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udo0stories · 9 months ago

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“You can’t force anyone to value, respect, understand, or support you, but you can choose to spend your time around people who do.” ~Lori Deschene "Legacy systems" is a term used in the IT industry. These are incredibly antiquated computer systems that are still in use because some organizations have based parts of their operations on them. Because of the intricate web of dependencies these systems impose, replacing a legacy system is difficult, if not painful. However, it is not insurmountable. The advantages of swapping out an outdated system for one that complies with an organization's present operating standards are much greater than the drawbacks. More importantly, though, maintaining a legacy system might end up being more expensive and even risking the organization's existence. You seem to be getting an IT 101 lesson in what should be a wellness article, so are you blinking quickly and wondering if you clicked on the wrong article and if it is finally time to address your bad sleep routine? In addition to the fact that I love technology and will find any excuse to teach anyone I can about anything IT-related, it was also a great way to introduce legacy friends, a term I recently encountered in a way that really astounded me. These are the people who are still in your life because you were friends with them once and that friendship lasted. You have been friends for a while now, and the reason you are still friends is that your unwavering bond has endured over time as you have somewhat quietly changed. Or, in my case, unquestioned up until life's harsh realities made me stop and consider the hollowness of one such friendship. After enduring seven long years of living in the same city, I made the decision a few months ago to follow my adventurous spirit and relocate to a new nation. I was in dire need of change, and I did not find it attractive to pretend to be absorbed in patio furniture while a former romantic partner strolled down the aisle accompanied by his mother. The move was initially exhilarating, motivating, and fantastic in every way. It was all very novel at first, but the anonymity of a new place where I did not have to pretend to be interested in any kind of furniture was just splendid. I went through the intense pain of unexpectedly losing all of my network of support, and I came into contact with strange environmental factors that triggered symptoms of seasonal affective disorder. My light faded as I realized I was alone and lost in a strange place. Part-time postgraduate studies and a new job in an unfamiliar and demanding work environment only contributed to the growing darkness of confusion and misery that was plaguing me. Being an immigrant felt like an endless administrative struggle as I tried to keep up with everything my new life required of me. It is easy to imagine how happy I was to learn that a college friend was spending the evening in my new city and would like to get dinner with me. There was a distinct sense of relief at the thought of seeing a familiar face, and for a brief while it felt as though the ominous cloud had parted. It did not last long, though, because I soon discovered that he had also invited his friend to dinner. This confused me a little because in the beginning, he had given the impression that it would just be the two of us. However, the idea of seeing a longtime friend overwhelmed me, so I gave in and agreed to dinner. Weeks went by as I continued to work hard, barely making it through excruciating assignments and tedious conversations at work that quickly sapped my confidence even though I had nearly ten years of experience. I was told a week before the dinner that it would now be a dinner party for as many people as could make it, and that it would begin thirty minutes after my official workday ended. I was taken aback. After months of working nonstop and spending every free moment hunched over textbooks that seemed to be written in English but were actually all

sorts of Greek to me, I was shocked to find that I was suddenly expected to arrive on time, dress appropriately, and mingle happily with strangers I had never met before while barely getting any sleep. I warned my friend that I might not be able to make it to dinner due to work commitments and that, if I did, it would be a little later because I knew how busy things had been at work. He allegedly said, "Either arrive on time or do not bother showing up at all." Again, I was stunned. I’d prided myself on cultivating respectful, mature relationships and was rendered speechless by his response. My other friends were kind and compassionate and consistently demonstrated their unwavering support for me doing what I needed to do in order to be the best version of myself. So his response was shocking to say the least. The bewilderment soon gave way to some serious contemplation as I struggled to understand how someone in my life could administer such a senseless ultimatum. The more time I spent inspecting the details of our friendship, the clearer things became. The truth of the matter was that we were not actually friends. Well, at least not by the definition of a friend that I had come to know over the past few years. To me, a friend is someone who patiently yet firmly prompts you to finally talk about your broken heart and the dysfunctional relationship you clearly needed to remove yourself from. It’s someone who is so ecstatic about your final term results that they excitedly lift you into the air with a bear-like hug while you temporarily forget your mild but very real fear of having your feet off the ground. It’s someone who will listen to your wails of discomfort in the wee hours of a Sunday morning as you attempt to put up much needed boundaries with your family. It’s someone who offers you a sympathetic shoulder to cry on instead of saying, “I told you so” when the deliciously tattooed guy does exactly what they predicted he’d do. It’s someone who constantly encourages you to silence your inner over-achiever by continuously telling you that a 50% pass is a fantastic outcome for someone juggling as many things as you are. It’s someone who will gladly spend their time letting you interview them for a needs assessment survey while you try to desperately (and very foolishly) finish a two-week assignment in two days. It is not someone who has known about your challenges in acclimating to a new continent yet stayed silent about it. It is not someone who failed to display any empathy or concern when you mentioned that you were sick yet again. It is not someone who offered absolutely no support in helping you navigate an academic degree that they had already completed. It is not someone who complained that the three-minute voice note you sent was too long for them to listen to. It is not someone who criticizes how you choose to embrace your heritage and culture. It is not someone who barely expressed any gratitude for the time and energy you sacrificed in helping them realize their career ambitions. It is not someone who childishly refuses to reply to your messages all because you missed a dinner, planned with no consideration to your dietary restrictions or time constraints, that made you feel like an afterthought. This person is not a friend by my current standards. They would be what is deemed a legacy friend—someone who had remained in my life simply because they’d been there for some time. This conclusion was jarring, but I guess all harsh truths are. The nice thing about the truth is that it really does set you free. With this newfound knowledge, I liberated myself from the hold of this unnecessary relationship and re-framed the experience as an opportunity for self-awareness to outline what I need from friendships in my life. Here are five lessons I learned from the loss of a legacy friend. 1. I am wholly uninterested in superficial conversations and activities that do not enrich my life or society at large in any way.

2. It’s a messy endeavor to attempt to have people in your life with values that are misaligned with yours. 3. It’s perfectly fine for you to choose your peace and well-being over people who have taken far more than they’ve given. 4. As tough as it is to accept, it’s impractical to have people in your life who are stuck in a lifestyle that you outgrew long ago. 5. There is no way to explain away disrespect, and every single human on this earth, regardless of creed or color, deserves unconditional respect. I of course feel saddened by the loss of someone I thought to be a friend, but a consoling outlook is that I’m now making space in my life for people who more closely meet my needs. As with legacy systems, removing a legacy friend may be an uncomfortable and even painful undertaking, but the allure of a more enriched life should be a worthwhile incentive to at least consider it. Having felt the fierce love of my found family for many years, I believe with all my heart that the goodness you embody will be a signal to like-minded souls, so do not settle for anything less than what you deserve.

#PersonalDevelopment #Big #Friend #Learned #Legacy #Lessons #Losing

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czarinakanaeva · 6 years ago

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Alina Harnasko wins the bronze medal in the clubs final at the 2019 Pesaro World Cup

#Alina Harnasko #Rhythmic Gymnastics #gymedit #gymternet #pesaro wc 2019 #My Edits #My GIFs #Belarus #RG #there are so many little intricate risks in this routine i love it

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gwendollin · 3 years ago

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:: 𝓘𝓰𝓷𝓲𝓽𝓲𝓸𝓷 :: Featuring Nejire Hado

♡. w//c. 3.7k

♡. t//w. Smut. Fem!Reader implied but it's very neutral. AFAB!Reader. Pro hero!Reader. Alcohol involved, brief social drinking. Slight Domme!Reader. Established friendship. Confession. Oral and Fingering (reader and character receiving.) A single "good girl."

♡. sy//ns. You have doubts about the prospects of love when it comes to your profession as a pro hero, but a special woman makes you reconsider those thoughts in just one night.

♡. a//n. Nejire my beloved. ♡ Finally broke my writer's block! Hope you guys like it as much as I enjoyed writing it. :)

When you’re younger, it’s much easier to find wonderment in the world around you. Your life starts as a series of firsts, a collection of experiences that illustrate beautiful dreams. Pro heroes were shiny and new, dazzling and inspirational, something to look up to and fantasize about one day becoming yourself. However, when one actually becomes a hero, sometimes that awe shifts away from childlike fantasy and into a routine comparable to that of an ordinary job. Your once idols become your beloved colleagues and the services you provide to society befall a state of day-to-day expectation that might feel no different than making your breakfast every morning.

Perhaps that’s precisely what drew you into Nejire. A peculiar little thing she was, in her late twenties yet still holding an inquisitive glimmer in her eye with a beautifully wide smile permanently etched on her lips. She was jovial and bright, a little spark that ignited something within you. You weren’t bored of your life nor your profession by any means (contrary to what that first introductory paragraph may have you thinking,) but you did feel as though you were missing something from it ever since you had neared your adulthood. Heroes weren’t ones to often date given the nature of their govern, but there was a part of your heart that yearned for the company of another that went beyond the level of mutual cooperation for the better good or increase networking to preen public relations. You’d kept in touch with your classmates all these years and held valuable friendships you wouldn’t have traded for the world - and yet, you couldn’t help your common desire to feel the warmth of someone’s hand in your own or be welcomed so adoringly to your home upon your return.

However, the prospect of dating seemed convoluted. A hero’s duty is not a safe one, it’s more than anything a selfless act. After all, you’re risking body and mind to injury while simultaneously subjecting your psyche to many horrors to preserve the peace of society you loyally protect. What good was love if you were constantly risking your lives? It'd be thwarted so easily by one accident alone, if not careful.

“Because it’s important.”

You blinked at that statement.

Nejire didn’t mind your bewilderment. In fact, she found it rather amusing. With a lean of her body in and a simultaneous tilt of her head she’d come close to your face, those blue eyes of her glittering in that childlike wonderment she still possessed after all these years of knowing her. You loved her eyes. “Without it, we’d have nothing to protect.”

“Nothing to protect?” You echoed back.

“Mhm!” She nodded once decisively. “We protect what we love. Our brothers, our sisters, our mothers, our fathers, our partners, our friends - our people. Every one ordinary person and every one hero has at least someone that they love and want to protect, no matter what.”

You’d sat in that intricately adorned iron chair outside the café in stunned silence. When put so simply like that, well, it just made sense, now didn’t it? To ease the slight embarrassment you’d brought your cup to your lips and taken a much needed sip of your drink of choice. Nejire, thankfully, didn’t laugh at your reaction, but there was a fondness in her eyes you’d thought you’d noticed. Had you? It’d seemed like those blue eyes had softened.

“Do you have someone you love?” She chirped idly, twirling the straw in her cup. You’d noticed she always drank with straws and had always taken the lids off of her cup, even if it were a hot drink.

Of course you did. It wasn’t a secret to you but it was certainly to her.

“Um… Well, yeah,” you’d mumbled, almost shyly. “I do.”

Nejire gave a little clap. “Then, see! It’s that easy.”

Was it, though? It wasn’t as if you could tell her, after all. Being a pro hero herself, you assumed Nejire had similar thoughts to your own on the subject of dating. Maybe she didn’t quite understand what you’d meant when you’d asked her if love was important to a hero? Perhaps she’d taken it too literally? Should you have clarified a little better, or would you have given yourself away? Questions befuddled your mind, and none offered or even much less pointed in the general direction of a solution. Hell, you didn’t even know if Nejire swung that way to begin with.

The near periwinkle haired girl had taken notice of your very thoughtful look and studied you scrupulously. You seemed… bothered. Was something eating at you? After a moments thought, she’d perked herself back up again and taken one of your hands into both her own, the touch electric on your skin and rippling up your arm, while her bright smile you’d grown to adore curling back onto her lips. “Hey, would you wanna come to dinner with me tonight? Since we’ve both got the day off, why not hang out some more? I know this great place just in the middle of town. It’ll be so much fun! A girl’s night!”

“Oh,” your lips curved into an ‘o’ around the word in surprise, eyes widening a little. How sudden. It wasn’t like you had anything planned, but… “Um. You know what? Sure, I’d love to come.”

Practically bouncing in her seat, Nejire let out a little cheer of excitement. “Okay, I’ll swing by your place at 7, okay? We can walk there together!”

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:

Six thirty had come far too quickly for your comfort. You were fussing. Did your appearance look right? Your clothes? You'd checked countless times in your full length mirror, twirling and turning in odd angles to cover each and every base to ensure you were presentable. With every anxious check of your phone your hands grew clammy around the device, watching as the minutes ticked down and down until finally you'd heard the knock on your apartment door.

Nejire looked beautiful, you'd thought. Clad in a simple cocktail dress and natural makeup, you couldn't help but notice how she radiated bright and warm like the sun during a summer's evening. She greeted you first with a wave before taking your hand into her own, fingers threading together in a tight grasp that left you breathless.

"I absolutely adore this place's jasmine tea!" she chatted idly, swinging your hands together as the two of you waltzed the streets. Your shadows danced beneath you on the concrete sidewalks under the street lights, as if mimicking her carefree demeanor. "It's one of my favourite places to just sit and drink for a bit, you know? The atmosphere is so welcoming and the food is delicious!"

You listened to her prattle, eyes admiring the way her mouth moved to shape every single word. A flutter in your heart had begun the moment she'd taken hold of your hand and continued it's relentless beating along your heartstrings with every single sound she uttered. It was hard not to adore her.

When the two of you arrived, you'd taken your seats along the tatami mats and ordered your first round of drinks and a starting course of edamame. As you took a bite into one of the fleshy green soybeans, you couldn't help but relish in the tranquility of the night. It wasn't often you were allowed time to yourself, much less sharing it in the company of another. Like a giddy child you felt a smile creeping on your lips.

It was a plethora of food shared between you and Nejire. Goma-ae, kushiyaki, and sashimi had been the main courses, served alongside various other drinks that slowly began to ebb within your system and loosen the nervous strings that kept hold of you as if you were a marionette. Nejire excitedly had plucked a piece of yellow tail with her chopsticks, holding it up to you with flushed cheeks and a bright grin.

"Try this!" she chirped.

Warmth rose to your face, but you were thankful to blame it on the alcohol. Lips parted and you took the piece of fish into your mouth, giving a few chews before you perked up. "It's delicious!"

"Isn't it?!" Nejire cried delightfully, reeling her hands back to curl excitedly up against her chest.

Last to come had been the yakisoba, it's hearty flavor filling your being and warming you from the inside out. Nejire had seemed to share the same sentiment, her hands moving to her stomach as she sighed in content.

Although not as eventful as you'd anticipated, it was exactly as promised. A girls night out with the comfort of excellent food. You'd have to ask Nejire for more recommendations, as the place she'd chosen had definitely been one you'd consider going to again. As you walked, she chatted, and within your mind you began to wonder... Could this have been a real possibility after all, despite your worries? It was hard to worry at a time like this, feeling so safe in the company of another for once.

When you'd reached the front of your door was when you'd remembered your conversation back at the café. It hadn't occurred to you at the time to ask her what she had asked you.

Suddenly, and without thought, you simply blurted it out; "What about you, Nejire?"

The question had caught her off guard. Nejire's head tilted, pretty pink cheeks coloring her face delicately as the streetlights illuminated her features for you. Glossed lips moved quickly; "What do you mean?"

They called it liquid courage for a reason, right? "Who do you love?"

At that, she seemed to grow flustered. Eyes darted left and right. One hand reached up, plucking a piece of her hair that framed her face and toyed at it by curling the strands into a ringlet along her digit. You branded the image in your mind, adoring her more and more.

"I..." she started softly, eyes downcast. Finally, they looked back up to meet your own. With a wide smile, and in true Nejire fashion, she was endearingly honest. "I love you."

For a moment, the world itself seemed to stop. The wind that once rustled the stray fallen leaves on the ground had fallen still, while the ashen sky above that was once teeming with glittering bright stars seemed to dull in favor for the sunbeam that was Nejire, who kept her gaze upon you. If she feared rejection, she showed no passage of it in her expression, keeping that smile along her face as blue eyes studied your expression.

You weren't sure what had taken a hold of you; perhaps it was the constantly ignored yearning finally rising to a head, or the alcohol within your bloodstream forcing your hands to come up to cup her face. Nejire's eyes widened slightly as you leaned yourself into her.

Her lips were soft in touch, tasting of the jasmine tea she'd had last to finish the wonderful meal you two had shared. She'd remained still for only a second before she'd melted into you, her own limbs coming to lace themselves around your neck and shoulders to draw you in closer. It was a tender touch, one that seemed to stretch for eons. You lost yourself in that moment, mind growing still and normally buzzing thoughts falling silent.

When she'd broken away, you'd kept her face cradled. The woman leaned herself into your touch affectionately, bringing one of her hands from around your shoulder to cup over one of your own.

"Do you want to come inside?" you asked, breathless.

Nejire's smile returned, eyes crinkling at their corners. "I thought you'd never ask me!"

In a haste, the two of you exited the brisk night air into the warmth of your apartment. With her hand locked into yours, Nejire led you with a series of giggles and tugs into your bedroom, where she wrapped herself along your body to drag you down into the plush of your comforter.

Heated touches accompanied the roaming of hands. Slippery digits had wormed their way beneath the hemming of your clothes, and your own had lifted the skirt of her dress up until garments found themselves strewn about your bedroom floor haphazardly.

You were eager for her, so much so you couldn't help but marvel at the sight of her. Left in nothing but her lingerie, but the slopes and curves of her body were simply divine. Skin was soft and smooth to the touch, your hands finding themselves running up along her thighs to drink in the plush silk. Nejire had shivered from your touch, that smile turning into a little grin as she cheekily guided your hands down to the heat between her legs. Much to your surprise, the fabric was already damp.

"I've been waiting for this," she near whispered, catching your eyes with her own.

"For how long?" you chirped back, matching her cheeky energy.

"Too long."

When you'd pulled the lace away, you couldn't help but admire her glistening lips. From her entrance she dripped slick, your mouth beginning to water just from the sight alone. Without even an inkling of hesitation you'd dived in, starting slow with your tongue trailing along the outer folds of her lips to tease. It wasn't long before you got a genuine taste, the flavor somewhat sweet with lighter layers of acidic salt that melted on your tongue despite the musky scent. Your eyes fluttered shut, relishing in the fantasy you'd longed for time and time again on too many nights spent alone with your vibrator in hand.

Nejire heaved a low sigh. Hips ground down slightly, clit riding along the flat of your tongue as you gave long, slow laps to her dripping pussy. A soft moan echoed past her lips, the sound ringing in your ears. When your eyes had fluttered back open you'd glanced up to her, finding the girl to have removed her bra and begun to fondle at her perk nipples and breasts.

The sight made you groan, the rumbling vibrating against her clit and making her buck and shudder. Loyally you continued your measured pace, building the momentum only when her hips began to rock against your jaws. Mingled with her slick and saliva she'd begun to drip down onto the bed, where you instinctively brought a hand to her entrance and with care slipped a finger within her.

"Oh, fuck," Nejire panted. Head fell back onto the mattress, hair splayed around her as her hands clawed in vicious grips at her chest. "More, please, more!"

With a smile you obliged. A second digit was sunk into the pink of her cunt, the sounds wet as you slipped them in and out of her in tandem with the motions of your mouth. You explored her gummy walls, feeling around until you located just what you were looking for.

