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writingsfromhome · 2 days ago

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Unspoken Signals

A/N: reaaaallly tried to get this out for v-day. It’s been a while, I’m a bit rusty, but this is a quick fic w Harry and you as coworkers and a casual something else. Hope you enjoy 🫶🏼

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“Well this is different,” I comment.

Before me sits a dozen children and they’re all very quiet. It’s music to my ears after the last hour.

“I didn’t know kids could even do yoga.”

“You didn’t know kids could stretch?” I raise a brow.

“The meditating part,” Harry clarifies. “I didn’t know they could quiet their minds and their demon mouths.”

I laugh softly and turn back to the kids. A couple are starting to get restless, peeking one eye open or scratching their noses—picking them more like. But it’s nice for the few minutes.

Both Harry and I worked at an art museum that had recently lost some of its funding and had decided to open up revenue streams by introducing “kids fun weekends”. So despite having zero training in early education, staff at the museum found ourselves having to look after children and host workshops from time to time.

So far we’d been volun-told to help with a crafts day, a movie night, wellness day, and an upcoming museum sleepover.

And I was so not being paid enough to deal with hyperactive children.

“Why do kids even need a wellness workshop?” Harry continues to whisper back to me. “They’ve got stressful jobs or something? Bloody put me on one and let me go home.”

“Anyone can experience stress Har,” I roll my eyes. Harry was one of those people who didn’t care about being politically correct when he spoke. Which led to a lot of bickering between us that most of our coworkers had gotten used to.

“The stress of any of these kids does not bloody compare to the stress of an adult.”

“Don’t be such an ageist,” I reply.

“Ageist? What the fuck,” he swears. “Do you just put a word in front of -ist and create a new prejudice?”

I gasp and hold his shoulder, “prejudice? Where did you learn such a large word?”

“Now you’re just being a word-ist,” Harry says smugly.

I snort despite myself, “And you’ve always been a prick.”

“Piss off,” Harry whispers. “This is unfair.”

We stand in silence, forced to do our job of keeping watch over the kids. But as they grow more agitated and so does Harry, I realize I really didn’t want to be here either.

“Well have you seen the new fake-Monet collection?” I ask.

It wasn’t actually fake-Monet. It was a local artist we were hosting in our community gallery that showcased…local artists. The first piece we ever saw hung up looked like a Monet so we took to calling him that.

“No. Not after that first forgery.”

“Wanna ditch this and check it out?”

“Fuck yes.” Harry’s eyes finally draw some life to them.

We leave our two other coworkers to deal with freshly-meditated children and sneak away.

The art museum wasn’t a large building; the ground floor was taken up by the open lobby, offices, the gift shop, and some of the more permanent exhibits. The second floor had revolving galleries and the community gallery sat on the third floor.

“D’you think anyone’s actually going to buy the guy’s fakes?” Harry asks.

“Probably,” I jam the button for the lift. “I saw a couple more pieces and they were beautiful.”

“You find any piece of art beautiful.”

“Well they are! It’s easy to find beauty in a lot of things if you’re not a prick.”

The lift arrives and the doors open; the reflection inside show a tall curly-haired annoyed bloke. Walking in with him is a shorter girl, rolling her eyes.

“I’m not a prick.” He looks down at me. “I just have standards.”

Suddenly in the enclosed space of the lift we’re gravitating towards each other like we tended to do. I smile up at him sweetly and he tsks and pushes me away by my chin; a conversation taking place with just our eyes.

The thing with Harry and me—because it was just a thing we didn’t label, was simple: we liked being around each other (despite being able to get on each other’s nerves).

We kinda just orbited each other and we were comfortable with it; some days he would follow me home and we’d hang out, get dinner, sleep together, and other nights I’d show up at his and we’d fold right into one another.

It was fun, and it felt cool not to label it. It felt very adult, like Harry and I were mature enough to appreciate the other in every aspect without being possessive enough to need to label it. Like somehow we were proving just how secure we were by doing it like this.

“You just like being judgemental,” I say and as the doors open onto the third floor I turn to walk out. “Because you’re an idiot.”

Outside stand at older couple who’ve definitely heard the last bit. I apologize and pray they don’t complain to anyone about the staff.

“Very unprofessional,” Harry goads as he laughs. “Do you harass all the elderly at the museum.”

“Shut up!” I shove him against the wall and he stumbles down.

“Oi!” He calls out as I walk away. “Oi! Help me up!”

“Help yourself!” I finally turn. He’s sprawled on the ground like this was his bedroom—because I’d seen the inside of his bedroom I would know. But he stays for so long I hurry back, not wanting anyone to walk past and get us in trouble for laying in the middle of the hall.

“I knew you’d come,” he smiles sweetly, his large hand in the air ready for me to grip.

“C’mon—“

I see it coming too late and he’s already trapped me in. He pulls me forward and I stumble into him, nearly catching myself on the wall. Nearly. I tumble into him instead.

“Grow up!” I scramble off of him as quick as I could. Because the one unspoken rule in this thing between us was staying nothing but platonic coworkers at work.

And that was the other thing about us—this unlabelled situation we were in. That as casual as we appeared there was a lot of orchestrating going on behind the scenes in order to be this nonchalant.

For example, only touching outside of work, not asking about dates the other went out on the weekend before, like saying you’re funny and where’ve you been when it’s been a while so as not to say I really like you and I want to be around you more and when you’re not around I miss you more than an unlabelled half should. Like getting drunk when I spot him at a club with another girl so I can continue to convince myself I really didn’t care all that much.

It was just Harry. At most we were just friends.

“This is me grown up,” Harry catches up to me. He can sense I’m annoyed and maybe he’s crossed a line so he lingers slightly behind.

I ignore him as I push the glass door into the gallery. This was one of my favourite spaces because of the large windows and views of the garden below planted by friends of the museum.

But mostly I loved it because it was a revolving door of local artists and it reminded me that everyone had a story to tell. And every story was beautiful.

“Don’t cry this time,” Harry whispers to me as he walks down the gallery to the far end.

“It was one time,” I mumble. That I actually cried. Usually I just teared up.

I couldn’t help it though, there was so much meaning and time put into these pieces. So much love and grief and every emotions on the spectrum. And I felt it all.

I decide I’d stop calling the artist fake-Monet because with a few more paintings I began to recognize his own signature style. He paints about personal community and finding it in public spaces—pockets around London.

“Hey look at this one,” Harry says when I’m a few pieces away. I walk over.

It’s unmistakably Hampstead Heath, the park a half hour walk from here and 15 from Harry’s place. It’s where we spent a lazy summer day a month or so ago. We were both free on the Saturday, our calendars opening up. I met Harry at his and we’d trekked through the hazy city to feel the cool breeze of the sturdy trees and the splash of the water. Despite the stickiness, we’d tucked into each other and pretended the shade was enough to keep us cool—enough to be so close. We read our book, took a summer nap, ate our picnic, and chatted about the rest of our lives. Passerbys would see two friends, or maybe two something-mores.

It’s only when the sun slinked down towards the horizon did we pack up. We walked back to his flat, took a shower together. We had dinner with his friends. It had been such a beautiful day I had ached with it because I knew how temporary it was.

But how perfect it had been. It had felt bigger than us.

Harry pointing it out toes that line again; he remembered it too, as something to reference. As something to compare to the beautiful richness of the tapestry before us—lavenders and lilacs, pinks and blues, sage, and dusty hues.

“Beautiful,” I murmur. We’re standing shoulder to shoulder now, I can’t tell who’s leaning on who.

“It…actually is.” Harry says in a hushed voice back. “I’m sorry fake-Monet that I doubted you.”

I look up at him in surprise, Harry rarely changed his mind. “Actually?”

“Yeah.” He looks down at me. “I think I get it.”

The expression in his eyes as he says this, as they fill with meaning, I have to look away. But the painting doesn’t help. It’s too full of my own meaning. Our meaning.

But there was no our.

“Wow.” I straighten up and move closer. “Look at that blending. And the details those are actually people.”

“They’ve all got their own shadow too.” Harry moves closer towards me again. He points it out.

“I’m gonna go look for shadows in the others.” I chirp just so I can get away. So I can keep denying.

A few hours later, the day is giving to nightfall. I badge out with Harry and we walk down the steps towards the iron gates.

“See you tomorrow?” I ask.

“I’m not in tomorrow.” He reminds me.

“Oh yeah your parents are in town?”

“Yep,” he fidgets with his phone and we stand in silence for a beat.

“Well I should-“ I say just as he asks, “Would you want to-“

We pause, awkward laugh. We were never awkward.

“You first,” I urge, wanting to know what he was going to ask.

“No it’s nothing. I should go. Got to clean my flat before my parents see how I live.”

“Don’t forget to hide the rolling papers from your bedside,” I tease. “And the magazines under the bed.”

“Oi I haven’t got magazines under the bed,” he smiles. His dimples make a handsome appearance. “They’re loud and proud on the coffee table now.”

“Except you haven’t got a coffee table.”

“If you know so much about my flat how about you come home with me and help me clean it? You can stay over.”

Come home with me. Casual, so casual.

But I know how calculated it had to be. I’d been there. Somehow I knew this is what he’d been trying to ask in the first place.

“What time are your parents getting in?” I ask.

“They’re early birds. Probably after 8.”

“8? Holy hell.” I swear.

“They want to do breakfast and then take me to visit my grandparents.”

“Right. Yeah well, imagine I’m still not out by the time they show up. That’d be so awkward. And there’s no way in hell I’m getting up before 8.”

His cheeks take on a slight blush. “They’ve…it wouldn’t be the first time they came over to a girl in my bed YN. I’m not 16.”

“I know. But…still awkward.”

“So?”

“I…don’t want them to get the wrong idea. We’ll see each other the day after. You’re working then right?”

My heart squeezes a bit at his crushed look before it’s swapped for happy, for easygoing. “Yep. Can’t get rid of me that quick.”

We part ways, I go mine with a heavy heart.

***

“So,” I check in with Harry at lunch the day he’s back. It had been a hectic day yesterday with a new group of kids and a new workshop to facilitate. Plus someone was quitting after being yelled at and Harry had missed it all so I wanted to update him. “How was your day off.”

“Shite,” he says. We walk a few streets over to a Pret. “Mum and dad wouldn’t stop whinging about my future and about settling down like I’m a fucking balding man in my 50s losing all prospects. I’m only 25!”

“Yeah total bummer having a day off for that,” I comment even though I have a hard time getting my next breath in. I can’t imagine my own parents caring that much about my life to spend a whole day with me talking about it. And what if I had stayed the night and accidentally bumped into them—would they have approved?

Should I even care?

“Then my nan basically told them to piss off but they started filling her head with it and then she’s asking me about any girls I’ve taken on dates lately. Started giving me relationship advice!”

