text

Sandtrap Flat

(CC List + Links)

World Map: Oasis Springs

Area: Bedford Strait

Lot Size: 30 x 20

Gallery ID: Simstorian-ish

Packs Needed

Expansion Packs

Cats & Dogs

For Rent

Get Famous

Get Together

High School Years

Game Packs

Dream Home Decorator

Parenthood

Strangerville

Kits

Desert Luxe Kit

Build Mode

Felixandre

Soho Pt. 2 (Light Switch Medium, Metal Door Medium)

Harlix

Orjanic Pt.1 (Glass Roof 2)

Harrie

Klean Pt. 2

Klean Pt. 3

Kwatei Pt. 1 (Double Arch Short, Front Door Glass- Medium, Front Door Solid – Short)

Peacemaker

Rustic Siding

Pierisim

Tilable (Plaster)

Woodland Ranch (Wooden Ceiling)

Sundays

Juniper Terrazzo Floor C

Buy Mode

Anniee-sims

Lilah Prints (Mesh Needed)

Anye

Prio (Duvet)

Townhouse (Loopchair)

Awingedllama

Boho Living (Wooden Arch Floor Mirror)

BlueTeas

Curtains

Jasmine Teenage Bedroom (Pendant Lamp)

Allen Seating (Walt Ottoman V2)

CharlyPancakes

Lavish (Clothing Only)

ClutterCat

Baby Boo (Coloring Book, Pouf, Tulip Vase)

BubbleGum (Calendar, Color Candle I Big)

Busy Bee (Glass Jars, Pen Holder, Pencil Case)

Cozy Cocina

Fairylicious (Cushion Pile, Kids Art)

Sunny Sundae Pt. 1 (Candle Small)

Sunny Sundae Pt. 3 (Alarm Clock, Open Book, Vanity Mirror)

CowBuild

Minotti Ottoman I

Felixandre

Berlin Pt. 3 (Desktop)

Kyoto Pt. 3 (Bath Tray)

Shop The Look S1 (Magazine Stand, Tassel Rug)

Shop The Look S3

Soho Pt. 1 (Sideboard, Woven Rug)

Soho Pt. 4 (Ficus Planter, Stool)

Harlix

Baysic

Baysic Bathroom

Harluxe (AC Control, Book w Sunglasses, Light Switch, Makeup Tray, Mini Bar)

Jardane (Counter, Grill, Sink – Deep)

Kichen (Bowls, Glasses, Plates)

Livin’ Rum (Bookstand, Coffee Table Book, Frame Tv, Stacking Box)

Orjanic Pt. 2 (Foxglove Vase)

Harrie

Brownstone Pt. 1 (Sink, Shelves)

Brutalist Bathroom (Bathtub, Block Vanity – Centre/Curved Left & Right, Frame Mirror – Large, Rectangular Sink, Shower, Tiled Decorative Shelf)

Coastal Pt. 7 (Mirror)

Country (Bed Vase)

Halcyon Kitchen

Shop The Look (Wooden Bowl)

Shop The Look 3 (Coffee Tables, Cushions, End Table)

JoyceIsFox

Simple Live #7 (Cooking Utensils, Double Chopping Board)

KiwiSims4

Blockhouse Dining (Pendants)

Piha Living (Chandeliers)

KKB

Citrus Room (Samsung the Serif Ver1)

Ledger Atelier

Mohan Living Pt. 3 (Sofa)

Nordheim Bathroom Pt. 1 (Bathrobe)

LittleDica

Delicious Kitchen (Paper Towel)

LorySims

2021 Ford Bronco

MyCupofCC

Bathroom Collection (Woven Bath Mat)

Nordica Sims

Art Poster 01

No Style x Woodland

Annika Meabh Sofa

Peacemaker

Creta Kitchen (Bar Fridge, Short Lineal Light Beam)

Ellipse (Ottoman)

Kitayama Bedroom (Half Moon Headboard)

