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simp4konig · 4 months

Note

Okay okay I have to ask, what’s your fav head canons of Nikto then? I love hearing other people’s ideas and head canons of cod characters ^^ 💕

Ngl, i get inspired by other people's headcanons, and i make headcanons off THEIR headcanons 🥲👍… I'm unoriginal 😔💔

SOOOO, im “” Tagging”” (by that i mean putting // after the @ so the original creators dont get the notifcation for this LMAO=) blogs whose own works inspired me to create my own headcanons 🥰❤️

General Nikto Headcanons ❤️

Word Count: 1,584.

Tag List: ♡ @simpforkonig ♡ @rustic-guitar-notes ♡ @best-soup ☆ @lotionlamp ♡ @trepaika ☆ @luci4theminorannoyance ☆ @happy-mushrooms ♡ @nightlyvoids ♡ @skeletalgoats ♡ @aethelwyneleigh27 ☆ @arrozyfrijoles23 ♡ @dobaddo ☆ @the-second-sage ☆ @wil-xyz ☆ @revnatheshadow ☆ @feelya

Allusions to NSFW beneath the cut! Readers are warned.

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Blunt and straight to the point. Sees no rhyme nor reason in beating around the bush and sugarcoating his words. As a result, he can be viewed as insensitive and lacking in empathy.

Impatient, and has a short fuse, so blows up often. Only you are able to be the calm after his storm, subduing him with soft reassurances and whispered words.

To say that he is possessive would be an understatement — he is extremely territorial.

After his torture, he is wary of the few things that he posesses and can actually call his own (you). His biggest phobia is losing you, and his irrational fear is someone stealing you away. Any prick unlucky enough to not catch on to you two dating will be lucky enough to survive the beating that he is given.

On that note, he is simultaneously self-assured, and insecure.

His mask is a part of him, and personal. It will take him months for him to shed said part of him.

Constantly fears that you will leave him once he reveals his face to you, so puts it off for as long as he possibly can. The day that he takes off his mask, only for you to be so casual about it and passing it off as your day-to-day, is the day that became cemented in his hard, stony heart.

Has conflicting views towards marriage. On the one hand, is an official document declaring your relationship really so necessary? Isn't an expensive wedding superfluous, and too sensational? To him, all of that is redundant — he's yours, and you're his…

…On the other hand, a glistening ring on your finger invokes a primal desire to make you more his than you are already. It would be a declaration of a love which even death wouldn't do part. Maybe he should pay more attention to the rings on display at the jewellery stores you pass by when shopping occasionally together.

An introverted man, who finds solace in solitude; excluding you, his partner, he has no companions, and rarely associates with anyone else. The voices in his head are bothersome enough, so why does he need additional voices bothering him? With that said, you would think that your presence would be a bother — especially with your mindless chatter when Nikto doesn't grunt at the idle small talk at times, wholly unresponsive for the majority of the time — but the moment you give any indication of leaving, he seizes your wrist, his cold, icy eyes silently pleading for you to stay. And you do. You always do.

Bringing me onto my next point: he is a good listener. Your ramblings are all that to you; ramblings. To Nikto, however, it's his chance to unpick all the information about you, down to the littlest of details. You wrongly assume that your words fall on deaf ears, but he listens, and he memorises every opinion you have, every statement you make, and even the small anecdotes that you share, which becoming engraved in his brain. He goes over every sentence religiously, as if it was the Bible.

He has an exceptionally good memory, tending to remember things that you had forgotten. Mention something that you craved in passing? He would surprise you with it the next time you bring it up. Alluded to someone who insulted you and ruined your day? Well, it would be no surprise that that person would never ruin your day ever again.

He is like a cat in the sense that he is an unwanted stray. However, when you came to want him, it dawned on you that he was no cat, but a panther. A predator — savage, vicious.

He would kill for you, no questions asked (He has already done it, but you don't know about that. After all, you hadn't asked him that question yet, only in jest. Truth be told, he has made so many death threats that you have become desensitised to them, dismissing them as nothing more than that: threats).

He would have died for you (PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE @//charliemwrites’s DEPICTIONNOF NIKTO IN THIS SCENE??????? HAD ME ON MY KNEES 🛐💍🧎🏼‍♀️ PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE VI NEED HIM SOVBAD); however, when you were hyperventilating as you sobbed and were close to reaching hysterics, that's when he realised that he should value his life more.

Incredibly stealthy. You've seen his execution animations… 🤒 Uses that stealth to sneak up on you whenever your guard is down to smack your ass. 🤭

Insomnia troubles him at night, the relief of sleep rarely coming to him; therefore, he tends to be nocturnal, buying groceries and going about the usual errands you would have otherwise done during the day. When you wake up, that empty fridge is magically stocked with your favourite food, your bear snoozing sometimes — most of the time he stares at you like a creep. 💀 /aff

When he does sleep, it tends to be during the day, and it's almost as if he is a bear entering hibernation

He sleeps like a plank — on his back, his arms by his sides, and his legs straight. You'll curl onto his side, your head on his chest, his legs between your core, and a strong arm wrapped around your waist.

Snores. REALLY loud. 😬 ONLY when you are in his arms 🙄 — when he sleeps alone, he is eerily silent.

Subsequently finding him laying in bed, still and silent, you were sobbing, thinking that he died in his sleep. Finally, after minutes of shaking him awake, he opened one eye, and grumbled groggily: “Дорогая, shut up. I am not dead. Not when I have you to live for. Now, come.”

Once he is asleep, good luck getting him to wake up again; unless you somehow manage to disentangle yourself from his arms — only then, when his myshka is missing, does he begrudgingly get up from bed, stand outside the bathroom door, and whisk you back to bed, willfully ignoring your complaints.

Proud of being your protector. Always has his hand[s] on you in some way or other, protectively keeping you by his side.

Has 20/20 vision, and perfect hearing.

Don't mistake his opening of pickle jars and water bottles for you as chivalry — he is taking advantage of it to show off his muscles for you. Doesn't want you to ask if you want to cup a squeeze of his bicep — when he sees you staring, he will forcibly take your hand and put it on his arm, positively smirking beneath that mask of his.

Has a staring problem and is unashamed of it. From his point of view, there is no problem in staring at you all day and every day.

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Eye contact with him is intense. Whenever you avert your gaze, he instantly grabs your chin to angle it so it's facing him. Eye contact during sex is a given.

Despite not wanting to be a father, he has an insatiable breeding kink (does not care whether you are a female, a male, an infertile female, or other — he is delusional in that sense).

Although he isn't against children per se — mainly indifferent to them, if I'm honest — wouldn't want to pass on the generational trauma onto his brood. He would prefer his bloodline ending with him.

His dirty talk is so filthy that you get wet from just his voice and innuendo. (Thank you @//xoxunhinged for your headcanon 😫💦)

His animalistic instincts are so prominent that you've become convinced that he purrs whenever you stroke that sensitive spot on his scalp, and growls in between grunts as he thrusts into you.

Is rough, leaving dark hickeys and bruises, but he would never, ever hurt you. He's rougher than most, but has sufficient self-restraint to be realise ahead of time if he is making you uncomfortable.

You are his deity, and he worships you — if he was to ever hurt you, he would enter a state of loathing. Since you were a merciful God, he would take the liberty of punishing himself — retribution suited to his crime.

One time you two were play wrestling and he almost dislocated your hip on accident. He didn't touch you again for at least two weeks, until he finally considered himself worthy of your touch.

Is dominant in bed, for two major reasons: because he prefers exerting the control which was forced upon him, relishing in having you submit to him; manhandling you to showcase his strength

A third reason is because if you were to ever top him, he'd cum embarrassingly quickly.

Probably gets off to being stronger than you. Deliberately puts you in positions which render you powerless, only able to take what he gives you.

Whenever you enter his room, he always sits in the darkness. Insists: “I do not need lights. Lights are wasted when I can see in the dark.”

Which is true... but it is also a pretence to hide the concerningly detailed shrine taking up an entire wall, dedicated to you. You'll come to find all of your lost trivial belongings when you mistakenly flick on the light switch.

His loyalty and devotion is unparalleled to any other's. He is utterly and unashamedly down bad for you, and he is willing to do anything and everything to keep it that way.

Thankfully, he doesn't have to do much, because you, too, love him. A lot.

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A/N I NEED HIM I NEED HIM I NEED HIM I NEED HIM I NEED HIM I NEED HIM I NEED HIM I NEED HIM I NEED HIM I NEED HIMI NEED HIM I NEED HIM I NEEDH IM I NEED—

Yeaah i thought comparing him to a panther would be cool 🐈‍⬛

“Guard dog” and just anything to do with a “dog” is an overused trope to me at this point 😐. Dont get me wrong!!!! , it doesnt mean that i dont LIKE the trope!!!! , but my own interpretation of Nikto is a little different, abd i think it suits him better,, Esp bc panthers technically 🤓☝️ do *not* exist, which links to how the definition of his name in Russian is “Nobody” :)

An unconventional animal for a very unconventionally attractive man😽,,

Anyways, it is time for a cigarette 🚬🤏😪. I will return in approximately 56 business days (trust me guys 😋✌️).

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winterrrnight · 8 months

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“and so we meet” — new beginnings chapter I

PAIRING: stepdad!soft!rafe x mom!reader

WARNINGS: none!

EDITH SPEAKS: this is just the first chapter, so please please bare with me as it’s certainly not the best, and it’s also very short. the plot will pick up speed as we move along, and there’s so much planned for the three of them!! if you enjoyed reading it, please reblog, and share your thoughts with me 🍂

navigation || join my taglist || requests || series masterlist

next chapter ->

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“Sage! Don’t run off like that!” You yell out, watching the little figure giggling as she rushes in one of the aisles of the grocery stores you're in. No matter how hard you try, you can never try to control your daughter, she’s like a little energy packet.

But you also trust her, knowing she won’t pick something unknown off the shelves and open it up, or bother someone in the store. Letting her have her fun, you direct your attention to the vegetables you initially came to shop for.

As you’re filling up your basket with everything you may need, you hear someone clear their throat behind you.

“Excuse me?”

You hear a masculine voice along with the throat clearing, and you turn around to see a strange man with your daughter next to him, her holding onto his hand.

“Sage what did you do?” You say sternly, picking her up in your arms. “I’m so sorry about that, she’s one little restless child,” you chuckle.

“That’s okay,” the stranger says, and you look up to see the most alluring pair of blue eyes you’ve ever seen. “She was just running around and crashed into me without realizing,”

“Oh- oh Sage you’ve got to control yourself!” You tell her, but your daughter only giggles at your words. “Again, I’m so sorry about her,”

The stranger chuckles. “It really is okay, she’s really cute,”

A moment of silence drapes around you both, as you’re looking at your shoes and the stranger is looking around. There is something so odd about this person, something so oddly attractive that isn’t letting you go of this situation you’re in quicker.

“Well, it was really nice meeting you…” you trail off, not knowing what name to put on this face.

“Oh- Rafe,” he smiles at you.

“Rafe. It was nice meeting you Rafe, I hope we’ll see you again someday,” you smile, as you start to push your cart with one hand, and your daughter on your hip.

“Byeeee!” She says excitedly with a fit of giggles, waving at the man vigorously. You hear him chuckle at her actions, and you can’t help but let a smile grace your face.