“What was that?” I tease. “Take her on a walk and buy her some flowers? Go star gazing? Movie for 2 quid?”

Harry glances at me and his seriousness throws me off balance a little.

“What?”

He opens his mouth, then shrugs and closes it. “Nothing.”

“Sorry did I offend you?” I try to think of why he might be reacting this way.

“No, she actually did say some pretty old-fashioned shite. But I can take it from her. It’s my parents that drive me nuts.”

“Well I wish you were at work. Want to hear what happened?”

So I change the subject and we talk about what he missed. He’s more subdued today and I don’t read into it. He wasn’t mine to read into, I have to remind myself.

We talk about the gallery sleepover in two weeks, whether we were actually going to come in our PJs. When we get back to work we’re on different floors and I try not to miss him again.

***

“I actually brought mine—the appropriate pair.” My coworker jokes. We’re in the staff kitchen making an afternoon tea. Tonight was the gallery sleepover and I was not looking forward to it. But because I was working it I had the day off tomorrow and at least that was something to look forward to.

“I just brought a ratty tee. I don’t think I’m sleeping anyway.” I say.

“I hate that we got picked for this,” she continues. “I actually don’t even like kids. Why do you think I have none?”

“Well tonight will just be birth-control.”

“Trust me I don’t need it.” She cackles and walks away. My phone buzzes with a text.

Harry: Might be late tonight. cover for me if anyone asks?

Y: ur not even working the day how are u gonna be late?

Harry: got a thing. Just cover pls?

Y: obv

I wonder what was going on with him.

We hadn’t had a lot of opportunities to hang out the last week and work had been too busy to properly catch up. Plus our manager had been putting us on conflicting projects so I really had been missing Harry.

Even though Harry and I were friends there was something about distance and fondness that was proving true lately. And I hated it. So I’d gone on a string of dates this week. Hence my busyness.

I’d gone out on a date a week ago and even though I ended up going back to his place all I wanted to do was text Harry. Ask him if he was up, what he was doing. I’d forced myself to shut my phone so I wouldn’t be tempted.

After we close the doors to the public that evening we begin setting up for the kids’ sleepover. It’s so hectic nobody notices Harry’s late but he slides right in helping me string the lights in our biggest gallery. We work on the projectors next, I yap to him for 10 minutes straight and he barely replies. He’d been quiet since he got here.

And for the next few hours Harry and I entertain and help children have fun, we put on a fancy puppet show loosely based on famous artists—art projections included.

We sneak away to the kitchen after we take our bow for a tea break.

“Wouldn’t happen to have a flask on ya?” Harry sighs as he strains his tea bag.

“God I wish,” I stare into the dark abyss of my earl gray. That performance had really taken it out of me. “Who d’you think’s most likely to have something stashed away?”

“Well,” Harry yawns like he hadn’t slept all week and points to an upper cabinet. “Behind the cleaning stuff.”

“What?!” I gasp. “Seriously?”

“Well last time I saw it was last Christmas. Probably got some alcoholics here. I dunno if the stash is still there.”

“Well this is naughty,” I find a couple travel-sized liquor bottles like the kind you get on planes. I take one so that somebody else can have the delight of the other.

Harry sticks his mug out and I empty half the bottle, doing the same to mine.

“Make sure it’s covered,” he advises when I throw it in the bin. I shake it around until I can’t see it.

“Much better,” I cheers my mug to his. He catches my eye and it feels like we’re co-conspirators again. I pass a smile that’s only half-returned. “So what’s the deal with you?”

“Hm?” He doesn’t look up from his drink.

“I’ve barely seen you all week. And you’re late tonight. And you look haggard as hell.”

He shrugs, “I’ve been helping one of my mates out with moving out of his girlfriend’s. They broke up. He’s a mess so…”

“Oh.” I wasn’t expecting that. “That’s kind of you.”

“You sound surprised.”

“Do I?” I widen my eyes.

“Piss off.”

He cracks with a smile—a full Harry smile and I feel my heart beaming just to soak it in.

“Are you doing anything tomorrow?” I ask tentatively. I knew he had the day off too.

“Uhm,” cagey Harry returns. “Maybe. I’m not too sure right now.”

“Ah okay.”

We sip in silence that threatens to smother us. I get up as quickly as I can without wasting my precious drink.

“I’m gonna head back out.”

“Alright.”

I head back to the star-lit room where sleeping bags are laid out like mismatched brick throughout the floor. Some kids are cozied within, others sit on top. They’re all engrossed in the “bedtime story” being told by a local author.

It’s sweet, I think. This would become a core memory for a lot of these kids, drinking in the whole night through all their senses. I wish I had more memories like this. Maybe then I wouldn’t be so fragile all the time.

Adults staying overnight got their own gallery blankets and I drag one over to the far end, enough for any kid who needed assistance could find me but far away that I could be on my phone and not distract them.

Some time later another body joins me with his own blanket.

“Sorry,” Harry says as he sits.

“For what?” I play pretend. Just like these kids were doing tonight. What could you possibly be saying sorry for? What could I possibly feel entitled to you for? We’re just friends.

“For being weird earlier. I…well I have to tell you something and I’m being weird instead.”

My heart begins to thump in my chest.

“Tell me what?”

“So I’ve um…I’ve got a-“ Harry clears his throat. I glance up at him and he’s looking out towards the ceiling. “I have a girlfriend. I know we…we’re not…”

“Jeez Har,” even though ever atom inside of me is keeling over with something I can’t exactly examine yet, I play the joker. The friend. “If this is you telling me you’re getting serious with someone that’s all you have to say.”

“Really?” He turns to me and on the shiny hardwood floor so does half his body. I ignore how his knees feel pressing into mine. “You’re…okay?”

His voice is anything but casual.

“Yeah! It’s not like we’re a thing.”

Even still, I can’t say it. I die a little more.

“Yeah well I wasn’t expecting it. She’s the daughter of someone my dad knows? Pretty sure they orchestrated it but we went on a couple dates and then she asked…well she wanted to be exclusive I…”

“Well that’s good. For you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yep.”

“Thank god,” the air whooshes out of his lungs.

“I feel like I should be offended. You thought I was going to be mad or something?”

“No not mad…” he trails off. I look at his reaction and find him looking at me already. Even though it’s dark I can still see his eyes and they feel like they’re reading everything on my face. In a hushed tone he repeats himself, “not mad.”

I shrug, biting my lip hard to feel something other than the emotions threatening to overwhelm me. Emotions I never thought would surface this strongly.

“I’m good. Actually I’m not good. I think that bottle we found was rubbish I’ve got to go toilet—“ I use his knee to pull myself up. “Save my spot.”

I walk away without sparing a glance back because my act is crumbling. I’m crumbling. And I don’t understand it.

If you asked me two weeks ago I would have gone on how fun it was to be with Harry but how the idea of being with him seriously would be weird. Would throw off our balance. But now I want to puke my guts in the toilet at the idea of having to let him go. Because he’s the one who moved on.

And as hard as I try tears still escape my lashline and make trails down my cheeks as I study myself in the brightly lit mirror. How could I be mad when we were just casual? How could I hate him if all he did was look for something serious. Someone serious.

Suddenly what had felt fun and mature feels childish and disposable.

I was disposable fun.

“Get it the fuck together,” I tell myself. “You’ve got nothing to cry over. You could get yourself a boyfriend too. He’s not your soulmate or something jeez.”

I blow my nose and give myself another pep talk before exiting the toilets back to where Harry waits for me.

“You alright?” He asks. A loaded question.

“Yeah. Regret doing this for the whole night though.”

“You could sleep. I’ll take first shift.”

“I’ll get in trouble.”

“Who gives a shit,” Harry tugs me so that I fall against his shoulder and it’s the worst thing in the world.

I don’t curl my arm through his like I might’ve before. Or cozy into his chest. I stay there like a stiff robot until sleep takes me. Even then it’s not long enough.

—1 month later—

I’m heading home after an uneventful day, ready to sink into bed and turn my brain off. These days my brain talked too much and I really wish there was an on/off switch for it.

“Um hiya?” A soft voice says as I exit the turnstile in the lobby. I turn towards the voice and it belongs to a sweet looking girl about my age with harsh features softened by a layered bob. On me it would look ridiculous but she looks like she was born to rock the style she was in.

“Hi,” the rule of thumb was even though you were clocked out if you exited from the lobby in work clothes and somebody stopped you, you had to help them. I’d forgotten to tuck my badge away today damnit.

“I’m waiting for someone? He hasn’t been answering his texts I was just wondering if-“

“You could ask reception?” I point to the desk behind her. “They can page who you need.”

“They weren’t really helpful,” she shrugs. “I’m assuming you work with him? Harry?”

It’s the last name I’m expecting from her lips. I nearly stumble back trying to take her in again with the new knowledge of who she might be.

“H-Harry?”

I’d heard her the first time. I’m just trying to grasp at a second to collect myself.

This must be his girlfriend. The one who wanted to be exclusive. And I hated that I’d liked her in our two minute interaction.

He hadn’t spoken much about her since he told me a month ago but since half of our relationship before her was being intimate, we barely talked and when we did it was mostly just work and the relationship felt really fragile and rough.

I could see what Harry saw in her—she was attractive. And not pushy; she let Joey at reception push her around which was hard to do. And she was meeting Harry here, at work. It must be getting serious.

All these thoughts race through my mind in a millisecond.

“Oh! Harry yeah,” I nod when she confirms. “Of course I know him. I think he was in a meeting might be why…I can go back in and check if you-“

“Oh no! Sorry I’m not trying to be a bother. You’re probably going home I just wanted to make sure he was still in?”

“Yeah! Yeah he’s in. I’ll tell Joey—reception, to page him if he’s out. He’s nicer than he seems.”

“That’d be perf,” she beams. I die a little more, unsure why I was helping her this much. Unsure why it bothered me this much.

Ever since Harry had ended the thing we didn’t have, my life had felt haunted. The ghosts of every emotion I killed in the moments we’d been together began to surface and they were torture. Biggest of all was regret and shame. Regret over what could have been if I’d just admitted how deeply I felt months ago. Shame because I wasn’t supposed to feel this way for Harry. Because he obviously didn’t feel the same way, he never would, and it would be embarrassing to ever admit it.

Our actual relationship had gone like this after that night—avoidance -> awkward small talk -> light bantering -> finally, being able to talk semi-normally again.

We stopped hanging out outside of work however, so every day I got to see him was a day I was excited to go into work. My friends told me I had to do something about it—confess and see what he says, or move on.

And I’d tried to move on. But every guy I tried to date didn’t hold a candle to the flame that warmed my heart; to the idiot I had the misfortune of falling for after we ended things.

Or maybe I was just the idiot.