Kassova Sectional

Matilda (Backpack, Jacket, Knit)

Pierisim

David’s Apartment Pt. 1 (Books 3 & 4)

David’s Apartment Pt. 2 (Nightstand, Open Book, Pile of Jumpers 2, Pile of Trousers 1 & 2, Shoes, Wooden Side Table)

MCM Pt. 3 (Metal Sconce 2, Narrow Rug Long, Narrow Rug Short, Wall Mounter Accent Table)

MCM Pt. 5 (Hair Dryer, Hair Straightener, Wigs)

Winter Garden (Olive Tree)

Pilar

Osaka Lamp Oval Large

Plush Pixels

Calm Sofa

Ravasheen

Knit Happens Clutter

Procrafination

RusticSims

Kind of Modular (Books, Deco Jar)

Loft Pt. 1 (Lampara de Pie Petrea)

Sooky88

Justina Blakeney x Loloi Area Rug

Mixed Modern Square Rug

Sundays

Canggu Pt. 3 (Pillows I)

Kediri Pt. 1 (Throw Pillow – Solids)

Swell Pt. 1 (Bolster Pillow)

TaurusDesigns

Eliza Walk-in Closet (Clothing Only)

Tuds

CRIB (Pendants – Small/Medium)

Winner9

Yokeda Wall Lamp Triple

DO NOT REUPLOAD MY LOTS.

DO NOT CLAIM THEM AS YOUR OWN.

DO NOT PLACE BEHIND A PAYWALL.

Tray Files: DOWNLOAD

#simstorian #the sims 4 #sims 4 #ts4 #cc #ts4 simblr #build #sims 4 build #oasis springs #bedford strait #sandtrap flat #residential lot #colorful #interior design

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yoonkinii · 5 months

Text

We Were Human

Pairing(s): Ascended!AstarionxReader

Part:6

Synopsis: Astarion died as soon as he became something the world has never seen before. No one noticed the damage before it was too late and the Astarion everyone loved was lost to the new one. No one could notice when the turn was slow and silent. He slowly lost the playful glint in his eyes. Lost the love he gaze upon me with. Lost everything that made him the man I loved. Oh, how I would give anything to get him back. I would gladly give up my damned soul for him.

Aka you are transported back to the past in order to prevent ascended Astarion from losing himself the only problem? You don’t have a lot of time.

Masterlist

Warnings: Gore, blood, cruelty, cursing, death/murder, mentions of using oneself unwillingly, abuse, depiction of abuse and violence. Its ascended astarion, prepare for the worse.

Note(s): For the sake of the plot- Astarion will not automatically be damned from the start. In this world, Astarion becomes lost to the ascension overtime until he becomes the ascended vampire we know him to be in the game. Another note that should be highlighted is that this story will be told from the first person perspective since it benefits the story more than any other perspective.

You will also notice various things being different from the game. For example, Karlach will be able to stay in the ‘human’ world and she fixed her heart. (I love my girl, I’m not sending her back), Szaars palace has a different layout cause the one in the game was stupid. There will be more that you will notice in the future so beware.

Thank You.

For days now, the relentless drumming of rain against Karlach’s window had provided a steady backdrop to my thoughts. I found myself alone in her modest abode, a place she had grown accustomed to and seemed content with. The room held little beyond the essentials - a simple bed pressed against the wall, positioned beside the only window in the home. Atop the bed frame lay a quilt, carefully stitched by hand, a gift from myself to congratulate her about getting her internal engine fixed.

Opposite the bed, the fireplace stood as a focal point, its rough stonework casting a rustic charm. Despite its offer for year round warmth, Karlach rarely ever kindled a fire, claiming she had grown tired of feeling heat and would be like that for a long time. Only upon my arrival did she light it, deeming my chilled body was unacceptable. Even now, the faint scent of burning wood lingered, mingling with the fragrance of rain.