↶ೃ✧˚. ❃ ↷ ˊˎ-

As you’re strapping Sage into her car seat, you feel someone tap on your shoulder. You turn around to see Rafe.

“Rafe?” You ask quizzically, not sure why your next meeting should be this soon.

“I’m so sorry to bother you, but you left these,” he puts out his hand and you see your keys on his palm, “keys while you were packing everything up,”

“Oh my god,” you gasp, realizing those are your house keys. “Thank you so much Rafe, we’ve been bothering you so much today,” you laugh nervously.

“Nonsense, I’ve loved meeting you two,” he smiles at you and looks at Sage through the window, but she’s already asleep.

“Well, thank you again,” You smile as you start to make your way to the driver’s seat.

“I didn’t catch your name!” He says out loud, just as you’re about to close your car door.

“It’s y/n, don’t forget us,” you tease, and you drive away. Rafe watches your car drive away with a smile on his face and a beat in his heart.

“Oh I definitely won’t.”

↶ೃ✧˚. ❃ ↷ ˊˎ-

TAGLIST: @runningfrom2am @saccharinesammie @maybankslover @totalswag @madelynie @chenslucy @ietss @elle-mp3 @viawritesstuff @wallsdreams @tahliac11 @sadfury @newsies-pape-girl @jamesbuckybarneswify @xxxlaura @thatsthewaythechrissycrumbles @rafeinterlude @rylie-m @zulema222 @karmasloverrr @leixwhite02 @congratsloserr @rubixgsworld

(please let me know if you would like to be added or removed! if you would like to be added to my general taglist, please refer the ‘join my taglist’ post linked on top!)

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itsabouttimex2 · 3 months

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Today my Birthday, so how would the yanderes react to reader Brithday?

LMK Birthday Reactions

MK, Sun Wukong, Chang’e

(Happy birthday, dear! Have a wonderful day!)

So many handmade gifts- each one is lovingly decorated and delivered, wrapped with red and yellow ribbon. And MK is so eager about it, too. No matter what type of person you are, it’s pretty much impossible not to smile and thank him.

The delivery boy invites himself in the moment you open the front door, but not before throwing himself into your arms for a big tight hug. After ushering you to the couch, MK starts to unload his gifts into your hands.

A hand-drawn letter with glitter and sparkly bits of confetti. A giant sack of food he made (with Pigsy’s input and advice), and grocery store cupcakes frosted with your favorite color. And something along the lines of a plush or poster from a media franchise that you love.

And he’s so, so sweet about it that you don’t even think to ask how he found your address.

Our dear Sun Wukong is, put simply- loaded. There’s no end to the treasures and antiques he has to offload, and it’s not like any buyer is going to try and scam the Great Sage Equal to Heaven. He’s racked more than a bit in terms of funds, and isn’t afraid to dote on a well-behaved captive friend/student/child.

(Or he’ll shamelessly and happily steal. That’s also a very real possibility, let’s be honest.)

Lego Sets? He’ll have them stacked to the ceiling. A new console? He’ll bury it in games to match. Books? He’ll have a crate of classics delivered to the front door. Jewelry? He’ll dig a few precious pieces from his treasury and pay/coerce a jeweler into fixing them up.

Lots of food and treats, and isn’t above throwing you a small party if you’re friends with MK and Mei- hell, the simian will even let you invite Red Son. He’ll (his clones, actually) set up a nice little room with a store-bought cake or two and catered food from Pigsy’s Noodles. He’ll bust out a few games (think Jackbox) and let you have a nice, happy day.

And honestly, that’s all he wants- for you to be happy… in close proximity to him, under his watchful eye, locked up tight in his house.

Really, is that so much to ask for?

Oh, so very many exotic and wonderful treats. All handmade and delectable, created from top-quality ingredients and with hours of love and centuries of experience.

Chang’e makes each one with all of her heart, pasted your adorable name in frosting a hundred times over, across every cupcake and cookie and three-tier cake. She’ll set the “imperfect” pastries aside to have their frosting smudged into swirls, donated to shelters or food banks. Her baby deserves only the very best that she has to offer.

She’s prone to tending towards cutesy gifts, like sparkly stellar accessories and glittery plushes. Perfumes, matching clothes, make-up… the moon goddess is so very generous and sweet with her presents. Also, given how tech-savvy and modern-trending she seems to be, Chang’e definitely lavishes you with quite a few gift cards for online shopping.

Really, such an absolute sweetheart. So sweet that you might even forget that you’re spending another birthday on the moon without any friends, without any family aside from the goddess herself.

And maybe you won’t even notice that that’s just the way she wants it.

#Platonic Yandere #Yandere Lego Monkie Kid #Yandere LMK #Yandere Sun Wukong #Yandere MK #Yandere Chang’e

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bookshelfdreams · 5 days

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I know it's been half a year and I don't feel like digging up the original post rn but I finally got started ooooonnnnn

✨The American Duchess Wrap Cape✨

Carol Kimball made a printable version of the pattern which she generously shares for free on her blog along with instructions for alterations and assembly (PLUS pockets! And a hood!). This is what I'll be working with.

I forgot to take a picture, but I'm using a grey-green (sage? I'd call this sage) boiled wool as top fabric, and dark blue flannel for the lining. Because I am an idiot, and also due to my general hubris, I have forgone the mockup. Instead, i decided to try on every pattern piece as I go along and see what alterations it needs. I am sure I will not regret this.

(I do have a lot of fabric, so there's room for error. When I bought it earlier this year I thought I would do the hood, but I have since decided against it - with the colour, a hood would make me look like some twee forest creature. Not that that wouldn't be an amazing fashion concept. Unfortunately, hoods don't work great with scarves and shawls, so no hood this time.)

First (after printing and taping together the pattern pieces) was extending the shoulder seam. The original pattern has tiny shoulders, which might work fine for some (although, tbh, even the og pictures of AD's reconstruction seem to fit the model kinda awkwardly), but for me, too small. Kimball recommends making a sort of bulge on the front piece so it actually goes over the bust, which I did; I freehanded it and figured I would cut it out, sew in the darts and then check if it fits.

I wasn't sure how to mark where to put the darts without cutting up the pattern. In the end, I just put a little bit of white thread through the start and end points, pulled off the paper and tied them off loosely. That worked really well, and it made folding the darts easier, too.

Anyway, the front piece seemed to fit! So I used it to adjust the pattern for the lining, cut out the two front pieces, and put in the darts there. Then I cut open the darts, finished the seams that needed finishing, and pressed all my seams, as if I knew what I was doing and wasn't a chaotic craft gremlin.

Next, I cut out the back piece (the pattern prints only one half, but I mirrored it and then taped the two halves together, so I wouldn't have to fumble around trying to cut it on the fold. That would not have ended well) in both top and lining, sewed them together with the according front pieces at the shoulders, and pressed the seams again.

Then I ran out of blue sewing thread. But since it's 20:00 anyway, and my sewing machine is very loud, I'll be a considerate neighbour and stop with the noise-heavy activities. Tomorrow I'll have to go to the inferior craft store (the good one is closed on tuesdays) to get some fusible interfacing for the collar and pockets (up next!). Also blue thread.

(The cat was helping, as always)

#it doesnt sound like i did a lot written out #but im kinda exhausted ngl #crafts #wrap cape

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billielolly · 1 month

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Sims 3 Build - Sage Studio Townhouses

A set of brownstone-inspired townhouses containing a studio apartment perfect for a creative and craft-loving sim looking to start their new life.

A studio apartment with 1 bathroom on a 30x20 lot.

Watch the speed build: https://youtu.be/1gr_oRdaGZQ

Download here:

Patreon (free): https://www.patreon.com/posts/108162675/

Exchange: https://www.thesims3.com/assetDetail.html?assetId=9598470

Expansion packs:

World Adventures

Ambitions

Generations

Late Night

University Life

Stuff packs:

None

Store content:

Bohemian Garden Set - Happily Hippy Patchwork Pouf

Custom content:

missyzim - Neoclassic Build Set (Window Arched Short, Arched Door, Pediment Door 1x1)

ArtVitalex - Noresund Bed

ArtVitalex - Gunnern End Table

Martassimsbook - cmdesigns Anemone Bathroom Set Candle

deeiutza - Teen Bedroom Plant

Martassimsbook - Cowbuild Follower Gift Set 1 Chicken Aloe Vera Pot

Pralinesims - Contemporary Carpet 78

basimcly - Counter Height Eyelet Curtains (1 + 2 Tile)

ATS3 - Crafting Room Sewing (Dressform & Blouse, Sewing Machine)

ATS3 - Fashion Designer's Workshop (Cissors, Tapeline & Needles, Reels, Cloth Roll, Patterns, Hanging Clothes)

Martassimsbook - Ravasheen Hang Around Closet Set P1 Wooden Rack

Martassimsbook - Ravasheen Hang Around Closet Set P2 (Dress Belt, Summer Dress, Tunic, Long Sleeve Dress, Shorts, Graphic Tee)

Martassimsbook - Ravasheen Hang Around Closet Set P3 Belt

ArtVitalex - Ritchie Mirror

ArtVitalex - Glen Mirror

Martassimsbook - Sims 4 Parenthood Xtreme Shower Tub

ArtVitalex - Upland Toothbrush and Paste

ArtVitalex - Upland Toilet Brush

ATS3 - Canister

Martassimsbook - Pinkboxdesign Kitchen Clutter Set Utensils

Martassimsbook - Syboulette Millennial Kitchen Dish Soap

pyszny16 - Donavan Kitchen Counter

Cakenoodles - 13pumpkin Rustic Wood Floor

Julietsimscc - Giveaway Gift Paintings (Without Borders)

ArtVitalex - Mayorka Ceiling Spot Lamp

Twinsimming - Fashion Forward Collection Trending Style Board

#ts3 #ts3cc #s3cc #the sims 3 #simblr #ts3 build #sims 3 build #sims 3 house #ts3 house #sims 3

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bullet-prooflove · 6 months

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Something Else: Bode Leone x Reader (NSFW)

Tagging: @jeysbae @cloveroctobers @dizzybee03 @a-porcelain-gir1 @missy203 @floydsglasses @@alixw22x @shelbygeek @muligatorrr @jaybae @yousigned-upforthis @kmc1989 @brenobikenobi @mini-bee-bee @timmybradford @zippeylay @rhilee91 @switchbladeclub @itzkiarabxtches @girlinwounderland @choppedgalaxynerd @drunkangels @freecreationpost @stefani-topaz @chlo-lo14

One of Bode’s favourite things about being out on parole is the upgrade in shower facilities.

In prison you get ten minutes in the company with at least one other person, you try not to look but it’s incidental. The water was always freezing cold or scalding, there’s no in between. It was different at fire camp, you get fifteen minutes to yourself but the water pressure was shitty and the temperature tepid at best.

At home with you he gets as much hot water as he wants for as long as he wants, and baths…

They are a game changer after a hard day working construction or volunteering with Cal Fire.

Another thing he enjoys is the aromatherapy aspect. He’s used to relying on the shit they have in commissary and then what Cap was able to source from the General Store. It was always nameless, scentless, rough on his skin.

When he comes across the Wild & Sage stall at the Farmer’s Market he’s overwhelmed, he’s always liked the idea of natural products he’s just never been able to try them due to his legal predicament.