And here I was self-sabotaging by helping his girlfriend. There was definitely something wrong with me.

“Elsie!”

Both our heads turn to the voice.

“There he is,” I say but she’s already squeezing my arm and walking towards him. Harry doesn’t realize I’m standing there and I watch him smile at her in a way that sends a spike to my heart. Then he notices me.

“Oh YN,” his eyelids flutter a few times too many. “Uh-“

“YN god sorry I didn’t even get your name,” Elsie turns back to me. “YN was helping me.”

“Yeah? Thanks,” Harry looks visibly relieved and flashes me a grin. I raise my brows and smile back.

Home. I had to get home.

“Well I figured Har already had a hard time finding a girlfriend, I didn’t want him to lose her so quickly. This isn’t even a very big place.”

Harry’s expression is unreadable but Elsie laughs.

“Very funny,” Harry responds.

“I know.” I gear myself up to say bye. “Well I’ll see you tomorrow, let you get to wherever you’re going. It was nice-“

“Well we’re just hanging out with some friends,” Elsie says.

“YN knows a few of them,” Harry says. I watch his eyes bug a little as he realizes he’s stepped onto a minefield and watch him back away smoothly. “Some of the younger crew go out for drinks sometimes.”

“Ah,” Elsie says as Harry wraps his arm around her shoulder from behind. He was laying it on thick but I don’t think Elsie noticed his hiccup. “Well why doesn’t she come!? YN you should join us! One more friend!”

“Oh I don’t think she wants to-“

“I was honestly just gonna go ho-“

I stop talking the same time Harry does.

“No you should!” Elsie says. “Don’t listen to Harry.”

I catch his eye and they’re saying please don’t.

Don’t tell me what to do, mine say.

Don’t be stubborn.

Challenge accepted.

“Ok! Maybe one drink.” I say as Harry huffs. It felt dangerous, having a non-verbal conversation in front of his girlfriend.

I was an idiot, I confirm. An idiot making bad decisions.

“Yay! Let’s go.” Elsie takes Harry’s hand and drags him to the front door. I nearly laugh at his face as he’s dragged past me—he was mad.

And it comes out a couple hours later. By then I’d had more than a single drink, have befriended most of the people I don’t know at the table and have caught up with those I do know. Harry had been mostly attached by the hip to Elsie and I tried not to stare daggers at it.

They’re an interesting couple, you can tell Harry is distracted most of the night and she tries to accommodate by being around and talking to him. He leaves a hand on her at all times but she doesn’t wrap herself around him the way I used to. Maybe she wasn’t touchy.

Maybe I was being obsessive.

So I distract myself with everyone, with drink, with a particularly cute boy who introduced himself as Elsie’s uni friend. Who happened to be brother’s with Harry’s old flatmate. Small worlds.

“YN,” Harry tugs my sleeve as Grant and I talk—if you can call heavy flirting just talking.

“What?!” I snap after the tugging gets aggressive.

“I need to talk,” He points to himself and then me, “to you.”

I could see he was well past tipsy. It wasn’t often Harry drank to this point so I follow him to find out what was going on.

I follow him to a patio table that had just been vacated, empty glasses littering the surface. An untouched shot sits in the middle. The tableau tells a story—art was everywhere.

“What?” I ask.

“What’re you doing?”

“What am I?” I laugh. “What are you doing? I think you’ve had a few drinks too many mate.”

“You’ve got drinks,” he replies.

“Yeah…” I look back at the half finished drink I left at the bar. “I did have more than I thought. I feel like I drink a lot more when there’s a lot of people around? Otherwise I’m just nursing my drink-“

“Why did you decide to come out tonight? When you’ve met my girlfriend.”

Girlfriend.

“When I’ve…what?! Your girlfriend invited me no thanks to you.”

“Yeah but you never come out anymore. And suddenly you want to come out when Elsie asks?”

“What d’you mean I never come out anymore?”

Harry sighs. “You stopped hanging out.”

“Yeah because you got a girlfriend? You stopped inviting me out!”

“No what? No! You’re always…it’s an open invitation I don’t need to specifically invite you out I-“

“So why did you invite me specifically before?” I call him out, feeling more sober than I was a few minutes ago. “You stopped inviting me. We stopped hanging out. And so I stopped inviting you when I went out cuz I thought you had a girl and I didn’t want to make it complicated I-“

My voice catches on an unfiltered emotion and I want to die. I feel heat creep up my cheeks as I try to swallow it down and hope Harry doesn’t notice. Fuck!

“Anyway your girlfriend invited me so I came! It’s not a big deal.”

“I didn’t…” Harry scratches his nose and looks uncomfortable. “I didn’t mean to stop. I…it was complicated and I-“

“It’s fine. Whatever Har.”

“It’s not,” his brows come together. “Obviously s’not. I’m sorry? I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you feel…”

I almost laugh at what he’s said and how it sounds: I didn’t mean to make you feel. Well, neither did I.

“Yeah whatever. I’m not mad about it.”

“Sorry.” He says instead.

“Thanks,” I clear my throat for good measure, not wanting to be too emotional. I want to tell him I missed him but I don’t think it would be appropriate.

“I thought-“ he breaks off with a laugh. “Nevermind.”

“What?” I push him lightly. “You know I hate when people don’t finish their thought. It’s going to drive me crazy—what?”

“No this one you won’t like. Nevermind.”

“Tell meee,” I poke his shoulder until he slaps my hand away.

“Stop that! I hate when you do that!”

“I know.” I say smugly. “So?”

“It’s stupid. I thought you came here to annoy me or something. And then you’re practically sitting in Grant’s lap…”

He’s right. I wouldn’t like it.

“Hold on,” I bring my hand down on the table. “You thought I was flirting with Grant to annoy you? Why would I-what!?”

“Like I said,” he doesn’t make eye contact. “It was stupid. Nevermind!”

“No it’s not nevermind. You don’t drive what decisions I make in my love life.” Lie. “Got that?”

“Jeez you can’t get angry after forcing me to say!”

“I can!”

“Can you quit bitching I don’t have time for this.”

“I’ll be as big of a bitch as I want to be.” I cross my arms.

“Unfortunately, I know.”

“That’s a completely stupid thought to have-“

“Surely not all your thoughts are winners. That’s why you don’t say all of them.” Harry says, then laughs. “Actually you do. And I always have the displeasure of hearing all of them.”

My jaw drops. “It’s like you’re purposely saying the stupidest shit right now. Like you want to be a prick.”

“C’mon you little shite,” Harry tugs my arm until they uncross. “I’m joking, remember jokes?”

I want to say something snippy, tell him off, but as my arms fall away his hand slides down until the tips of our fingers brush. It makes me feel touch-starved, like I’d been isolated in the woods for the last two months growing crazy for human touch.

Harry senses the shift and his smile dies down, his throat bobbing up and down.

How was it that Harry, out of every man I’ve ever met and continue to meet, has this effect on me? How can one touch quiet my mind so completely while pushing my heart into overdrive.

Why, I want to ask the universe. Why was it this man in front of me that made me feel so intensely?

“YN,” he says.

I should pull away. I should because his fingers creep further now pressing into my palm. I want them to slide higher until they’re tangled in my hair, pulling me closer. I wanted him closer.

“I missed you,” it comes stumbling out. And the shock of it pulls me out of whatever trance I just found myself in.

I pull my hand away and Harry straightens up, his gaze clearing too.

“Sorry.” My heart is in my throat now. “Sorry. I didn’t—that was inappropriate. I’m gonna go back now…”

“Wait,” he calls out as I head back to Grant knowing my heart wasn’t in it anymore. That I was going home.

“Hm?” I try to blink away the shame as I turn back towards him.

“D-do you…regret anything?”

I raise a brow and he flushes. I was making this torture for both of us but I wanted him to ask.

Stupidly, I wanted him to know.

“Between us. I know we never…we’re just friends. But did you ever regret…us?”

I shake my head. “No. No. Never. It was some of the best times.”

It’s like I’ve said the wrong thing. His face falls and I decide I had to go. Had to. I was afraid what else might be spilled out between us.

I don’t even remember what I tell Grant, just that I grab any of my belongings that I can spot, ask him to throw his number into my phone, and hightail it out. And I nearly make it to the tube when a warm hand grips my arm.

“Get off—oh!” I nearly whack Harry with my purse but he ducks anyway. “What the fuck Har!?”

“Sorry. Sorry sorry!” He lets me go and I miss his warmth. “I didn’t realize!”

“Yeah! You can’t just grab a woman at night like that!”

“Obviously! I wasn’t thinking! I was just trying to get to you-“

“Why?”

“Bloody hell you know why YN!”

I stare at him. His face doesn’t hide a single thought, a single emotion. It’s vulnerable, and terrifying.

“Don’t take the piss.” He grabs my arms and gives me a shake. “You know. You know.”

“I-don’t do this. Har, you have a girlfriend. I don’t want to be that girl ok?”

“Why?”

“Why? Because that’s awful and-“

“No! Why didn’t you say anything when we were together? Any time we were together? When I told you I had a girlfriend? Why were you always so…cool?”

“Me? Cool?” I laugh. “There’s nothing cool about me Har.”

“Well you’re hard to fucking read then! I dunno! I was always leaving hints and signals that I actually liked you. And you always ignored them!”

“Hints? Signals?” I gape. “When the—what the hell do you call hints?!”

“I…I wanted you to meet my fucking parents for god’s sake. Did you really never-“

“If I’m hard to read so are you mate,” I lean against the closest thing—a mailbox. My legs are jelly. “Was that when you vaguely suggested I wake up in your bed while your parents were down?!”

“Fine well I bought you chocolates that one time, I’ve even got some of your tees in my room! I-I tried to plan romantic dates for us—Hampstead! I tried to tell you-“

“What?” I’m not asking him anything. I’m just questioning everything; everything I avoided and played off had meaning. Of course it did. Everything had meaning, but I’d just thrown our dictionary out the window so it would mean nothing. Because I was afraid.

“Really?!” Harry sighs. He crouches down and runs his hands through his hair. “Am I that bad? I thought I was making it so clear but you always brushed it off. I felt like an idiot for falling for you when it was just s’pose to be casual. I thought I was being a bloody simp.”

I inch down to where he crouches.

“You fell for me?” I whisper.

When he looks at me it’s with eyes that look like broken seaglass. With a mouth curved down so low that I want to kiss into a smile. Into a laugh.

He cups my face, his thumb brushing my cheek. I give in to the sigh and his lips lift ever so slightly.

“How could I not?”

“I thought I drove you crazy?” I grasp his hand. “I thought I was just a fun distraction I-“

“I never said the second part.” He interrupts.

“You sure?”

“You were reading the wrong hints.”

I laugh and so does he. It almost turns into tears.