The small kitchen area is equipped just enough to feel like home. A wooden dining table accompanied by two sturdy chairs, sits under a single swaying light bulb. The shelves contained only the most essential cookware, reflecting Karlach’s preference for practicality. She never carried around much and never cared for fine dining. She was content with her stomach being full and nothing more.

Nestled in the corner, the bathing area boasted simplicity, making up a basic washing basin adorned with a small mirror suspended above. A neatly folded towel and a solitary bar of soap adorned the basin’s side, offering only the essential. Despite its humble appearance, the corner still did its job of allowing people to wash themselves as needed.

As the front door swung open, inviting in the chill of the wind and the mist of rain, Karlach stepped in, her hair drenched and a carefree smile adorning her lips. Settling beside me on the floor, she leaned back against her bed, seemingly unfazed by her wet state as she nudged me playfully.

“Feeling hungry?” She inquired, gesturing towards the kitchen where food awaited.

I offered a small smile in response. “You know I have no need for food like that,” I replied. Karlach’s brows furrowed momentarily before she let out a soft snort. “I meant in general. Have you felt hungry since you’ve been here? Any urge to bite into my neck?” she joked, tilting her head to expose her pulse point. “Not that I think my blood would taste very good…maybe just a little hot.”

Deep in thought, I gnawed on the inside of my cheek, pondering. SInce my arrival at Karlach’s place, I hadn’t ventured outside, fearing that Astarion’s threat still loomed, ready to scorch my skin at the slightest touch of sunlight. Fortunately, the rain had persisted for days, grinding me the relief from that particular dread.

Shaking my head in response to Karlach’s question, I replied, “No, I haven’t felt the urge to sink my teeth into anything.”

“Well, that’s one way to put it, I supposed,” she teased lightly. But then her tone shifted, growing serious and somber. “But seriously,” she continued, “how long are you going to run?”

Taken aback, my brows shoot up in surprise. “Run? I’m not running.”

“Not literally,” she clarified, “but you are. You’re scared. I can see it when you wake up and instantly try to dodge out of the window’s reach. How you flinch at every creak and groan of the wood as if you’re anticipating something to leap out and get you. I see it in your eyes as you spend hours staring into nothingness, lost in a place I can’t reach. You won’t even tell me what happened or what’s wrong, and you don’t have to , but it’s plain to see that you’re scared and you are running from confronting that fear,”

I remained silent for a while, grappling with how to explain myself to her. Even though she didn’t know the exact details of what happened between Astarion and me, her observation was astute. I was running but how could I not? Faced Astarion once more, the events that unfolded had changed him, and all I had done was stand there, paralyzed by fear. How could I ever face the love of my life after such a failure?

Karlach sighed, drawing my attention away from the window. She shook her head softly as she rose from her seat. “It doesn’t matter,” she said reassuringly. “ You can stay as long as you need to.” Moving to the front door, she grasped the handle. I instinctively shuffled away from the door’s impending opening, noticing the flicker of sadness in Karlach’s gaze as she observed my reaction.

“I’ll be back late again,” She continued, choosing to ignore my wariness, hopefully for my own sake. “This weather is slowing down the rebuilding process.” With that, she opened the door, allowing the chilly wind to rush into the warm room. “Soldier?” she called out, glancing back at me.

“Yes?” I responded, my hair tousled by the gust of wind sneaking past Karlach’s figure.

“Think about what I said, okay?”

My mouth opened and closed, a retort forming in my throat, but I couldn't conjure up a believable excuse. “Fine,” I relented, rising from my spot on the floor and making my way to the corner with the washing basin. “I’m going to clean up.”

Without another word, the door clicked shut behind her, shutting out the rain and wind. Reflecting on my behavior, I realized it had been rude to turn her away like that. Karlach had shown me nothing but kindness since my arrival. Despite bombarding me with questions upon my initial arrival, she had relented when she saw I wasn’t ready to answer. Even without an explanation from me, she had allowed me to stay, going as far as picking up extra clothes for me from stores, deeming my ‘fancy’ attire too uncomfortable. Those same clothes now hung in her closet, as she had generously made space for them among her own belongings.