“I don’t know what to choose.” He says softly to you, his fingertips trailing over the silver reuseable containers. “There’s so many…”

“That’s what samples are for.” You say quietly, taking his hand in yours. You dab your fingers into the moisturising cream before spreading it across the back of his hand. He raises it to his nose inhaling it and that scent, the woodsy overtone, it makes everything feel a little lighter. His skin feels softer, less tight, less dry.

He spends over thirty minutes in front of that stall, talking with the vendor, trying all the samples. He works out what he likes, what he doesn’t like. He ends up spending a small fortune on toiletries, something he’s never done in his life.

“It’s nice to see you investing in yourself.” You tell him, when you come back from the florist with a bouquet of sunflowers tucked into the crook of your arm.

He smiles when the bathroom door clicks open, he sees your shape beyond the frosted glass, hears the sound of your clothes falling onto the tiles. This is the other thing he likes, the company.

“Hi.” He murmurs as you step underneath the stream of water with him.

“Hi.” You say, your fingers threading through his damp hair as you press against him.

“God you feel good.” He whispers against your lips, your fingers wrap around his cock and he inhales sharply because the sensation of your hand working him over, it’s bliss.

“But this is better right?” You tease, your thumb tracing over the tip of his cock.

He moans into your mouth because you, you have magic hands. He’ll never get tired of the way you touch him, the light brush of your fingertips, the steady intense pressure of your palm. The ecstasy, it builds in the base of his spine, searing through his synapses as you stroke him a little faster, a little harder. His breathing becomes ragged, his kisses messy, he’s right there at the edge of the precipice when your pussy envelops him.

He can’t think, he can’t breathe, all he can do revel in the sensation of that tight wet heat as it grips him.

“Baby.” He drawls as you clench around the tip of his dick. “Fuck baby, fuck!”

He comes so fucking hard that he sees stars, his release spilling into you. When he pulls out, it coats the head of his cock. You grasp his shaft, smearing his spent all over your pussy and he almost loses it all over again. You kill him with this shit, he swears to God, you do.

“You are something else you know that?” He murmurs, his forehead coming to rest coming to rest upon yours. “Truly you are.”

Love Bode? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

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#bode leone #bode leone x reader #bode leone x you #bode donovan #bode donovan x reader #bode donovan x you #fire country #max thieriot

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violettduchess · 7 months

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A/N: This is my gift for @readerinsertfanfiction 💜 The moment I saw Cyran on your list, I was thrilled. I hope you enjoy!

A huge thank you to @ikemenlibrary for her support and friendship and for being a generous, caring host 💜

Prompt: A servant, someone who knew Cyran from before his time in Rhodolite

Cyran x AU Emma

WC: ~4k

Obsidian: the Past

She runs across the cracked, sunbaked cobblestone streets, her treasure wrapped in a cream-colored tea towel and held protectively against her chest. Her worn leather shoes make a pleasing thunking sound against the stones as she hurries past dusty shop windows and faded porches, carefully dodging people on the street.

“Langsam, Emma!” someone yells as she flies past but she doesn’t listen to their warning. She can’t slow down. She has somewhere to be.

Finally she reaches the edge of town and takes a sharp left, leaving the cobblestones behind for a ribbon of dirt road that winds its way along tired hills covered with sparse sage-green grass and dotted with scraggly yellow dandelions. Another turn onto an even smaller path, a faint thing that meanders through the knee-high growth and then, finally, the faded barn comes into view.

She smiles, pumping her young legs harder, willing them to swallow the distance faster and faster until she reaches the peeling, splintered wooden doors and haphazardly flings one open.

“Cyran? I’m here!!”

The boy, just shy of fourteen, turns away from the wooden beam he has been faux-sparring with, lowering the dull, well-worn practice sword he is so proud of. His hair gleams like fire in the hazy sunlight that shines through the pocked roof.

Emma hurries over, gulping down huge breaths of musty air as she grabs his thin forearm.

“C’mon. I’m dying to see how they taste.”

Cyran laughs, struggling to sheath his sword as she drags him over to the blanket thrown over the hay in a cozy corner of the barn. This is their favorite place to meet, an escape from the outside world they discovered several years ago while exploring. It is here that Emma sometimes reads to him from one of her treasured books. She’s even shared stories she’s written, romantic tales of princesses and dragons, knights and monsters. Cyran is always the hero, the knight who slays the monsters and rescues the damsel in distress. Emma will change her roles in the stories.

Sometimes she needs rescuing.

But sometimes, she is the dragon.

Often they sneak treats to each other, hard biscuits or smoked meat or, if they are really lucky, sweet berries brought across the border from the lush neighboring country of Rhodolite. Cyran’s neighbor is a servant for some of the merchants that make the risky trips over and when he’s lucky, she manages to tuck away a few treasures just for him.

He settles himself down on the frayed checkered blanket and pushes his bright hair away from his forehead, eagerly watching as Emma drops down next to him, laying the tea towel down. Her face is flushed from her run and from the thrill of what she’s managed to bring him.

“Ready?”

He nods, enthusiastically motioning for her to unwrap it already. He has hands that are too big for his young body, growing the way many boys do at this age, in odd fits and spurts.

Emma leans forward, pushing up the sleeve of her too-big dress and carefully pulls back the edges of the tea towel.

The smell hits them first, the warm spice of cinnamon, the tang of nutmeg, the slight bitterness of the cloves, the unmistakable scent of ginger. It wafts up towards them, exotic and tempting. Cyran breathes in deeply and then sighs happily as he looks at her, eyes bright and admiring.

“It smells so good.”

Cyran had carefully been saving up the exotic store of spices, some of them gifts from his neighbors, others decadent purchases made at the market from his meager earnings made mucking stalls and chopping wood. He knew that Emma would be the one who would create something special with them. Young as she was, she was a talented cook and baker, able to make the most fantastic treats out of the simplest ingredients. And now that she had been given such a treasure trove to work with, she had spun pure magic.

The spiced biscuits are dappled dark brown and gold. When she hands him one, it is with a reverence that echos a priest giving communion or a child receiving a shiny new toy at Christmas.

Their gazes meet and she nods.

“Together.”

He returns the nod, staring into the warm depths of her soft brown eyes.

“Together.”

They bite into the cookies at the same time. Emma breaks into a proud smile as Cyran closes his eyes, savoring the medley of flavor and even better, the knowledge that she made them just for him.

“It’s good, isn’t it?" she asks, grinning. She sees the look on his face, the way he is practically melting with enjoyment.

He lifts his shoulder in a casual shrug, feigning indifference.

“I guess……”

“What?!”

He takes another bite, leaning back on one hand. “I mean, they’re ok. But you know, Hilde’s biscuits are also really good–OOF.”

She’s tackled him, throwing herself at him with all the force of a frenzied feline, her nimble fingers scratching at his sides. Cyran breaks into laughter, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and tries to squirm away from her.

“Ok ok Brown Eyes, enough!”

Emma lets him go, sitting back on her heels with a glowing, triumphant smile.

“Never say that about Hilde’s cookies again.”

He pushes himself up, heart pounding furiously in his chest. Only some of it is from laughing. He tears his gaze away from the unsettling beauty of her eyes, traveling up to her hair.

“You’re a mess. You got straw in your hair and your braid is a disaster.”

Emma turns and scoots until she is sitting in front of him. “Since it’s your fault….you fix it.”

Cyran heaves a sigh he doesn’t mean and then settles himself into a comfortable position, reaching forward and with a tenderness and care far beyond most boys his age, begins slowly picking the straw from her messy plait.

Emma’s eyes drift closed as she revels in the attention he’s giving her, the gentle way he untangles her braid and then very slowly begins brushing his fingers through her soft, chestnut-colored hair.

It feels comforting and safe.

It feels thrilling.

It feels like the early evening has come to a standstill and they have all the time in the world.

But their time together is like a rose slowly losing its petals.

A petal falls as he tells her, wide-eyed and shaken, that his neighbor has been killed in her own home, throat opened in the dead of night and left smiling its ghastly red smile until she was discovered hours later. Emma rubs his back, not knowing what else to do. This is not the first death in their village as of late. And it will not be the last.

A petal falls as they lay, side by side, on the blanket in the hay, staring up at the patches of starry sky visible through the holes in the roof. “My parents are scared,” she whispers. He turns his head to stare at her profile and knows it isn’t just her parents who are frightened. “I’ll protect you,” he whispers, voice fierce with youth’s naïve promise. Her gaze remains on the silver stars but she reaches out, taking his hand and squeezes it.

A petal falls as she comes to their favorite spot, face pale as bone, to tell him that her family is leaving. Her father has contacted distant relatives that live far to the north, as far from Rhodolite and the dangers it poses as one can get. Cyran feels like his young heart may break right there in his chest and he will be forced to live the rest of his life with its pieces rattling around inside of him. Though filled with dismay, Emma’s eyes are as beautiful as ever. They shine with tears, rivaling any star they have ever spent time gazing at.

A petal falls as she rushes through the dark, on the night before her family is to leave, her throat burning with feelings she can’t quite name, waves too strong to try and understand for fear they will sweep her away. She bursts through the barn doors and finds him already there, his hair dark as garnet, damp with sweat. He has spent the entire day doing heavy labor, removing heavy wooden beams, hauling ancient and broken equipment, sweeping the dusty, straw-strewn floor. Several lanterns placed around the interior bathe the space in warm, yellow light. The barn is as clean and inviting as he can make it. He wanted to give her one more memory, something beautiful, that she can take with her on her journey away from here. Away from him.

Emma is frozen in place, soaking in all he has done, before finally stopping on the young man at the center of it. He’s breathing hard, his chest rising and falling unevenly. Already his shoulders carry the hint of what manhood will bring him: strength and breadth. Arms that with training will turn hard and sculpted, legs that will lengthen until he is taller than most. He is the faint beginning of what he will become. Emma wonders wildly if she will ever get the chance to see the finished masterpiece.

“Emma,” he says, his voice raw and rough, deeper than she has ever heard it.

She sets down the bundle she is holding, the one she carried so close on the way here, leaving it on top of a weathered wooden barrel.

“Cyran,” she answers, her muscles tense, like a fawn when it hears a crunching in the underbrush.

He starts forward, one hesitant step and that is enough. She flies towards him, throwing her thin arms around his neck and buries her face in his worn linen shirt, clutching him to her. There is power in her small frame, something fierce and bright, a hurricane in crystal. Cyran holds her close, his eyes closing as he breathes in her familiar scent. He’s been teased his whole life because of his last name, but she is the one who reminds him of a rose, who always smells so sweet.

The anticipation of loss that has them clinging to each other slowly ebbs and something else, something that has been burning low and quiet in every laugh, every touch, every glance begins to emerge. She is suddenly aware of the press of her chest against his, of how much taller he is, the earthy smell of his skin. She leans back to look at him and sees the same awareness mirrored in his dark eyes.

Outside a rooster crows, loud and discordant.

Cyran turns his head toward the sound and Emma, sparked by the frantic knowledge that she must leave, grabs his chin, pulling him back to her and rises onto her toes, pressing her lips to his.

It is a sunbeam bursting through gray clouds. A spark breathing life into a pile of dried leaves. It is hope and promise and wonder.

And heartbreak.

With a stifled cry, she steps away, turns and flees the barn, not wanting to see the look on his face as she leaves, not wanting that to be her last memory of him.