He stands and extends a hand that I take, his warm palm covering mine.

“Now’s when you return the confession,” he says without letting go. “So?”

“What? I’m not hiding any confessions!”

“Liar,” he tugs me close. “Your heart’s racing.”

“That’s from getting up so quickly.”

“You’re full of shite.”

We’re smiling so hard I’m sure we look like crazy people on the street.

But he had a girlfriend. Oh god. A sweet girl I’d just met today.

His expression grows confused as mine must turn to worry. I untangle myself.

“Harry…”

“I know.” He finally clues in.

“We can’t-“

“I know.”

We stare at each other for a heartbeat.

“I’m gonna go. Or else…”

“Just like that?” He asks.

“How else is it supposed to be?” I demand. “We can’t do this Har. And please…if you like her…respect her at all—don’t break up with her just to be with me. I wouldn’t be able to stomach it.”

“Then I’m just lying to her.”

“I…” I shrug. “I dunno. I just don’t want to be the reason for her heartbreak okay?”

“You’re being a sensitive snowflake. Breaking up with her is the right thi-“

“You can’t call people snowflakes-

“I can if that’s what they’re being-“

“I’m going home.” I tell him. It’s the last thing I want to do.

He opens his mouth with whatever quick retort he always had. But he must think twice about it. His face draws into a frown.

“Sort yourself out.” I instruct him. “Just sort it out. And then one day soon we can see…y’know.”

I half turn away, but can’t bear to leave without touching him one last time. Who knows when the next time will be. I flit to him so I can press my lips against the warmth of his cheek, so intoxicating. Like an addict only sniffing the alcohol in their cup. And when I feel his body loosening, about to hold my own, I flit away and rush into the tube without a glance back.

I don’t register anything on the ride home. I’m too shocked to even cry about it.

I wash the day away, the scent of him and the look on his face when he realizes we each had been trying to hold out own glaring neon signs to each other.

It’s late when there’s a knock on my door. I figure it’s my roommate forgetting her keys, and since I’d been laying on my bed in my towel after my shower too numb to sort myself out I end up opening the door basically naked.

It’s Harry.

His eyes roam over my terryclothed figure with a smile.

“What—what are you doing here!?” I grab the edge of my towel to keep it in place.

“Were you expecting someone else?” He asks.

“No-stop!” I push my hand into his chest as he crosses through the doorway. “Why are you here?”

His eyebrows draw together, hurt. “I…I didn’t think I was that drunk—we did just admit our feelings to each other a few hours ago right?”

“Yes but!” I put my hand down because his heart is beating fast under my hand and I don’t want to feel it a second longer. “You were also supposed to sort yourself out and-“

“Can you just let me in?”

I stare at him.

He stares back.

“Fine!” I give up and move aside. He closes the door behind him. That’s when I notice his hands. “What’s that?”

“For you.” He holds a bouquet up. “I know they’re shitty. I couldn’t find much at this time of night-“

“No hold on, I don’t understand.”

“We’ve wasted enough time throwing out shitty hints that apparently neither of us could read. We should never be detectives.”

I stay still, waiting for an explanation. Any bloody explanation as to why he’s here and not with his girlfriend!

“I went back to Elise. She knew something was wrong right away. I tried to deny it. She asked if something was going on between us-“

“God seriously Har! I said not to-“

“Did you want me to go back and pretend to be in love with her when I just had a fucking bomb go off in my life!? I know you don’t want to be that girl YN but I don’t want to be that shitty guy who stays with someone because he feels bad! What does that make me?”

I can picture Elise’s face in my mind. Oh god.

“She wasn’t mad-“

“You wish.” I snort.

“No she wasn’t. Well she was at first because she thought I was with you and her at the same time. I explained. I apologized. She got it. She…turns out she was still hung up over her ex. That she really liked me but she was mostly doing it to get her parents off her back. Because they never like who she dates. Which wasn’t a great thing to hear but…I’m pretty sure I saw her catching a cab as I was leaving. Maybe she went back to her ex.”

I’m dumbfounded with his retelling of what happened after I’d left.

“She’s okay. Are we?” He asks when I don’t reply.

The bouquet looks rough, like it was maybe clutched too hard and the flowers are nearing the end of their life. I imagine Harry rifling through a flower stand to find something for me. Coming here because he couldn’t wait.

I was kidding myself. I couldn’t wait either.

“Okay.”

“Okay??” He asks but he’s closing the distance because he’s reading me. He already knows me.

“Fine.” I say as he loops his arms around my waist. I stretch my arms up around his shoulders, clasping them at his neck. Something throbs deep in my chest. I missed him.

“I missed you,” he says. Always reading my mind.

“I didn’t know I could.” I say to him. His eyes are filled with a raw emotion that mirrors whatever’s aching in my chest.

“You’re like something from the gallery,” he cups my face. “Beautiful and original, breathtaking and you pass by it every opportunity you get just to get another glimpse. It makes you realize what you’ve been missing your whole life.”

“Aw Har,” my voice wobbles. If this was Harry when he was direct and not giving shitty hints I don’t know how I was going to survive us.

“What?” He whispers.

“You’ve got a soft side. You’re not actually a prick.”

His dimples make an appearance as he smiles. “I told you. I’ve just got standards don’t I.”

I wanted all of him—god how did I fool myself this whole time. I wanted all of him. He was just so lovely. “I think you’re going to ruin me,” I whisper back. His grin disappears and he tugs me ever closer.

“You’ve already ruined me.” He says. “I can’t look at any piece of art without thinking of you. I can’t go a day without wondering about you.”

“Is that healthy?” I murmur. My heart drums.

“Who the fuck cares about healthy?” He laughs.

We gaze at each other, the blood rushes through my body at high speeds.

“Mutual ruin?” I ask.

He responds with a kiss so passionate that I forget how to breath. I’m sure my towel was being held up by our bodies at this point.

“Mutual ruin. Or you can just ruin me.” His lips brush against my ear, feather down my neck. “I’m madly in love with you YN. There’s nobody but you.”

I don’t know whether to laugh from giddiness or cry from how my heart overflows.

“Har, I think I get the hint.” I say instead. He laughs.

“Fucking finally.”

💟💟💟💟

#harry styles #harry styles fic #harry styles x reader #writingsfromhome #harry styles fanfic #harry styles imagine #harry styles fluff #harry styles angst #fic #harry styles one shot

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randomshyperson · 6 hours ago

Note

Hi Mary, for the writing game can I request Wanda for hand holding #43 please? Thank you! Hope you overcome your writer’s block soon, I’ll be patiently waiting for your next masterpiece 🥰

Wanda Maximoff x Reader

prompt: raising the other’s hand to their lips to kiss it softly. | warnings: angst(ish), brief mentions of manipulation of free will (magic mind control stuff), dark!wanda.

"I just need to find the right spell." Wanda began to justify herself, even though you didn't say anything. Her hands remain in yours, while you wipe most of the blood with a wet cloth.

It's most likely due to the adrenaline from the fight leaving her body now that she starts to speak.

"I'll find it, I promise. And all of this will stop. We'll be able to go home." She assures you half-desperately, half-breathlessly. You just nod, in no hurry to finish your task. You like touching Wanda, and she almost never lets you now that the marks from the excessive use of the darkhold are so visible on her fingers.

She starts to cry softly, and then louder. You let her. The blood disappears from her hands, but only visibly. You discard the cloth somewhere in the corner of the room, to intertwine your hands together in your lap, and Wanda gives in to bury her face in your collarbone and soak your blouse with tears.

It doesn't take long for her to calm down, and you wait patiently until she does, a small Sokovian hum escaping your lips.

When she speaks again, despite the hoarse, affected tone of someone who has just cried so hard, there is a firmness and desperation in her voice that makes you frown in concern.

“I’ll make us a family again,” she says. “And all the pain will go away.”

You sigh. Wanda doesn’t tell you things, not really. So you don’t understand everything she means to say when she does. You don't understand why she hurts who she hurts, doesn't remember their faces, or their names. You don't remember why you're running, or when it started. Where you're going, or who you're running from.

All you remember is to follow her lead.

“I’m not in pain, Wanda,” you murmur, your eyes dropping to her black-stained fingers. “I’m happy with you.”

She sobs softly, but you’re distracted by her hands. Your fingers trace hers, those dark tips of hers before you dare ask, even though she never explains much beyond what she thinks you should know:

“Is this what hurts you?”

She shakes her head first before answering. "No, love, this is just a reminder." You raise your curious eyes to her.

"Of what?"

"Of the monster that I am." You frown, and Wanda offers you a sad smile. She makes mention of pulling her hands away, but you tighten your grip. She looks ready to protest when you lift one of them to your face, to kiss her open palm and draw a sigh from her. "What are you doing, my love?" She whispers, watching as you run your lips over every inch of her skin. Open palms, and fingertips, not caring about the dark magic stains. Not knowing what they mean. Before repeating the same gesture, on the other hand, you let her know;

"I love every part of you. Even the parts you think are bad. Unworthy of love. Especially those parts." Wanda chokes on her breath, in shock for a moment. But she doesn't wait for you to finish the gesture on her other hand to tilt her face towards you and kiss your lips.

The black fingers move to grab your cheeks, to deepen the kiss and she feels you smile against her lips.

It's a much more intoxicating sensation than the addiction in the darkhold, and Wanda focuses on this as she surrenders herself to the kiss and pushes the demonic whispers to the back of her mind, letting your needy sounds replace them.

She'll remember this, in the next world she destroys trying to get you back. And in the next, and the next.

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda x reader #elizabeth olsen x reader #marvel imagines #wanda maximoff imagines #writing challenge

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thewritetofreespeech · 2 days ago

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Castlevania: Valentine's Day

---------🏵️----------

Alucard: Orange Blossom - eternal love, good fortune, marriage

Once, when Alucard was a boy, he witnessed his father present his mother with a whole drawing room of flowers to prove his love. It had been beautiful and lush. Flowers from all over the world nestled in it. Some medical for her work. Some just pretty to look at.

Alucard didn’t think he could top that, but he would make every effort to try.

“I cleared this away for you.” He said as he showed you the patch of dirt he had clear cut, tilled, and set up a small fence to keep the animals at bay. “You asked for a place to grow some fruits and vegetables for the villagers. This is your place now.” Your generosity and kindness had been what won Alucard over in his heart. He wanted to show you that your efforts mattered. That they were appreciated. That he would give you the world if only you would ask, and yet you only asked for a simple plot of earth. “And this is to help you get started.”

He produced a small orange sapling to give to you. Even as a young tree of just a few branches, the orange blossoms fragrant in the crisp morning air. “We’ll keep it in the castle for now but come next year it will bear fruit right here. And we will watch it grow together.”