Selecting a nightgown, I slipped it on, shedding the clothes I had worn previously. The fabric felt more suitable for sleeping, its loose fit offering comfort as it draped over my frame, its hem skimming just above my ankles.

With a sigh, I retrieved my bedroll from beneath Karlach’s bed, unfurling it before settling into it. Sleep seemed to be my only respite lately. Sleep and avoidance of the issues I should be confronting. But facing them was easier said than done, especially when my own mind tormented me with memories. How was I supposed to confront something when my memories of it were so painful? How could I forget the suffering I endured simply because I was in love?

A scream of unparalleled agony echoed through the desolate halls, jolting me from my trance. I blinked, disoriented by the unfamiliar surroundings. The walls, constructed of cold gray bricks, seamlessly melded into the floor, sending shivers up my spine as the chills seeped into the soles of my feet. The hallway stretched endlessly before me, devoid of any discernible beginning or end. Regardless of which direction I faced, the scene remained unchanged. Mantels, adorned with flickering torches, line the walls at regular intervals, yet their feeble light failed to penetrate the infinite darkness that loomed beyond. I blinked again, and suddenly found myself standing before a weathered wooden door.

Another anguished cry pierced the air, coming from the chamber beyond the door. .

Without hesitation, my hand moved of its own accord, grasping the doorknob and pushing the door open. What lay before me turned my stomach: the room was awash with blood, the crimson fluid pooling on the floor in a sickening display. It coated every inch of the chamber, making it hard to navigate without stepping into it. Strangely, aside from the eerie glow of the torches, the walls were bare, mirroring the emptiness of the hallway. I blinked once more, and in the periphery of my vision, I noticed it: a door partially ajar, nestled in the far corner of the room.

Once more, my body moved of its own accord, propelled forward by an unseen force. Each step I took was accompanied by the sickening sensation of slick blood coating the soles of my feets, staining them with a stranger’s life. With trembling hands, I pushed the door ajar, allowing the flickering light of the torches to cast eerie shadows in the dimly lit room.

I stood frozen in place, my heart pounding against my ribs like a frantic bird trapped in a cage. My breaths came sharp and ragged, as if struggling against an invisible weight pressing down on my chest. Every fiber of my being crackled with fear at the sight that unfolded before me.

“Astarion?”

I whispered, the sound barely audible in the oppressive silence. But there was no response, only the echo of my own voice reverberating off the walls. Frantically, I repeated his name, each syllable clawing its way out of my throat in a desperate plea for acknowledgement. But my efforts were futile, as if my voice had been stolen away, leaving me with nothing but mute desperation.

Clawing at my throat in a futile attempt to force sound from my lips, I felt my eyes widen in horror as they flickered between Astarion’s battered form and the blood-splattered walls surrounding us. The mere sight of him threatened to overwhelm me with a nauseating sickness, forcing me to avert my gaze.

There he was, laid bare in his vulnerability. Curled into a pitiful heap in the corner of the room, he trembled uncontrollably, his arms protectively around his head as if seeking refuge from some unseen torment. His once flawless skin was now marred by a tapestry of wounds, some still seeping crimson rivulets. With each flinch, a new mark appeared, adding to the mosaic of his suffering.

Suddenly, he was jerked from her fetal position by an invisible force, his body rendered limp as his hair was yanked back mercilessly. A sob tore free from his lips, mingling with the whispered please that spelled forth in a desperate cascade.

Driven by instinct, I sank to my knees before him, cradling his battered face in trembling hands. Bruised and swollen beyond recognition, his eyes were nearly swollen shut, while blood trickled from his broken nose, staining his lips crimson. Tears mingled with the blood, their salty tails tracing paths down his bruised cheeks, a testament to the agony he had endured.