Cyran watches with a thundering heart as the door swings shut. Flooded with helplessness and misery, he notices the bundle she left behind. Tenderly he lifts it, undoing the sky-colored ribbon. It’s her favorite handkerchief, white with pale blue forget-me-nots painstakingly embroidered along the edges, and nestled inside are several of her spiced biscuits. His favorites.

Rhodolite: The Present

Rhodolite is so much MORE than she expected. The streets are wider and cleaner and lined with greenery, more trees and flowering bushes and grass than in the entire garden of the palace in Obsidian. There are more people than she expected too, many standing under awnings and lampposts, peeking through windows and around doorways, watchful eyes in beautiful faces following the royal procession as it makes its way towards the palace.

When she had been told by the Head Chef that they would be accompanying Prince Gilbert and his entourage to Rhodolite, Emma had felt a familiar ringing through the cockles of her heart. Rhodolite is where Cyran was rumored to have ended up. Whispers from the south had traveled her way, over the many years since they parted. He had joined the army when he was of age. He had left Obsidian for the verdure of Rhodolite. He was employed by one of the Princes there. Crumbs of information she had managed to gather, hoarding them tightly like precious drops of mana.

He may not even be here, she reminds herself as her tired gray mare plods along down the street. She and the other servants are at the end of the procession and most of the people have turned away, not interested in anything but the dangerous Prince Gilbert with his sharp smile and blood-red gaze.

Still, Emma finds herself scanning the crowds as they pass, looking for any head of red hair. She spots a few but they are never him.

As the overwhelming elegant palace suddenly rises towards the heavens before her, she draws in a sharp breath.

We’re here…….

…….Is he?

The palace looms closer, a breathtaking monument of pale beauty.

And if so….how in the wide world will she ever find him?

Cyran runs a hand through his thick mass of russet hair as his long strides make quick work of the pathway towards the training hall. It’s late evening and the young, freshly-minted knights are at the end of their training and he needs to make sure everything went well without him there. He knows Lucian is more than capable of leading them through their drills but Cyran has a responsibility to make sure. They are all under his charge.

Entering the hall, he sees several of the knights laughing in a corner. Some are sitting and catching their breath, others are pushing the heavy sandbags they sometimes train with back into their storage room. What he sees reassures him. They look tired and sore, yet satisfied, faces bright with the feeling of accomplishment a tough training session will leave behind.

He’s about to go look for Lucian, expecting a full report when he notices several of the knights standing by the wooden table at the far end of the training circle, the one usually covered with straps for shields and rope and other odds and ends. They’re smiling, far too widely to be discussing anything so mundane as weaponry. Several are chewing. He approaches the table, greeted by his men with smiles and respectful nods. Immediately he notices the tin: it’s round and black, covered with decorative golden swirls.

“What’s this?” He glances towards the first knight at his left, a tall lad with sandy blond hair.

“They were brought here by an Obsidian servant. She said they were a present for us.”

Cyran frowns, a skeptical look on his face as he reaches inside the tin for one of the golden brown cookies.

“And you didn’t think to–” He was going to ask if they thought accepting gifts from strangers was a good idea when the scent hits him, cutting through the sweat and musk of tired men.

The warm spice of cinnamon, the tang of nutmeg, the slight bitterness of cloves, the unmistakable scent of ginger.

He goes still, the breath knocked from his lungs.

Could it be…..

Something in his face hushes the men around him. They watch, curious as Cyran lifts the cookie and takes a bite.

The man who sees everything, ever watchful, closes his eyes as he chews and the knights are transfixed by the absolute stillness that has overtaken their leader.

And then those eyes open and something in them has begun to burn, bright and alive.

The other half of the cookie falls to the dusty ground as he turns on his heel and, practically jogging, exits the training area, leaving behind the half-eaten biscuit and a slew of surprised faces.

The rose gardens are somehow even more beautiful in the twilight of evening. The red petals seem to have darkened, shedding their bright rose-red for a sultry scarlet. Shadows emerge from the trimmed hedges, stretching across the winding stone pathways, giving a visitor like Emma glimpses of hidden benches and secret dirt paths leading into clandestine corners of the gardens.

She has taken several of these more narrow, less-trodden paths, not at all afraid of getting lost. Her heart is a bird, flitting between dark branches, full of a nervous, tightly-wound energy she can’t quite explain.

As the sky darkens to a deep navy blue and the first stars open their eyes, Emma pauses in front of a gray stone fountain. Two swans, nuzzling their beaks together, bodies curved towards one another as a blossoming flower rises above them, water spraying outward in celebration. She tilts her head, the romantic in her sighing at the way the two swans perfectly mirror one another, two halves of a whole, two souls in perfect harmony. So enchanted is she by the fountain that she doesn’t hear the footfall on the path, doesn’t notice the man who has stopped several meters away from where she is standing, the sight of her freezing him in his tracks.

“Emma.”

She jumps at the deep voice, her eyes wide and dark as she turns towards the sound. The owner of said voice is standing, half in shadow, at the place where the small path to the fountain begins, beneath a shadowy arch of crimson roses. She is so startled, she doesn’t even register that he has said her name.

“Oh….s'il te plaît, excuse-moi,” she says quickly, doing her best to remember the phrases of the common language spoken in Rhodolite. “J'espère que ça va…” She trails off, trying to remember how to say she hopes she is allowed to be here but the man takes another step closer, leaving the blanket of shadows and stepping into the fading light.

Even the dusky hue of evening cannot hide the red of his hair.

A gasp as soft as the flutter of a bird’s wing escapes her. The young boy she knew juxtaposed against this tall, broad man before her sends her heart into a tailspin. Her hand flies to her mouth as she takes him in. She sees the same bright light of recognition and admiration and overwhelming emotion plain as day on his beautiful face.

“Cyran?” The word is a whisper, a breathless repetition of the name she has kept in her prayers for decades.

His eyes never leave her, almost as if he has the power to hold her there with his gaze, to keep her from vanishing into the realm of his dreams where she has lived for so long. Slowly, he reaches up and loosens the laces at the top of his tunic. His hand slides inside and when it emerges, he is holding a small square of cloth. As he slowly opens it, her heart falters.

It’s white, with pale blue forget-me-nots embroidered around the edges.

He holds it out to her, his chest rising and falling with every deep breath he takes. That handkerchief has lived next to his heart, in an inner pocket, one he has sewn into every shirt he has ever owned since the day he watched her leave.

“I think…..this belongs to you, Brown Eyes.”

She chokes back a sob, unable to contain the thunderstorm of emotion coursing through her and runs to him, falling into his arms as naturally as a willow bends to the wind, tears falling freely down her cheeks. Cyran wraps his arms around her, sheltering her, holding her the way he has imagined a thousand times. His throat burns with all the words he has ached to say, all those sleepless nights spent remembering the lilt of her smile, the music of her laughter, the bittersweet taste of her kiss.

Emma squeezes her eyes closed, breathing in the scent of him, at once so familiar and yet so strange. Her arms wind around his waist as she presses herself against him, drinking in the sensation of his body on hers.

This is Cyran….her Cyran…..her….

A thought pierces her heart as she suddenly steps away from him, eyes wide, still so beautiful as they glimmer with the remnants of her tears.

“Oh…I…I didn’t mean…..you could be married. I shouldn’t have-”

His laughter is coarse, rough with emotion, a roll of rushing water as it careens over the lip of a cliff.

“As if I could ever love anyone else.”

Love…..

As if summoned by the very word, the moon itself parts the soft gray clouds, flooding the small section of the garden with silvery light. The tinkling of the fountain fills the momentary silence.

Cyran’s cheeks suddenly flush, a hot mixture of embarrassment and panic overriding the elation of the previous moment.

“I…..I don’t mean to presume of course that you feel the same. It has been a long time and…..” He trails off, wincing. Fluster is such an uncharacteristic state of being for Cyran. “Ah, shit. I’m sorry. I–”

His words are cut off as Emma launches herself back into his arms, hugging him fiercely.

“Please, don’t apologize.” She tilts her head up to look at him, still in awe of how she sees the young man he was and the handsome man he has become in his beautiful eyes, in his exquisite face. “It has always been you.”

Cyran drags air into his lungs, hardly able to believe he isn’t dreaming. His rough fingers capture her chin, his thumb running over the sensitive skin just under her lower lip.

Slowly, he leans down as she stretches upwards, eager and nearly trembling with emotion.

He kisses her, his hand still cupping her face. Gently his mouth moves over hers as he tells her a wordless story of longing, of a bruised heart that learned to somehow keep beating.

He kisses her, a strong arm pulling her closer, his lips and tongue weaving the tale of a young soldier who never forgot the girl with the tender heart and radiant spirit. The soldier who dreamed of her face during his darkest nights and longed for her laughter on days of sunshine.

She meets him, kiss for kiss, stroke for stroke, sliding her palms along his broad shoulders, clutching him as she answers his tale, confessing without words how he has never left her heart. How his smile was her light in times of worry and despair. How seeing him again has been her northern star from the moment of parting.

Only the moon knows how long they stand there, wrapped in each other’s arms, lost in each other’s yearning.

When they finally part, Cyran rests his forehead against hers, still keeping her tightly in his embrace. He may never let go again.

“You’re….in the employ of Prince Gilbert. I am here.” He frowns ever so slightly as he brushes several loose strands of hair away from Emma’s charmingly flushed cheek. “This could get complicated.”

Their gazes meet and she nods.

“Yes…..but we’ll figure it out.”

And suddenly he is carried back in time to an evening when her eyes shone just as brightly, just as excitedly, a young girl with something to give a young boy, a homemade cookie, an offering of love.

“Together.”

Her voice echoes across the years, that word wrapping itself around his battered heart, a balm, a blessing.

He returns the nod, staring into the warm depths of her soft brown eyes, tenderly stroking the silk of her hair, and answers her now as he did back then.

“Together.”

Tagging: @xbalayage @alexxavicry @queengiuliettafirstlady @bellerose-arcana @thewitchofbooks @aria-chikage @redheadkittys @tele86 @dear-mrs-otome @olivermorningstar @writingwhimsey @mxrmaid-poet @silver-dahlia @wendolrea @nightfoxqueen @myonlyjknight @ikesimpleton @namine-somebodies-nobody @cellophanediamond @whatever-fanfics @justpeachyteastea @chirp-a-chirp @got7igot7family @kookie-my-little-sunshine @mastering-procrastinating @portrait-ninja @queen-dahlia @themysticalbeing @nightghoul381 @whitelittlebunny @chi-the-idiot @bubblexly @wordycheeseblob

#ikemen series #ikemen prince #ikepri #ikepri cyran #cyran rose #ikemen cyran #ikepri cyril #cyril rose #ikemen cyril #my ikemen valentine gift exchange #ikemen fanfiction #ikemen fanfic #otome fanfic #violettwrites

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dinoshimaaa · 1 year

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some day, someone will like me like i like you. (pt 2)

this damned feeling. a curse laid upon him for all of eternity. unescapable, tormenting, torturing. first it was disappointment he felt in himself for succumbing to it. but that feeling of shame was soon washed away by the bliss that accompanied the fluttering feeling in his chest, its intensity so strong that it overpowered every other emotion in him, to the point that he only ever thinks and feels of you when you are near. what a shame that you do not feel the same. (feat. wanderer, tartaglia, lyney, gn! reader) (pt 1 here)

or: their heart will always be yours, but you…

(p.s. scara for @seveninchesfrominsanity 😎 and gingey for my best boro @souglias 😍 good luck to everyone on their child pulls!!!!!!!!)