"There!" she gasped, voice shrill and desperate. "Oh god, please, right there! Right there!"

Her body squirmed with every poke and prod, desperate pants pouring for her lips and causing her breasts to bounce and roll along her chest as she ground her hips down to fuck your mouth and fingers. You weren't drunk on the alcohol anymore - if anything, you were falling prey to her intoxicating scent and taste, your own moans pouring from your lips as you worked the girl over beneath you. You could tell she was getting close. Her walls were clamping, desperately clinging to your digits and leaving them sodden with her sticky wet.

It wasn't until you'd slowed your thrusting to short little prods and simply began to massage at the rough spongy patch within her that she broke. Back lifted in an arch and a low moan bellowed from her chest, hands coming to grasp at your head and tug you so close into her you nearly risked suffocating. Not that you minded - you would have died happy, anyway.

You felt her flutter around your mouth and hand, her aching pussy hot to the touch and throbbing so intensely you felt it in her clit along your tongue. Your eyes rolled up, lost in the sensation and high at hearing her wail your name into the open space of your bedroom.

Nejire collapsed backwards, releasing you in her wake. Chest heaved, breasts rolled, sweat clung to her temples while for a minute she could only dreamily gaze at the ceiling. You'd pulled yourself away carefully, withdrawing your fingers and bringing them to your mouth to indulge in the treat she'd given you.

"Mmm..." she'd cooed, eyes closing for a moment before they'd reopened. It were as if she were a wind up toy whose back key had just been freshly rewound with the way she sprung up into a sit. Hands and arms reached out for you, where you'd been pulled down and flipped onto your back.

"I knew you'd be good at that," Nejire practically purred, a glint in those usually innocent eyes of hers.

You couldn't help but utter a breathless little laugh as a response.

"But now it's my turn," she chirped, sitting up onto her knees. With surprising strength, the woman hooked beneath your knees and pinned your legs upwards before placing herself to sit on the back of your thighs. Surprisingly flexible, she spread her hips open wide in her straddle and dipped them down where you felt her pussy and throbbing clit press down against your own in a heated touch.

Her hips rocked a little. While not the best position, you did admit that it was wonderful to feel her slick drip down onto your pussy and the occasional brush of her clit against her own. You hummed, practically purring.

Maybe it was because she heard the little whimper that'd come from you, or maybe it was because her hips had grown tired - either way, Nejire had slid off of you, but she kept your legs held high to your chest as she craned herself down. While you'd taken tentative first steps, Nejire had no qualms about diving straight into her meal with ravenous reckless abandon. First it had started as strong tipped licks along your clit pressing just enough to elicit a hitch within your breath; then it graduated to generous lapping, suckling, and cooing into your folds.

Pleasure began to beat within your lower abdomen, a metaphorical coil beginning to tighten down on itself as she began to work you over. Her tongue was soft, warm, and wet along your lips, making you shiver underneath her as mind began to grow hazy. You kept your hands to yourself, kneading like a kitten at one of your breasts and idly tugging at a nipple. You could feel your body stiffening on itself, the light teasing from earlier coupled with the high of her cumming on your tongue leaving you so sensitive and desperately eager for anything she wanted to offer you.

Hands slid down along the back of your thighs, the touch electrifying. She pulled along the plush of your thighs, squeezing the muscle and fat there and relishing in just how lovely you truly were. One of those hands snaked further down while the other remained, the adventurous one making it's way to your aching hole. She didn't waste time with one - you were embarrassingly wet, practically staining patches your bed sheets - and her two fingers slipped themselves in with ease.

"O-ohh," you'd breathed, your lower lip connecting with teeth as you hissed in delight as she stretched and filled you. While you'd kept a steady rhythm, Nejire had opted to change the pattern spontaneously, using your reactions to gauge just what exactly you seemed to like. And like you did; the deep, firm strokes of her fingers spreading your gooey walls while her mouth suckled along your clit as if it were the sweetest piece of candy.

"J-just like that," you'd managed to croak out, your lip no longer serving enough of a gag and being replaced with a finger. "Don't stop, don't stop."

Nejire giggled, clearly pleased as she peeked up at you. Loyally she obeyed, doing just as you pleased and instructed, watching as you began to squirm, stiffen, and gasp out in pleasure as that coil within you began to tighten to dangerous levels of pressure.

When she'd found your sweet spot, that's when you broke. Except, unlike how you had slowed a bit to let her ride her orgasm, Nejire had continued her relentless thrusts and tender suckling along your clit. The coil snapped, sending you reeling, hips bucking and free hand clenching at the sheets as you desperately squirmed beneath her. She fucked you through the high, taking it to another level you had never experienced before. Vision blotted and your eyes rolled up, a loud moan echoing from deep within your chest as body trembled and shook from the intensity. It'd felt like you'd forgotten how to breathe, the crescendo so loud that all of your senses momentarily stopped altogether.

Nejire's movements finally slowed, the comedown sweet as you gushed around her fingers and onto her tongue. She lapped you clean, not letting a drop of you fall to the bed sheets if she could help it.

When your breathing slowed, the woman was peeking at you with a wide smile. Like a little kid expecting praise, she sat eager, eyes once again bright and inquisitive. Had she done a good job?

"G-good girl," you'd uttered softly, giving that much desired affection of satisfaction. Nejire, now giddy, clambered to your side to nuzzle her face down into the crook of your neck.

While you'd thought yourself rational in your original thinking, you'd now come to realize that Nejire had been the correct one all along. It didn't matter how dangerous your shared profession was. What mattered at the end of the day was who you loved; what you strove to protect.

You just hadn't expected for that love to be returned so fiercely.

#♡.pastries #♡.nejire #♡.mha #nejire x reader #nejire hado x reader #nejire smut #nejire hado smut #mha smut #bnha smut #wlw smut

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jusananimehoe · 4 years ago

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can u write something for feitan finding scars from self harm on his s/o? he enjoys torture and pain and its interesting to think how hed react to something like that one someone he cares about/loves

This turned into 1700 words, fucking hell, I got too carried away, but this subject hits very hard with me, so hopefully I did it justice. I absolutely believe Feitan is capable of caring, even loving, but it’d be a very different kind of love than what most would be used to.

So, enjoy, hopefully xxx

warnings for blood, blood kinks, self-harm mentions, mentions of general mental health issues.

Also; feel the need to mention that if any of you are suffering in any way, shape or form, my askbox is always open xxxx

How did I get here? You sighed, sinking further into the empty bathtub, trembling from head to toe as shame threatened to drown you, the horrible, but familiar ball of disgust was swirling wildly in your chest as you eyed the door nervously, praying he wouldn’t find you, like hell. You bit down on your lip as the doorknob turned slowly, you’d locked it, though you’d also known it wouldn’t keep him out, when had anything ever kept him out?

You allowed the smallest of smiles as your mind wandered, to all those months ago when he’d first come over your balcony, on the twenty-fifth floor at your apartment complex, eyes a little wild, hair a little windswept, aura radiating malicious intent. He’d smirked at you like some kind of deviant, eyes raking over your form, taking in the way your legs trembled, barely holding you up, enjoying your fear, perhaps a little too much, but gods, he’d looked so beautiful. Had you fallen in love with him in that very moment? Perhaps, perhaps it had been later, with how patient he had been, how willing to take things at your pace he had been, the space he had given you, it had all been such an experience, especially since you were well aware, he was a complete and total sadist.

He’d wanted to hurt you, you knew he wanted to hurt you, even to this day, and sometimes you even went willingly, more often than not these days, it was you who went in search of him, desperate to feel the stinging bite of his whip, or the wet, burning pain of his claws raking through your skin, like butter. He’d been more than willing to oblige you, of course, losing more and more control as you gave more of yourself to him with every passing day. You were grateful, you realised, laughing softly at the absurdity, grateful that he’d stolen you away in the middle of the night, and locked you up inside this place he sometimes called home, to be his own personal little toy, but what a life it had been so far.

And now I’ve ruined it all.

You whimpered softly and hid your face, pressed firmly against your knees as the door opened slowly, allowing the dark-haired man to slip inside without a sound, eyes locking on your form instantly. You couldn’t see his eyes burning into you, but you could defintley feel that loaded gaze, and a tremor racked your body as you sniffled quietly. It had been a moment of weakness on your part, a lapse in memory of exactly why you had always been so careful, though he’d seen you stripped down on many an occasion, you’d always dutifully covered the hideous marks up with the make-up that he’d supplied you with when you’d asked. The shame that wracked you now was deep, all encompassing at your own stupidity. He’s going to throw me away, no doubt about it

The scars on your legs had not faded over the years, mostly because you were a repeat offender, despite trying to get help multiple times, nothing had really ever made a difference, and you had tired of people always looking down on you, with their pitiful eyes, “oh but we understand what you’re going through”, or, even better, “why would you do something so revolting to yourself”? The scars had eventually just become a normal part of your body, and since you were too riddled with anxiety to ever really connect with anyone, they’d never been an issue, until him, of course. You’d been tired, too tired to remember your morning routine, and now here you were, hiding in a bathtub as he walked slowly towards you, you fought the urge to cry, or laugh at how pathetic you were.

Stupid, stupid, stupid!

The smallest ones were just pale lines across your upper thigh, the worst, the ones you had done in your most extreme episodes of self-hatred, were raised, bumpy, purple lines, that stood out a mile away, and you shook and cried quietly at the thought that he’d seen them, ghosted a finger over them, even, before your mind had screamed the realisation at you, which, in turn, had led to your very undignified bolt from the bedroom you’d recently begun sharing with him.

A soft touch against your throat had you shivering and biting your lip hard enough to draw blood, will he just get rid of me, or maybe even kill me? The gentle finger trailing down your neck forced a tiny little whimper from your throat, and a low growl rumbled from his chest in response as he swung into the tub with you, landing silently, to sit behind you. His hot breath on your ear had your eyes fluttering as he pulled you back against his cool chest, hands gripping tightly at your thighs even as you made a choked noise of distress at the action. A hot tongue ran slowly over the sensitive skin along your jaw, and you gasped quietly, leaning into him further as his teeth bit down harshly, eliciting a shaky little groan from you as you felt something wet dripping down your neck. His tongue ran over it instantly, shuddering as he cleaned the stinging wound carefully, nails drawing slow circles over your scarred skin even as you watched shakily.

He nuzzled into your throat then, and you turned slightly, before finally lifting your head to meet those eyes you loved so much, shivering at the intensity you found there, shivering when he leaned in to claim your mouth in a slow kiss, tongue surging forward into your mouth as he pulled you closer, tugging you around to straddle his slim waist, nails turning to claws, digging into your hips with a grin as you groaned against his hot mouth, shuddering against him as he clawed at your skin, slowly, with patience, and a care you knew he showed only to you. His eyes burned as he gazed down at your soft figure, eye twitching as he battled with his own self-control, tongue swiping over his lip as he squeezed the bloody claw marks.

His eyes snapped back up to your face then, and seemed to read the uncertainty there, the indescribable terror, at the thought of being abandoned by the only person you’d ever met who seemed to understand your need to be punished, to be hurt, to be pushed to the very limit of consent. His forehead touched yours gently, stormy eyes locked on yours as you breathed him in, comforted by the tangy smell of copper and blood that clung to him, strange to others, comforting to you. You bit your lip and took a risk, eyes flicking down so you didn’t have to see his reaction.

“I’m afraid that if I let you see every side of me, you’ll be disgusted”, whispered so softly you almost hoped he wouldn’t hear it, but judging by the tightening of his grip, the way his claws dug further into your supple flesh as you shivered, he’d heard you just fine. A warm mouth pressed against your jaw then, before moving up your face, across your cheeks, over your nose, pressing against your mouth, before tangling his tongue with yours again, slowly, like he was mapping out the inside of your mouth in intricate detail, leaving you gasping against his mouth when he finally pulled back to look at you, expression unreadable.

His eyes fluttered, his mouth turned down in a slight grimace before he opened it slowly, “I-“, he cut himself off, appearing frustrated by his inability to find the correct wording, his left hand moving up to card his now soft hands through your hair, lost in thought for a moment, considering carefully as you waited with bated breath, body trembling against him even as he tugged you closer, hands running up and down your arms to address the little bumps now appearing on your skin, when had it got so cold?

“I-“, he began again, still looking a touch uncertain as he tilted his head, eyes focusing on you with a seriousness that knocked all the breath out of your chest, “I-like-broken-things”, he managed to say, voice as monotone as it always was, and yet, you could feel the sudden emotion behind it, his desperate desire to get this right. ” Find-them-interesting”, he continued before shaking his head swiftly, looking annoyed with himself, “beautiful”, he amended quietly, “find-them-beautiful”. You trembled, nose brushing against his as your pressed closer to him.

“Maybe-that-is-why”, he began slowly, face scrunched in concentration, eyes a little wider than usual, “why-i-find-you-beautiful”, he finished, averting his eyes instantly, clearly uncomfortable. You shivered, arms trembling as you sat in his lap, hands running slow up and down his bare chest, eyes wet with unshed tears as you took it all in, he wasn’t leaving you. Your mouth found his a moment later, nails digging into his back and raking down his skin as he hissed underneath you in pleasure, claws returning to your hips again.

He claimed your mouth hungrily as you ground slowly down against him, moaning loudly into his mouth as he grabbed your ass, sharp claws breaking the skin with ease, pressing hard enough to leave a scar, for sure. “Only-me”, mumbled against your bare shoulder as he bit down, hard, drawing a desperate little squeal from you as you tugged on his dark locks pleadingly. “Only-I-hurt-you-now”, he finished before biting down viciously again, groaning as the taste of blood filled his mouth.

Your head collapsed against his as you trembled and gasped, body like a live wire against him as you went boneless, too enraptured in all the emotions, all the pleasure surging through you to really pay much attention, though you forced your brain to form a coherent sentence, knowing he’d be expecting a confirmation.

“Yes”, whispered softly against his hair as your breathing grew more laboured, “yes, only you”, enjoying the contented little hum against your stinging shoulder as he smirked slowly against your bloody skin, already bruising a dark purple under the sharp bite of his teeth.

“Only you, Feitan”.

#feitan #feitan x reader #feitan smut #feitan portor #phantom troupe #hunter x hunter #hxh #some fluff maybe #slightly soft feitan #but not really #fluff #smut

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rufousnmacska · 4 years ago

Note

Um hi, hello, I’m just wondering if you cold maybe write a manorian au dance or a ren faire would be fab. Thanks

I lost track of how long this request has been in my drafts, so I’m really sorry it’s taken so long to write. I have a bad habit of starting a fic only to get bogged down about how detailed the plot should be, leaving me not wanting to finish it. I’m not good at just banging out a short story and posting it. But for this one, I tried doing that. I hope you like it anon, if you’re still around!

Full disclosure - I’ve never been to a renaissance faire, though I have friends who sell their pottery at an annual, medieval re-enactment type festival. So, I took what I’ve heard from them and added in a little Medieval Times and Disney World. What I’m saying is, please excuse any egregious mistakes about how these things work :)

Fanfic master list

*****

A Bard’s Tale

The Morath Renaissance Faire was part historical re-enactment, part craft market, part food extravaganza, and all spectacle. It drew visitors from around the continent each summer for the three months it was open. People even came for days at a time, staying at nearby inns so they could enjoy all the faire had to offer.

Owned by Maeve and Erawan Perrington, the faire was known for its summer-long war, pitting bands of warriors against each other in mock campaigns until only one survived, as well as its jousting tournament, where knights did true battle for the honor of being named the Queen’s Knight Commander. The enormous market square sold everything from hand woven clothing, jewelry and adornments, to metalwork, and pottery. The food court had stalls serving street foods of all varieties, and a hall that seated hundreds, where visitors could treat themselves to an authentic seven course medieval dinner. Jesters roamed the streets entertaining children, actors staged scenes of roving bandits stealing from nobility, artists demonstrated their craft, and bards sang songs for spare coins.

While most employees were from the region, some, including most of the artists, came from other towns and countries. To house them, the faire had a sprawling campground filled with brightly colored tents. At night, after the faire grounds were closed, the camp came alive with employees sharing modest dinners and abundant wine, while music played and many danced.

Manon Blackbeak had been selling here for four years. Her shop, The Clay Witch, was situated near the entrance to the market, ensuring she had a good crowd and a view of the jousting arena. With her cousins’ help, Manon did a brisk business. She made pottery the rest of the year, selling most of it here, and her cousins were responsible for the rest: healing teas, fragrant candles, love potions, amulets, and other trinkets of a witchy nature. She wasn’t a people person, so she had a sales assistant named Elide who handled that side of the business. Together with her cousins, they took part in the war, calling their band the Blackbeak Coven. In years past, they’d made it into the final week or two of the campaign, but they’d never won.

Despite her competitiveness, Manon had always been fine with that outcome. While Maeve oversaw the jousting as Queen, Erawan was the King who lead the war. He had a habit of looking at her a little too long, his gaze roaming over her body in a way that made her want to shower it off with scalding hot water. She made sure never to be alone with him, usually finding someplace else she needed to be in order to avoid him.

The whole situation pissed her off. Her pottery studio was in a town a few hours away and this faire had been a great opportunity to build her business. They made good money here, enjoyed themselves in the battles, and had made lifelong friends in the campground. But, she was seriously considering not coming back next year. All because some creepy asshole wouldn’t leave her alone.

As she watched Elide wait on some customers, she grew angrier. Other people depended on her. She knew they’d understand and support her, but not coming back felt as though she’d be letting them down.

Outside, she heard people speaking in loud, reverent tones and knew what time it was, not needing to look at her watch. She contemplated hiding in the back just to see what would happen. But when she caught the first sounds of his voice, she found herself grinning.

At ten o’clock in the morning, every day, Dorian Havilliard made his way to her shop to serenade her, always with a group of adoring fans trailing behind.

It hadn’t taken long for Manon to recognize some of the faces of the people who came back again and again just to watch Dorian perform. He played his part well, flirting and making up spontaneous songs to please his audience. If ever their adoration crossed the line into inappropriateness, he’d break out the charm and shy away, making his discomfort clear. All while still obtaining a sizable tip.

Manon crossed her arms and leaned against the entrance to her booth, watching him approach. He had a preternatural gift for coming up with lyrics and melodies on the spot. She’d never admit it to him, but she’d come to enjoy his morning visits.

As for his nightly visits to her tent, it was impossible for her to hide her appreciation then, much to her annoyance.

This was his first and only summer working at the faire. He’d been dragged along by a friend who was dating a knight. Rowan Whitethorn was Maeve’s nephew and had been crowned her Knight Commander in the jousting arena for three years running. The rumor mill went crazy at the start of this season when he arrived with a girlfriend who was from Terrasen. Aelin brought an entourage with her, a bunch of friends from college who were looking for one last fun summer to tide them over before heading off into the real world in the fall. Chaol worked as a royal guard and his girlfriend, a pre-med major, worked in the first aid clinic that served visitors and employees alike. Aelin’s cousin Aedion had fallen quickly into a warrior group and rose to become their general, while his girlfriend Lysandra worked as a fortune teller. Manon and her cousins, who had known Rowan for years, had met them on the first day and they’d become fast friends.

And then there was Dorian. Who, within the first week of opening, had become the most popular bard at the faire. The center of attention wherever he roamed.