Even as I knelt before him, my tear-filled eyes pleading with his vacant gaze, it seemed as though I was but a ghost in his eyes. His stare was distant, unfocused, as if he looked through me rather than at me. A shiver of unease ran down my spine, my confusion deepening as I followed the line of his sight, searching for whatever phantom held his attention.

There, looming over us with a malevolent grin etched on his face, stood Cazador - the tormentor of my beloved, the architect of his suffering. His presence was suffocating, dripping with disdain as he regarded us with contempt. With a deliberate, calculated motion, he raised his arm, his lips moving soundlessly as if uttering a silent incantation. In the blink of an eye, his blade descended, its deadly edge slicking through the air with horrifying finality. A scream tore from my throat, mingling with Astarion’s own anguished cry.

Gasping for breath, I bolted upright, the echoes of terror still ringing in my ears. My eyes darted around the room, seeking solace in the familiar sights that surrounded me. The flickering flames of the fireplace cast dancing shadows across the wooden floor, the rhythmic pattern of rain against the windows providing a soothing backdrop to my thundering thoughts.

With a shaky exhale, I realized it had all been a dream - a nightmare that had gripped me in its icy grasp. Swallowing hard, I forced myself to confront the anxiety that still pulsed beneath my skin, gnawing at my resolve. Rising unsteadily to my feet, I disentangled myself from my bedroll and made my way to the front door, my heart pounding in my chest.

As I stepped outside, the chill of the rain-soaked air enveloped me, drenching my hair and clothes in its icy embrace. Ignoring the curious glances and calls of concern that greeted me, I sprinted through the cobbled streets with single-minded determination. Only when I reached the imposing gates of the palace - my - did I allow myself to pause, my breath coming in ragged gasps.

Pushing open the door, I was met with an eerie silence that hung heavy in the air. The dim glow of the palace offered little solace, casting long shadows that seemed to dance in the flickering light.

“My Lady?” came a tentative voice, breaking the silence like a fragile whisper in the darkness.

Raising my gaze, I spotted Lucinda’s familiar brunette head as she approached, her arms laden with pristine white sheets. She regarded me with a tilt of her head, her expression inscrutable.

“Lucinda,” I greeted her with a smile that I hoped masked the tension I felt. “Do you know where Astarion is?”

“Lord Ancunin is bathing,” she responded matter-of-factly, her gaze unwavering.

“Thank you,” I murmured, offering a brief nod before ascending the stairs, my footsteps quickening with purpose as I made my way to the bathing chamber. As I pushed open the door, a rush of warm, moist air greeted me, enveloping me in its comforting embrace.

Inside, I found him reclining in the large porcelain tub, his back resting against the smooth surface. His expression shifted from annoyance to surprise as he caught sight of me.

“Lover?”

I made no reply, closing the distance between us with determined steps. Without hesitation, I climbed into the tub, fully clothed, and nestled myself against his bare chest.

His initial tension melted away as he relaxed into my embrace, his arms encircling me protectively. I breathed in his familiar scent, nuzzling my nose against his pulse point as we savored the simple intimacy of our closeness.

But as I made to move away, his grip tightened, holding me in place.

“I didn’t think you were going to come back,” he confessed, his fingertips trailing lightly across my arm, sending shivers down my spine and leaving goosebumps in their wake.

“I was terrified, Astari,” I admitted, no longer willing to suppress my fears. “What you did was…it was horrible.”

“I know, and I am sorry,” he whispered, his voice heavy with regret. “Truly sorry. I don’t know what came over me…it was like…” He trailed off, his words lost in the depths of his turmoil.

Pulling back from him, I held his gaze with unwavering determination. “No, you don’t get to do that,” I asserted, jabbing a finger towards his chest. “You do not get to shut me out like that. Keeping things bottled up is selfish, Astarion. It was selfish of you to push me away when I tried to help you with that dream. I won’t allow you to do the same now, especially after you threatened my life as it if meant nothing.”

His jaw tensed, the muscles grinding as if engaged in a silent struggle. I knew I was pressing his buttons, but I was beyond caring. He needed to confront this, just like how I was. His lips formed a thin line. “I never meant to hurt you.”