(p.p.s. 8 year-old tartaglia refers to reader as a princess once, but it’s gender neutral otherwise + archon quest and lyney story quest spoilers)

the wanderer of sumeru is all but lovely. he is “hat guy”, the mysterious vahumana scholar who showed up out of nowhere just days ago, already gathering an infamous identity for being scornful and anti-social. he is lesser lord kusanali’s assistant, a thinly veiled title to mask the fact that he is a prisoner under her watch. many do not know him because he refuses to work in the spotlight, much like the acting grand sage, and those who do don’t always have the best impression of him.

and even lesser truly know of where he had come from: his mother who is raiden ei, his origins in tatarasuna, his affiliation with the fatui, his obsession with the electro gnosis, and what he once was to sumeru: a false god, a monster, the near-cause of the land of wisdom’s destruction.

but the lack of something will always be attracted to an abundance of something. you are nothing but lovely; the loveliest, if anyone had to say. you are dazzling and you are beautiful, turning heads towards you when you walk the street. you are kind and generous towards the stray kittens on treasure street, and cheerful and easygoing with the store owners when you visit them. people sing praises of you everywhere wanderer goes, and to say he hadn’t had his own experience with you was incorrect.

he remembers himself fighting wave after wave of fatui soldiers, and himself slowly getting more exhausted by the minute, when you came in like a saviour angel from above, plunging on the last of enemies with your bow. he recalls your hits being barely a fraction of how hard he can slice through an enemy, yet when you assisted in defeating those annoying fatui back then, you turned around and asked if he was okay with the brightest smile imaginable.

(to the traveler or nahida, he would’ve given a sarcastic reply. to any ordinary civilian, he would’ve ignored them and been on his way. that day, he recalls being utterly speechless, while the rising sun glows behind your head, giving you a halo, illuminating your smile further. you are the most radiant sight he has ever seen.)

he seeks you out secretly like a stray cat following the only kind soul who fed it milk. sometimes, he watches over you in the air, making sure you’re safe. other times he just observes your interactions with others, ever so relieved to see that you are loved by sumeru just as much as you have shown its people love. more often than not he catches himself drifting off to a dream filled with you, being flustered and ashamed of such pathetic behaviour. but sometimes he also gets too lost in his thoughts, melancholy overtaking his face when he thinks of the shining star that you are.

wanderer’s hands are decorated with filth and blood. they show, sometimes, after an exhausting fight with the fatui. in his peripheral vision, hallucinations of that kid, that blacksmith, and the doctor come and go. in the dead of night, when sumeru sleeps soundly and all that is to be heard are the rustling of leaves in the wind, wanderer looks at his shaking hands and closes them in a fist, wiping them harshly, trying to rub off the sins stained on them. he is a terrible person to others. he is a terrible person to himself.

he is not a lovely person. you are the embodiment of ‘lovely’ itself. he couldn’t possibly deserve to be with you, lest his filth and sinful hands taint your pure being. it would simply be unconscionable for someone like him; damaged past, wreck and ruin, an empty soulless shell, to be close to your brightness. no one, not even himself, would forgive him if he were to ruin who you are: sumeru’s loveliest, the one who loves sumeru, and the one whom sumeru loves.

it is yet another night of watching you enter your house safely, staring at your front door for a few moments more before heading back to his residence (nevermind that he was the one to clear all the enemies in your path ahead, while you weren’t seeing). if nahida ever pointed out the lingering fond look in his eyes, or if the traveler teased him about having a possible crush on someone, there would be no need to blush madly and scamper away like a schoolgirl, for he knows that there is zero chance of “us” with him and you.

there are many fairy tales that are popular in morepesok village, most of which ajax have heard in his childhood many times. his distant memories include his mother, still youthful and full of smiles, reading him one of such fairy tales to lull him to sleep. he remembers her warm caress, the pulling of a quilt over his tiny body, and the soft flicker of the candle beside his mother, waiting to be blown out for the night. he also remembers you, his childhood best friend, his sleepover buddy, his other half, tucked into bed right next to him. if he searched hard enough, he might find some candid pictures of you and him, cuddled next to each other in the bed, in his childhood home.

“so then, the prince and the princess ended up happily ever after again?” 8 year-old ajax yawned, a sleepy smile on his face.

“they did, again,” his mother’s warm chuckle resonates throughout the room, through his ears, into his heart. he stores her laugh like a cassette tape in his memory, wanting to play it over and over again in the future.

“i can’t imagine a fairy tale where the prince and princess don’t end up together,” you murmured beside ajax, as his mother tucked the two of you in.

“that should be us, then,” ajax turned to face you and grinned, “so we’ll never be apart. let’s pinky promise that you’ll always be the princess and i’ll always be the prince!”

“why do i have to be your princess?” you complained, only to be shushed by ajax’s mother before she blew the candle out, signalling the end of pillow talk and the start of dreamland.

(all three of you knew it was impossible for you and ajax to be completely silent after lights out. the giggles that progressively get louder and harder after his mother leaves the room are testament to that.

this time, however, ajax is deadly silent, and you reach out to cup his face to ask what’s wrong.)

“sorry,” ajax holds the hand you cupped his cheek with. “you don’t have to be the princess, it’s okay. but i want to be your prince. i want to rescue you from the bad guys and defeat bad guys in your name. i’ll even do a pinky promise to prove it.”

even though you don’t give him a verbal answer, you hold his hand as he sleeps. it brings enough reassurance to 8 year-old ajax.

such peaceful times are unreachable now, ever since he fell.

ajax has not seen you for ten years. you have seen tartaglia for none.

when he returns, his familiar fluff of ginger hair in front of your doorstep, you have to do a double take. gone is the scrawny boy you knew, that got sick after every ice fishing trip, and cried over the smallest of scratches; in front of you now stands a fearsome harbinger, the tsaritsa’s vanguard, a killing machine with no life in his eyes.

(that is not ajax, any longer. that is tartaglia. that is a fatui harbinger. where is your ajax?)

you cannot bring yourself to smile when he presents you with a bouquet of pink roses, despite how beautifully preserved and fragrant they are. your heart doesn’t soften even when he greets your parents politely, plays with your siblings, cooks your family dinner, and helps with the dishes. that is not ajax whom you’ve let into your home, in contrast to what the rest of your family believes. that is a stranger who has intruded your safe space.

it hurts childe more than it hurts you to be on the receiving end of haunted eyes and hostile stares. he knows that he is vastly different from the childhood best friend he was to you ten years ago, and no matter what he does now, you will always see him as tartaglia, childe, the vanguard. you love ajax, but ajax is who he once was. ajax had been forced to throw himself away to survive. it wasn’t his fault that ajax is dead, but he cannot blame you for defiantly wanting your ajax back.

so when he kneels in front of you, the snowy wind feeling a lot more colder than usual, he ignores the way your hands tense when he holds it. he wants to cry when you attempt to pull your hand away even though he kisses it as gently as gentle can be. if an outsider were to witness this, they’d call this a romantic scene, between a prince and his beloved. but both you and ajax know that the fairy tale you yearned for in your childhood is completely unreachable now.

(“give me back my ajax.”)

(“i’m sorry.”)

to say that the great magician lyney is fully authentic in his shows would be a bit of a stretch, for he is an actor on the stage before he is a magician, however hard or long he may rehearse the day before the show. every smile had been sculpted and practised for hours until it was deemed perfect enough to be seen by his audience. needless to say, ‘the great magician lyney’ is merely a farce, an identity of its own. he wishes not to confuse that lyney with ‘fatui lyney’ and just ‘lyney’.

you were just supposed to be another face in the audience, an unsuspecting fellow he was meant to charm, attract, and never remember the face of. but you show up to a show once, then twice, then thrice, and soon you become a familiar face that lyney notices in the audience every now and then.

(that’s what lyney says, at least. lynette knows that he secretly seeks out your face behind the curtains, and the moment he finds you, his smile widens a tad bit, and his voice is a little cheerier as he steps out on stage.

by the way, since when did he start using rainbow roses in his performances? ugh, darn charlotte.)

but it is not easy to always be just ‘lyney’ with you, for he is called to be the great magician by day, and fatui by night. rarely is there time given to him to be his true self in front of you, to let the curtains fall and the farce fade. you can’t remember the last time he was allowed to let his shoulders slump, his face be bare of makeup, and his head rest under your chin as you kissed his tears.

and it seems you won’t be seeing those ever again.

lyney feels his blood run cold the moment father mentions your name in a mission, so casually, almost as if she had let your name slip out of her lips innocently and accidentally, if he hadn’t known any better. but lyney has been her loyal servant, her ‘favourite child’ for years, and he knows that the mere mention of your name is but a warning to him.

“i seem to be craving coffee recently. no one brews it quite as well as [name] does, i fear,” is what the knave says.

that person seems to be distracting you. i will eliminate them soon, is what she means.

lyney cannot afford to let anymore people close to him get hurt. his parents, who passed when he was very young… lynette, whose life had been endangered too many times to count… cesar, who taught him everything and treated him with love even in just ten days…

you shouldn’t need to fall into the same trend as well. your life is peaceful, precious, and untainted unlike his. so, it should remain untouched. and lyney decides that this is when he does what he has to do.

on the day that you return home and see lumidouce bells on your doorstep instead of lyney, you feel your heart plummet to your stomach. your gut turns and folds nastily, and stars increasingly flood your vision while a silent plea rings in your head, but there is nothing logical that refutes the contents of the letter that lyney had left you. that is all you have left of him.

the rest is to be expected. feeling betrayed and abandoned, you lose all feelings for lyney, not wanting to be associated with him again. his gifted trinkets left in your house are all thrown out. you can’t look at a magic show advertisement for more than two seconds. it takes only a little while to get over this heartbreak, but once you are fully free of all emotional attachment to lyney, you never think about him and his rainbow roses ever again.

lyney’s plan goes exceptionally well. of course it does; it was as meticulously planned as all his performances are. he returns to the house later that night to report back to father, submitting his response to her threats weeks ago: [name] is nothing to me now. hence, you cannot hurt them.

(however successful his plan was, he cannot bring himself to smile in response to the knave’s satisfied one.)

later, on the same night, when he slips out of the house, he finds himself wandering towards the place where he usually picks his rainbow roses from. a gentle pluck, a flick of his hand; a lumidouce bell takes its place instead. he smiles at his own trick bitterly, before pressing his lips to the blue flower and intertwining another rainbow rose with it.

a moment of hesitation comes, followed by a few minutes of uneasy pacing, until lyney makes the decision to squeeze the petals with his gloved hand. the crumpled pink and blue petals fall to the ground. lyney only gazes as they do so.

(he wishes he could do the same to his own heart, but that is barely a fraction of how he made you feel. he will look for more ways to punish himself, then.)

#CAN YOU BELIEVE FEIYUE POSTED AGAIN. WHAT #DURING EXAM SEASON TOO ❓❓❓❓🔥🔥🔥🔥#genshin #genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #lyney #lyney x reader #childe #tartaglia #childe x reader #tartaglia x reader #scaramouche #wanderer #scaramouche x reader #wanderer x reader #dawg why all these fatui bitches have so many names

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adrianasunderworld · 10 months

Text

TwstxStardew Valley au!