Manon smirked as he stopped a few feet from her. Today, as usual, he wore a well fitting tunic with Intricate embroidery that took the shape of wyverns. Curls that had not been there at the start of the season hung around his ears.

With a deep bow and flourish of his hand, he said, “Good morning Lady. I pray you had a pleasant evening.”

She managed to keep her expression unchanged, even though the memories of last night threatened to turn her face a brilliant red. Gripping the sword that hung at her hip, she said, “Lady? I see no lady here.”

“Ah, but you are a lady. Lady artisan,” he said gesturing to her pottery. “Lady warrior,” a glance to her sword. “And a lady of pure moonlight,” he said, nodding at the long white braid that fell across her shoulder.

Her hair was a constant source of interest for him. She didn’t think it crossed into the realm of being a fetish, but he very much enjoyed pulling it whenever he had the chance. She did too. And she enjoyed seeing his gem like eyes flash when she lifted the braid and wiggled the end at him.

Elide and a couple of customers audibly sighed at his words. Manon whirled and gave her a deadly look, but the young woman just ignored her, watching Dorian begin to play as she placed a hand on her heart. She’d been pushing Manon all summer to go out with Dorian. Wanting to preserve Elide’s innocence, Manon never revealed what happened in her tent most nights. And finally, with that thought, the blood rushed to her cheeks.

He sang a quick tune that compared her beauty to that of the moon, bowed again, and with a wink, he was off. His followers who returned day after day just to see him never seemed to think anything of his daily routine of singing to her. Either they were simply too enchanted by his voice and handsome looks, or they just didn’t care, thinking it was all part of the act, confident he would acknowledge them when he was out of character.

As he made his way towards the market square, Manon caught sight of someone who did notice, and clearly cared.

Maeve watched from across the wide street. Her black eyes held none of the smile that spread across her face, and Manon felt a chill crawl up her spine. She did not like Dorian’s daily ritual of showering Manon with attention. After a moment filled with tension, Maeve turned away and disappeared into the crowd.

Just as her husband gave Manon unwanted attention, Maeve had been doing the same thing to Dorian. He’d mentioned it once or twice, trying to brush it off. But Manon had heard the discomfort in his voice, could see the way he held himself in Maeve’s presence, trying to escape her notice and almost turning to stone when she inevitably did. The other night at one of the bonfires in the camp, someone had teased him about it. Dorian laughed and said after this weekend, he’d never see her again. The comment had hit Manon hard, as she’d realized the same could be said of her. In a matter of days, this season would end and they’d return to their homes on opposite sides of the country. With no reason to ever see each other again.

*****

Managing to escape his fans, Dorian ducked into an alley that led to the back offices. He’d seen Maeve following him this morning, and for the first time all summer, he’d considered not going to Manon’s shop. This was a summer job for him, a one time thing before he started working for his father. But she was an artist whose livelihood depended on events like this. He didn’t want to risk getting her in trouble because the owner had some kind of sick crush on him. The season was winding down and this weekend would be the last. He only needed to avoid Maeve’s interest for a few more days.

“Ouch! Watch it!”

“You watch it! Big oaf. No one told you to do tricks on your horse while you were jousting.”

Stopping at the door to the first aid clinic, Dorian found Yrene examining Lorcan, one of the knights who competed in the arena. Like the other jousters, the guy was huge, and Dorian couldn’t help but admire Yrene for not taking any shit from him. Lorcan spotted him watching from the entrance and rolled his eyes.

With his elaborate costumes, zealous following, and natural charm, Dorian was not the most popular of people among the warriors at the faire. He got along well with Rowan and Fenrys, but some of the others looked down at him for his portrayal of the flirty bard. He suspected it had more to do with the tips he made, money that he didn’t need due to his family’s wealth. Chaol and Yrene were the only ones who knew he’d be donating all of it to charity at the end of the season.

Yrene lifted Lorcan’s arm, moving his shoulder around in the socket despite his grimace and stifled groans of pain. “You’ve definitely torn something,” she said, pushing into his joint with her small fingers. “You’ll need to get an X-ray.”

“You can’t just put it in a sling? So I can joust on Sunday?” he asked, relieved when she let go of him, only to wince again when his arm landed in his lap.

With a scathing look that made Lorcan recoil slightly, she said, “If you want to damage it further, sure. I could do that. And then you’ll definitely need surgery. As it is, you might get away with some physical therapy. Which will not be fun. But if you continue jousting, you’re looking at hospital time.”

“Shit,” he said, dropping his head into his good hand. “It’s the finals this weekend. Maeve is going to kill me. After she fires me.”

Not wanting to hang around and interrupt her work, Dorian quickly asked, “Any idea where Chaol is right now?”

Yrene shrugged as she pulled a sling out of a supply cabinet. “Maybe near the battlefield? He mentioned they needed extra help setting some things up for this weekend.”

“Thanks,” he said. Then to Lorcan, “Good luck, man.”

“Yeah,” Lorcan replied, sounding utterly defeated and giving Dorian an odd look. “Thanks.” It was the tone, the actual gratitude in the word, that made Dorian realize the look was one of kindness. At least, Lorcan’s version.

Sneaking along the paths he used to stay away from the crowds, Dorian emerged near the stands overlooking the battlefield. This Saturday the two armies that had survived the summer would face each other for one final battle.

Maeve had been smart to set things up this way, making the war and jousting into a months long competition, ensuring a build up of fans and repeat visitors. She had a good mind for business, he just wished she’d stop leering at him.

Even if he wasn’t focused entirely on Manon, there was no way he’d involve himself with Maeve. There was a darkness surrounding her that reminded him of a spider, weaving an intricate web to control everyone around her, and disposing of those who resisted her manipulations.

Though he had never spoken to the man, Dorian had heard her husband was just as creepy. One night at the camp, his name had been mentioned, causing Manon to visibly shudder. She clearly didn’t like the guy, and that was enough for Dorian to dislike him too.

As he sat and watched Chaol and some warriors setting up the dais that would hold the royal thrones for the final battle, Dorian wondered if he was making the right decision for this fall. His father had demanded he come work for the family company. That Dorian had refused to get a business degree meant little to the man. He would see his son replace him as CEO whether Dorian liked it or not.

As it always did when he thought about his future, his mind eventually traveled back to Manon. This summer had been amazing, due in large part to her. She’d captured his heart from the first day. It took a full week of songs before she showed up at his tent one night. After that, he’d waited. Waited for that look she’d give him at the end of the night, when the bonfire was burning down and the camp was growing quiet. The look that said the song he’d written for her that morning had left her wanting him. The look that invited him back to her tent where they’d stay up too late, making love and playing question and answer games, the easiest way to get her to talk about herself.

Gods, how was he supposed to say goodbye to her in just a few days?

They had not spoken of it, neither one wanting to bring up what they both knew was coming. It wasn’t like they’d never be able to see each other again. But there was a weird sense of finality to the end of the faire season. The end of this crazy, fun summer. The end of their late night dalliances. The end of their late night talks, which he would honestly miss the most.

His bench sagged as Chaol sat down heavily beside him, pulling him from his thoughts.

“Ready for lunch?” Dorian asked, trying to sound more cheerful than he felt.

Chaol sighed, tired from helping to build the dais with a half day’s work still to come. “Yeah. Was Yrene busy?”

They stood and began to walk towards the food stalls. “Lorcan got injured. She might be done, but I doubt it.”

“Shit,” Chaol said, stopping in the middle of the street. “Will he be able to joust on Sunday?”

“Doesn’t look like it. At least, Yrene said no. Why? What’s the big deal?”

"He’s supposed to go up against Rowan in the final. Lorcan is the only real competition Rowan has. I overheard Erawan talking about the possibility of this final weeks ago. They’ve been hyping it up to the fans.”

Dorian shrugged. He didn’t pay attention to the jousts or the war standings. Especially once the Blackbeak Coven was defeated last week. Manon had been disappointed, but also oddly relieved.

“You don’t get it,” Chaol continued. “Maeve and Erawan are going to be pissed.”

That made Dorian smile. “Good. Maybe she’ll leave me alone then.”

*****

Sunday came with beautiful weather and a crowd that was electric with anticipation. Yesterday’s final battle, won in an impressive fashion by Aedion’s troops, had drawn record numbers of spectators. Maeve and Erawan had sat on their thrones, overseeing everything with bored faces and an air thick with arrogance. Most of the employees knew how little they were acting, but the viewers ate it up.

Today was the final of the jousting tournament. Being easier to follow from the stands, it was more popular than the war re-enactment. This year’s finalists promised to put on a good show. Until Lorcan injured his shoulder in his semifinal against Fenrys. He’d still managed to win, knocking Fenrys off his horse out of sheer spite, sending him to the final against Rowan.

When it was announced he couldn’t compete, Maeve had gone ballistic. Apparently, she’d destroyed her office, leaving a mess of papers, a cracked laptop screen, and a broken chair. Erawan had kept his cool, though a few twitches of his black eyes spoke volumes about his inner state of mind. Everyone assumed Fenrys would be given Lorcan’s place. But the notice board outside the arena had remained blank after Rowan’s name - The White Hawk vs.___

Last night, the talk around camp was all about who she would name to joust against Rowan, with some joking that she’d make Erawan do it. Rowan had seemed to welcome the chance to knock the bastard onto his back. Maeve was his aunt, but there’d never been any friendship between them. He worked here because he loved it. And now that he loved Aelin, it grew more and more likely that this might end up being his last year.

As people milled about in her shop, Manon felt a strange anxiety wash over her. Muscles tense, goose flesh rising up her arms, she looked out into the street expecting to see Erawan there. But it was just regular visitors making their way through the market, noisy and excited.

Slowly, she realized what felt off. The voices of the crowd had never been louder than Dorian’s voice. She looked at her watch and felt her stomach flip. 10:24.

He was never late. Never.

Just then, she heard commotion from the jousting arena. Over the heads of the crowd, she could just make out Asterin’s blond hair as her cousin waved for her to come over.

Pushing through the people, she found not only Asterin but Chaol and Aelin too, all three standing in front of the notice board, staring up at it in shock.

Just as she never had to check her watch for Dorian’s arrival, Manon didn’t have to read the board to know who Rowan’s opponent was. Instead of flipping, her stomach turned to stone and sank.

The White Hawk vs. The Black Bard

“That fucking bitch,” Aelin whispered.

Manon grit her teeth, her hands shook and she was too angry to even speak.

“Where is he?” Asterin asked.

Chaol shrugged, also unable to speak, too horrified with concern for his best friend.

Fenrys ran up suddenly, almost knocking them all over. “It was Erawan,” he said, breathless. “Some sick game between him and Maeve.”

Manon forced herself to swallow, to breath, to not go scratch that bastard’s hellish eyes from their sockets. “Why didn’t Dorian just tell him no?”

“I don’t know,” Fenrys said. “They must have forced him somehow.”

Asterin turned to Manon and they shared a look. The only way to make Dorian agree to this was if Manon had been threatened in some way.

“Rowan won’t hurt him,” Aelin said confidently.

Finally, Chaol spoke. “Maybe not on purpose! Dorian’s never ridden a horse. Rowan can deliberately miss him and he could still fall off and get trampled.”

“Shit.” Asterin and Fenrys said at the same time.

The sound of trumpets wailed and people began rushing to get into the stadium. As the others debated what to do, Manon took off, ducking beneath the stands to get to the fence that surrounded the jousting yard. It felt like time slowed down, and when she finally reached an opening with a view to the field, the announcer was already calling out the competitors names.

There, at the far end, sitting precariously on the back of a black stallion, was Dorian. Clad in black armor, the counterpoint to Rowan’s bright silver, he struggled to hold the lance steady. Dorian was muscled and strong, but this was a skill he had no experience with. Holding a lance properly took practice.

Rowan, atop his white horse, was within shouting distance. Manon called to him, but he didn’t hear her over the crowd’s cheers and the helmet he wore. She kept calling for him, only stopping when she glanced at the royal box. There, Maeve sat, stone faced and angry, glaring straight ahead. Next to her, wearing the tacky fake crown he sported everywhere on the grounds, was Erawan.

Manon wasn’t surprised to feel his eyes on her, his slimy stare making her feel as if she might vomit.

Just as she tried to get Rowan’s attention one last time, the trumpets blared and the horse reared and took off, thundering down the field towards Dorian.

*****

Dorian kicked at his horse, hoping that would get it to move. If it had been up to him, he would have simply sat here, letting Rowan charge and knock him off with his first pass. Hell, if it had been up to him, he’d be in the fucking stands.

But no. Erawan had stopped him early that morning, offering him the chance to joust. When Dorian had laughed in his face, Erawan had made it clear that it really wasn’t an offer.

He’d seen the way his wife looked at Dorian, knew that there was something going on between them, knew that Dorian’s protestations were lies. Erawan had insisted that If Dorian refused, the bard’s paramour would be punished.

Dorian had stopped laughing then. They both knew he had never been with Maeve. And somehow, Erawan had found out about him and Manon.

“I own this town,” Erawan had said. “There is nothing you can do. If you run, I will find her.” He’d clapped Dorian on the back as if they were friends. “What do you say young bard?”

Dorian had nodded numbly, agreeing to put on a show, make it look real, and not throw the match.

So now, here he was. However many tons - did horses weigh tons? - of animal rushing towards him, Rowan’s white tipped lance leading the way.

Fuck it, he thought, giving the horse’s side another kick. The beast reared slightly then hit the ground running.

Dorian just barely managed to hang on to the reins as he wobbled in the saddle. His lance almost slid from his grip, almost landed tip down in the earth, threatening to propel him into the air like an acrobat. At the last second before catastrophe, he got it under control, just as Rowan’s lance grazed his side, going wide of a strike. The crowd cheered, and though his helmet muffled the sound, he knew it was deafening for the people in the arena.

Their horses continued running until they were on opposite ends. Some lackey of Erawan’s came running out, pretending to offer him advice or assistance. Dorian ignored him, trying to focus on holding the lance up to the proper height. By the time he got it wedged under his arm, the horn sounded and his horse took off, unprompted.

He was able to hold the lance up the whole way, but he almost fell off the horse. For the second time, Rowan’s attempt missed. Dorian knew it was on purpose, and he was grateful. But the way the crowd had begun laughing was honestly starting to piss him off. He knew he couldn’t win. He just wanted to survive. But his pride was beginning to surge enough to overtake his fear.

The third run had the same result as the first two. Rowan missed, Dorian clung to the saddle and the lance and didn’t die. The horse guy came out again, seeming to adjust some of the straps. Dorian watched to make sure he didn’t actually loosen anything, and the guy gave him a nod.

Thinking someone was calling his name, Dorian twisted around to find Manon leaning over the fence, wild-eyed and desperate to get his attention. He lifted his visor and winked at her. The gesture appeared to make her angry and she shouted again but the words were lost to the crowd.

Hoisting the lance up and securing it under his arm, the reins tight in his hand, Dorian was ready for the horn this time. The horse pounded down the yard and time seemed to slow to a trickle. He felt every hoof beat, heard every puff of air from the horse’s mouth, saw the silver armor getting closer and closer. At the last second, before squeezing his eyes shut, he angled the lance towards that flash of silver.

The force of the impact threw him back in the saddle. His feet remained in the stirrups though, leaving him arched awkwardly on top of the horse. Pain radiated up his arm like a wave until the entire thing went numb and he had no idea if he was still holding the lance. With a grunt, he forced himself upright into a sitting position. The horse came to a stop and pawed at the ground, as if in celebration.

The applause and cheers hit him almost as hard as the blow he’d administered to Rowan. Looking down to where he still somehow held the lance, then turning in the saddle to see Rowan pushing himself up from the dirty ground, Dorian slowly realized that he had won.

*****

Manon was running the second she saw someone made contact. The dust was thick and she couldn’t see what had happened. At the sight of a riderless white horse trotting towards her, she sped up, almost tripping over Rowan, who laid sprawled on the ground. His helmet had come off and he had a big grin on his face.

When she reached Dorian, he was sliding off the horse, the weight of his armor pulling him down faster than he could handle. She caught him just before he could land on his ass. Propping him against the stallion, she tore the helmet from his head and yelled, “What the fuck were you thinking? You could have been killed!”

Dorian, a little dazed, a little breathless, said nothing. He pulled her close and kissed her.

The crowd erupted, roaring their approval and chanting his name. “Black Bard! Black Bard! Black Bard!”

Yrene came over with a small medical bag, but Dorian waved her off, then went back to kissing Manon. When he let go, she stumbled backwards, still clutching his armor. His horse was strutting around them, loving the attention, while flowers rained down around them from the stands.

It was tradition for the victorious knight to gather the flowers and present them to Maeve; the Knight Commander honoring his queen. But Dorian had not been aware of the tradition. And she knew he wouldn’t have done it anyway.

Manon watched as he bent down, slowly so as not to fall over, and picked up a handful of poppies and daisies and whatever other blooms had been tossed onto the field. Dropping heavily to a knee, he smiled brightly and offered her the prize of wildflowers.

She shook her head, unable to keep the grin from her own face. Taking the flowers, she bent to kiss him, but he pulled her down onto her knees.

“I don’t think I can stand up,” he confessed against her lips.

Manon laughed and went right on kissing him. The cheers turned to a loud buzz in their ears that they ignored along with everything else.

Eventually, Rowan appeared, offering his hand to Dorian, both in acknowledgement of a well fought match, and to help him up. Manon moved to leave but Dorian refused to let go of her hand. She was glad for it, and gripped it tightly when she remembered Maeve and Erawan in their viewing box.

The two “royals” looked anything but. Maeve clapped in a meager attempt to save face at Dorian’s insult with the flowers. And Erawan glared at them both, his hate for them rising off his skin like heat in a desert.

Dorian squeezed her hand and Manon remembered why they were out here, why Dorian had risked his life.

“I know why you did this,” she said. “I wish you would have found me first.”

“What would you have done?”

She smirked. “I would have sliced him up with my sword.”

"My lady warrior,” he said, his face dropping with exhaustion as the adrenaline wore off.

“My bard in shining armor.” She caressed his cheek and he turned to kiss her palm. “Do you really have to go back to Rifthold?”

It was the first either one had spoken of what would happen tomorrow. She knew this wasn’t the time or the place, but something inside her needed it to be. She needed to know that she’d see him again. She needed-

“I’m going wherever you are,” he said simply, as if there had never been any question.

Manon smiled softly in answer, wrapping her arm around his waist to support him off the field.

*****

The next summer, without its star in the jousting arena, the Morath Renassaince Faire saw a marked drop in attendance.

Rowan had joined his new wife in Terrasen, telling his aunt to shove it. He’d taken several of the other jousters with him, leaving them one main attraction. Cairn didn’t last long however, as no horses would allow him in their saddle.

Other parts of the faire suffered too. Without the Clay Witch selling her wares, and no all-female warrior band fighting in the war, interest waned. Artists began to close their shops. Re-enactors and food vendors found other venues.

It was as if Rowan’s departure doomed the faire. And within another year, it did just that. Maeve and Erawan closed the faire and moved away, leaving the structures empty.

The town lost business, but like others who had dealt with the Perringtons in one way or another, they were glad to see the couple gone.