Your smile felt like the first frost had suddenly melted. He looked forward to more smiles in the future. Watching this tree, and their love, grow.

-------🌷----------

Trevor: Pink Tulip - affection, love, tulips; general meaning of forgiveness

“Come oooon. You can’t still be mad at me.” Trevor whined as he followed behind you through the streets.

He knew he had messed up. Not usually one for romance, Trevor still knew that Valentine’s Day was a big one for couples (which was why he was usually two towns over by the time the holiday came around). Not with you, of course. He just genuinely forgot the date as there wasn’t a lot of time to check the calendar when your life was in danger.

“I said I was sorry, but I really didn’t think you would be into….all this.” He waved his hand around to all the fake sappy displays with fake papier-mâché hearts. “Once you’ve had a real heart in your hand, the décor sort of loses it’s effect.”

Trevor sensed he wasn’t getting anywhere with you. Your cold shoulder turning into a full cold back as you refused to turn around. So he realized he would have to fall on his sword and go for the big guns.

“Look, I’m sorry.” He said again after side-stepping in front of you to cut off your path. “I’m an idiot. But you knew that when you linked up with me. Still, I will try to be more romantic in the future.” He reached out to pluck a single pink tulip from a stall. Bringing it to his lips to hide his devilish smirk before offering it to you. “Forgive me?”

“Hey! You have to pay for that!”

Trevor sighed and glared at the stall owner. “You are literally ruining this for me my guy.”

----------🌼------------

Richter: Daisies - Innocence, Loyal love

Richter was broke. Broker than usual, to be precise.

The life of a vampire hunter was not one that paid well, if at all, so Richter was used to living frugally. But with times as they were, people starving as they cried out for change, his coffers were even more barren then usual. He only had enough for necessities for the two of you right now, and even that was stretching it.

Usually, it wouldn’t bother Richter so much. He could get by with the minimum. This time of year, however, he wished he had more than 2 livres to rub together so he could get you something for Valentine’s Day.

It was your first one together. That seemed important. Richter might not know a lot about romance, but he at least knew that much. Plus, regardless of the holiday, he wanted you to know how much you meant to him. How much you being in his life kept him fighting and hoping.

Window shopping with his empty coin purse, the young Belmont sighed as he looked at the jewels through the glass. He wished he could get you something like this. Something beautiful. Something nice. His eyes landed on one necklace in the window and he paused. It was a flower necklace. Delicate gold spun to look like leaves with white pearl petals along the neckline in intricate webbing. He suddenly perked up and raced out of the city to the hillside past the gates.

Later that night, he came back to the room at the inn the two of you were sharing and shyly offered you his gift. “It’s not much.” He cautioned. Watching you unwrap the resmoothed paper he had found and finding a flower chain within. “But my mother taught me how to make them when I was a boy. She said there was protection magic in them. I think she just liked them.” Carefully picking up the chain of daisies from your hand, Richter placed them around your neck. Smiling as he watched them rest there. “Beautiful.” Hesitantly, he leaned in to kiss you. Happy when you lean in to kiss him back.

It might not be much, but it was all he had. And Richter would give you all he had for the rest of his days.

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seepingfrommyskin · 2 days ago

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Love is everywhere, whether it be romantic, familial, platonic, etc., etc., so have a happy Valentines Day and tell your loved ones how much you love and care for them!!!!!!!!! <3

Two bonus doodles:

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loves-alibi · 3 days ago

Text

skyglow - prologue

pairing: ex-partner!simon riley x detective!reader summary: The 141 responds to a hostage call from an android. wordcount: 4.0k warnings: death, murder, murder of a child (the murder is not described), blood, vomit, injury, f!reader

series masterlist

November 04, 2177

Metropolitan Police are the first to the scene. Holotape has been set up around the townhouse, its projections flickering in the heavy rain.

"Are they already inside?" You ask.

Simon grunts, "No. The 'droid's waiting."

Simon lazily points to the front garden where— lo and behold —the family android is waiting, rain pouring down its still frame. The android is the one that called the police. It had reported a hostage situation. That was about fifteen minutes ago. You and Simon were finishing up a nearby call when the report came in. Now you'd just have to wait for the rest of the 141 to show up.

There's a knock on the passenger side window. Your head snaps over to see a cop, a few years older than you, chewing at his lip impatiently. He nearly jumps out of his skin when the tinted window rolls down to reveal Simon, inches from the poor guy's face. Who could blame him? Simon's not exactly the friendliest looking fellow. After working with him for three years and being his friend for just as long, it's still hard not to let your nerves get the best of you at the sight of his famous scowl.

"What?" Simon barks.

"'Droid's not lettin' us in," the cop says, voice raised to be heard over the constant pitter patter, "Says it 'as to consult with you first."

Simon nods and rolls the window back up. "Do we wait?"

You shake your head, "Let's talk to the android, get a head start."

Simon follows your lead. The crowd of cops part as they see you approaching, you'd like to think it's because they respect your position, but the way their eyes flicker above your head says otherwise. Through the thinning crowd you see the holotape, and before it an indignant-looking rookie. She stops you from crossing it with a hand on your chest. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Simon tense, his hands flexing by his sides.

"Only authorized personnel past this point, ma'am," she says, a self-congratulatory grin on her face.

"Oi," Simon draws her attention. In his hand is his badge. "We are the authorized personnel."

The kid looks like she doesn't know whether to shit herself or geek out. Unfortunately, she decides on the latter. Follows you and Simon through the holotape, she says,"The 141, right? It is an honor to meet you. I-I'd love to do what you all do one day. Do you have any advice?"

Simon sends you a cheeky grin. Are you gonna do it or should I?

She continues, "I mean, unless there are openings now. If so, I'd love to put my name—"

"Listen," you interrupt, "Now isn't the time."

She stares at you for a moment, waiting for you to keep talking. The kid is determined, you'll give her that. It takes a good thirty seconds for her to realize that you're dismissing her, and she retreats, tail tucked firmly between her legs.

"Were you like that when you were a rookie?" Simon muses.

"God, I hope not."

The android greets you and Simon with a polite nod. As it turns to you, you pause. Half of its jaw hangs off of its hinges. Shot off, if you had to guess by the subtle melting of the plastic around the damage. Whoever is inside is armed, though not well. Any well-respected gun is a dual-chamber, one holding specialized ammunition for androids, and the other holding normal rounds. While the android-specific ammunition can kill humans, the far-cheaper ammunition for humans can only partially damage androids. The android must have been shot with normal rounds if it was damaged so little.

It's a household unit, that much you can tell by its plain uniform. It's one of the more popular models, male in appearance with a young, pleasant face and bright blue eyes to compliment its dark, perfectly combed hair. At least, its hair is normally perfect. Its synthetic style is currently reduced to a wet mop, not that the android minds.

"Good evening, officers," the android greets. "I presume you're the specialists I am meant to speak with."

"We are," you nod to the open door of the house, just a few feet away. "What's going on?"

"At approximately 1900, Mr. Sterling locked himself, his wife, and son in the furnace room, located in the basement of the house. He has stated his intent to harm."

"He's the one that shot you?"

The android nods, "He has a pistol, I could provide the make, model, and year manufactured if—"

"No need," you turn to Simon, "Go tell them he's got a kid in there." Simon nods and heads back to where the officers have crowded around the holotape. "Has he listed conditions?"

"I am unaware of any."

"Any reason why he'd do this? Drugs?"

"Mr. Sterling does not partake in prohibited substances."

"Nothing?"

"As I said—"

"No coke, alcohol, blink?"

Androids don't take offense. They can't. It's not within their programming to feel anything that isn't the cold indifference of their code. However, as the android before you cocks its head, you think you've finally cracked the code on how to piss one off. "As I said, Mr. Sterling doesn't partake in prohibited substances."

A heavy hand lands on your shoulder. You don't flinch. "Price and the others are delayed. Heavy traffic."

"Can't they fly?"

The android responds before Simon can. "London traffic regulations prohibits motor air travel if rain conditions surpass 3.8 millimeters per hour, and—" The android pauses, its head tilting as it calculates, "We are currently experiencing rain of 4.7 millimeters per hour."

"Thanks, genius." You sigh. "We have all we need from you. You're dismissed. Sergeant Garrick is going to download your data once he gets here."

The android nods. It knows what you actually mean– that it'll be checked for cracks. That's Kyle Garrick's specialty— programming. Every case, he checks the involved androids' coding for possible cracks. Ideally, he would be here checking the android before you and Simon head in. Though, as the android walks away, its face blanking as it enters idling mode, you fear that's not possible.

You turn back to Simon. He's a mess, hair matted to his face and water clumping his eyelashes together. You can't imagine you look much better. Over his shoulder, you see the expectant eyes of overeager officers.

"We can't wait for them." You pull your watch to your mouth and utter into it, "Price."

After a moment, the watch crackles and from it emits a deep voice, "Go for Price."

"It's a hostage situation. Sterling's armed and with his wife and son. No clear motive. Possibly a mental crisis. Permission to proceed?"

There's silence on the other line. Then: "With caution, lieutenant."

"Copy that." With a hand on the watch, you end the call.

The townhouse looks like any other. While it's unfamiliar to the average London resident living in the residential high-rises, work has granted you the privilege to glimpse into the past. Few residential districts of London were able to be preserved over the last century. While London's climate-adaptation efforts were hailed by the rest of the world, the city is a shadow of the images painted of it in history books. Only the buildings deemed most culturally significant were saved from rising sea levels, with the rest being built over and forgotten by the masses. Mr. and Mrs. Sterling must pull in some major cash to afford a home in a coveted intact neighborhood.

Inside is even more impressive. The Sterlings' home has a warmth to it you long to find in your own flat. Christ, you take a deep breath through your nose. The air even smells like freshly baked bread. You could get used to a place like this. Unfortunately, there's a job to do.

Sweeping the floor turns out to be useless. All that's found are signs of a loving home, albeit a neat home. The android already said that the Sterlings were in the basement. Still, something tells you to sweep this place closely.

"There's nothing," Simon says, as though he's reading your thoughts. He places a picture of the family back on the bookshelf across the far wall.

"I know," you say. "Doesn't feel right, though. I mean… Sterling just snaps?"

Simon shrugs, head tilting towards the basement door, closed and begging to be explored. "We could ask him ourselves."

You take one last, long look at the living space. It disturbs you, thinking about how quickly Sterling was throwing his life away. What had happened? You reach for the doorknob, eyes still scanning the room, when fingers dig into the flesh of your wrist.

Simon juts his chin to the doorknob, mere millimeters from your fingertips. "Look," he utters.

On the doorknob is a smudge of pink, recognizable in an instant to any Londoner. "Blink," you sigh. "The 'droid said Sterling was clean."