Yuu inherited the Ramshackle farm from their grandfather. It's located in the little town of Night Raven in the Valley of Sages. Shortly after moving in, they find a cat called Grim. Now it's up to Yuu to restore the farm and town to it's former glory. All the characters are the townsfolk, all the staff are the ones that run the local businesses, and Crowley is the mayor. And all the students are the marriage candidates.

Sam runs the general store, but unlike Pierre he's pretty cool. Vargas is the blacksmith. Trien is the librarian, and his cat hangs out amongst the shelves. Crewel I was thinking we have a new business that is the local clothing store where you can buy the bag upgrade from him and instead of the sewing machine being in Emily's house, it's in the shop. So all that stuff would be in one place.

Kalim as the resident animal lover I can see being the one that sells you your farm animals. Maybe his business is a branch of his parents much larger business that he runs and Jamil is his employee.

I feel like it goes without saying that Idia is the Sebastian here. He's the freelance programmer living in his parents basement, and Ortho Is his kid brother you see running around town that always tells Yuu about how cool his brother actually is.

Silver lives with his veteran dad in their little cottage in the woods outside your farm, they like living off the land out there. I can also see Lilia and Baul as the ones that run the adventurers guild. Maybe the Zigvolt family dental clinic is also in town and Sebek works there. And in that same vein, maybe Mrs. Rosehearts is the town doctor and her son, Riddle, is her assistant. She's planned everything out that Riddle will become a doctor like her and take over the clinic one day.

Epel is still a farm boy here, it feels right, he's in his element in this au. The Felmiers run an orchard on the opposite side of town. His granny used to know your grandpa, and maybe Farmer Yuu can buy fruit tree saplings from them.And of course get a good price on the apple ones.

Deuce is the former town delinquent that lives with his single mom. He's doing his best to turn their life around, he grew out of his old ways and wants to do better. I can see his heart events being about people assuming he's going to cause trouble because of his old habits and Deuce having to prove he's not that little teenage punk anymore. And instead of Idia/Sebastian, Deuce is the one that takes you on the motorcycle date if you romance him.

Mostro Lounge is the equivalent of the Stardrop Saloon, and Azul is th owner with the tweels working for him.

Malleus I can see being the one that lives in the wizard tower in the woods outside your farm. He's studied magic all his life because it's all he's ever known. But he wants very badly to interact with the town and the villagers, but everyone tends to stay away. The only exceptions being Lilia, Silver, and Sebek. That is until Yuu moves in and discovers his tower, and once Malleus helps them understand the Juiminos in the community center, they become better friends.

@mangacupcake @marrondrawsalot @writing-heiress @the-weirdos-mind

#twisted wonderland #twst yuu #twst stardew #stardew valley

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z0mbi3k1d · 6 months

Note

Can you do downtown girl plssss????

Ofc!!!

Wanna get this aesthetic??

This is called the downtown girl aesthetic, its all about coffee, books, autumn, and music (it's not music based though there is a stereotypical gener that'll be linked beloww) and I'm gonna tell you how to dress if you wanna look like this!

Where do I shop? 📚

Old navy

Amazon (yes I'll link a list)

Ross

H&M

Thrift stores

What items should I get? 🎧

(All in colors/patterns that'll be listed below)

Zip up jackets

Jeans

Simple skirts

Sweaters

Cardigans

Band tees

Converses

Cargo pants

Patterns + colors ☕

Colors:

Red

Navy blue

Black

Brown

Sage green

Patterns

Plaid

Stripes (like in the pics)

Stars and spirals

Accessories 🍂

Tote bags

Headphones

Silver necklaces/rings

Scarf

Sunglasses

Black tights

Additional things 🍵

Downtown girl aesthetic is associated with fall so the clothes tend to be warmer

A lot of downtown girls read books so if you look it up that's a lot of what you'll see

Lipstick under your eyes is so cute with this aesthetic!!

Room inspo: lots of prints, vines, and fairy lights

Links 🍁

Amazon:

Playlist:

Upcoming posts 🍐

Fun things to do on your laptop

LayZ post

Thanks for reading!! 🩷

Make sure to drink lots of water and stay safe!! And you should go follow my insta!!

-Lacey~♡

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wisttwist · 1 month

Text

jester's privilege

(past) nebu (nathaniel) & reader, morningstar (ithaqua) & reader cliche scene where the hero enters the defeated kings bedroom and all the concubines are crawling all over him but instead of a dozen concubines trying to seduce him it's a single crusty manservant making middle school tier jokes warnings: mentions of canon typical war crimes etc

...

There was a small, breathtakingly ugly cushion in the corner of the room, bright primary colours clashing with the creams and golds of the late Tower Lord's interior design (which was also ugly, Helel would like to append).

A similarly small and breathtakingly ugly servant (?) sits on this cushion, presently engaged in thrilling (mind numbing) icebreakers (he would like to break some ice over your head, yes) with the Sun Eater as he idly turned over Nebuchadnezzar's royal paraphernalia.

"So he doesn't bed you and you aren't politically valuable. Then why are you in here, and not out there?" He gestures to the smoke from the mines, visible from the tower window.

"He doesn't send me to the quarries because I'm special. I'm his special boy."

"He calls you that?"

"No."

Helel made the temporary generalization that conversation with you was a waste of oxygen and stalks off to continue his inspection of the room, deaf to your remarks.

A voice comes from right behind his shoulder. "What do I call you?" Somehow, you'd soundlessly traversed the cluttered floor to stand uncomfortably close.

He scowls. So much for ignoring you. "Don't you know who I am?"

"I do live in a cell." You mumble, picking your nose and wiping the snot on your pants.

For a second, the Eclipse considers retelling the story of his conquest for the nth time but honestly, he wasn't sure how much more gloating he could wring out of it, especially with this audience. "It doesn't matter who I am. Just know that I'm the new king."

"Your voice is very familiar."

"No it's not."

"Very well. It's not." You fidget on the spot, bell-studded clothes jingling. "Do I call you sire? Or are you more formal?"

"Do as you wish."

Satisfied with his vague and minimalist answers, he returns to his prior task of sorting through the Sun King's old shit; mentally categorizing them for later: keep, trash, take to the thrift store, incinerate. Surveying the shelves, he sighs. This would be a lengthy task.

…

"Do you want a tour?" Breathing on the back of his neck, again. Uncomfortably close, again.

Helel gives you a firm push back. "No."

"Are you still wondering what my purpose was?" You chirp, undeterred as ever.

"If I recall correctly, the Sun King already had a clown in his court. I freed him way back when." Maybe if Helel paid more attention to that event, he'd note that the Encroached did mention an irritating bell-wearing obstacle between him and his master. Not that you can prepare for this brand of mild but persistent evil. "But considering this room is full of useless junk, it's not hard to guess why you're here."

Ignoring his jab, you sidle close once more, plotting another invasion attempt on his personal space. "Jesters and clowns are two different things."

Yeah, you were different. The other guy was less annoying. Mercifully, he elects to give a noncommittal grunt instead of mentioning this detail, hoping that you'll lose interest in trying to continue your conversation.

The Sun Eater lifts up a decanter of mystery fluid (pale and golden like everything else). He's about to lean in to give it a smell test when you stop him. "That's not wine, sire."

Owlishly, his head swivels around to face you.

You close your eyes sagely and pause for dramatic effect, wasting more of Helel's time on waiting for you to elaborate. "It's pee."

The decanter shatters on the floor. You watch him frantically wipe his hands off on the expensive curtains. "What the fuck?"

A good poker face is a crucial survival skill for your occupation, but given your employer is currently burning in hell, you are very much off the clock right now. You double over with laughter. "Oh heavens, sire. You're too gullible, oh stars and suns, oh- Oh!"

Helel's clawed hand yanks you up by the hair. "Are you five years old. Greater men have died for lesser-"

"Let me down, please, sire!" The twinge of stifled laughter slurring your pleas for your life don't help your case. "I'm sorry! Please!"

You're dropped in a crumpled, jingling heap on the floor. Briefly, the Morning Star considers sending you to the gallows, but is it really worth the effort? Your transgressions, frequent as they were, weren't significant enough for that. Besides, on a smaller level he won't admit, his pride refuses to let you get to him. "I'll take you up on the tour offer." He declares with finality, crossing his arms. "You touch everything before I do."

"Yes, sire!" You jump up to attention, back ramrod straight in a mockery of military obedience. "Does that make me the royal toucher? Or king's toucher? That's like being a king's taster but instead of tasting-"

Your voice trails off as you feel Helel's glare burning through his mask and into your skull.

"Ahem. On the left, we have war spoils from the southeastern peninsula…"

…

Truly, the home renovation aspect of overthrowing corrupt tyrants is underestimated. The remainder of the afternoon was spent sorting doohickeys into piles in the middle of the floor for future storage. Or rather, Helel did the majority of the heavy lifting while you (un)helpfully stood in the corner, regaling him with tales of the previous regime and the exact happenings of court life. He wants to tell you to stop talking for 5 minutes and do something useful but you would probably cite the importance of 'moral support' and try to weasel your way out of it. Besides, even if you were trying to do something of substance, it probably involved inventing new ways to fuck up moving furniture, fiddling with his temper even further. You were like a mosquito, he decides. Too little to do real damage, too much to be ignored.

"There was this one time I was doing a bit about his virility and he said he could prove me wrong right there if I wanted." You were presently cross legged on an intricate rug (tribute from the Sun King's unfortunate allies), juggling a series of crystal balls (priceless artifacts, stained with blood by the 'divine' conqueror). "So I said 'You should know that I'm a eunuch', and he went, 'It doesn't matter.' We were hilarious."

The Usurper scratches his chin, half listening. It didn't sound hilarious, just weird. "You're sure he didn't bed you?"

"A joke is just a joke, you know."

"Okay. Just checking." Helel paused. "Then are you really a eunuch?"

"Are you gonna check that too?"

"No." You were really getting your money's worth from that previous temporary generalization.

…

After the walls and shelves were bare, and the loot was bundled up in leather bags, the Eclipse sank into one of the plush chairs, kicking his feet onto the table and massaging his temples. With any luck, you were as tired as he was, and he could slip away while you rested.

You yawned. "Ahh. That's enough for one day, I think." Helel watched as you plopped back down on your hideous cushion, procuring a lit pipe from thin air and taking a hefty drag. "Will you be looking for new furnishings?"

"Probably. This stuff is way too tacky."

A wisp of smoke drifts past, and the Morning Star feels that tell-tale foreboding feeling behind his shoulder again. "Will you be looking for new castle staff?" You bat your eyelashes.

He meets your expectant gaze with the exhaustion of someone who just fought another war and lost. "You're staying?"

Deliberately misinterpreting his question as a statement, you perk up, grinning from ear to ear. "Well, I can't refuse a direct order such as that! Especially not from his most esteemed, illustrious (and if I may add, very handsome) Majesty!" Bowing at the waist with a bell-bedecked flourish, you shoot back to eye level with hands clasped, nearly butting him in the head with your stupid hat. "When do I start work?"

...

(jump cut to jester being tossed out of tower window) this is too long to be funny but idc anymore. next time i'll write romance but i needed to fulfill my desire to annoy him

#identity v #identity v x reader #ithaqua #nathaniel norwell #ithaqua x reader #hey hey if i don't tag it nobodys gonna see it

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themidnightcrimson · 2 years

Text

My Girl. | e. olsen

summary: in which you are having a tough time, and lizzie does everything in her might to make her girl feel better.

warnings: literally just 3.7K words of lizzie being so cute and caring, pure fluff, i wish this was me, let me be delulu for a second

masterlist.