But the locals still spoke of that final good year. The year when a hapless, yet handsome, bard bested the reigning Knight Commander in the jousting tournament. How he knocked the White Hawk from his horse, winning in one pass. And how he spurned the evil queen and won the heart of a witch instead.

*****

tagging @itach-i @bookishwitchling @manontrashbeak @jimetg98 @mis-lil-red @chloe123love607 @sierrareads @yourfacesickens-me @awesomelena555 @monstrousloves-explodinggalaxies @blackhavilliard

If you’d like to be tagged or removed, let me know :)

#manorian #manon blackbeak #dorian havilliard #throne of glass #rowan whitethorn #aelin ashryver galathynius #chaol westfall #yrene towers #elide lochan #lorcan salvaterre #asterin blackbeak #fenrys moonbeam #manorian au #my writing

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femshepping · 5 years ago

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mass effect canon love interests: isolating and being lazy together at home - sfw version

kaidan - it’s sweatpants and fluffy socks time, baby. he picks out the best movies to watch together and every morning he cooks up an amazing breakfast for you to eat together. you take naps together; he’s stress free and his migraines hardly make an appearance. you do chores together and joke the entire time. he’s happy, and you are too. you spend most nights on the back deck watching the sunset together, chatting about anything and everything. there’s always something new to learn about your favourite man.

garrus - garrus finds it a little harder to relax than kaidan might, but he does his best to chill tf out and not tinker with anything that is even remotely tinker-able. he makes a conscious effort to put down his data pad and spend quality time with you, and you really appreciate his effort. you notice that his hand is always reaching for yours or gently pressed against your lower back whenever he’s next to you. one morning, you wake to an intricately set up target practice set up in the yard of your home. you glance at each other and grin; the citadel bottles? forget about it. this is the real test, sunshine.

liara - liara is very concerned about the virus. you place a gentle hand over hers on her datapad - “it will be alright, liara,” you tell her. she smiles softly and nods. she knows, but she worries for everyone and she especially worries for you. you put on her favourite tv series and snuggle up to her on the sofa. she tilts her head to rest on top of yours, and you stay that way for hours. her hand squeezes yours and you smile. when you wake at midnight to the cool cyan glow of her datapad, you don’t interfere. you know liara needs to stay informed, and contribute in any way she can.

jack - there’s not enough fucking stuff to do, god damn it! it’s a daily struggle to help jack feel fulfilled. she can relax for an hour or so, but after that, it’s a lot of pacing and switching between activities. you’ve let her wax your eyebrows and customise some of your clothing and rearrange just about all of the furniture in the house, but you absolutely draw the line at any more amateur tattoos. the snack supply also depletes at an alarming rate. you’ve gotta get proactive about this. “hey jack,”you shout, and hope she hears from wherever she is in the house. “what?” she shouts back. there’s a loud crash and you cringe. “come here - you ever play doom?”

jacob - quarantine with jacob is a completely equal mix of laziness and fitness. you spend every morning in a routine - wake up, breakfast, shower, working in the home gym, cooling down with some yoga and cool down stretches, eating, showering, then turning into absolute slugs until dinner time. after dinner, you snuggle up in bed and he holds you until you fall into a relaxing slumber. you know that jacob is concerned about the situation outside, but he does his best to keep his head calm, and in turn, yours is too.

miranda - much like liara, miranda is concerned. she uses her professional reach to stay updated on the progress made to help fight the virus and passes that information on to you. it’s stressful, but comforting to know that this won’t last forever. you regularly take miranda food and drinks so she can stay healthy while she works at her terminal. you stand behind her and massage her shoulders, and she sighs as she melts under the soothing motion. you catch a glimpse of an impending bank transfer - three hundred thousand credits to the nearest public hospital. you are so proud of her - you know it’s probably not the first transfer, and it won’t be the last. “come hang out?” you ask. she smiles up at you and lets you lead her into the lounge room.

ashley - ashley is pretty chilled throughout everything. she realises it’s serious, but she knows you two are doing your part by staying home and not having contact with anyone in person. she talks to her family a lot, and she asks about yours daily. she’s on top of the toilet paper situation - you’ve got more rolls than cupboards which embarrasses you but it’s also a great comfort. you’ve already left more than a few rolls outside your front door for your neighbours in need. you take turns cooking for each other, and occasionally work out in the yard together to get some sunshine. she checks in with you often - “how are you feeling?” “are you doing ok?” “I love you.”

thane - this quarantine is so so so serious for him, and for you. with so little drell around to accurately gauge whether he is susceptible and if he could live through it, you don’t want to risk passing anything to him. you spend time draped across each other; reading books and sipping tea. you take regular breaks to chat about what you’re reading and anything else that comes to mind. these chats always end with you straddling him, giving him a sweet and gentle kiss, then flopping down to his side, where he holds you against him and you relax together in the peace, quiet, and safety of your home. he teaches you how to meditate, and when you’re practicing beside him you feel as light as a feather.

tali - netvids and chill. soooooo much netvids and chill. day drinking and movies that are so bad they’re good allllllll day. you’ve both been screened and cleared of the virus and are isolating for your own safety, so tali decides now is the time for her to begin removing her hood and helmet for longer periods of time. you’ve seen her before, of course, but her beauty never ceases to amaze you. you’ll never get sick of her sparkling eyes, and you especially love the way they look when she’s tipsy and laughing. you both go to sleep every night with pink cheeks and a smile on your face, and tali’s bedtime stories about rannoch give you beautiful, alien dreams.

steve - steve’s got a heart of gold, and he makes sure you’re always comfortable, never scared. when he thinks you’ve been watching too many news reports, he gently takes your hand and squeezes it in his own. “it’s good to be informed and prepared, but why don’t we watch something else?” he says softly with his soothing smile. you bicker jokingly about what to watch. you end up playing monopoly. once he gets out the beers, you know shit just got real.

sam - oh my god oh my god oh my god - there are not enough inhalers in the world for the stress induced asthma attack that looks like it’s about to take place once sam has seen the isolation restrictions turn into a full on lockdown. she’s come so far with her anxiety, but you know this situation is a struggle even for people who don’t have anxiety. you never laugh at her or make her feel judged. “how about I fill up the tub and get some snacks and drinks ready for us?” you suggest as you reach out and hold her hands in yours. she looks like she’s on the verge of tears, but she nods and smiles. “I’m gonna go set it up, alright? you yell if you need me,” you tell her. most of the time, sam just likes to know you’re there and be alone for a little bit. she dabs at her eyes with the back of her sleeve and nods again. you’re filling up the tub when you feel a small hand gently clasp your shoulder. when you look up, sam’s smiling her incandescent smile. “let’s get in”.

#mine #ensemble #text post #kaidan #garrus #liara #miranda #tali #steve #jack #jacob #ashley #thane

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divingjudge4 · 4 years ago

Text

Anxiety Treatment And Also Treatment In London, Uk.

Psychological Therapy For Children Teenagers As Well As Households In Gloucestershire.

Content

After Some Time.

What Takes Place In Treatment?

When To See A Cbt Therapist For Ocd?

' Cbt Is A Fraud And Also A Waste Of Cash': Preferred Speaking Therapy Is Not A Long.

Compulsions are actions or routines that you feel driven to act out over and over. Usually, obsessions are executed in an attempt to make obsessions disappear. As an example, if you're afraid of contamination, you might establish intricate cleaning rituals. And the uncontrollable routines as well as actions commonly end up causing anxiousness themselves as they end up being much more requiring and also lengthy. In the last few years, far better results have actually been acquired by utilizing cognitive treatment combined with behavior treatment with obsessive thoughts. Cognitive therapy involves helping the client to reasonably change their thinking as well as therapists have established a number of methods to assist patients deal with their obsessional fears.

youtube

The most efficient therapies for OCD usually entail speaking therapies-- such as therapy, psychotherapy and cognitive behavior treatment-- and medicine. Without therapy, virtually half of people with OCD still have signs thirty years later. With therapy, the expectation for OCD is excellent as well as many individuals will certainly attain a total cure, or at least minimize symptoms sufficient to be able to enjoy a good quality of life. These compulsions or repeated behaviours are usually accomplished with the hope of preventing the obsessive thoughts or making them go away. Executing these routines can give some temporary remedy for the anxiousness. At various other times, the individual might contain uncertainty that they have carried out the routine correctly and so they repeat the routine to 'obtain it right'-- a process that can go on for hrs. Lots of people have rituals, such as examining to see if the oven has been shut off several times before leaving your home.

After Some Time.

Frequently, cognitive behavioural treatments can aid individuals with obsessional thoughts in between 10 as well as 20 sessions of treatment. Nevertheless, top quality research study on the cognitive strategies to obsessional thoughts is still in its early stage and also we wait for bigger researches.

you can learn more about Family Counselling Therapy ='border: black dashed 1px;padding: 14px;'>

Cognitive Behavioral Therapy Reduces Hypochondriacal Symptoms in Long Term - Psychiatry Advisor

Cognitive Behavioral Therapy Reduces Hypochondriacal Symptoms in Long Term.

Posted: Fri, 15 May 2020 07:00:00 GMT [source]

The distinction is that individuals with OCD perform their routines despite the fact that doing so interferes with life and also they discover the repeating distressing. An individual with OCD gets little or no satisfaction from their uncontrollable behavior. Fascinations can be specified as unreasonable and also consistent prompts or ideas that cause individuals to experience significant distress and also anxiousness. The unreasonable ideas, advises as well as behaviours that are related to OCD can be comprehensive, very time consuming and feel out of control.

What Happens In Treatment?

The individual is asked to refrain from the uncontrollable behaviour (table-tapping) and also test the assumption that the mom's life is dependent on their actions. Ranges of awaited disaster are adjusted as well as instructions given. Primitive and also enchanting reasoning patterns are highlighted and logical conclusions made. Most notably, the client learns to tolerate feelings of stress and anxiety that undoubtedly surface area when the controlling behaviors are prevented. In direct exposure treatment, a form of cognitive behavioral treatment, the objective is to create prolonged durations of contact with the feared scenario till the anxiety minimizes normally. Although obsessions decrease anxiousness and also strengthen additional uncontrollable behaviours and routines, the decrease in stress and anxiety generated by an uncontrollable ritual tends to be tiny and also the effect short-lived. Effectively, routines prevent or disturb restorative direct exposure and also rather boost the tendency to ritualise better.

direct-therapy ">

What questions should I ask my child's therapist?

Tell me your understanding of my child's problem developed, and our overall approach for helping her. Tell me about the short- and long-term courses of my child's problems. What type of therapy do you think will be of the most help to my child in his/her particular situation? Why?

Medication as well as emotional treatments can work for relieving symptoms. Nonetheless, high demand and limited sources imply there can be a delay to obtain expert aid. New NIHR study shows pledge for using self-help products combined with modest levels of assistance from psychological health and wellness specialists, while individuals wait for even more intensive therapy. This makes it challenging to lead a regular life as well as is costly to the victim and also broader culture, in terms of lost employment as well as life chances, influence on family members, and assistance as well as welfare expenses. As an example, "If I do not tap the table five times, my mother will pass away".

When To See A Cbt Therapist For Ocd?

Compulsive Compulsive Problem is an anxiety disorder which triggers the private to experience both fixations and also compulsions. Most people will certainly experience some type of fixation e.g. worrying about having left a home appliance on or whether you have actually locked the front door and compulsions e.g. not walking under ladders. Nonetheless, in many cases these signs will not interfere with life.

Cognitive-Behavioral Therapy for Osteoarthritis - HealthCentral.com

Cognitive-Behavioral Therapy for Osteoarthritis.

Posted: Thu, 07 May 2020 07:00:00 GMT [source]

It's when individuals experience obsessive uncontrollable condition, a stress and anxiety problem, while pregnant or in the year after they deliver. When individuals obtain OCD throughout this time, it's called perinatal OCD or maternal OCD. You learned symphonious 2 that the irritating compulsive idea is triggered by OCD and also belongs to a biochemical discrepancy in the mind. In the Acceptance substep of Reattributing, you understand that fact in a very deep, probably also spiritual, means. it makes no feeling to slam your inner intentions just because of an imbalance in the brain.

' Cbt Is A Scam And A Waste Of Money': Popular Talking Treatment Is Not A Long.

In this instance it was vital to recognise just how Islam can change the treatment as well as prevention of Amir's psychological health disorder. Perhaps you are really feeling down and need a risk-free area to conversation, or you would love to fulfill brand-new people or try something various? This website listings over 100 groups around Camden, many providing complimentary or low-priced activities. While some will aid with a certain issue, others offer everyday activities to motivate us all to get out and around. You can make a listing of the teams that are of passion with 'My Shortlist'.

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sugar-petals · 6 years ago

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Sub!Yoongi A-Z

warnings ⚠️: smut, bdsm, dom/sub

a/n: entries for jk and jimin linked in mlist.

a = aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Could not be clingier. Definitely the type to like some music in the background for it. If possible: Loves to be picked up and carried, or just guided to a prepared ‘surprise cozy place’ that promises cushions, calm & plenty of joint napping.

b = body part (their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Tough one. Definitely not the hands, I can tell you that.

c = cum (anything to do with cum basically… i’m a disgusting person)

Jizz and saliva make Yoongi morph into his final form. A giant slutty mess. He always swallows what he can get and blows bubbles. Needs that stuff running from of his nose. Sucks out every creampie, laps everything squeaky clean. Disgust is not in his dictionary. Cum is his skincare routine.

d = dirty secret (pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Yoongi wishes he’d cry every time you have sex. It turns him on.

e = experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

You’ll never be able to tell because he will come across as really competent either way. The type to search up all kinds of kinks on Naver, incognito mode. What you think might give him away but will stay anyways is how fidgety he gets beforehand. He doesn’t want to fail pleasing you. It’s one of your main obstacles to make Yoongi embrace the lax enjoyment and lack of pressure when you fuck. Because the more he stresses himself out, the less he’ll focus on pleasure in the first place. Experience is not a huge issue, but rather, developing ease. Once Yoongi can let go, his intuitive skills unfold the best.

f = favourite position (this goes without saying.)

While spooning. Both ways with him penetrating you, or you using a strap on him. He loves it because it resembles his favorite resting position aka fetal. Also excellent to whisper hot things into his ear.

g = goofy (are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc)

Super silly. Makes funny noises you’ve never even heard of. Adrenaline makes Yoongi go all out. Might laugh a lot during sex. Enjoys your reactions.

h = hair (how well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

All natural. Practicality. Yoongi leaves the little fuzz there is and it’s cute on him. Especially the happy trail. Face, of course: He had a laser treatment, you won’t kiss stubble.

i = intimacy (how are they during the moment, romantic aspect…)

Oh my god, Yoongi is so sloppy and eager. Romance he’s 50-50 on, it’s more about how much you can mark him down and get out every little scream there is.

j = jack off (masturbation headcanon)

The studio password protects him from his obsession becoming known, this guy can beat the meat like there’s no tomorrow. Boy can do this all day. Usually between long intervals.

k = kink (one or more of their kinks)

Asphyxiation. Yoongi loves to gasp and gag himself through sex and can’t help it.

Fancy Clothes. He is fascinated; has something to play with his fingers. Kitten.

Degradation. Calling him names might become your second nature.

Chastity. Twice as loud when he’s locked up.

l = location (favourite places to do the do)

Sofa, his eternal buddy. Needs to be a surface that’s easy to wipe down given how messy as fuckity fucking fuck he is.

m = motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Loss of control, the sheer power exchange. Yoongi likes to be helpless and at the mercy of your teasing. Prone to seek total surrender. Not for every domme, but this guy makes for a perfect starfish. All that it actually means is: Calling for bondage.

n = no (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Hard limit feces. Also Yoongi Kryptonite: A partner’s constant self-doubt. He will always reassure, but at one point, the feeling transfers & drags him down, too. Strong lead needed.

o = oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)

Beware. Get tissues ready. Lives for sucking and licking the living hell out of his partner. Will perform a Cypher on your goddamn nipples and clit, that’s how intricate it goes.

p = pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

A lover of everything rapid and punishing. Likes to have his brains pulverized nonexistent by a good pounding. Wants to feel alive, being shaken, and thrown onto the bed. Would risk some major rug burn at any time, too.

q = quickie (their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

Knows that it takes 20 minutes to properly warm up with a woman, quickies are only reserved for backstage fuckery. Dislikes it because he wants to be painstaking with prep, contraception, cleaning, the whole shebang. Safety first.

r = risk (are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

Provokes you to do some audacious things on him with his trademark smirk or some sarcasm, knows he can get away with anything even if BTS hears the two of you.

s = stamina (how many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)

Likes a literally climactic approach so it’s one time, one hard time, and then mutual collapse. Aims for a typical 30 minutes time frame, and yes, he always checks his Rolex. Probably leaves that thing on while you fuck. PS: Also counts when you choke him, guy’s aiming for a new record every time.

t = toy (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Toy enthusiast, the more torturous, the better. Probably some electro shit to use on his nipples. As for your toy collection: Oh well, he can make that magic wand go out of business.

u = unfair (how much they like to tease)

Outrageous amounts, shit. Indulges in physical teasing all the time trying to guide attention to his attraction points. Arms, ass, legs, neck. Movements: Just like a cat. Verbally, he will dare you to one-up either him or yourself last time you fucked with his tiny font comments. “Can you...?”

v = volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make)

Desperate and pained moaning. Yes, noisy. And deep, respectively, that voice drops hard.

w = wild card (get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)

Yoongi couldn’t enjoy butt plugs more, spends time on his laptop wearing one. He also wants to try sounding and medical play.

x = x-ray (let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words)

Floral imagery here we come. Now that’s a pretty snowdrop. Good small dick lovin’.

y = yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

In overdrive particularly when you’re in his studio, adapts fast. Still goes all ham because of how easy it is to turn him on at the sway of a hip, which comes to his demise when you go for PDA. Yoongi lusts hard for your body, he pictures and enjoys it so much, feels boundless adoration. A lot of his drive goes into worship. You’ll see it in his gaze. That guy is nuts, nuts, nuts for your sheer presence, and always grateful that you spend time with him.

z = zzz (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Still apologizes for it. Dozing comes early, he’s really fucked out each time. Will be fast asleep for several hours with no dream in sight, nor tossing and turning either, because sex with you has the uncanny ability to put him at complete rest.

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lilithsgayadoptednephew · 4 years ago

Text

Holy Hands

Fandoms: Shall We Date?: Obey Me! Not Rated Graphic Depictions Of Violence F/M, Other Complete Work

Master List

Chapter 9

The transition to the Devildom was easy seeing as they already lived there. Now they were preparing to never leave. The house of Lamentation was marked as their permanent address, they were enrolled in RAD indefinitely, and the brothers were more than happy to have them.

It was nice, for the first time in years they didn't have to scrounge and save and pool their money just to afford to live another month. Acacia took up the things she had to quit on Earth. She did theatre, played the violin, joined the anime club and the D&D club. She was thriving and MC couldn't be more thrilled.

MC was especially relieved by the new living arrangement. They'd started so many projects they couldn't finish because they were so busy trying to make enough money for groceries. Now they could go back to school full-time, they could have a social life and have time to spend alone on their passion projects. They could just live in the knowledge that Acacia was flourishing and everything was going to be ok. Like finally coming to land after years at sea, the relief was euphoric.