“Really? Because it certainly didn’t seem that way to me,” I retorted, narrowing my eyes. His hands, resting against my waist, tightened slightly, betraying his inner turmoil. “Astarion, I need you to tell me what’s going on.”

His gaze bore into mine, the deep ruby of his eyes contrasting sharply with his pale lashes. “I’m locked in a constant battle with myself. I’m changing, I can feel it, but I don’t know if I can control it. I never wanted to hurt you, and seeing the fear in your eyes when I threatened you snapped me out of it,” he explained, gently tucking a stray strand of hair behind my ear. “But by then, it was too late. You were already gone.”

“Is it still you when you lash out like that?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

He sighed heavily. “Yes,” he admitted, his expression pained. “It’s my emotions, but sometimes they overwhelm me, and I become the one person I wanted to escape from.”

“Astarion, don’t say that,” I pleaded, taking one of his hands in mine and guiding it to my cheek. “You are not him. The fact that you’re talking to me about it sets you realms apart from him.” Tilting my head slightly, I pressed a gentle kiss to his palm. “When this change happens, what seems to help you come out of it?”

“You,” he replied simply, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Me?” I echoed, surprised.

“Yes, my Darling. Even in my darkest moments, I would never hurt you”

“But-”

“I never stopped protecting you from the sun,” he interjected, cutting off my protest. “You never lost it.”

Studying him closely, I noticed the weariness etched into his features, the grief and darkness that had descended upon him since his ascension. Furrowing my brow I pressed him further. “Describe this feelings to me, in detail.”

He hesitated for a moment, gathering his thoughts. “It;s like a constant whisper in my mind, manipulating my emotions to its advantage,” he explained slowly. “I try to resist it, but sometimes I lose control, and my actions become erratic. Each time I regain my sense, it becomes harder to ignore these impulses. It pains me to admit it, but while it’s still me acting, the emotions driving those actions are not my own.”

I swallow deeply. This was unfamiliar information I didn’t know in my past life, one I never encountered even during the darkest times. Yet, it all makes sense now - how Astarion gradually succumbs to this unseen force, losing more of himself with each passing moment. I lift my gaze to him, offering a faint smile.

“Use me.” I suggest catching him off guard.

“What?” His brows knit together in confusion, his expression reflecting his puzzled state.

“You mentioned that somehow I have the ability to pull you back from this haze,” I explained. “So use me. Utilize me in any way necessary to retain yourself. I’m willing to do whatever it takes.”

Worry creases his face, his fangs lightly grazing his bottom lip in contemplation. “Are you sure? I could put you in danger”

“Absolutely,” I affirm, leaning in to place a reassuring kiss on the crown of his head. “You’re talking to the girl that destroyed an Elder Brain.”

His arms encircle my waist, tightly as he buries his head against my chest. My fingers weave into his hair, tangling in the soft white curls. He murmurs a grateful ‘thank you’ against my chest, his thumbs stroking the fabric of my damp nightwear soothingly. We lingered in that embrace for a while until Astarion insisted that I had to bathe properly. He peeled off my nightwear, letting it fall to the tiled floor with a wet ‘plop’. As he runs his fingers through my hair, my mind swims with thoughts. The vivid dream, coupled with the newfound knowledge of Astarion’s condition, fills my thoughts. It’s not much, but it’s a starting point- a beginning that I desperately needed.

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hometoursandotherstuff · 9 days

Text

Historic 1769 Colonial style home in Keymar, MD has been renovated and redecorated in a variety of styles. Firstly, they painted the distinctive brick exterior pale gray, with an orange door. It doesn't look bad, but it's not the traditional, iconic look. It has 4bds, 4ba, 5,227 sq ft, and they're asking $3m. If you are a purist when it comes to historic homes, you probably won't like it.