The hazy cocoon of darkness in your room was disturbed by the harsh sound of the curtains being drawn apart on their metal rod and the instant flood of bright sunshine that cast directly across your face. Your body awoke suddenly, realizing a heaviness in your eyelids and a weight within you that had you sinking into the bed for however long you had been asleep.

It was a struggle to get your eyes open between how puffy they were and the bright yellow sun beaming into them like a golden laser. Through your squinted eyelids, you saw a blurry yet familiar figure walk towards you, disrupting the light from the window directly across the bed.

“Wake up, sleepyhead,” Lizzie’s raspy voice emanated—you could barely piece it together from just how sleepy you were.

Groaning, you rubbed your eyes and shifted under the blankets, not daring to move too much. As Lizzie sat on the edge of the bed near you, you glanced at the clock sitting on the nightstand beside your head.

“Lizzie, it’s not even 7 yet,” you croaked, taking the duvet and pulling it up to your nose as you laid on your side, closing your burning eyes.

“Baby, I don’t think you’ve seen 7 A.M. in weeks,” she remarked, and it was then that you could smell the scent of green tea.

Opening your eyes in curiosity, you saw that Lizzie was holding a little teacup from which steam twirled up into the air. Blinking hard, you looked up at Lizzie who was already staring down at you with a look of patience. You haven’t had the best of times as of late. For whatever reason, from whatever origin, a seed of sadness had sowed within you and grown to blossom in the form of a deep attachment to your bed and a general apathy towards everything you used to love.

Before this unreasoned wave of despondency had crashed over you, you loved getting up at the crack of dawn with Lizzie and spending your mornings walking outside to soak up the sun, going on coffee runs, going to the grocery store before anyone else had the heart to be in a Trader Joe’s at that time of morning. You would spend your days productively, whether writing or reading or working on whatever projects you had under your belt.

Now it seemed you were capable of nothing more than laying in bed and mindlessly watching TV. In fact, you hadn’t been outside of your shared home in several days, maybe even over a week.

Not only was Lizzie feeling lonely without her usual companion, but she was worried about you. This low was putting a pallor in your face and blue around your eyes. As much as she had wanted to poke and prod you to know what was going on, with her desperate need to be aware and in control of everything that involved the person she most deeply loved, she had reasoned enough with herself to give you some space. She had seen you in these lows before, but it had never lasted as long as this one.

“I made you some green tea with citrus,” Lizzie whispered softly, her thumb rubbing over the warm handle of the teacup. “Why don’t you sit up and drink some?”

Your languid gaze up at her was enough to tell her it would take more to get you out of your stubborn horizontal state. Although you had been close to hissing at the presence of the sunlight filling the room, you noticed how nicely it lit Lizzie’s face. Her sun-kissed skin was dewy and glowing, signaling she had just done her extensive skincare routine. Her eyes were a bit darker since she was facing away from the sun, but you could spot the sage green sparkling around her pupils. Her lips, soft and pink, were pressed together, the only sign of impatience on her face. Her dirty blonde hair was thrown up into a messy updo with her bangs curtaining over her eyebrows which were damp from whatever products she had put on her face.

Lizzie had always tried to be a gentle supporter, but she was naturally adamant and slightly aggressive. While she resorted to coddling you in the beginning of your lowness, she was now left with her own way to get you out of bed.

Placing the teacup on the nightstand, Lizzie jumped off the bed and grabbed the blankets cocooning you, ripping them straight off your body and onto the floor.

“No!” you whined, instantly hit with the cooler air and the discomfort of not being swaddled up. You sat up to try and reach the blankets on the floor, but two hands on your shoulders stopped you and held you still.

“There!” Lizzie exclaimed, holding you tightly by your shoulders. As worried as she had been, your wild hair and puffy eyelids gave you a sort of innocent, cute look that made her smile. “You’re sitting up! That’s all I wanted.”

Blinking, you realized that you were, in fact, sitting up in the bed. Clenching your jaw, you gave Lizzie a glaring look for tricking you into sitting up and making you look like a dumbass.

Lizzie’s restrained laughter was apologetic. Keeping one hand on your shoulder as if you would plop back down like a fish, she took the teacup from the nightstand and brought it to your lap, taking your hands and forcing you to hold the cup.

“Nice and warm,” she sighed, sitting in front of you and lovingly patting your ankle which was crossed over your other one, holding it in her hand. “Drink before it gets cold, baby.”

Although the thought of any flavors being in your mouth made you want to puke, as you had lost all appetite over the course of a few days, the teacup was nice and warm in your hands, and it smelled bright and grassy. Glaring a few more daggers into Lizzie’s smirking face, her eyes twinkling as she recovered her small victory in getting you to sit up like a dog, you brought the cup to your lips, taking a very small sip as the earthy tea glided down your tongue and warmed your throat.

“Is it good, baby?” Lizzie gently asked, her eyes noticing a particular strand of your hair that was standing stiff up from your head, her hand following her eyes to gently pat it down.

You nodded, taking another sip as Lizzie fixed your hair. “Thank you,” you whispered almost inaudibly, looking shyly up at Lizzie as something warm swelled within you. She could have just given up on getting you out of bed. She could have just went about her morning instead of taking the time to make you tea. You watched her eyes that were fixated on your hair, enjoying the candid view of her. Gratitude inflated inside you so suddenly that you felt you were about to burst. Emotions you thought you would never feel again were reappearing within you all at once, making you feel so full that you dropped your tea as you lurched towards Lizzie, throwing your arms around her shoulders and squeezing her.

“Oh!” Lizzie gasped at the sudden attack, keeping herself from falling backwards from the force with which you grabbed her. The sound of your teacup hitting the floor made you jump, detaching yourself from Lizzie to see that your teacup had thankfully not shattered, but green tea was now spilling out all over the floor.

“Shit, I’m sorry,” you whispered, the next emotion filling you being guilt. Lizzie had made the tea for you and now almost the entire cup was wasted, not to mention there was a mess to clean up. “I’m sorry, I thought I had set it down on the bed. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“Baby, baby,” Lizzie stopped your apologetic ramblings, placing both her palms on either side of your face and forcing you to tear your eyes away from the spilled tea and look at her. Moisture welled in your eyes as your nose tinged red, and Lizzie was quick to keep her baby from crying. “It’s okay, it’s just tea. There’s plenty more—I made an entire pot!” Her thumb stroked your cheekbone, her eyes meticulously analyzing your face. “It’s just a little spill to clean up.”

Guilt was quick to introduce embarrassment inside you. First, you felt guilty for spilling the tea, and now you felt embarrassed for getting so upset over it. But Lizzie knew you were just feeling extra sensitive, and she made sure to let you know that with her gentle smile and even gentler eyes.

“Come here,” Lizzie whispered, bringing your face to hers and pressing her lips against you, dropping her hands and snaking them around your waist. You melted into the kiss, leaning closer to her until she pulled away.

There was a look on her face that you couldn’t discern, but her lips were twisting into laughter. “Hey, while I go get some napkins and clean it up, why don’t you go brush your teeth and take a nice, hot shower?”

You looked at her for a moment until you realized she suggested you clean up directly after kissing you. Gasping, you pulled away and exclaimed, “Are you saying I stink?!”

Chuckles slipped through Lizzie’s lips as she started to get off the bed. “No, no, of course not, my love. You just… You know… Have been in bed for days.”

Sewing your eyebrows, you pouted up at her, but she only grinned, taking your chin between her thumb and forefinger.

“Go clean up, baby—with no underlying insults intended.” She opted not to kiss you as she patted your cheek and pulled away.

As Lizzie left to go get napkins, you carefully got off the bed, avoiding the pool of green tea on the floor. Your legs felt shaky and weak as you scuffed towards the bathroom, your fatigue seeming to get worse with every step. Halfway there, you considered just turning back and getting back into bed, but you remembered how happy Lizzie looked when she got you to simply sit up and take a drink. She was worried about you and just wanted you to feel better, and it would be torturing her if you discarded all her efforts and went back to bed and refused to do the things she suggested only for your own health and happiness.

So, you brushed your teeth to your own disdain and reluctantly crept into the shower like a cat afraid of water. The warm water eventually soothed you, allowing you to relax a bit and actually take time to wash yourself instead of rushing to just go get back in bed. You even washed your hair, which was much needed at that point because it was starting to stay in place whenever you lifted a strand upwards.

When you turned the shower off and stepped out, you were surprised to see Lizzie sitting on the counter. “Ah!” you shrieked in shock, standing there completely naked in front of her. That wasn’t even the weird part—what was weird was that she had apparently been sitting in the bathroom the entire time as you showered. “What are you doing?!”

“Making sure my hostage doesn’t try to escape,” she said, jumping off the counter and grabbing a towel, handing it to you since you were standing there dripping all over the floor. “I gotta make sure you do your skincare!”

The sound of doing anything else besides sinking into your bed sounded horrible, for just the minimum amount you had done so far had already drained you. You took the towel from her and started to dry off. “Lizzie, I really don’t want—”

“See, I figured you would say that,” she chirped, grabbing your robe from where it hung next to hers on the door. “But don’t worry, darling, this Lizzie Olsen spa is all-inclusive!” She took your towel away from you and held out the robe for you to slip into it.

Glaring at her questioningly, you turned around and let your arms slip into the robe. “What the hell did you put in that tea?”

Lizzie wrapped the robe around you, pressing against your back so she could even tie your robe at the front for you. “Only cheeriness and joy, of course.”

“So… crack?” You tightened your robe once she had loosely tied it and turned around to face her, only for Lizzie to suddenly wrap her arms around your waist and lift you up.

You shrieked, grabbing onto her as she waddled you towards the counter, lifting you up more so she could clumsily set you on top of it. While Lizzie was tall and fit, she was by no means a bodybuilder, panting once she had you on the counter and taking a moment to catch her breath.

“I think we will start off with a nice hydrating mask,” Lizzie said with her hands on her hips, going to the array of skincare products you both had sitting on the counter, taking one of your masks from your side of untouched products to inspect it.

“Lizzie, I really don’t—” You tried to slide off the counter, but she slapped her hands on your thighs and pushed you back up.

“Stay,” she simply said, leaning up to give you a peck on the lips before going back to picking out a mask, trusting you to stay seated.

You did, sighing and letting yourself slump as you waited for her to take the sheet mask she had chosen out of its package.

“Today, I’ve chosen for my client a revitalizing Vitamin C sheet mask to help give your skin a nice, glowing boost,” she announced formally, as if she was talking to an invisible camera. You couldn’t help your lips from smiling a bit as she came closer to you, standing between your legs and carefully placing the sheet mask on your face, patting it down to make sure it clung to your skin.

“This feels like medieval torture,” you said as you looked at her through the eye holes in the white mask.

Lizzie ignored you, instead taking her phone out and pulling up Spotify. A few moments later, some music from a spa playlist was echoing in the bathroom. “Gotta make sure you feel the full effect,” she commented as she set her phone down.