Although there was never truly peace in the house full of rambunctious devil-boys, peaceful was the only way to describe the routine they all fell into.

It was an equally peaceful night when MC was taking their nightly walk through the halls of the house of Lamentation. They valued the time they had alone to think, to reflect. And it was during this time that the most peculiar of sounds came to them. A soft singing on the very edge of their consciousness.

Walk to me

Then it was gone.

The next night as they walked they heard it again.

Walk to me

Walk to me paidí

Walk to me"

And that was it.

On the third night…

Walk to me

zitíste tin klironomiá sas

Walk to me paidí

Walk to me now

They found themself taking an unusual route, one they'd never taken before.

Walk to me

zitíste tin klironomiá sas

Walk to me

zitíste tin klironomiá sas

Closer tóra

Walk to me paidí

Closer tóra

Walk to me now

They dug their heels into the carpet of the hallway to stop themself from following any further. Through their head flashed memories of a mysterious voice calling out for them in the night. A voice begging for help, begging them to follow.

And the same voice laughing as they gasped their final breaths.

They stopped taking walks after that.

For a few weeks this helped, they didn't hear the voice if they went to bed early enough, and they could live their life as usual. Acacia had no idea what it could mean and suggested they see an otolaryngologist.

Unfortunately the voice was persistent. It found its way through the halls and through the door to MC's room. Seeping through the cracks in the walls to reach their ears and drive them mad.

Walk to me

Walk to me!

zitíste tin klironomiá sas!

Walk to me!!

It grew louder, unbearably so.

zitíste tin klironomiá sas!!

Closer tóra!!

Walk to me paidí!!

Closer tóra!!

Walk to me now!!

WALK TO ME NOW!!

They tried earplugs and headphones and pillows but the voice permeated their skull and bounced around in their head.

ZITÍSTE TIN KLIRONOMIÁ SAS!!

CLOSER TÓRA!!!

WALK TO ME PAIDÍ!!

CLOSER TÓRA!!!

WALK TO ME NOW!!

Inescapable was it's echo.

They ran through the halls as it continued its relentless assault.

WALK TO ME PAIDÍ!!

"What?! What do you want?!" They shouted at the sky, "I won't follow you! I won't be tricked again! Leave me alone!!" They cried desperately, hands squeezing the sides of their head. It felt like it might crack open at any moment from the inescapable sound.

"MC…? Are you ok?"

Beelzebub looked over the mountain of midnight snacks he was carrying to see a frightened and panting MC. His question had dampened the noise for now, but how long?

"No...I don't think I am. Beel I'm hearing voices." They admitted.

In a flash he downed the snacks and approached the frazzled human.

"Voices? Like...in your head?" He asked.

"Yeah, just like back when I used to hear Belphie. Only this voice is singing...and it's just so loud I can't…" the usually well articulated human struggled to compose their words over the cacophony in their head. "It wants me to follow…" they finally got out.

"Then follow it," Beel shrugged.

"But...but what if it's a trap?" They gave Beel a pointed look and the demon got the underlying reference.

"Belphie didn't mean to trick you, he just...didn't really know you." He defended.

"Still, I'm in no hurry to repeat that mistake." Beel flinched and MC instantly felt bad about their choice of words.

"How about this" Beel pondered, "you follow the voice and I follow you. If there's anything dangerous I'll just eat it, ok?" He smiled like he'd solved everything.

Dagnabbit this man was too cute.

"Ok...but only to get this noise to go away." They conceded.

So they followed the song, and Beel walked beside them. Never judging or complaining, just following. The longer they followed the more tolerable the song became. A nice sound instead of a garish one. Perhaps because they were no longer fighting it.

After what seemed like hours of walking, they came to an unfamiliar door. They both stopped and stared before Beel spoke up.

"We can't go in there, no one's allowed in there."

MC heard the song once more.

zitíste tin klironomiá sas

Walk to me paidí

móno eseís boreíte na eisélthete

Closer tóra

Walk to me paidí

Walk to me now

"What is this place?"

"It's where Diavolo keeps his stuff he doesn't want to lose" Beel answered, cleaning out one of his ears with a pinky finger. "Lucifer gets really mad if we go in there"

afíste tin frourá sas stin pórta

móno eseís boreíte na eisélthete

Walk to me paidí

Walk to me now

"I have to go in."

"Wow you're really crazy, I wouldn't risk it."

"Well good cause she said you can't come with me"

"She?" Beel looked down at MC quizzically. MC thought for a moment.

"Yeah, she." They confirmed. "I've got to see this through now that we've come so far."

"Ok...I'll guard the door then" he relented. MC reached for the handle. "Wait MC"

"Hm?"

He hesitated. "If you need anything...just yell ok? I'll come runnin'" he promised. MC nodded once and opened the door.

"I will"

0The room was dark as they shut the door behind them. They walked slowly on bare feet through the forbidden room. It was quiet in a way they didn't want to disturb. The voice had quieted to a whisper as well.

Walk to me

zitíste tin klironomiá sas

Walk to me

They followed the voice through another door.

And another.

They felt like they were going through a maze. Each room leading to another, all piled high with treasures. Not gold or jewels, but old scrolls and weapons and goblets. Each one labeled and in its proper place. All of them seemed to radiate power and history. The whole place reminded them of the cave of wonders from Aladdin.

Needless to say they touched nothing.

Still the voice persisted until finally they pushed through the last door. This room was filled with objects from the Celestial realm. Golden Lyres and silver plate armour. Gleaming statues and intricate tapestries hung among beautiful paintings. MC was awestruck by the sights. There was one more thing that caught their eye.

In the center of the back wall hung a huge golden bow.

It's shape was simple but the handle was carved with ornate, winding runes and symbols they didn't recognize. The string looked like it was made of light. It glowed white, brilliant. As they had expected, the voice called them closer to it.

Moving until they were a step away from the breathtaking weapon, they held out their hand to it, only to pull it away quickly when they realized what they were doing.

"I am not stealing from Lord Diavolo. Contrary to popular belief, I don't have a death wish." They spoke firmly.

The voice no longer sang, it spoke.

"You cannot steal what is yours paidí"

MC was suspicious now. Theirs? But there was no way they'd ever owned something this nice, much less a weapon. And the voice seemed oddly familiar... perhaps?

"Lilith?" They spoke to the voice. It did not respond for a long time.

"yes" she seemed reluctant to reveal herself.

"So...it's been you this whole time?"

"Why do you hate me?"

MC was taken off guard. That was out of left field.

"I don't hate you."

"Yes you do, you despise me and you despise being my decedent." She sounded genuinely hurt, like she'd cry any moment.

"I…" MC had no response, they wouldn't lie.

"Please...save me your pity. You have good reason to hate me after all my mistakes have put you through. But I want you to know that I love you." She cooed.

MC cringed away from the over-familiarity of the sound.

"You are too far removed from me to truly be mine but I love you MC. Like my own flesh." She continued, "and I want you to have this." Her voice indicated to the bow again.

MC ran their hand down the flawless gold all the way to the grip.

"This was yours... wasn't it?"

"It was taken from me along with my wings when I was struck to Earth forever. Now it is yours, it is your birthright." Her voice held a tone beyond pride at the thought of MC accepting the gift. She was practically quivering in excitement to share this little piece of legacy with them.

They looked at the weapon critically. It was beautiful no doubt, but in their hands it would be useless.

"I don't know how to use a bow." They confessed.

"Take it." She urged, not seeming to hear MC. With a shrug they picked up the bow by the handle. The stand latch released and the bow came free with ease. The huge weapon felt remarkably balanced. That's when a flash of light knocked MC to the floor. Eliciting a frightened yelp.

The glow lasted a few more seconds before the bow was gone. They were confused for a moment before raising their hand to their ear. In the reflective surface of a nearby shield they saw it. In their ear was a brand new earring. Shaped like a golden bow it spanned the entire outer lobe up to the helix. They stared in awe at the tasteful jewelry form the bow had taken.

"Call upon it if you are ever in danger again. It is your weapon now, and it will not fail you." She instructed.

"But…" MC questioned, "didn't it fail you all those years ago?"

Lilith seemed to laugh at the notion.

"No child...it is I who failed"

And with that her presence was gone.

The silence was welcome after days of suffering. Unfortunately it was quickly broken by a loud bang. The door to the room flung open and Beel burst through. Full demon form.

"MC! Is everything ok? I heard you yell!"

MC stared back from their spot in front of the bow holder. They had some explaining to do.

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

paidí (παιδί) zitíste tin klironomiá sas (ζητήστε την κληρονομιά σας) tóra (τώρα) móno eseís boreíte na eisélthete (μόνο εσείς μπορείτε να εισέλθετε) afíste tin frourá sas stin pórta (αφήστε την φρουρά σας στην πόρτα)

#obey me!#obey me fanfic #gender neutral mc #Holy Hands

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jeff-stillcoolasazombie · 5 years ago

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The Waiter and the Hotel Heiress -- Chapter 4

Rating: K+

Length: 3276 words

Also read on AO3

A/N: Lucky for y’all this is the last chapter with clear-cut flashbacks. And there’s no Eloise at the beginning either. In fact, this whole chapter is basically from Kristoff’s third-person perspective. Honestly, I’ve been looking forward to writing this one for a while, even though it’s a little heartbreaking.

Chapter 4: What Her Father Wants

Along with bringing room service meals, it was also part of Kristoff’s job to pick up the used trays and silverware guests left outside their door. Kristoff had gotten pretty good at making the rounds on his regular floors to take away the dirty plates, to uphold the Plaza’s neat and tidy standards.

It was lunchtime now, and while he was usually discrete when he picked up the dishes, he tried to be especially quick when he did this room.

He knew which guest was currently staying in this room. And he had both every and no desire to see her.

She must have been waiting for him on the inside of her door, because Anna opened it as soon as she spotted him.

Kristoff looked up at Anna from the floor. He had seen her from almost every angle, but this one was always his favorite. She looked like a red-haired angel, gentle and kind.

No, Kristoff, he thought.

“Sorry,” he finally said, still hunched over the dirty plates on the floor. “I’ll have these out of your way in a second.”

“Kristoff,” Anna started, but dared not finish. He waited for her to speak, but they both knew there was nothing else she could say.

Just like she had said nothing all those years ago. Back when she would normally go behind her father’s back and stand up for herself. She knew what to say in nearly every situation. Her words were always carefully selected, to retain diplomacy even in her suggestive comments. Never one to rebel, but always one to speak.

Except back then she hadn’t said anything, and neither had Kristoff. It was not saying anything to each other four years ago that had kept him in this same predicament with Anna now.

Well, now Kristoff was four years older and wiser and braver. Now he would say something.

“Is he really what you wanted, or is he what your father wanted for you?” he asked suddenly as he got up from the ground. He knew that by asking such a personal and straightforward question, he would be risking unemployment. If Anna found him bothersome or nosy, she could always report Kristoff to the manager and have him fired immediately. But the Anna he knew—the compassionate, fiery, genuine, caring friend—would never do that to a Plaza employee. Especially to one she was so fond of, or used to be. He could trust that she wouldn’t get him into trouble, even now.

He needed to know how much of her leaving, her relationship, her life was her idea.

However, when Anna remained speechless, Kristoff regretted asking her about it in such a blunt, accusing way.

He sighed. “Just tell me it’s for real,” he started, “and I’ll never say anything—”

“The ice machine on my floor is broken,” said Hans from behind Kristoff, interrupting his thought. Hans was walking towards Anna’s door with a knowing grin, an empty ice bucket and unopened bottle of champagne in either hand. Kristoff knew Hans was staying in a different area of the hotel, but hearing mention of it directly made his ears perk up. Then again, maybe the ice machine was fine, and he was just making up an excuse to get into Anna’s room. Maybe he could sense whenever Kristoff was near Anna by herself.

Hans sidled next to his fiancée before he acknowledged the waiter’s presence. “Hey, Christopher, nice to see you again,” he said in a smarmy tone.

“Kristoff,” the waiter corrected quietly.

“Right,” Hans responded carelessly. “Hey, listen, would you be a sport and fill this up for us?” He held the empty ice bucket out to Kristoff. “I’ve got some champagne that needs chilling.”

Kristoff took the bucket. Returning with ice would mean another guaranteed interaction with the couple. He didn’t know which was worse, seeing Anna or seeing Anna with this guy.

“You don’t mind, do you?” Hans asked him.

Kristoff shook his head and gave the same polite smile he gave all annoying guests. “No, of course not.” He really tried to not think poorly of any guests, and he knew it was unfair to dislike this man only because he was engaged to Anna.

Hans nodded. “Great. Thank you.” He headed into Anna’s room while she remained standing at the door. Anna stared back at Kristoff, sad discontent in her eyes.

“Just call me the ice deliverer,” Kristoff joked, and then said, “it’s my job, right?” His eyes remained on hers, as if focusing on her face would somehow connect him to her thoughts. Why wasn’t she saying anything? He just wanted her to talk to him.

Noticing their mutual too-long lingering, Hans stepped back to the doorway and gave Anna a long soft kiss on the lips. Kristoff felt a pang in his chest. Hans was very clearly marking his territory again. He guided Anna into the room as he closed the door.

Kristoff stared at the closed door for a moment longer. He was disappointed in Anna, but then again what could she even say?

----

FOUR YEARS EARLIER

After an entire year of working at the Plaza, it seemed like Kristoff was an old pro. He had gotten into a solid routine that usually began or ended with Anna. Either he brought her breakfast and they’d try to exchange as many coded messages as possible in less than five minutes, or, if he was working an evening shift, they would sing and talk into the night during their piano sessions. Kristoff had learned so many of her favorite songs by heart.

But now they were back to December, Anna’s favorite time of year. And while December meant long work days for Kristoff, it also meant even more time he would be at the Plaza seeing Anna filled with joy.

The two teenagers had really grown close over the last year. But it was more than that, Kristoff realized. Before he met Anna, Kristoff had been a quiet loner, completely satisfied with peaceful solidarity. He had had friends back home in the mountains, specifically Sven, a full-time resident of one of the campgrounds who talked to himself and often ventured into town for a drink. But even then, it was Sven who did most of the talking, usually rambling off whatever thoughts he felt like sharing aloud with Kristoff. Other than that, Kristoff was used to keeping his head down, participating only when needed, and maintaining acquaintances.

And yes, working in a heavily populated environment and being required to politely interact with plenty of people had modified Kristoff’s social skills. But really, Anna had changed him for the better, made him more patient, confident, friendlier, happier.

He was happier now. Thanks to Anna.

Because of Anna.

With Anna.

The highest points of any day were the moments he got to spend with her. He looked forward to reading her written wonderings after he dropped off her meals. He smiled whenever he saw her fix something with all her care and concentration. He got excited whenever she was excited about musical theatre and history. He loved her rose-scented strawberry blonde hair and her robin’s egg blue eyes and her freckle-sprinkled face.

Kristoff was not at all an expert on emotions, but he was pretty sure all these feelings added up to more than just friendship.

In fact, rumor had spread—rumors he had tried very hard to quash—that he and Anna were in love.

A week after Kristoff’s nineteenth birthday, just after his one-year anniversary at the Plaza, he was called into the owner’s office. Not the manager’s office—Mr. Salamone, as stern as he was, Kristoff could handle. But the owner. Anna’s father’s office.

It was the very thing he had been dreading since the day he was hired.

Robert tried to reassure him. “Calm down,” he said, patting Kristoff on the back. “Usually if someone’s about to get fired, they’re sent to Salamone so Arendelle doesn’t have to do the dirty work.”

“Why do people get sent to the owner’s office then?” Kristoff asked. What could be worse than getting fired? Killed?

Robert shrugged. “Maybe it isn’t a bad thing. Maybe he knows how close you are with Anna and he’s going to promote you to her bodyguard.”

For as much comfort as his waiter friend tried to provide, nothing could prepare Kristoff for his short elevator ride to the owner’s office. He could feel all the confidence he had accrued over the last year waning.

The elevator doors opened and Mr. Arendelle’s secretary, Cornelia, greeted him. She stayed behind her large desk, her face giving absolutely no indication if what was awaiting Kristoff was positive or negative. She told Kristoff to go inside.

Kristoff—thankfully, up until this point—had never seen Mr. Arendelle’s office. The large room was more like a suave den, with wood-paneled walls and crown molding and well-kept potted plants in the corners. Standing in front of a large, intricately designed pine desk was Mr. Arendelle. His gray streaked blonde hair was perfectly coiffed, his charcoal suit exquisitely tailored, and his slightly aged face completely serious.

“Uh, sir,” Kristoff spoke clearly, “you wanted to see me?” He was trying very hard to stomp the anxiety out of his voice.

“Ah, Kristoff Bjorgman,” Mr. Arendelle said, and he reached out his hand to shake Kristoff’s. “So, you’re the waiter my daughter has talked so much about.”

“Anna has told you about me, sir?” Kristoff asked, and then he wondered if he had made a mistake. He knew that despite Anna’s insistent informality, most of the other employees still called her Miss Anna or Miss Arendelle. Perhaps he should have hid how comfortable he’d gotten around her by doing the same.

Mr. Arendelle raised an eyebrow. “Anna has not told me about you herself,” he said, “I hear things. I know how fond she is of you.” He ended the handshake and went back around his desk.

“Um, thank you, sir,” Kristoff said, standing at attention. “She has been a tremendous help and friend during my first year here at the Plaza.”

“You consider Anna a friend?” the hotel owner asked. Kristoff was reminded of his first encounter with Anna, how he was unsure if her leading questions were meant to mess him up or help him. Was her father giving him trick questions now?

“Yes, sir,” Kristoff answered honestly, “but I would think it is important and necessary for there to be a comfortable rapport between an employer and his staff.”

“That may well be,” Mr. Arendelle started, “but Anna is not your employer. And it has come to my attention that Anna is friendlier and closer with you than with any other employee here at the Plaza Hotel.”

“Sure, we’re close friends,” Kristoff answered, “but I don’t think—”

“Let me rephrase,” the owner interrupted, his voice slightly louder than before, “Anna is closer with you than any other person in her life.” He paused and stared at the waiter.

Kristoff dared not speak. He felt his whole body stiffen.

“I am certain that you are a fine young man. You have proven yourself respectable and hardworking over the past year.” Mr. Arendelle came back to the front of his desk, his hands folded up neatly in front of his stomach. “But there is cause for concern in regards to the closeness of your relationship with my daughter, due to your position.”

Kristoff thought his lungs were about to fall into his stomach. This was it. While he had been so careful about not overstepping his boundaries, he was about to be let go.

“Let me assure you, Mr. Bjorgman,” the owner began. Kristoff shuddered at hearing his last name so formally. “You are not being fired.”

Kristoff exhaled, and he forced a blink. “Thank you, sir,” was all he could manage. It was great news that he wasn’t about to lose his job, but still this conversation did not seem a happy one.

“However, your intimacy, for lack of a better term, with my daughter is worrisome,” Mr. Arendelle continued. “Anna, as kind and well-meaning as she is, should not be flirting with people of your status. She stands to inherit the Plaza Hotel. And you . . . well.”