Simon lets go with a shrug. He runs his fingers through the powder. It's stark against his alabaster skin. "New development, maybe. Did it mention any possible stressors? Lay-offs? Affairs?"

You shake you head. "Doesn't matter. Now we have an unstable perp."

Blink perps are always the most difficult to work with, often disoriented and confused. While blink provides users a feeling of euphoria, it comes at the cost of temporary short-term memory loss. In high energy clubs, it's a godsend. Partiers love the euphoria and the temporary ability to not have to worry about life. Out of the club though, it's a headache for you. Blink perps are more stressed, which leads to instability, which leads to violence. If Sterling was using blink for the first time, there's not telling what he'll do.

Not much is visible in the basement, but you peek a strip of light poking out from under what looks like a door. You glance at Simon over your shoulder. He nods and follows you down the stairs, steps as light as possible. From behind, you hear the sound of fabric rustling, then the click of metal. You pull out your own gun.

Pressing your ear to the door, you hear nothing. You reach for the doorknob, but before your fingers brush the cool metal, a harsh voice calls from the other side: "Don't bother! It's locked."

Simon is staring at you, head cocked to the side. You lift a finger up from your gun. I got this.

"Mr. Sterling, is everything alright? Your android is worried. It sent me to check up on you."

In the moment it takes for him to answer, a sniffle fills the air. A sense of relief washes over you. It seems he hasn't harmed his family just yet. Who knows for how long though.

"Can you unlock the door?"

More silence, then: "Why?"

"I want to help you," you smile, hoping that it makes you at least sound cheery. The truth is, your heart is beating faster than you'd like to admit. "I can't do that with the door closed."

Sterling goes quiet. You count the seconds. One… two… three… ten… twenty. Simon sighs, "We can't wait."

Your head snaps to Simon as you plaster a hand to his face. Simon looks confused for a moment, before his eyes also widen. As he stiffens, your hand remains pressed against his mouth, stubble ticking the sensitive skin of your palm. All you can do is pray that Sterling didn't hear Simon, or that if he did, he's too high to realize that he's outnumbered.

"You're not alone." Harsh. Accusatory. Aggressive. Well, shit. Your heart pounds in your chest. "You didn't say you weren't alone."

The door against your cheek thuds. Simon pulls your hand away. You jump back and cringe as behind the door, the sound of feet pacing across the floor becomes evident.

"Mr. Sterling," you keep your tone light, "I need you to stay calm."

"Calm? I'm calm! I'm very, very calm." The pacing picks up.

Simon leans into you. His breath fans across the skin of your neck, "What are we doing here?" He speaks softly, like he hadn't already compromised the safety of those hostages.

"Mr. Sterling, could— could I come in?" More silence. You place your gun in Simon's hand. He's looking at you like you've grown a second head. "I'm unarmed. My partner's gonna stay out here. I just want to talk."

Blood rushes in your ears, making it near-impossible to hear through the door. Nothing. Though, you suppose that's better than the pacing. It means Sterling's thinking, which means he's not hurting anyone.

You count again. One… two… three… four…

"O-okay." Bingo. "But just you! And no gun!"

"Just me. And no gun," you repeat. "I'm right outside the door. Could you let me in?"

"Where's the other guy?"

You glance at Simon, just a few feet back and scowling like a petulant child. Unfortunately for him, you're just as stubborn and you outrank him. He has no choice but to retreat to the stairs at the far end of the room, but not before taking your gun off of your hands. You nod at Simon once more in reassurance. His finger twitches on the grip of your pistol, though he makes no move to stop you.

"He's at the other end of the room, Mr. Sterling."

Silence. Only the sounds of your breathing and the shuffle of Simon's clothes as he shifts his weight from one foot to the other, then—

They're tucked into the corner of the room— mother and son huddled as close as humanly possible. Their sniffles are clearer now that the door's open, now that you're inside.

Sterling is the perfect image of a loving husband and father. Well-dressed, unassuming, and spectacled. You wouldn't look twice if you saw him on the street. Except, behind his glasses are eyes as wild as a caged animal.

"Hi, there," you smile at him despite the gun pointed square at your chest. Even with your bulletproof vest, a shot this close would not be pretty.

"You're a cop," Sterling accuses, his tone sharp, more angry than afraid.

"I work with androids," a truth by omission. "Yours called us to make sure that you were okay."

Multiple sets of footsteps thud through the door. The rest of the 141, you assume, confirmed by the familiar sets of voices that follow.

"What the hell is that?"

Sterling jabs his gun in your direction. From the corner of the room, his wife whimpers, "Oh God."

A mistake. The gun goes from you to her. Your eyes follow the direction of his aim, and fuck. Mrs. Sterling is draping herself over her son, her body trembling as she stares down the barrel of her husband's gun. The sight makes you queasy, but you suppress the feeling. There's no time for that.

"Honey," she pleads, "Put the—"

"Can you shut the fuck up?" Sterling takes a step in their direction. You follow frantically, and the gun bounces to you for a moment, but goes right back to Mrs. Sterling. "I need to—"

There's a commotion outside, louder voices. Price and Simon arguing. Their voices grow in volume until they're right against the door. Someone pounds on the door. Sterling glares at you.

"I thought your friend was gonna stay back," Sterling spits. "You lied."

You shake your head instinctively, "No, I never lied to—"

He lunges at you. Something hard slams against your temple, and the world goes black.

*****

Time is a fickle thing. Even more fickle when you've had consciousness ripped away from you. It feels like you've been laying on the ground for eons. Consciousness comes back to you in parts. First comes the recognition that you're alive— awake. Then the remembrance that you were knocked out. Finally your senses.

The shock of the cold floor is the first thing you notice. Then the painthat comes from being pistol whipped. Then the silence— that's what prompts your movement. It's tough. Your limbs don't want to listen to you, and when you try to push yourself up, your hands slip on something slick.

A deep voice curses, then softly calls your name. You pay no mind to it though, as you slowly manage to push yourself up to sitting. It takes a great deal of effort, and your head pounds the whole way up, but you manage. And—

"Oh shit." You mutter. The words tumble clumsily over your lazy tongue. Your sluggishness is as syrupy as the pool of blood that you sit in, coating your hands, your arms, torso, and— fuck —even the side of your face.

Someone calls your voice again. John Price, you dully realize as he appears in the corner of your vision.

"Whose…" you start, "Whose— oh."

It's funny how the body can process things before the mind. It's a primal instinct from the days where the two-legged beings we call humans were more beast than civil. They're helpful, necessary even. A child's cry. Fear of snakes. Fight-or-flight. Act first, then think. What that means for you, in this damp and cold basement, is that vomit, angrily acidic, bubbles up and out onto the floor before you can even process that there are not one, not two, but three motionless bodies before you, oozing blood into the very puddle which you are resting in.

Mr. Sterling— or what's left of him —is closest to you. His eyes are still open, glassy in the way that fresh corpses are, when you could easily mistake them for alive. There's no mistaking Sterling though, not with the bullet hole smack dab in the middle of his forehead.

You quickly fix your eyes back on the floor. A mistake. It's not just blood anymore, but a sickening combination of blood and half-digested mush.

"I—uhm… gonna…" You gag. For an awful moment, it seems as though you're going to vomit again. "…outside." You gasp finally.

John says your name again, softer. He places his hands on your back, keeping you planted on the ground. The ground covered in blood. The blood of Mr. Sterling, and his wife and son who he—

John tilts your head with a soft hand on your chin. You're looking at him now. His face is soft, so soft. You never thought he could look so demure. It does little to ease the ache in your chest. "Come help," he says to someone you can't see. John stands you up and moves you to another set of hands.

Simon. You recognize him by touch alone, soft, but undercut by the natural brutishness that a man like him could never escape.

He leads you up the stairs and back into the main floor of the house where a baker's dozen cops are searching. They freeze at the sound of the door creaking open. They do little to conceal their shock. While you can't see yourself, you don't exactly blame them. The right half of your face itches where the Sterlings' blood has tried into a tacky sludge. The rest of your body isn't fairing much better, blood and bile cover more of you than not.

You stop at the top of the stairs, eyes moving lazily from one officer to the next. As your eyes leave each one, it's like a spell breaks, and they go right back to whatever work they were doing, or they at least pretendto. You envy their nonchalance as much as you hate it.

The rookie's there too, the last one whose eyes you lock, but unlike the others you hold her gaze. Her mouth hangs wide open, and the evidence bag in her hand is entirely forgotten as she stares at you like some sort of sideshow attraction.

"So," you say. Her eyes widen. "You still want my advice?"

Simon pulls you away before she could stutter out an answer. "Come on," he coos, "Let's get some air, yeah?"

The air in question is cold, wet, and altogether not very pleasing. Simon sits you on the front steps of the house, on the side so officers can mill in and out as they please. He lowers himself down next to you, gently putting an arm around your shoulders. The half-hug is nice. Simon traces gentle circles on your shoulder. The feel of his fingertips is muddled by the many layers you don to keep warm, though it still soothes. You could easily lose yourself, but the stench of blood keeps you grounded. Keeps your heart aching and the tears flowing.

A gentle ding, pulls you to focus. Instead, Simon shuffles next to you. "Commissioner," he grumbles, holding his watch to his mouth.

"Price says you can answer—"

"One moment, sir," Simon covers the watch and gives you an apologetic look. "I'll be inside. Get me if… you know."

Without Simon, there's nothing to ward away your thoughts— your memories of what just occurred. That damp basement. The family in the corner. Of waking up in a pool of blood— their blood, still coating your entire body, soaking your clothes and skin and bones.

You vomit again, on the well-trimmed but muddy lawn of the Sterlings.

Between heaves, the sound of squelching footsteps approaches. "Lieutenant," a monotonous voice says. Great. The last think you want to deal with is the 'droid. "Do you need assistance?"

"No," you spit.

"Are you certain? I can provide medications to relieve any nausea. Or perhaps a sedative for emotional distress."

Distress. You tilt your head up to look at the android. It's squatting in front of you, perfectly stable on the uneven ground. The android's face is just as calm and cool as it had been earlier. It must know what happened, everyone knows. But it's an android. It doesn't— can't be affected by grief in the same way. It simply compartmentalizes it. The android's brain— processor —just takes whatever horrors it sees and converts it to ones and zeroes, letting it sit and rot in its memory unit until the android inevitably ends up in the landfill or nicked by some Old London junker.

You can't say you don't envy it. What would it be like to not have to feel? To care?

"Go away," you say. The android doesn't move. "I said go away!"

You throw a punch at the android. A proper right hook to its impervious face. It feels nice, a rewarding thing to do because it forces the damn thing to acknowledge that something is wrong.

Then it feels bad, quite bad. Painful, actually, as your fist slams against the hard plastic casing of the android and the layers of metal mechanisms underneath. During their career, the 141 has often mocked the many poor suckers who believed themselves strong enough to go toe-to-toe with an android. They don't understand how the machines work, how they're built.