While you waited for the suggested fifteen minutes before taking the sheet mask off, Lizzie decided to go back to her theater roots and start dancing to the spa music, pretending she was in a Greek tragedy. You couldn’t tell what the plot was, but when she pretended to be killed and started prancing around with her hands swatting at her sides as if she were an angel with wings, you laughed so hard you almost inhaled the product from the sheet mask.

Lizzie continued the rest of your daily skincare routine, and you found it sweet how she had paid so much attention to you that she knew your routine step-by-step without you even telling her. Of course, she would pick back up on the Greek tragedy every time a product needed a few minutes to sit, depicting the afterlife in the best way she could with the generic music playing in the background. She ended the spa routine by drying your hair, making funny faces at you in the mirror that made you giggle until your stomach hurt.

Finally, you were done, and Lizzie ran to the bedroom to pick out some comfy clothes for you, coming back and handing them to you with a proper bow as if she were just a mere servant. You made sure to tell her how silly she was, and she made sure to tell you how much she adored her Queen as she bowed and walked out of the bathroom backwards to give you space to change clothes, bumping her spread arms on the doorway on her way out.

Once you were changed, you walked through the house, almost deciding on just getting back into bed until you heard noises in the kitchen. Walking to the kitchen in curiosity, you saw that Lizzie was standing at the island counter, cutting up an avocado. In the time it took you to change, she had already made you an iced coffee that was sitting on the other side of the counter.

“Is this for me?” you asked as you sat at the stool and pointed to the coffee.

“No, it’s for the neighbors,” Lizzie said sarcastically as she went to the fridge and got out some eggs. She was making you one of your favorite healthier breakfasts. “Unless the mailman gets here first.”

Rolling your eyes, you took the mason jar of iced coffee and sipped through the straw, watching Lizzie get to work on scrambling the eggs. You were feeling a little better. You were all cleaned up and refreshed now, and the cold coffee brightened you even further. Between the sun shining in through the kitchen windows and Lizzie narrating her cooking process as if she were an umpire at a Dodgers game, you were laughing more than you had in weeks.

During a moment between laughter, when Lizzie was fully concentrated on mashing the avocado, you remembered that she was supposed to be somewhere today.

“Hey, weren’t you supposed to go to a meeting today?” you questioned, mindlessly rolling your straw around the mason jar. You had your days mixed up here lately, but you could’ve sworn Lizzie told you just yesterday about her plans.

“Oh,” Lizzie said, stiffening slightly. “No, no, they canceled it.” She continued spreading avocado on a piece of toast, avoiding your eyes.

“Well, that was very last minute. Why did they cancel it?”

Lizzie only shrugged, still avoiding looking at you as she placed slices of tomato on the toast.

She was lying, you knew it. Lizzie was a great actor, but a horrible liar in real life. That was why you always knew Marvel secrets before anyone else. “Lizzie…” you said knowingly, leaning closer to her across the island.

Slowly, she lifted her eyes up to you. “Well, they didn’t cancel it… But it was cancelled!”

“You cancelled it?”

Lizzie paused, her lips stretching into an awkward grin as she started plating your toast and eggs. She knew that if you found out that she cancelled an important meeting just to stay home with you, you would get so angry.

“Lizzie!” you exclaimed, your mouth opening in surprise. “Don’t tell me you cancelled an important meeting just to stay home with me.”

Lizzie nervously laughed as she started grating cheese over the food. “If you don’t want me to tell you that, then I won’t tell you—”

“Why did you do that?” you cut her off, your voice becoming serious. “I’m not worth missing out on a meeting, especially one so important.”

Lizzie’s smile faded as she set the cheese grater down, wiping her hands on the towel before quickly circling the counter to come close to you, her eyes becoming stern.

“Don’t ever say that,” she whispered as she leaned down close to you, resting her hand on the counter. Her eyes analyzed your face as you looked away from her, but her hand gently took your chin and brought you to look at her again. “You are worth more than any meeting, than any project, than any other person.”

You paused, your brain not allowing her words to seep in and only bringing up more reasons to be upset. “You’re pitying me. You stayed home because I’m all depressed, and I’m just weighing you down, and—”

“Stop,” she whispered, interrupting your rant with a kiss to your lips that surprisingly eased you immediately. She pulled away a few moments later, her green eyes staring hard into yours. “Y/n, is it really so out of ordinary for me to want to help the person that I love? I do not pity you. You are not weighing me down. You have been going through something that is hurting you, and if you’re not okay enough to pick yourself back up, then what kind of person would I be to not hold a hand out to you? I love you—so much. While it hurts me to see you so upset, it doesn’t weigh me down and it does not make me love you any less or think of you any differently. Every time I’ve had one of my anxious spells, you’ve always been there for me. But any time you’re going through something, you don’t let me help you. That doesn’t seem fair.”

“Did you just use a Wanda line on me?”

“Please stop rejecting all my love, baby. You deserve it and you need it, and it brings me joy to give it to you. So please, forget about the meeting, stop refusing my attempts to make my girl feel better, and eat your goddamn avocado toast.”

With that, she kissed the top of your head, giving your back a firm rub before going back around the counter to hand you your plate of breakfast.

She was right. She was trying so hard to help you because she cared for you and loved you. She missed out on a meeting because she cares so much for you. Why were you shooting down all that she gave for you?

“Hey, why don’t we go eat outside on the patio?” you suddenly suggested right as she sat down across from you.

Lizzie looked up at you in surprise for a moment, searching your face for sarcasm or anger. Instead, you were only smiling at her, and she matched your grin.

You took your food and coffee out on the patio and sat down on the lounge chairs in the sun, letting your skin soak up the sunlight as you sat together and ate. Lizzie talked about her garden and what she needed to do for it today, and you told her you would help her. You felt immensely better than you would if you didn’t have a Lizzie in your life.

#elizabeth olsen x reader #elizabeth olsen #lizzie olsen #wanda maximoff #fluff #lgbt #lesbian #elizabeth x y/n #elizabeth olsen fluff #elizabeth olsen x f!reader #marvel #wanda maximoff x reader

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feyburner · 5 months

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tumblr user feyburner, i have a confession. i don't know how to roast a chicken, or do anything with a chicken, and at this point i'm afraid to ask.

I can tell you're afraid to ask bc this isn't really a question. But I will answer it anyway. I'm always happy to talk about chicken.

You’ll be pleased to learn that roasting a chicken is so easy. The below explanation is quite long bc I am including all the information I can remember, to set you up for chicken roasting success. But, essentially, you’re rubbing a chicken in oil and seasonings and putting him in the oven for like an hour. Done.

Remember that people have been roasting whole chickens since the dawn of time using whatever they had around bc it’s the most low effort, high reward meal ever. You could say the word “salt” in a chicken’s general direction and toss him at a candle flame and he would still turn out great.

To roast a chicken:

Buy a whole chicken, however big you want. 4-5 lbs is enough to feed 3-5 people with leftovers.

Prepare a workspace with a plastic cutting board (not wooden bc raw chicken juices) and paper towels.

Remove the giblets, pin feathers, extra flaps:

1. Stick your hand up his primary orifice and pull out anything loose. There is usually a handful of little organs like heart and gizzards and sometimes these strings of pale bean looking things (tbh not sure what those are). Save these for stock, except the liver (super dark squishy organ) which will disintegrate. You can eat the liver separate if you want.

2. Trim off any sticky-outy bits that have pin feathers on them, and the flaps of fat/gristle over his orifice. Save the fatty bits for stock. Leave the triangle of fat directly above the orifice (his tail).

Pat the chicken dry with paper towels inside and out. Get him as dry as possible.

Spatchcock: You don’t have to spatchcock/butterfly but I like to, bc it maximizes outer surface area for that good good crispy skin. Also easier to get breasts and thighs done at the same rate.

All you have to do is cut the backbone out of the chicken with poultry shears or kitchen scissors if you’re desperate. Then push down hard to crack the breastbone so he lies super flat. Save the backbone for stock or jus. How to spatchcock step by step guide.

Dry brine: Prepare a bowl of coarse kosher salt. More salt than you’d think. Like 1 Tbsp per lb of meat. Rub salt over the whole chicken inside and out. Don’t skimp on the salt especially on the inside. It will not make your chicken crazy salty, it doesn't penetrate the meat that deep. Also some will be wiped off before you cook.

Put the chicken on a wire rack on a baking sheet and chill uncovered in the fridge for 2-24 hours. The point of this step is the salt draws moisture to the surface of the chicken, which then evaporates in the circulating fridge air. It helps you get crispy chicken skin.

Dry brine + resting isn't 100% necessary, if for some reason you must produce a roasted chicken on a time crunch. But it's a good practice.

Roasting time:

Pat excess moisture off chicken inside and out. If you did not spatchcock you can stuff the inside with a halved lemon or garlic head, herbs, whatever you want.

Seasoning rub: Prepare a small bowl with olive oil (maybe 1/4-1/3 cup?), salt, freshly cracked black pepper, and whatever dried herbs and spices you want. A good starter is: salt, pepper, parsley sage rosemary thyme, paprika, garlic powder, onion powder. I love me some Cajun spice mix like Slap Ya Mama. Start with like 1-2 tsp of each (1 tsp spices, 2 tsp dried herbs) and build from there. Don’t be shy. Recipes on the internet are like “Use 1/2 tsp herbs for this whole recipe” because they’re heading off 1-star reviews from annoying people who can’t handle a molecule of flavor. Season with your heart, your pussy, and your balls. Don’t be ashamed to use a store-bought spice rub. It’s not lazy, it’s efficient. Also, who gives a shit.

Rub the oil all over Mr. Chicken like he’s an Ancient Greek warrior-prince you’re preparing for the Olympic Games.

Some recipes tell you to use butter, or slip butter under the skin, but butter has higher water content than oil and might not get you the ideal crispy skin. You can do whatever you want though. It’s your chicken.

Preheat the oven to 425°. People will tell you a billion different temperatures—screaming hot, low and slow—but I’m here to tell you that it is so hard to fuck up a roast chicken, you can experiment and the results will always be great.

I like to start at a high temp for 30 minutes to get the skin crisping and then reduce to 375° for the rest of the time to avoid burning. Sometimes you’ll have to cover him with foil if the seasonings start charring. That’s fine.

General cook time: 20 minutes per lb of meat, give or take 20 depending on oven temp. A 4-5 lb chicken at 425° -> 375° generally takes me ~1 hour 20 minutes. If you do low and slow at like 325° it might take 2+ hours. Just check on him periodically. Tbh it’s harder to overcook a chicken than you probably think. 5 minutes, or even 10-20 minutes, is NOT the difference between beautiful tender juicy chicken and a bone-dry tragedy. Chicken is not turkey. He is versatile and he can take it.

Pull the chicken when a meat thermometer inserted into the thickest part reads 145° or above. (160° is the “safe temp” but 1. The temp will continue to rise for a few minutes after it leaves the oven, and 2. 160° is the temp at which bacteria dies immediately. 145° is fine for eating. Disclaimer: I am not a scientist just a guy who makes a lot of chicken.)

If you don’t have a thermometer, pull the chicken when you insert a knife into the thickest part and the juices run clear. Gorgeous.

Let him sit for 10-20 minutes before carving. When carving, find the oysters and give them to your favorite person or take them as the Cook’s Bounty.

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

Again, this explanation is quite long because I included lots of detail. If you do it even one time, you'll realize it's incredibly easy and intuitive and doesn't take much time at all.

Godspeed!

#feyburner ask #recipes

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