Mr. Arendelle’s point had come across clear as crystal: Anna, because of her fortune and upbringing, should not consort with room service waiters. Her father would disapprove of anything less than the absolute best. “I understand, sir,” Kristoff agreed sadly.

Mr. Arendelle stood right in front of Kristoff and reached his hand on his shoulder to comfort him. “As I said, I have heard nothing but tremendous things about your character and work ethic. You seem a good, upstanding young man. But I must ask you to no longer associate with Anna, for her sake.”

And for mine, Kristoff thought. If I don’t listen, I risk losing this job, and this job is all that I have right now.

But Kristoff also knew that no matter how hard he could try to stay away from Anna, she would be determined to come back to him. The longer he stayed away, the more furious she might become.

“I understand, sir, but,” Kristoff started, “I cannot stop Anna from looking for me. If I were to cut her off, without any warning, I would think that would upset her deeply.” It would upset Kristoff deeply too, but he was smart enough to not admit it.

Mr. Arendelle moved back to behind his desk again and sat down, looking over some papers in front of him. “I assure you, that won’t be a problem for much longer. I have already spoken with her, and the situation has been handled.” He looked back up at Kristoff. “I just needed to talk to you and make you aware of our concerns.” He gave a firm nod and said, “You may get back to work now, Mr. Bjorgman.”

Kristoff gave a small thank you, and returned to the kitchen quarters, trying to hide his low-hanging head. Robert was waiting for him, and before Kristoff could relay any details of his meeting, Robert shook his head. He guided Kristoff over to a broom closet and pushed him inside.

“Um, Robert?” he called confused, but then a light above him clicked on, and Kristoff saw a tearful Anna huddled beside him.

“Kristoff,” she whispered as she wrapped her arms around him as tight as she could. He could do nothing but hold her too as shock and sorrow swept over him.

“What are you doing in here?” he quietly screamed back. “I just got scolded by your father. We can’t hang out anymore.”

“That’s why I’m here,” she said through silent sobs. “He’s sending me off to stay with some relative in Germany for the holidays, and then I’m set to start school in Paris after the new year. Sorbonne or some university like that. But he’s sending me away so we can’t see each other!” Her tears were flowing more heavily now as she leaned her head on his chest, heaving.

Kristoff could tell Anna was thoroughly distraught. Christmastime in New York, at the Plaza, was Anna’s favorite thing in the world, and she was going to miss it this year, perhaps every year for the foreseeable future, all because of him. He was unhappy because she was unhappy. But he was unhappy that he’d be losing her.

“It’ll be alright, Anna,” he said, trying his best to stay calm and comfort her. “I’m sure you’ll love the holidays in Germany just as much as here. The Germans practically invented Christmas.”

“This isn’t just about Christmas,” she said, pulling back to look at him. “I may never see you again. I can’t do it! I love” --she gasped for air and paused a bit too long-- “seeing you every day. You’re my best and only friend in the world. I can’t do it! I’m staying right here!”

Water welled up behind Kristoff’s eyes, but he sucked it up. This was exactly why she needed to leave, why he needed to let her go. Anna was the heiress to a grand fortune; she was destined for better things, greater things. If she stayed here, she would remain by Kristoff’s side forever. And what would happen if she and Kristoff ended up together? They would live in a small walk-up apartment in a grimy part of the city because her father had disowned her for running off with a waiter? That wasn’t the kind of life she deserved. She deserved the moon and sun and all the stars in the Andromeda constellation.

But Kristoff couldn’t give that life to her. He loved her, but he had to let her go.

He sighed. “Don’t do that,” he said to her. “Go. You’re always telling me about European history and languages and culture. This is your chance to finally live it.” It destroyed him to say these words, but he knew the only way to cheer her up was with the promise of something exciting, something worth experiencing.

Her tears had subsided a little now, but her eyes were still puffy and red from crying. She was gorgeous even now, as always. He stroked a strand of fallen hair behind her ear.

“Your father wants the best for you,” he whispered.

“But what if I don’t want that? What if I want you?” Her voice was shaking again.

“I’ll be right here whenever you come back,” he said with a sad smile, and she hugged him tightly again. He knew his heart was racing, but he could faintly feel her strong beat too, thrumming against his chest.

And then Anna did what Kristoff had never expected but had been thinking about for quite some time.

She kissed him. Quick and gentle, right on the lips, but it was soft and delicate, like her.

“Meet me in the Terrace room tonight, one last time,” Kristoff said without thinking. “I can give you an early Christmas present.”

Anna held his hand loosely, lightly rubbing each of his fingers. She still looked sad and worried, but finally breathed out, “Okay.”

He kissed her the top of her head before slipping out of the closet. He figured he should go out first since he had been seen going in more recently, as well as having duties to do. And while he tried to maintain a cheerful demeanor all throughout the work day, he felt nauseous until that evening, when they would meet for their final private performance. He could talk and sing to her, and maybe tell her how he really felt. Tell her that she would always be his, promise to be there for her, no matter what. It was bittersweet; it was the last time they would see each other, but at least he could see her once more.

Except he didn’t.

He sat at the piano bench in the Terrace room until midnight, well after their late-night lessons typically ended, but Anna never came. Instead of being with the woman he loved one last time, he was alone again.

It was for the best. It was what her father would’ve wanted.

The staff found out the next morning that Miss Arendelle had gone abroad, and Kristoff had received no word from her since the broom closet the morning before.

So that was it. Anna would just go to Europe and live her life, and Kristoff would serve the guests of the Plaza and make them comfortable.

It was his job, right?

#kristanna #eloise at christmastime #fanfiction #crossover fic #au fic #i made this

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cartoonfangirl1218 · 5 years ago

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EoA ships fluff headcanons part 3

Who does the puppy dog face? Eleteo: Elena, Elenaaa of Avaalllooor! She’s a master at it and Mateo is helpless to resist. Though it works both ways. Mateo unintentionally leashes his adorable eager and/or disappointed face and Elena can’t help but fall too. Gababel: Isabel does. It’s a flores family thing. Only she doesn’t use it much because Gabe already falls over himself to serve her anyway😄 Estenaomi: I was going to say Esteban, but I can’t see young Esteban as a puppy dog face type. More like he’d try to smolder his way. It doesn’t always work but sometimes it does. Less because of the sexy but because it amuses Naomi so much. Estoma: Doña, only Esteban calls it her “wide eye doe look” that is totally a “see through ploy.” An hour later he is carrying her bags through the Mercado, wondering how the hell it worked on him.

Imitating their parents?

Eleteo: Elena always urges Mateo to join her in singing Dawn of a Brand New Day during the Sunflower Festival as she always saw that as one of *the* romantic moments between her parents. She also continues the tradition of reading bedtime stories and jumping on the bed with her kids and Mateo. Mateo repeats the story of how Rafa met his father by taking Elena on a date to that fateful spot and telling their story which touches Elena’s romantic heart and they muse on their own love story. Gababel: Gabe takes Isabel to olaball games as that is where his parents spent most of their time with Blanca cheering Roberto on and going out to eat afterwards. So that’s what they do, Gabe tries to impress Isabel with his moves and she ends up joining him in a fun one against one and then they go out to eat. Isabel brings Gabe to all her parents’ favorite date night spots and even arranges an gigantic dinner spread of food that neither of them can finish because they’re so busy talking to one another. Just like her mom and dad’s first date.

Estenaomi: What else do the do but go sailing just as how both Captains met each other followed by several rancorous jigs at the local bar. Of course, Naomi does spin him around a few times (girl’s got muscle) to dip him for a kiss which Esteban finds endearing. And there is chocolate. Lots of chocolate because that had been what Scarlett was transporting when Daniel rescued her ship. All in all a sweet date. Esteban pulls out all the stops just like his father did when wooing his mother with fun bantering sessions and serenading her under her window. Naomi thinks it’s so over the top but at the same time, she loves it and the attention and Esteban has such a nice voice. Estoma: Same as above, Esteban does some of the wooing that Joseligio was so fond of. Like on one date where Esteban made a rose petal trail leading to all the most romantic spots in the kingdom (you can see where Esteban inherited the flair for the dramatic from) or drawing pictures a la Jack from Titanic. Doña’s parents didn’t have much of a courtship, it was more like meet cute, write letters to each other for a few weeks, then elope and hide until the parental anger dies down. So not many romantic dates but they do write romantic letters especially when Esteban is away on his trips.

What hobby do they try for each other?

Eleteo: Mateo tries to learn how to play guitar. After all he already has a spectacular voice, now he can accompany himself. Besides Elena has such fond memories of learning from her abuelo and her mom and aunt. Admittedly, it is not that easy for him. He can wield his tamborita with amazing grace, the guitar strings not so much. But he considers it a challenge and he keeps trying. Elena has fallen in love with the traditional dances and new modernizations of it that had come up during her 41 years in the amulet and Mateo happily guides her through it, not that she needs much help. Gababel: Gabe tries to do some inventing himself to see what Isabel gets so hyped about it, and he finds it...confusing. He tried, he really really did, but high school math did not prepare him for those kind of physics at all. Even her suggestion to see it as battle strategy didn’t work. Oh well, it was the effort that counts. Isabel tried some of that guard training Gabe had to go through and surprisingly, she got into it. It was like her inner thrill seeker got released or something because she wanted to do the course again and again. Seeing Isabel rule that course also made Gabe fall a little harder too. Estenaomi: Naomi decided to try out ballroom dancing without Esteban’s help. I mean yes, he taught her how to waltz but she was determined to learn new styles by herself so she could impress him. And impress him she did. After Naomi nearly upstaged him in ballroom dancing and he learned how much work she put into learning it, Esteban decided to try rope tricks as she does. Unfortunately, he grew frustrated the more he did and the more he entangled himself in it even after he requested her help. Estoma: Doña usually read poetry during long rides to other kingdoms and sometimes with nothing to do, she’d read it aloud to him. It began Esteban’s appreciation for it. Especially during the Shuriki era. The meter and lyricism was the closest he could get to hearing music and he would start to ask to borrow her books. Doña tried to do the exploring the jungle that adventurous!Esteban is so fond of, but couldn’t stand it for more than an hour. What do they sometimes walk into?

Eleteo: Sometimes Elena walks in on Mateo napping after reading his spell books too long, reading, or working on some new potion. She has learned not to sneak up on him because that cause explosions but if it’s the former, she is totally prepared to kiss him or play that “Guess who?” Game. Mateo usually walks in on Elena working or singing. And sometimes he just admires her sing for a moment before making his presence known, because she looks so beautiful and carefree.

Gababel: Gabe walks in on Isabel talking to herself about her inventions, doing her inventions or sometimes rocking on her guitar-accordion and on the latter, like Mateo, Gabe waits to make his presence known because watching Isabel doing her solo is always entertaining. Isabel sometimes walks in on Gabe doing push-ups or some other workout, always a pleasant sight to see😉 Or going over battle strategies though Isabel always reminds him its time to leave work at the barracks, and their room is for them only. Estenaomi: Sometimes walks into the room where Esteban is primping his hair or deep into his moisturizing routine so she jumps at him from behind to startle him. Esteban sometimes walks into Naomi deep in thought and pacing around making plans for the next trip or whatnot and to take from your hc, he asks “Who has won the argument this time?” 😁 Estoma: Like above, oftentimes she walks in on him in the middle of his skincare routine. Others, it’s that booby trap dance (got to keep sharp yes lol 😆). He usually walks on her primping herself or leftover work of the day.

Who brags about their wedding? Eleteo: Neither. They’re both just thrilled to be married to one another. Plus it’s hard to brag when you know NO ONE will ever have a wedding like theirs. Royalty and magic...so much magic combined. Though Elena might bring it up a bit....after Val’s bragging gets too much. Gababel: Hmm I think Isabel would. Most likely in response to Val or someone. After all the ceremony is second to getting the chance to declare her love for Gabe in front of her family and friends and being blinded together forever. If anything she doesn’t brag but just loves talking about that wonderful day. Estenaomi: Esteban totally Esteban. Even though he doesn’t remember much of it. It’s more like bragging about how great his wife is, not that Naomi minds at all. Estoma: Doña. Though it was a smaller, more refined affair she embellishes some details when recounting it to the nobles who missed the event. A la Rachel Green. “And my veil was lace, made by blind, Belgium nuns.” “Blind?”“Well, not at first, but it was very intricate work and they said even though they lost their sight, it was all worth it.”

Trait they love/hate in the other? Eleteo: Mateo has a love/hate feeling towards Elena’s impulsivity. He loves it because it is so her to get fired up and passionate about something and try to fix it. But as we have seen, her not thinking things through leads to more trouble and though Elena can handle it, he doesn’t particularly like seeing her risk her life and limb like in To Save the Sunbird. Elena likes/dislikes Mateo’s concentration in magic. Like with her impulsivity. It is so him. She wouldn’t change it in the world. But that intensity and focus often derails him from thinking of other things, so caught up is he in his books. Or that he sometimes sets other things aside for his own goals (ahem Scepter of Night) Gababel: Isabel loves/hates Gabe’s protectiveness. She loves it because it’s Gabe. He cares so much, and it does make her feel safe. But when he goes overboard, he goes overboard and is super smothering and for someone who always feels like being treated as the baby she doesn’t appreciate it coming from her husband too. Gabe loves/hates how Isabel analyzes things. He loves to hear her talk about her information and the way her eyes light up. But she too can go overboard with information he doesn’t particularly understand or need to hear at the moment and sometimes she can be a bit oblivious to other people’s disinterest in it. Estenaomi: Esteban loves/hates Naomi’s sarcastic nature. Loves it because it’s hilarious and how else can they participate in their witty banter but at times he dislikes it because sometimes it can hit too close to his insecurities when he’s down and come off as unnecessarily harsh. Naomi loves/hates Esteban’s perfectionism. She can understand at a level like when she is party planning, but when Esteban branches out and refuses to stop what he is doing and chill because this one flower is out of place in the bouquet. Yeah it can get annoying. Not to mention, with the perfectionism comes the snobbishness. Estoma: Esteban loves/hates Doña’s honesty. Well a majority of the time it’s hate because he doesn’t *need* to hear about his flaws and her nagging at him and what she thinks of a particularly boneheaded action of his. On the other hand, when she does give compliments, he likes that honesty because he knows it genuine and real and she’s not mincing words to placate him. As if she would ever do that. Doña loves/hates how Esteban knows to push her buttons. She hates it because no matter how hard she tries to maintain a poker face or whatever, he knows just what to do or say to get under nerves. On the other hand, it’s sort of endearing that he knows her so well. Things they taught the other?

Eleteo: This is very short and pretty much canon. Magic studies all the dang time, but they always know how to make it fun with each other. Much more hc like would be Elena teaching Mateo how to play guitar and being ever so patient about it with lots of kisses as encouragement. Mateo taught Elena some small recipes that are Rafa specialities and are amazingly delicious and as we all know cooking lessons are very romantic indeed. Gababel: Just like in The Princess Knight, Gabe teaches Isabel to fence, only much more romantic with bunch of flirtations and some innuendo which surprises Gabe since he is so used to her calm that he forgets that Isabel is from the same line of indiscreet Flores. Isabel teaches Gabe how to map things based on the position of the stars which is always useful for days when he is alone on a stakeout and has to make next plans. Estenaomi: Esteban already knew how to sail but Naomi improved his knowledge tenfold with little tips on knots and parts of the ship and ship building and fixing. Even just generally woodwork like how to make those ships in bottles which is super hard and intricate but he also likes the feel of Naomi trying to fix the delicate mistakes and how concentrated she looks. Esteban teaches Naomi classic treasure hunting techniques he used to do with Victor as well as athletic activities like vine swinging. Estoma: Just like with Naomi, Esteban teaches her to dance. She grew up under Shuriki so dancing was not skill set to be encouraged. And well, *clearly* she needs more lessons. It’s better when it’s a partner dance and the other person can stop the unnecessary shimmying. Doña showed Esteban how to stay on a wild horse. Mainly because he didn’t want to learn the “boringly simple” rope tricks and he was going to do it anyway if she didn’t stop him. So far he’s stayed on for 2 seconds on a fake one. He’s working on it.

Height difference Eleteo: From what I can tell, Eleteo is almost the same height but at times Elena appears shorter than he. So I will go with the idea that Mateo is taller but not by very much and so the two are utterly connected, eye to eye like a symmetrical heart (damn that was sappy. Do you see what Eleteo does to me!). But Mateo also has the magic advantage so when neither of them can get anything, he just levitates up. Gababel: Even as Isabel grows to her full height, Gabe is taller than her no question. Not that either of them minds, it's perfect for them. Isabel adores being able to easy sit in his lap or be picked up in his strong, muscular arms. It makes her feel safe, and admittedly, his muscles may be hard but they are also cuddly. Plus there is something so intimate about going on her tiptoes to reach his lips or being swooped up in his arms. Gabae also likes it for the same reasons. Her in his arms, and admittedly when she does the tiptoe thing he becomes a blushy mess with her small smirk and the way her arms wrap around his neck like he is the only thing in the world she can hold on to and never let go. Estenaomi: Naomi is the shorter one because even young Esteban, he is taller than others like a freaking string bean so Naomi comes up to his nose, which forces her to look up into his eyes which sometimes gets her all blushy because intense Este-smolder. He is a weapon with that smolder. Not that it is all gazing lovingly into his eyes. Esteban can get pretty cocky about it when he is offering to reach things that she can't and she only has to remind him that the taller people are, the harder they fall which usually leads to him unintentionally tripping because he doesn't look where he is going. Estoma: They are at the same height, mainly because Dona wears heels. The few times she doesn't, she comes to his forehead which gives Esteban plenty of chances for those forehead kisses. But when they fight, Esteban would sometimes bring it up (She has this belief that it is bad to fight at a lower level like having to look up to someone) and teasingly ask her if she would like to pause the fight so she can get her heels and be able to glare at his eye-level which only infuriates her more. Who is the obnoxious winner and whose the sore loser?

Eleteo: Neither. I mean I really can’t see Mateo being sore or obnoxious, but Elena... hmm I wouldn’t say obnoxious winner simply because she refuses to admit defeat like in Nothing but the Blaze. She keeps insisting on another round and another round until she wins something, Gababel: Gabe wouldn’t be either. His lesson with El Guapo taught him that much. However Isabel can get pouty and sore if she loses at something that she is genuinely great at like chess or trivia games. Estenaomi: Esteban is both the sore loser and obnoxious winner and Naomi can be an obnoxious winner mainly because of Esteban’s bragging about how we was going to win, and then she does and so she takes the opportunity to rub it in his face. Estoma: Both are both. It’s the reason they don’t have one on one game nights that often. But it’s useful if they want the loser to do a particular chore or errand or something like that.

Favorite date night activity

Eleteo: Dancing, I know it's very very cliche. But they do love to dance together. It has all the pulse and energy and rhythm that Elena thrives on, the intimacy of slow dances where they are able to talk quietly with each other and also the physical touch. Always moving as one. Estenaomi: They enjoy sailing or hiking, something fast paced to get their adrenaline pumping at first. Plus it's an excellent conversation starter. They enjoy making new memories and though it seems like the same old same old, there is always some new hi jinks they get into while they are together and can laugh about it afterwards. Gababel: They would enjoy a quiet dinner and some cuddling as a way of connecting after a long day and so they could pay attention to each other face to face without any fuss. They enough hectic was already, their dates are more to enjoy the other's company and tell about their days. Maybe an archeological dig if they're feeling restless. Estoma: The theater or theatre if we're gonna be fancy about it. They just seem like the type.