Now, remember- I said that it was done in a variety of styles. The entrance hall has Oriental themed wallpaper. They stripped the newel post and railing on the stairs and left it bare wood, (I like that look, but it needs a flat protective finish, b/c it's going to get very dirty), plus a new floor has an inlaid border.

The light fixture was removed from the ceiling medallion and they did a copper-look design on it.

The sitting room is very non-traditional with it's bright green walls but the ceiling mural has a colonial scene. Above the fireplace they have colored mirror squares.

The next room has a large jungle leaf print and a wooden hippo, elephant, plus a trunk.

This room has a wall of shelving and opens to hall stairs.

The family room has a dark, rustic, nautical look with black and deep green walls. This room has wood paneling that was painted over, plus a brick trim around the top. I wonder if they darkened the brick.

I have seen faux aged walls, but this one looks like black mold. It's well done, but unusual. They left the pocket doors and beadboard, but painted them dark gray. Ironically, the sink cabinet looks very colonial.

The tub has a framed skull print above it and some stuffed animals on the ledge. The shower is modern.

The dining room is gray & black with a French cabinet. The table is a pine colonial.

The large kitchen has a rustic ceiling and 3 different cabinet colors- blue, gray, and colonial red. The ceiling looks like flooring to me. The glassware cabinet looks French.

The open concept space has a dining room with a big stone fireplace and stripped doors on the patio. The gold glassware shelf is a French pastry stand.

The primary bedroom has a traditional look. Nice big fireplace in here. The wood paneling was painted white and there's a mural on the coffered ceiling.

This smaller bedroom has nice wallpaper. It even has a colonial rocking horse in the fireplace.

This is a lovely bath. I like the cabinet and closets.

There's a 2 car garage with a space between that they've turned into a home gym/man cave. There's also a sleeping area.

They painted this beautiful barn-turned-home a dark gray, including this wonderful brick wall on the side.

It's lovely inside with slate flooring.

There's also storage for the big Home Depot skeleton.

This garage has a sitting room downstairs and more of a hangout space upstairs.

The main house has a patio.

Lots of space. There's even another small stone building.

There's also a pond on the 25.02 acres of property.

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/11210-Cash-Smith-Rd-Keymar-MD-21757/67480669_zpid/?

#colonial homes #historic homes #houses #house tours #home tour

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writingbecauseihaveread · 11 months

Text

Meet Ugly

Pairings: Pro hero! Bakugo Katsuki x Reader

A/N: this is before Dynamight inevitably becomes a household name- ALSO this is my first time writing fan fiction in literally over 10 years.

Do you think we call to loneliness in the same way it calls to us? You couldn’t be sure but it certainly felt that way as you stared at your empty eyes in your bathroom mirror.

It wasn’t that anything was particularly wrong. In fact, you looked hot as fuck and were about to tear up the town your close friend.

“You ready, kid?” Aiko asked appearing behind you as her eyes met yours in the mirror.

“Depends, do I look like the most gorgeous girl you’ve ever seen?”

Aiko made an exaggerated show of looking you up and down, “obviously.”

Your friends were amazing. Always supportive and amazing to be around. You just didn’t always get quality time to see them.

Between your job and helping out your family it simultaneously felt like you couldn’t get a break and were never doing enough. You might be a little burned out. And lonely.

Being in your 20s and not having a significant other sometimes left you feeling like you were missing out on something, but you try your best to be patient. You will certainly not call out to loneliness.

You shook your head with a smile, “well we better get this show on the road then.”

When you were a little younger you went to clubs and bars with the hopes of meeting someone, but there were too many nights spent dancing, or rather to many night spent feeling like dead animal surrounded by vultures, to hold out that same hope. You think feeling like prey might be one of the worst feelings possible. Nonetheless, you were excited to go out tonight with Aiko because she was excited and the bar you planned on going to was low key.

You took one last look at yourself. You looked good, you know you did. Aiko looked happy. You can do this.