Something fractures in your hand. Something important, no doubt, but that's a problem for later, because what you need right now is to curl up on the Sterling's wet lawn and scream. The latter you actually do, releasing a cry so carnal it makes your head spin.

The android doesn't ask if you need any more assistance. It observes you silently for a moment, unable to understand your pain, oblivious to the curse it is to feel. Finally, as though it stored all the data it needs from your outburst, the android nods cordially. "If you need assistance, lieutenant, do not hesitate to ask."

Its white shoes sink into the muddy lawn with each step, but the android moves as though its just any normal London street. Each step stains the canvas material more and more. Watching, you wonder just how long it'll take for the stains to come out.

#ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #cod fanfic #cod fanfiction #skyglow tag

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gpcwsl · 11 hours ago

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Maybe something for wally where she gets a small injury and gets frustrated with the fact that she had so many lately. R takes care of her, makes sure she looks after herself and follows the doctors/physios orders and reassures her she'll be fine, some angst and some fluff at the end

Lia Wälti x Reader

- You don’t get it -

WC: 905

MasterList

Warnings: injury mention? Short?

The sound of Lia’s hiss as she sinks into the couch makes your stomach twist with worry. You can see the way her jaw tightens as she gingerly props her foot up on the cushions, her frustration palpable even though she hasn’t said a word since you left the training ground.

The injury isn’t serious—just a slight sprain, according to the physios—but it’s enough to sideline her for at least a couple of games. And for Lia, that feels like the end of the world.

You sit down beside her, handing her the ice pack you’d wrapped in a towel. “Here. Keep this on it for a while.”

She takes it silently, pressing it to her ankle with a little more force than necessary. You watch her carefully, noticing the way her eyes are fixed on the floor, her brow furrowed.

“Do you want to talk about it?” you ask gently.

She shakes her head, but the tension in her shoulders says otherwise.

“It’s just a small setback, Lia,” you continue, hoping to draw her out. “You’ll be back on the pitch in no time.”

That’s when she snaps. “You don’t get it!” she blurts out, her voice sharp enough to make you flinch. “It’s not just this one. It’s all of them. I feel like I’m constantly getting injured lately. It’s like my body’s falling apart, and I can’t… I can’t keep up anymore.”

The anger in her voice cracks at the end, giving way to something far more vulnerable. She’s not just frustrated—she’s scared.

“Lia…” you start, but she cuts you off.

“What if this is it?” she asks, her voice quieter now but no less intense. “What if my body just can’t handle it anymore? What if I can’t play the way I used to?”

You hate seeing her like this—so defeated, so unlike the steady, composed Lia you know. But you also know that pushing her to look on the bright side isn’t what she needs right now.

Instead, you reach out, placing a hand on her knee. “Hey,” you say softly, waiting until she meets your eyes. “I know it feels like everything’s piling up right now, but this isn’t the end. It’s a sprain, Lia. It’s going to heal, just like all the others did.”

She looks away, her jaw tightening again. “But what if the next one doesn’t?”

You shift closer, your hand still resting on her knee. “Then we’ll deal with it. Whatever happens, you’re not in this alone. You’ve got the team, the physios, the doctors—and you’ve got me.”

Her eyes flick back to yours, and you can see the sheen of unshed tears in them. “I just feel so useless,” she admits, her voice barely above a whisper.

“You’re not useless,” you say firmly. “You’re one of the most talented, hardworking people I know. And taking a few weeks to recover doesn’t change that.”

She doesn’t respond, but the tension in her shoulders softens just a little.

“Now,” you continue, trying to lighten the mood, “you’re going to follow the physio’s orders, take it easy, and let yourself heal properly this time. No rushing back before you’re ready, okay?”

She arches an eyebrow, a hint of her usual sharpness returning. “Are you planning to supervise me?”

“Absolutely,” you reply without missing a beat. “Starting with making sure you don’t sneak out to train when you’re supposed to be resting.”

Her lips twitch, and for the first time since the injury, she almost smiles.

Over the next few days, you take your self-imposed role as Lia’s caretaker very seriously. You make sure she sticks to her physio’s regimen, even when she grumbles about it. You bring her snacks, water, and anything else she might need so she doesn’t have to get up unnecessarily.

At first, she’s resistant—too independent to fully embrace being looked after. But as the days go by, she starts to relax, leaning on you a little more, both physically and emotionally.

One evening, as you’re helping her adjust the ice pack on her ankle, she speaks up.

“You know you don’t have to do all this, right?” she says, her tone soft but serious.

You glance up at her, surprised. “Of course I do. Why wouldn’t I?”

She hesitates, looking down at her hands. “Because it’s a lot. I don’t want to be a burden.”

“You’re not a burden, Lia,” you say firmly, taking her hand in yours. “You’d do the same for me if the roles were reversed.”

She looks up at you, her expression unreadable for a moment before it softens. “Thank you,” she says quietly.

“Always,” you reply, giving her hand a gentle squeeze.

By the end of the week, Lia’s mood has improved significantly. She’s still frustrated by her limitations, but the spark in her eyes is starting to return, and she’s even laughing more often.

One night, as you’re sitting on the couch together, her head resting on your shoulder, she lets out a contented sigh.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you,” she murmurs, her voice drowsy but sincere.

You smile, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “Luckily, you’ll never have to find out.”

She chuckles softly, the sound warming your heart. And as you sit there, holding her close, you know she’ll be okay—and so will you, as long as you’re by her side.

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alwaysless · 2 days ago

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Fellow William analyst, greetings! I hope you are well, I hope you don't mind a question/ask.

I am curious about your thoughts on the lack of reaction we see of Will at the "one life" reveal at the dinner scene, if you haven't already shared your thoughts before! We know Annabel wasn't shocked, but what about Will?

It took me longer to answer than I thought, sorry

I'm not sure I can say anything new, but yes, it's pretty damn suspicious. The composition of the frame stylized as broken glass, makes it easy to draw Will with everyone, and a frame later we see him with other panicking students, so RnF didn't show his reaction quite intentionally.

But I also want to talk about his behavior further. In the next episode, Will doesn't behave the way you expect him to. Given his weak-willed personality, it seems like he should be scared and overwhelmed by the prospect of a survival game (like Morella for example) but he's confused at best, and moreover, confused by everyone else's reactions. He even tries to justify the deans, basically gaslighting the rest of the students.

Will is not afraid, but he does not understand why others are. I have only two possible explanations: either he knew, or he just doesn't care, just like Annabel. Or maybe both.

Maybe he has played these games before. Maybe he doesn't plan to fight for a second life (at least not in Nevermore, again just like Annabel). Maybe because he is somehow connected with the academic staff with all his doll aesthetic, there is no second life for him in general, he just works there. There are many options, but here I would prefer to focus on his parallels with Annabel - two characters whose reactions we don't see in this frame.

This is actually not the only scene where they are absent, contrary to common sense. In episode 6 we see the merit board for the first time. Most of the names on it are blurred, but some can be distinguished. Among them are Lenore, Annabel, Duke, Morella, Ada, Prospero and Will. All of them, except Annabel and Will, are present in the room at this moment.

I wouldn't have paid much attention to this scene if it weren't for Prospero. Why is he there? He doesn't speak a single line, and we haven't been introduced to him as a character yet. His presence here is useless. So maybe the idea really was for all the characters whose names were visible on the board to be in the scene(or at least have already been introduced, like Annabel).

So what about Will? My main problem with shapeshifter characters is that they can be anyone, anywhere, at any point in the story. Especially if they can also create their own copies. He could have already been introduced and we just didn't notice.

Now let's talk about the games these kids love to play so much. We know that Annabel is a talented chess player, and Montresor constantly uses card game slang. But did you know that it was William Wilson from Poe's original story who was a cardsharper? I just think it's such an interesting detail. Nevermore`s Will has never been seen like this, but considering how much of a board game aesthetic this webtoon has, I think it's important to note this.

And finally, there is a similarity that also makes them very different: both Annabel and Will have ribbons as an essential symbol, but it has a completely opposite meaning for each of them. For Annabel, the ribbons are a symbol of madness, fear, and perhaps her golden cage. It appears in her hallucinations after Lenore's fake death, as well as when Ada shows her her main fear.

Will, on the other hand? The ribbons are his weapon. He uses them to tangle other people. Curious, although his spectre is obviously a marionette, he doesn't have a control bar for strings, he controls the strings himself (not always successful but still).

No matter how weak-willed Will is, he's the only one in Annabel's group who isn't influenced by her. She blackmails Montresor, Prospero respects her as a leader and friend, Ada admires and envies her. But she doesn't have anything on Will. In the chess allegory, he will obviously be a pawn (and I`ll write a whole post about it, I swear), but not Annabel's pawn. I have an idea that sooner or later, Montresor will think of using Will to find dirt on Annabel in revenge. After all, given their spectre abilities, it's easier for them to find out lenabel's secret.

So, let's summarize what we found. Absolutely nothing. This post turned out to be longer than I had planned, because I was a little carried away, but I hope you found something interesting for yourself in this stream of thoughts.

Here, take funny little Will everyone. He deserves to be noticed.

#although if his spectre had a control bar it would look pretty cool #nevermore #nevermore webtoon #nevermore webcomic #nevermore will #will nevermore #nevermore annabel lee #annabel lee nevermore #annabel lee whitlock #nevermore theory #analysis I would say #I don't have much to say she said #and then she analyzed every pixel of every frame where this little rascal was ever mentioned #I can't be saved

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gloomweed · 2 days ago

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Eddie Loved Valentine's Day (eddie munson x bestfriend!reader)

a/n: I got the idea for this story last valentine's day, but I didn't finish it until today and I'm still not quite satisfied with it but I had to just get this out there already. This fic is more angsty than romantic, but it didn't feel right trying to shoehorn in some romance, so this is just how it's going to be.

summary: Eddie deals with some bad childhood memories on a valentine's day he spends with you.

w/c: 3.7k

Eddie loved Valentine’s day. Loved, as in, he used to. Specifically, when he was still in elementary school. Back then, the class would spend the whole day creating little mailboxes to hold all their cards. Decorating the recycled shoebox with stickers and markers, writing his name in big scrawling letters over the top. His mom would help him the night before, preparing the cards he was going to hand out. She would tell him how to spell each name, going one letter at a time. When she would ask if he needed help spelling his name, Eddie would hold out his little hand saying very confidently, “No, I know how.” Her voice was always gentle when reminding him ‘Eddie’ has a second ‘D’ after the first one.