Amusement park/modern AU date

Eleteo: Favorite thing to do is the Farris wheel just sitting watching over the horizon and enjoying each other's company, of course Elena is sitting in Mateo's lap by the end. She can't help herself. They also enjoying walking hand in hand at the boardwalk while eating churros from the vendors. Mateo always enjoys watching the street magicians and telling Elena the secret behind their tricks. Elena often tries to pursuade Mateo to show off too but he declines most of the time. The end the night enjoying a nice front row seat to the fireworks and star gazing. Estenaomi: These two are roller coaster maniacs. They try every thriller ride there is too see who can one up each other. They also enjoy the spinning teacups as they used their combined strength to go as fast as they can. Once they're dizzy enough and a bit reluctant to eat they spend their time at the arcade where Esteban tries his strong man routine but Naomi beats him out in throwing balls and water gun shooting. Gababel: Isabel and Gabe spend most of their time in the arcade and street vendors where Gabe tries to use the hammer to get to the top of the bell and win her stuffed animals and food while Isabel uses her smarts to guess the most jellybeans in a jar and of course, in finding the right angle to throw things. For rides the favorite is the carousal while eating cotton candy they got half off from Gabe's mom. Estoma: They spend the whole day at the arcade competing. Honestly, competition is like their default mode with each other. That doesn't mean they also enjoy some walking and funnel cakes as they try to carry their prizes.

#eleteo #elena of avalor #estenaomi #gababel #estoma #my hcs #my headcanons #headcanons #mateo de alva #elena castillo flores #isabel castillo flores #gabe nuñez #naomi turner #esteban flores #doña paloma

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preraphaelitepunk · 5 years ago

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Fictober19 Day 19: Of Quiet Contentment and Fainting Couches

Prompt #19: Yes, I admit it, you were right.

Fandom: Good Omens

Characters: Aziraphale, Crowley

Rating: Teen

Warnings: None

On AO3 at https://archiveofourown.org/works/20843936/chapters/50185667

Everyday rituals had always been soothing to Aziraphale. He wasn’t sure whether this had something to do with his angelic origins or derived more from his tendency toward anxiety under stress, but there was just something utterly lovely about small routines interspersed throughout the day: teatime, wine time, the cozy fuss that was settling in with a good book, his unnecessary reading glasses, and some nibbles.

Right now it was time for the breakfast ritual. Bread was toasting, filling the little kitchen with a homely smell. Eggs were boiling, tomatoes sliced, beans heating sedately in their little pot. Butters and jams waiting on the table. Crowley’s coffee was almost finished brewing, and the kettle for Aziraphale’s tea was just coming to the boil.

It was a moment of quiet bliss, and Aziraphale closed his eyes to savor it more fully. The only thing better would be when Crowley finally woke up and joined him.

A few minutes later, Crowley appeared, sleep-draggled and bleary, shambling over to the table and dropping into a chair. Aziraphale handed him a mug of coffee. “Thanks, angel.”

“You’re welcome, my love. Anything to eat this morning?”

Crowley sniffed, apparently parsing out the cooking smells. “Maybe an egg?”

“Certainly.” Aziraphale plated his own breakfast, drizzled a swirl of brown sauce over his beans because he was feeling particularly fancy, and egg-cupped a soft boiled. The egg cup was one Crowley claimed to despise, with little horns and a pointy tail painted on, but Aziraphale knew better than to listen to that nonsense.

“I was thinking,” he said, giving his beans an artistic swirl of brown sauce, “that we might go antiquing today.”

“Haven’t you got enough antiques in the shop? And your flat?”

“They were bought from new, so they don’t count. And anyway, I’m not necessarily in the mood to buy anything. I just want to have a poke around. Besides, we’ve talked about that: it’s not my flat any more. It’s ours.” Aziraphale applied fig-and-cocoa jam to his toast and bit into it decisively.

“Sure, but the deed is still in your name.” Crowley focused on peeling his eggshell away in strips. “Whatever. I get your point, angel. And if you want to go nosing around the antique shops today, I will be delighted to go with you. Doesn’t matter to me what we do, as long as we do it together.”

Crowley’s hands were both busy with his egg, so Aziraphale settled for giving the demon’s knee a gentle squeeze. “I feel the same, darling, but thank you for indulging me.”

“That’s what I do, angel,” Crowleys said, smiling lopsidedly back at him. “One big indulger, me.”

*** ***

“Oh, Crowley!” He squeezed Crowley’s hand excitedly. “Wouldn’t this escritoire be just perfect for the back room in the shop?”

Aziraphale could feel him holding back a sigh. “It’s lovely, angel, but where are you going to put it? There’s no space, just like there’s no space for the other twenty-five million things you’ve wanted.”

“There’s always space for beautiful items, dear. It would just be a matter of a discreet miracle or two. There are plenty of pocket dimensions out there that wouldn’t mind sparing me a few extra metres.”

“‘Course. You realize that, if you keep this up, you’ll have more pocket dimension than actual bookshop? Humans will start to notice if your shop keeps expanding infinitely beyond the size of the building.”

Aziraphale pouted. “You’re no fun.”

“I’m lots of fun. You’re just being impractical.”

“Lessons on practicality, from you, darling?”

Crowley just grinned at him, maddeningly calm. “One of us has got to be sensible. Right now it’s my turn.”

They carried on gently bickering throughout the next several shops. Crowley managed to block every proposed acquisition — until the fainting couch. It was gorgeous, a Victorian beast long enough to accommodate even Crowley’s sprawled form, with intricate carving along the legs and the wood framing the raised part of the back: acanthus leaves, pomegranates, and (this was what really sold it) snakes. It had been reupholstered, of course, but it was done respectfully, in period-appropriate heavy crimson velvet.

“I don’t care what objections you raise, Crowley. I am getting this recamier!” Folding his arms resolutely, Aziraphale frowned up at the demon.

“But there’s no space!”

“I will move the sofa in the back room up to the flat, and put this where it used to be. We can have a sofa in the bedroom, then, and no miracles will be necessary.”

Crowley grumbled under his breath, then said, “And how do you expect to get this monstrosity home? It won’t fit in the Bentley, and even if we miracled it to fit, I’m not risking her getting scratched by this thing.”

Aziraphale just smiled primly. “Just wait, darling; it will be perfect, I know.”

The shop did not ordinarily offer delivery, but miraculously decided to make an exception in this case: same-day white-glove delivery, including relocation of the existing sofa upstairs. Crowley protested at this, but Aziraphale overruled him: miracling objects to other locations always carried a slight risk of imprecision if the destination was out of sight, and he wasn’t about to chance dinging his beloved sofa, which embodied so many fond memories.

The actual delivery was a bit of an ordeal, he had to admit. A quick miracle or five cleared a broad path through the shop and flat, so the humans could do the necessary heavy lifting without endangering any books or other treasures, but Aziraphale found the disruption to his carefully organized chaos disturbing. It was also oddly unsettling to have strangers in his private sanctums of the back room and the flat: only he and Crowley belonged there, and he found himself unaccountably resenting the humans’ presence even as he appreciated their help. He barely waited for the door to close behind the delivery people before snapping everything back to its proper, reassuring place, and let out a relieved sigh.

“Thank goodness that’s all over. Tea, darling?”

Crowley shrugged; he was projecting cool indifference, but Aziraphale had seen the tension in his body as he hovered over the delivery people, alert for anything that might endanger Aziraphale’s precious books. The poor dear had worn himself out. “Prefer some wine, actually.”

“Wine it is, then.” Aziraphale went to rummage in his wine stash, returning with two glasses of a rather nice Sangiovese. He handed one to Crowley and settled himself on the new fainting couch, careful to keep his shoes off the upholstery. “Ah, this is lovely.”

Crowley eyed him over the rim of the wineglass. “Better than the old sofa? Was it worth all this kerfuffle?”

Aziraphale made a show of considering the question. “Well, it is rather comfy. But something feels like it’s missing.” He snapped, and a soft cream-colored blanket appeared, draped over the sloping back of the fainting couch. Another snap, and one of his current books popped into his hand. “Much better. But . . . there’s still something missing.”

“Music? Peeled grapes? Scantily clad boys fanning you with ostrich plumes?”

Aziraphale chuckled. “It does feel quite sybaritic, but the only fan boy I want is you, dear.”

“Good answer. Shall I change into a loincloth now, or save that for later?”

“Later, I think. Right now, I think I’d like you to come over here and lie with me. Not that way,” he added, seeing Crowley’s eyebrow raised. “Just to cuddle.”

Grumbling something about the indignity of being expecting cuddling from a demon, Crowley set down his glass and ambled over. “There’s not much room. I’ll have to be practically on top of you.”

“That is rather the idea, darling. Here.” Aziraphale arranged them so that Crowley lay with his back against Aziraphale’s chest, and snuggled an arm around his demon’s waist. “Just so. Isn’t that nice?”

“‘M a demon; I don’t do nice.” There was no heat in it, though, and the way Crowley nestled closer, fitting his cheek against Aziraphale’s shoulder, was far from reluctant.

“Of course not, my love. You just rest there for a while. You must be worn out from supervising the movers so carefully.”

Gradually, the muttering died down and Crowley’s slow, even breathing suggested he’d drifted off. Pleased, Aziraphale read and sipped his wine for the next few hours, sometimes resting his cheek against Crowley’s head or stroking his russet hair.

“‘Snice,” Crowley eventually mumbled, nuzzling against Aziraphale’s neck.

“Very nice,” he agreed, then added because he couldn’t resist needling just a bit, “Whoever would have thought the recamier would work out so well?”

Crowley groaned. “Yes, I admit it, you were right. ’S a good addition. Totally worth it.”

“I’m so glad you agree, love.” Planting a gentle kiss on Crowley’s head, he sighed contentedly. “So very glad indeed.”

#fictober19 #good omens #good omens fanfic #ineffable spouses #ineffable husbands #fluff #antiquing #my fanfic #cuddling #domestic fluff

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lamiasluck · 5 years ago

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Birds of a Feather

Summary: The Jims are looking for a new story to report on. What should be a simple task takes a turn when they decide to dedicate their report on Randall.

Characters: Randall Voorhees and the Jims

Tags: @bingiplierdaily

Read on AO3!

“As you can see… the mystery still continues,” Reporter Jim said ominously to the camera. Him and Camera Jim decided to look for another story to report. They always came across good stories when they stalked - or observed, according to them - the other egos in the manor. And today, they believe they had found the perfect story to report on.

Randall wasn’t usually the centre of attention in the household. He was a tame guy when compared to the other egos, had a friendly attitude and didn’t create too much chaos. But he had his secrets.

The Jims noticed that Randall disappeared after lunch and didn’t come back for a couple hours. Every. Single. Day.

And if that wasn’t a potential news story then the Jims might as well resign right now. So they decided to follow Randall’s routine to see if they can find a juicy story.

“What schemes could this man be hiding? Perhaps there are darker intentions hiding behind that kind smile.”

They followed Randall to one of the city parks, the other ego had no clue of their presence. The park was beautiful. Paved walkways showcased the best sights in the grand area. A vast number of trees loomed over various fields, accompanied by small patches of well tended to flowers. No wonder why Randall liked it here, the intricate pathways and pretty scenery probably reminded him of Central Park. In fact, the place was so intricate that the Jims lost track of Randall and had no idea where they were.

“Jim? Our adventure has taken a dangerous turn…” RJ said grimly to his brother. “We may not live through this, but we must push on.”

CJ nodded and shook his camera up and down.

“This park is cruel… if we’re this stuck then who knows what happened to Randall?”

Just as RJ spoke about Randall, a kind eldery woman walked up to the pair. “Are you boys looking for Randall?” The Jims nodded as the woman smiled. “Oh, he’s such a nice young man! He and I feed the birds sometimes.”

RJ glanced at the camera with a surprised expression. They were expecting this report to have a plot twist with the horrific discovery of Randall’s true colours. Instead, they got this wholesome reveal… light-hearted stories didn’t do nearly as well as dark stories.

“Ma’am, can you please tell us the whereabouts of Randall? It’s for an important story!”

“Why of course, deary! He’s usually hiding in his secret spot away from others. Right behind those trees and to the left of those rocks.” The woman pointed the Jims in the right direction.

“Thank you, ma’am,” RJ quickly replied as he grabbed CJ’s arm. “Come on, Jim! Let’s see what we can find.” They ran in the direction where Randall was. After some, ungraceful, running they saw the other ego sitting against a big rock. The setting would have been boring, if not for dozens of pigeons surrounding the man.

RJ turned towards CJ and put his index finger to his lips. As he crouched behind a tree CJ zoomed his camera lens onto the image. It was hard to spot Randall amongst the flock of birds though.

“It appears that Randall is being mauled by vicious beasts,” RJ whispered into the camera, uncomfortably close to the lens. “What should we do, Jim? Should we help him?”

CJ nodded his head again.

Luckily, the rustling noises the Jims made could be brushed off as an animal skittering around. Unluckily, RJ got his foot caught on a root and fell right in front of Randall, startling a few birds to top it off.

“U-Uh…!” RJ stared at Randall with wide eyes. CJ went over to him to help him up, seemingly just as flustered.

“Jims?” Randall sat dumbfounded as he looked at the twins. He tried to calm a few of the startled birds down. “What’re you guys doing?”

“Uh oh, Jim! He caught us!”

“...Caught you doing what?” Randall squinted his eyes wearily. The Jims were chaos incarnates, any sort of plan they came up with could mean trouble. And right now he had too many precious little lives with him to risk anything.

“Randall has caught onto us,” RJ spoke to the camera as if the person of focus couldn’t hear him. “We must be extra careful as he has what appears to be a small army.”

“I’m just feeding these birds, y’know?” He shook a paper bag full of seeds as emphasis, the pigeons immediately cooed loudly. “These little guys won’t harm anybody. You can join me if you want.” As if on cue, a couple of the birds next to him moved away to make room for the Jims.

After a few seconds of confused staring, RJ shuffled over by Randall’s side and sat down. CJ stayed back to get a better shot of the two, totally not because he was afraid of getting pecked to death, he just wanted good footage. Randall snickered at the nervous twins.

Now up close, RJ got a better view of the other ego. Randall was unfazed by the various pigeons perched on him and waddling around him. His hardhat wasn’t on for once, instead it was turned over on his lap and housed the biggest pigeon RJ’s ever seen. Occasionally, he took some seeds and tossed it towards the eager birds.

“What were you guys doing anyways?” Randall asked, accidentally startling the jumpy twins.

“We were recording a special report,” RJ admitted. “Thought we would uncover something intense, we didn’t expect… this.”

“You’re like King,” CJ whispered behind his equipment.

“Nah, I don’t base my life on these guys. That takes real dedication. I just like birds, loved ‘em since I was a kid back home.” Randall gestured to the pigeon in his hardhat. “In fact, Herb here followed me from New York.”

The Jims were awestruck as Randall continued to talk. The shock of having dozens of birds judge them was starting to wear off, only to be replaced with news opportunity. People loved animals, they could turn their report into a nature documentary!

“Herb,” RJ spoke into his microphone. “What’s it like to live in the wild?” He then put the mic in front of the bird’s beak.

Herb cooed softly and promptly pecked at the mic’s foam.

“Wow, you…” Randall had to cover his mouth to stifle his laughter. “You guys are really something. ‘Fraid Herb isn’t one for interviews, but here,” Randall pointed to RJ’s hand. “Gimme your hand real quick.” He poured some seeds onto RJ’s hand.

There was a split second of peace as the rest of the pigeons stared at the seeds. All it took was one of them to fly towards RJ’s hand before a couple hungry birds ambushed the poor ego. RJ let out a startled yelp and stretched his hand as far away from him as possible.

“J-Jim?! I’m being attacked - Oh. Oh wait, this isn’t too bad actually.” The pigeons were being surprising gentle as they pecked at the seeds, never hurting RJ and focusing on the prize. The Jims stared in fascination, CJ zoomed his camera on the scene. RJ laughed and excitedly looked at Randall and the birds, using his free hand to pet the pigeons at random.

“Told you they wouldn’t hurt anybody.”

Everyone focused on the pigeons, sometimes the Jims asked random bird questions and Randall answered without hesitation. The Jims were oddly tame considering their nature. They got more than enough footage for their report and set aside their equipment in favour of paying more attention to the animals. CJ helped feed the birds too, nearly shedding tears of joy when a pigeon found solace perching on the top of his head.

“I’m glad you guys like it here,” Randall said while petting Herb. “If you want, you can join me when I come here again.”

“Yes, yes please!” The Jims cheered in unison. They were shaking with excitement. Not only did they get on Randall’s good side, but they also made a bunch of feathery friends! It took a lot of willpower to not take a pigeon back home.

“Alright, alright, calm down you two.” Randall started to get up, still carrying Herb in his hardhat. He emptied out what was left of the seeds onto the grass and watched the birds flock around the pile. “We should get going now. I was gonna treat Eric to ice cream later.”

The Jims picked up their equipment and trailed behind Randall, both more than willing to let the other ego guide them out of the park. Herb was still sleeping in the hardhat.

“Hey, between you guys and me,” Randall jokingly whispered. “Sometimes I sneak Herb into the manor by hiding him under my hat when I wear it. Eric loves it when I do that.”

Both Jims nodded, glancing between Randall and Herb. No wonder why Randall never took off his hat sometimes. Admittedly, CJ turned on his camera again during their walk and caught Randall’s confession. They’ll fix it in post.

#randall voorhees #the jims #markiplier #markiplier egos #fanfic

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popatochisssp · 6 years ago

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ooh! asks are open! if you're not accepting, don't worry about it! if u are, then how do you hc each skeles ideal job and actual job in the human world?

Their ideal and actual jobs are the same, because I am a softie who wants all her boys to be happy so everybody’s got jobs they enjoy!

As for specifics, I’ve talked about some in passing, but see the full list below! ;3

Sans (Undertale): He has two! He’s a delivery driver and does security for the local mall. The former is a natural extension of his lazy demeanor and special abilities– teleportation lets him make all his deliveries near-instantly and then he spends the rest of the time allotted to him napping in his truck or taking a Grillby’s break. On weekends, he moonlights as a mall cop and it’s equally his speed since it’s a lot of observation and ‘policing’ but very little actual responsibility. He may also, on the side, sell a few bootlegs here and there, but you’d be very hard-pressed to catch him at it.

Papyrus (Undertale): Strip club bouncer. I am one million percent behind this, he would love this job and be loved at this job, and he deserves that. But that’s just his night-job, he has a day-job too since he likes to keep busy and while the sun is up, he’s a personal trainer! He’s fantastic at encouraging people through their work-out routines and they find it easier to stick to their healthy diets and make good choices when the alternative is the horrific thought of………disappointing Papyrus…! He’s very good at his job and has so much fun with it that he barely even thinks of it as a job.