When you walked into the bar you were met with low, warm lighting and wood paneled walls. The bar was rustic and conversation was loud. You and Aiko made your way to the bar. As you were waiting for your drinks Aiko was very obviously scanning the crowd for potential targets despite claiming tonight would be a girls night. You couldn’t blame her, not really. It could be both.

Not too long ago you gave up on looking and trying to make something out of nothing. At this point in your life you didn’t have the energy for anyone who was short of absolutely obsessed with you. It’s what you deserved anyway.

You jump as Aiko gasps loudly next to you. “No fucking way.” You follow her gaze and see she is staring holes into the side of some guys head. He looked to be a little younger than you and had reddish hair. He was facing in your direction stood around a high top table with a few other men, all of whom were just a little too casually dressed for this bar.

In the time it took you to scope out the situation she ran to the man all but knocking him over. Now it was your turn to gasp, but not out of worry for the poor man’s current situation. One of the men at the table had turned around to watch the scene occur and you caught sight of him.

He was the most beautiful man you had ever seen without a doubt, and was likely the most beautiful man you would ever see. Pale blond hair and striking vermillion eyes. You weren’t even really into blonds. That didn’t seem to matter. You reign your self in and head over to your friend.

“Rin!! It’s been forever!!” Aiko exclaims as you breathe out a sign of relief. Rin was Aiko’s best friend from college, but they hadn’t met up recently because he was severely overworked as a sidekick. You had spoken with him over Aiko’s shoulders a few times while they were on FaceTime but had never seen him in person.

You tried to ignore the imposing figure of the most gorgeous man alive behind you. “Hey, Rin.”You smile and he greets you warmly.

He really is a good guy. “Is your boss still the biggest dick to ever walk the earth?” You asked with a small laugh remembering listening to his long rants over the phone.

You heard someone choking on their drink behind you, so you turned around with a smile hoping your joke landed with his other friends. You froze when you saw the other man at the table, dark haired and around your age, looking at you in abject horror. You gaze landed on the blond and suddenly those piercing eyes were burning into you. His eyebrows are raised and his lips are quirked, almost like he was amused.

“Fuck…” you hear Aiko mutter from behind you.

You feel frozen under his gaze. “I go by Bakugo.”

You have a choice here. The sensible thing to do would be to apologize.

Your cheeks burned and you began by giving him your name in return. “I’m sorry, but in all fairness you should try not being a dick to your subordinates.” You shrugged to appear unaffected. It would’ve been easier to chew him out for the stories you had heard had he been doing anything but staring at you like you were the single most interesting thing in the room.

You should like the attention, but it felt like you made a grave mistake.

“Nah, Rin fucking deserves it. If he kept his head out of his ass he wouldn’t be such a fucking extra.” He spat with a sneer on his face.

“Damn Bakugo, you’re getting soft with age. That almost sounded like a compliment.” Your jaw dropped. How the fuck is that a compliment?

Suddenly the inhuman being before you became mortal. He bared his teeth and shoved the man next to him. The tips of his ears were red. “Shut the hell up you fucking idiot! You cry like a fucking baby at commercials!”

You stifled a laugh as Rin and Aiko’s conversation picked up behind you. Within a millisecond his eyes were on you again. “Yeah yeah, enough, giggles.” Your eyes widened a fraction.

“Is this the infamous Bakugo nicknaming?” You asked, almost giddy. The dark haired man didn’t seem effected by his yelling, and you loved some fun loud conversation. You were egging him on. You knew that.

Suddenly he no longer looked like a feral dog on defense. His shoulders relaxed, “infamous, huh? You ask about me?” He leaned in a faction, gauging your reaction carefully.

You rolled your eyes, “hardly, just overheard a rant or two.”

“You’re a real shit starter, ya know?” He snarked.

“Seems like we’re the same.” His smirk lessened and he paused to take you in.

“Yeah… maybe.”

#bakugou katsuki #mha bakugou #bakugou x reader #bakugo katuski x reader #mha #my hero academia #bnha #boku no hero academia

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