Sky (Underswap Sans): Lots of these skeletons do double-duty and with as much energy as Sky has, you know he’s one of ‘em: he’s a firefighter as his main career, and on the side he bartends. He’s a physically fit guy who loves the idea of being a hero, and he also has no skin or lungs, so he can get into lots of places in a burning building that his human coworkers can’t– and that’s without even factoring in the shortcut ability. But he’s not at the station 24/7 and he likes to be productive, so he picks up bartending shifts where he can. He’s very precise with his pours and he’s very charming and sociable with patrons, so he’s a joy to have on shift for everybody!

Paps (Underswap Papyrus): Only one job for this guy, he’s a librarian! He is a huge literature nerd and the Underground only had what just so happened to fall down and not get completely ruined. Getting to work in a place with thousands of books he’s never seen before is awesome–and so is the actual job! It’s pretty quiet as a rule and the stakes are low, so he ends up liking most of the people he interacts with. A chill work environment for a chill skeleton, he’s very happy here!

Jasper (Underfell Sans): He’s a mechanic, and also moonlights at the infamous ‘dog stand. He likes working with his hands and doesn’t mind getting a little dirty. That plus his intricate knowledge of mechanics makes working at an auto shop a good fit for him. He ends up actually missing a little bit of his routine Underground, though– goddamn nostalgia… When the Asgore in his universe decrees that his subjects who owned shops and food businesses Underground reopen on the surface, a political move to improve human relations and make more positive associations with the very intimidating, violent-looking monsters– he actually decides to go for it and starts manning his ‘dog stand whenever he feels like it. He makes some mean hot-animals and is actually one of the more personable of the Fell-monsters so he’s doing his bridge-building duty pretty well, even if only as a weekend kinda thing.

Pyre (Underfell Papyrus): He’s still the Captain of the Royal Guard, but…monsters are making some very strong moves toward demilitarization and in peace-times, there’s just not all that much for him to do. Somewhere in all of his new downtime he takes up studying law and eventually makes a career out of it. Lawyer is kind of a natural job for a guy who’s intelligent, has a great head for details, and doesn’t shy away from an argument, so once he makes it through law school in record time, he’s a sight to behold in the courtroom: eloquent, passionate, and always sharply-dressed! He specializes in human/monster rights-related cases and will even do some pro bono consulting for the causes he deems worthy, but if you can pay his fee and he doesn’t completely loathe you, he’ll take pretty much any case. If he’d been born on the surface to start with, though, he may have pursued a career in acting– he’s has a lot of natural talent and still counts it as one of his interests, but… it’s been soured, just a little bit, by the nasty role he had to play Underground. He’ll probably only pick it up again as a hobby, at most.

Mal (Swapfell Sans): Like Pyre, he doesn’t want to– and won’t!– give up his position as Captain of the Royal Guard so lightly, but on the surface with monsters integrating into peaceful human society, he has a lot more spare time than he did before and has to figure out something to do with it. He eventually settles in as an actuary. Numbers are and have kind of always been his happy-place: mathematics is cold, hard logic, cause-and-effect that’s simple the way nothing in the messy real world ever is, and aside from physical training losing himself in statistics and probabilities is the best sense of flow he’s ever been able to slip into. Once he gets his degrees accredited, it’s very easy for him to find employment running numbers and he’d start off somewhere in the insurance industry. He’d be fine there for awhile– he’s firm and impersonal, and not easily swayed by sob-stories– but eventually the way the industry is structured to benefit corporations over people becomes a little much for even him to handle. From there, he’ll move on into the private sector and do a lot of freelance consulting for companies to analyze and manage risk. It’s very boring and nerdy to just about anyone who isn’t him, but he likes the work!

Rus (Swapfell Papyrus): He’s a commission artist. He doesn’t like going out too much and the idea of getting any of the entry-level jobs he’s qualified for–retail and customer service, mostly– makes him want to puke and/or die a little. When he finds out there’s a thriving community of people requesting and paying for art online, he is so there. He takes a little time to get familiar with digital art and generates a presence for himself online to attract interest and then opens himself up to commissions. He has almost no limits on what he’s willing to draw and quickly stumbles across the furry scene, the kink scene, and the places they overlap, so he gets paid really well and gets to work from home while doing it. For the sake of his brother’s reputation, he tries not to mention or show any of the explicit stuff he works on in front of anybody they know, but he’s personally unashamed about it.

Slate (Horrortale Sans): Ever since his head injury, he’s not really capable of holding down a job– his short-term memory is garbage and his ability to learn and process new tasks is a lot slower than any reasonable employer would be understanding of, so that rules out pretty much all his options right there. Since monsters hit the surface in his universe, though, humanity was shocked and appalled by the circumstances Underground and in spite of some fear and condemnation, the outpouring of pity and sympathy was enormous. A lot of legislation ended up quickly pushed through so that monsters could get regular stipends in reparations for their imprisonment and suffering, and also can receive disability benefits if deemed eligible. With a giant hole in his head and all that comes with it, he’s eligible so he doesn’t need a job, but at the insistence of his brother, he does need to get out of the house. His aimless wandering eventually leads him to an animal shelter seeking volunteers. He likes the pups and kitties because they’re soft and cute, plus they’re all down on their luck like he was. He’s very gentle with even the most aggressive animals and after a very short time volunteering there, he gains a bit of a reputation as a miracle worker…but he doesn’t really care about that, he’s just happy to help the little fuzzballs out.

Papy (Horrortale Papyrus): Like his brother, he gets a reparations stipend from the human government but unlike his brother, he’s not eligible for disability– nor would he want to be! He craves getting to be a productive member of society again since he…wasn’t of nearly as much use, Underground as he wished he could’ve been. Entry-level jobs would be fine for him, anything to be out and gainfully employed, but he’s rapidly dissatisfied with any of the jobs he takes. He knows that cashiers and clerks and receptionists are all very valuable parts of an infrastructure, but it’s just…not really for him? He wants to make a bigger difference, he wants to help people, and that’s what leads him to nursing. Between his brother’s disability benefits, their reparations, and his wages from part-time employment, he’s able to put himself through school without putting any serious strain on their financial situation and eventually graduates to registered nurse. From his underground experiences he’s no stranger to blood, other human bodily fluids, or even death, so handling it in the context of trying to save lives is something he’s not only capable of, but delighted to be a part of. He’s definitely a little down when one of his patients doesn’t make it, but he’s not devastated by it: he just vows to keep doing his best so that he can help as many people as possible!

#anonymous #headcanons #undertale #sans #papyrus #underswap #us!sans #us!papyrus #underfell #uf!sans #uf!papyrus #swapfell/fellswap #sf!sans #sf!papyrus #horrortale #ht!sans #ht!papyrus

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cost-of-chaos · 6 years ago

Text

All You Need Is Love (Chapter Six)

Thank you to the lovely @xgoingdownx for helping me out! Sorry for the wait, hope you all like this chapter, if you do, please like and reblog! If you wanna be tagged or just give me feedback my ask box is always open xx

Roger Taylor x OC

Words: 2.9K

Warnings: A little angsty?

Previous Chapters: Chapter One / Chapter Two / Chapter Three / Chapter Four / Chapter Five

After only a few hours of sleep, I awoke to a cold, empty room. I had spent the majority of the night tossing and turning and lost in my own depressing thoughts. I got out of the bed, I felt the effects of the restless night on my body. I had woken up sore all over, my eyes were dry and felt like sandpaper from the countless tears I’d shed, my throat was sore and my limbs ached. There were only a few things that made me feel better when I felt like this, I needed to get out of this stuffy room. I needed to feel fresh air on my skin, breathe in the cold air into my lungs and listen to leaves rustle in the wind, I needed to escape my mind and be one with nature. I bent over to slide some boots over my thick socks, and as I reached down I felt my back pop and crack all the way down my spine, if only it was that easy to release the discomfort in my heart.

I dug through my suitcase for the warmest thing I had packed and retrieved my cream cable knit sweater that I had accidentally stolen from my roommate from Ealing. I smiled to myself remembering the conversation that had taken place with Freddie when he saw me in it the first time.

“Veronica, darling, I’m not one to begrudge someone for expressing their own personal style… but you look like a sheep.” He had exclaimed before turning his back on me and rummaging through my wardrobe to find something more stylish to wear to the band practise he had invited me to. It had been only been a short time after I had met Roger that night in the bar and normally I wouldn’t have been so eager to accept the proposal to spend time with a guy I’d had a one night stand with. But after an afternoon of full of witty, flirtatious banter with Roger, we had a date planned for the next day and the rest was history.

When Roger finally saw the jumper, it was a rainy Sunday morning after we had moved into the flat together. I was making was a full fry up, dancing around to the record playing and he had walked in and told me I was the sexiest woman in the whole of London standing there wearing nothing but this jumper, a pair of knickers, rainbow socks and a paintbrush in my hair restraining my curls from cascading into my face. He had strode into the room and picked me up over his shoulder, walking me back to the bedroom with a giggle as I hit his back with a spatula. My ineffectual cries about our breakfast quickly faded away and it was the first of many meals that were burnt due to our infatuation with each other.

I blushed at the memory and felt a pang of hurt as I thought back to one of the wonderful times we had together. Freddie had been right, of course, the jumper was far too large for me, it went half way down my thighs and I had to roll the sleeves up so I could use my hands, but it was warm and cosy and still smelt like home so I didn’t really care if I looked like a farm animal today.

Before leaving the room, I scribbled a note for Freddie on the hotel branded stationery and threw my coat on, slinging my bag over my shoulder. I hastily walking out of the room that held such bad memories, memories that were repeating over and over in my head.

Once I made it to the bay of elevators, a panic swept me. What if I saw Roger? What if I saw any of the band? I didn’t want to talk to anyone, I didn’t want to see anyone, I just wanted to lose myself in a foreign country where no one knew me. I hesitantly pushed the down button and checked my wrist for the time, it was only seven, the feeling of panic which had been growing by the second instantly eased as I realised none of the boys would be up yet.

As soon as I walked out into the busy streets of Japan I felt better. Walking into the brisk cold morning air had woken me up, and as always, seeing the beauty of the world and observing everyone else running around in their busy morning routines made my problems seem less significant. Sure, I was single again and was about to be homeless but I’m still young, I have my whole life ahead of me, this will just be one of the turbulent moments that make life a bit interesting.

After half an hour of exploring small laneways with funky buildings lining them and petting cats that walked into my path, I found myself sitting on a metal bench along a river bank watching the world pass by, completely oblivious to my presence. I mentally kicked myself for not bringing my camera with me, but I had the next best thing to capture the scene unfolding in front of me. I dug around my handbag for my sketchbook and charcoal and finally found them tucked away, long forgotten in the business that has been my life recently.

While flipping through the pages to find a blank page, one page stuck out in a sea of sketches of people and scenery. I flipped back to the page that caught my eye and found messy biro notes scribbled all over the page. It was Rogers writing, he must have left me a note in here before I left for the US.

He had filled the page with words dedicated to me, love notes, notes saying how lucky we were and how much he’d miss me, he’d even penned a very long description about how much our fur baby, Lenny was going to miss me. Tears were pooling in my eyes and suddenly my new found self-assurance was dwindling. One particular poem wedged between a love heart and a messy drawing of a cat captivated my attention.

You’re my love, my life

The air that I breathe

You’re my soul, my happiness

The all that I need

You’re my world, my galaxy,

Even if we’re worlds apart,

We will never be far from the love we share,

the memories make

and the exciting future to come.

Ronnie, you’re my everything.

My eyes welled up once again. The words he had hastily scribbled on a blank page on my journal was the most beautiful thing I’d ever read, most heartfelt and meaningful. I just wished I had seen this before this whole mess. I wished it didn’t carry the tang of bitterness from the lies and unfaithfulness.

I ripped the page out of my journal and folded it neatly before throwing it into an inner pocket in my bag. I tried to bury the feeling which had started bubbling again as I looked up at the busy and diverse road, bustling in front of me and I began a quick sketch. As I sat there, with my charcoal floating across the paper in quick strokes I felt myself slowly become centred again. As I was putting the final details onto the page, my stomach let out a loud rumble. I checked my watch and was shocked to see it had been two hours since I left the hotel. I needed some food, I snapped my journal closed on the page. Stuffing it back into my bag before starting to make my way back to the hotel. Regretting my choice to race to the hotel last night instead of taking the time to change my money to Yen as I walked the surprisingly long walk back to the hotel, with smells of amazing, foreign and exotic foods filling my nose.

By the time I made it through the doors to the reception of the hotel, I was ravenous and too hungry to wait for room service. I decided to cut my losses and risk going to the buffet. As soon as I walked into the grand room, with gold chandeliers, antique mirrors and intricate red wallpaper I felt horribly underdressed.

“Veronica!” I heard from a group of people sat at the largest table in the room. I scanned the table and saw Brians unmistakable head of hair before spotting Deaky who was sitting beside him, he had the attention of everyone at the table. Deaky had obviously been the one who yelled my name alerting the whole room of my presence. Freddie turned around, with a sympathetic smile on his face,

“Ronnie, why don’t you have breakfast with us? We have plenty of room here!” He said, waving his arms around, pointing at all the seats that were free.

“I was just going to get a plate of food so I could go pack.” I said, quietly as I walked to the table, feeling uncomfortable with the amount of attention on me from the rest of the breakfast goers.

“You’re packing?” He said, much louder than he needed to with me standing so close next to him, I noticed a certain head of blonde hair whip around to face our direction, to listen to what was being said.

“I’m going back home Fred, thanks for letting me sleep in your bed last night, I’ll be out of your hair soon.” I said, almost whispering to him now, not that it mattered because he responded in the same volume as before,

“Darling if you’re going back home then you must have breakfast with us!” I half expected him to broadcast it so I was already watching Roger in my peripheral vision and watched as his mouth dropped with the news. Everything felt more real now my plans weren’t a secret, he knew now that I was leaving, that it was over.

“I...I’ll just get some food.” I said, already walking away from the table, I was no longer feeling very hungry but I couldn’t just go back to my room now. However much I loved Fred, I really wished he’d keep his head out of things that weren’t his business.

As I watched my bread slowly turn to toast as it crept along a conveyor belt under a bright orange light I felt a hand rest lightly against my back. I looked up to find Brian, looking very uncomfortable, he’d obviously heard about what happened last night.

“Ronnie… I”

“Bri, I’m really not in the mood for talking” I said forcibly, cutting him off. I picked my toast off of the conveyor belt before it had even dropped to the plate below and walked across the buffet to get butter and a knife.

I heard a frustrated sigh from Brian as he began walking back to the table and I felt a little guilty at my harshness, it wasn’t his fault, I didn’t have any right to be rude to him. I jogged to catch up to him before getting back to the table and whispered that I was sorry before shooting him a small smile. I found the perfect spot at the table, wedging myself between Freddie and Brian, but as far from Roger as I could sit. As I sat down on the plush antique chair, I glanced up the table towards Roger and noticed Roger shooting daggers down this end of the table. Typical, he’s the one that fucked up but he’s turned it on me.

As I cradled my coffee cup in my hands, and I chewed the last bite of my soggy toast and the boys around me chatted away happily. I couldn’t help but look at Roger one more time, one last time. His long blonde hair was sticking in all directions, mostly concealing his face as he stared at his bowl, swirling his cereal around in the milk aimlessly, without eating it.

He must have felt my eyes on him because he lifted his head, and looked straight to me, it was then when I noticed that his brow furrowed and his eyes glassy and bloodshot with large dark bags under them. By the looks of it, he hadn’t gotten any sleep after last night. Good. I knew it was spiteful and petty but it made me feel better seeing how bad he looked.

Time seemed to stop as I stared into his eyes across the table. Both of us were unblinking, with dancing eyes as we thought of the thousands of things we wanted to say to each other. A big part of me wanted to run over to him and stroke his face, brush his hair and tell him we were going to work it out. But I didn’t, I just sat there, glued to my chair as I imagined what I would be doing if I didn’t have quite as strong of a backbone.

“Excuse me, I need to go pack, have a good tour.” I said, unable to stop staring at Roger. I ripped my eyes off him once I finally managed to stand up, I gave the rest of the boys tight hugs. I hoped this wouldn’t be the last time we all spent time together, but I knew it probably would be. Sure Freddie and I would probably still see each other, but Brian and Deaky? We only became friends because of all the time I spent with Roger, and I knew the same thing would happen that happened after every other relationship I’ve had. I knew I’d lose all the friends that I made these past few years, they’d take their mates side in the breakup, leaving me not only mourning my partner but also friends and a whole life I’d built up.

As I walked away from the table, I heard a fight erupt from the table I’d just left. Voices raised, and I could hear Rogers accent grow thicker as his voice raised above the rest of them, putting a damper on the argument.

After a long flight delay and many glasses of gin at an airport bar, and one book by some American named Stephen King I’d picked up in New York and I finally touched down back down in London. After standing in the pouring rain for a cab for 10 minutes my clothes were soaked through, wonderful, the last thing I needed was to get sick on top of everything else.

I finally made it to the flat after a long cab ride and walk up the stairs to our top floor apartment. As soon as I opened the front door, I was blasted by cold air from the uninhabited rooms and felt my teeth start chattering. Memories of the warm and comforting flat are gone as I walked into the empty apartment, feeling more empty and alone than ever. I peeled my wet top off of my body and searched our coat rack, hoping that I hadn’t just left all my coats in the bedroom like I normally do, but I found it empty except for one jacket. Rogers fur coat draped over a coat hook at the front door. As I slipped the coat on, I buried my face into the soft brown fur collar and inhaled Rogers scent.

I raced around the tiny flat turning the radiators on before filling the kettle for a much-needed cuppa while the heating kicked in. After pouring the boiling water into my mug, I ran downstairs to our neighbour below us, Mrs Lancaster, hoping she wasn’t at bingo. I knocked on the door and I heard faint footsteps behind the door.

“Oh hello dear, you’re back! How was your time away?” She asked, with a sweet smile. She had been my favourite neighbour ever since we moved in and she baked us freshly baked banana bread as a moving in gift.

“Oh it was great!” I said, lying through my teeth. “Just don’t have any milk and I’m in need for a proper brew!” I held up my mug of black tea for emphasis, forcing a large smile on my face, I didn’t want to have to explain anything to her, I just needed a dash of milk.

After a few minutes of pleasantries, I was on my way back to my flat, my smile disappearing just as quickly as it arrived. As I got back to my flat, I was pleasantly surprised to feel the heating was already working. Walking into the living room, I sat cross-legged on the couch, reaching behind me for the thick blanket which was always draped over the back for late night cuddling. I sat on the couch, bundled up in a cocoon, sipping on my tea for what felt like hours. I gazed at the wall opposite me, at all the photos and drawings we had hung up over the years of our life together, remembering all of the good times we’d shared. The way the sun was poking through the clouds and coming through the window made the room look magical, the way dust particles floated in the golden light looked like fairy dust and I was captivated. Gold turned to pink and soon the only light that was coming into the room was from the streetlights.

Taglist: @perriwiinkle @hiyadarlingirl @asquiresofftime

#roger taylor x oc #roger taylor x reader #roger taylor #ben hardy as roger taylor #ben hardy! roger taylor #ben hardy!roger x reader #queen #fanfic #roger taylor fanfic #queen fanfiction #angst #heartbreak #japan #freddie mercury #brian may #john deacon

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