Although there was little variety in the pack his mom bought from the store, Eddie made an effort to pick the card he thinks the recipient would like best. A Garfield card for Sindy, since she is always borrowing his orange marker. It’s her favorite color. An Odie card for Josh, since he spends recess digging with sticks and rocks. Something about wanting to find dinosaur bones. It would go like that until all the cards were signed, folded, and held together with little heart stickers.

The following day, Eddie would pass out all his cards and return to his seat to find his makeshift mailbox stuffed. In those days, he would get a card from every single classmate. He’d be filled with excitement as he opened each one. The puns and characters on the cards were fun to see, but really Eddie just enjoyed the thought that someone made him something. Some cards even came with a little candy. It was a fun day all around, and doing less school work was also a big plus.

After his mom passed, Valentine’s day kind of lost its charm. His dad said buying Valentine’s cards that kids were only gonna look at once and throw away afterwards was a waste of money and effort; however, that didn’t stop Eddie from participating anyways. He spent the night making his own cards out of notebook paper, drawing hearts and smiling faces on each one. Despite all the care he put into them, the finished product looked pretty messy. The cards weren’t all the same size, there were some misspelled words, marker ink bleeding through the paper, and since he didn’t have stickers, they were held together with regular translucent tape. Give him a break, he was nine. It wasn’t much, but Eddie put his heart and soul into it.

Once all the cards were passed out, everyone began digging into their boxes, reading cards and opening candy. “What even is this?” Eddie looked up from his pile of valentines to see one of his classmates holding up one he homemade, a disgusted look on their face. Another kid laughed. “Why does it look like that?” Eddie felt red, hot shame fill his cheeks as others began to join in the laughter. He sank further into his seat, wishing to disappear completely. Seeing Eddie’s name on the card gave the boy a target. “What’s the deal, Eddie? Couldn’t afford real valentine’s this year?”

Eddie shot up from his seat. “No! My dad just forgot to buy them, is all,” he lied. “I just thought, you know, something is better than nothing, right?” His eyes darted between his classmates, hoping they bought it.

“Next time, don’t even bother. It’d save us the time of throwing them away,” they laughed. It was then that the teacher made the announcement to return to their seats to resume the rest of the learning day. As Eddie sat back down he could feel the sting of tears behind his eyes. He put a lot of effort into those cards, only for his classmates to laugh at him and throw them away. His dad was right. What a waste.

That was the last time Eddie ever participated in Valentine’s day. Ever since then, he would spend the day doing anything else besides celebrating it. This year, he was at your house helping you get a head start on spring cleaning. You wanted to turn your life around, starting with a more organized living space. February 14th is as good a day as any to get started, and it wasn’t like you had any big plans. Which is totally fine and doesn’t depress you at all.

Although he never told you exactly why, you knew Eddie didn’t particularly like the Hallmark holiday. You assumed it was because of how commercialized it had become since its inception. Of course it could be the matter of keeping up with his image. Soft petalled roses and candy hearts are pretty far from ‘metal.’ Whatever the reason may be, you hated the idea of your friend being alone on a day celebrating love, so inviting him to clean was the next best thing. While it took some convincing, eventually you coaxed him into it with the promise of beer and snacks.

You were both currently working in your bedroom. Eddie would hold something up and ask if you wanted to keep it or throw it away. Meanwhile, you sit on the hardwood floor creating piles all around you as you sift through the contents of your room. He did most of his work while sitting on your bed, a beer in his hand.

Sometimes he would try on clothes you were feeling unsure of, saying that having someone model it would make it easier to decide its fate. Of course, this theory might have been successful if they actually fit him. The mental image of him in your too small knitted red cardigan is something that will bring a smile to your face for years to come.

Running out of things to hold up to you, he looked in his direct vicinity and noticed a round tin by his feet, mostly under your bed. When you heard him gasp you turned to see what he had found. “Oh, that’s just my-”

“Cookies!” he shouted as he opened the blue butter cookie tin only for his face to fall in a confused frown.

You laughed. “Yeah, sorry. I reused that old cookie tin for my sentimental crap.”

Instead of delicious cookies, the tin was full of old birthday cards and handwritten messages left by people who cared about you. A letter from your now deceased grandmother, movie stubs from big releases, and Polaroid pictures of some childhood friends. Eddie smiled to himself. It was cute how you would keep stuff like this. From the outside, you didn’t look like the type of person to hold on to birthday cards from your 5th birthday. He looked at you with a playful pout, his eyebrows pulled together. “Aww. You do have a heart.”

Your offended face only made Eddie grin wider. “Shut up,” you laugh before grabbing the nearest stuffed animal and throwing it at him.

Laughing as he dodged your attack, he couldn’t stop some of the cards from jostling out. As he was gathering them back into the tin, he took a closer look at the one made of notebook paper. ‘From Eddie’ was written on the back in big messy letters.

Noticing his sudden silence, you stand to get a better look at what’s in his hands. You peek over his shoulder to see the valentine he hand made in the 4th grade. Immediately you become overwhelmed with embarrassment thinking Eddie was completely freaked out by the fact you kept the card so long, like some kind of stalker weirdo. Words vomit out of your mouth as you try to save your dignity. “Oh! That's- that's so weird! I can't believe I still have that. I thought I threw that out years ago. I’ll just take that back-”

Eddie instinctually snatches the card against his chest, his chin tucked in as he searches your eyes. When it's clear to you he isn't going to give it up, your hand falls limp at your side. Glancing at the card once more, he tries his best to keep his voice steady. “You kept this?”

The change in demeanor feels unsettling. “Yeah, of course I did.” You look at your feet shyly. “It, uh, means a lot to me.” When you look back up, you see Eddie staring back with confusion.

You’ve gone through this scenarios hundreds of times in the late hours of the night when your brain just couldn’t stop running. How would Eddie react if he found out you kept something he made you when you were kids? The scoff that slips past his taunting lips was the last thing you expected from Eddie. He stands from the bed, looking down on you with a humorless smile. “This shitty scrap of paper means a lot to you?” The sudden scrutiny feels harsh and full of malice. You’ve never had the displeasure to be on the receiving end of Eddie’s anger, and from what little you’ve seen thus far, you hope to never face it again.

Shrugging like it was no big deal, you try your best to downplay your defensiveness. “Well, yeah. I thought it was really sweet of you.” You can’t stop yourself from squinting at him in confusion. “I’m sorry, are you mad at me for keeping it?” Why is he upset with you over this? It was given to you as a gift. You should be able to decide what you do with it without his approval.

Despite being the one who asked the question, Eddie doesn’t really hear your answer, nor the following question. As he stares down at the messy writing on old, yellowed notebook paper, he feels his chest tighten in an overwhelming stifled rage. Having to be face to face with a reminder of his failure fills Eddie with so much self-hatred that he can’t think straight. It’s a reminder of his shitty dad. A reminder of his shitty childhood. It wasn’t fair. Every imperfect line and patch of bleeding ink stared back at him, mocking him. It all congeals to a point of no return in his gloomy head.

Eddie stares in silence for a moment too long and you can see the emotions shift in his face into something darker. “What are you-” You are cut off by the sound of a quick and quiet crunch, the paper crumpling in his first. It’s a knee jerk reaction that has you gasping at the sight, and Eddie immediately regretting. A piece of his heart shatters at the sound of yours doing the same. “Eddie!” Your high pitched squeal of anguish around the syllables of his own name has him filling with that same sinking heat of shame he felt all those years ago.

Your hands dart at him, taking the paper from his grip as fast as it was destroyed. You do your best to smooth the paper back into some semblance of its former glory, but the creases on the old, thin paper still remain. It makes it difficult to see the handwritten words on the page, especially since your eyes are welling up with tears. You turn away from Eddie, too angry to face him. Too hurt to let him see you cry over this. Instead you kneel on the floor, slumping over the valentine you hold with the same delicacy as you would hold a baby bird with a broken wing.

Eddie feels his heart racing with anxiety. He didn’t mean to do that. He didn’t mean to make you cry. He didn’t mean to. All he wanted was to get rid of the stupid reminder, not ruin your priceless keepsake. Eddie stands there for a moment, unsure what to do with himself. He fucked up, he knows that, but he doesn’t know how to make it right. Your name falls from his lips in a stuttering mess. “I- I didn’t mean-”

Whipping your head back to shoot him a teary eyed glare, you cut him off. “Don’t.” A sad shake of your head, “Just don’t, Eddie.” You didn’t want to hear how he was just trying to make some kind of joke. It wasn’t funny. It was just cruel. You turn back to stare at the ruined item in your cupped hands.

Eddie backs up towards the door, eyes wide and voice small. “Sorry.” You don’t say anything, but of course he doesn’t really expect you to forgive him. He leaves you be, silently making his way out of your house.

On the drive home, he’s mentally kicking himself the entire time. Why did I do that? What is wrong with me? Why do I have to find a way to ruin everything? When he pulls into the gravel driveway of his uncle’s trailer, he cuts the engine and contemplates in silence.

He has to make this right. That valentine meant something to you. You kept that shitty scrap of paper for years while the rest of the class threw it in the trash where it belongs. That has to mean something, right? You wouldn’t keep trash for this long unless it was important, right?

Eddie runs a hand down his face as he belatedly processed what you said about him. I thought it was really sweet of you. You thought he was sweet? The tiny compliment is enough to bring a flush to his cheeks, and it only makes him feel worse about the whole situation. It’s going to take more than an apology to make it up to you.

It’s a few hours after the incident when you hear a knock at the door. “Coming!” You yell down the hall as you race to answer it. Seeing your kind smile fall when you realize it’s him, Eddie feels like you twisted a knife in his chest. He’s holding a modest bouquet of flowers towards you, gaze struggling to meet your own. “Well, look who it is.” You lean against the door frame, crossing your arms over your chest. “You’ve got some nerve, Eddie Munson.”

Eddie huffs a sigh, his breath visible in the frosty February evening. “I know. I know I don’t deserve to see you, but you deserve an apology. I came back to explain myself. Not that I had any right to do what I did.” He looks up at you from under his lashes. “Can I come in so we can talk?”

There’s a pout on your lips as you consider. The flowers do look very pretty, and he was thoughtful enough to have your favorite color as the centerpiece. Getting flowers last minute, on Valentine’s Day no less, was likely no easy feat, making the gesture more grand than usual. You hum in thought a moment before finally taking pity on the man practically groveling on your doorstep. “Fine.” You step aside to let him in, looking reluctant to do so.

Relief washes over him as you make room. The warmth of your home felt like a welcoming embrace upon his bone chilled body. Once the door is closed, Eddie outstretches the bouquet towards you again. “Uh, these are for you.”

Doing your best not to show how pleased you are, you take the flowers from him wordlessly. Eddie turns to walk towards your living room, and you take the moment to smell the sweetness of them while he isn’t watching. You sit on the couch, laying the bouquet on the coffee table for the time being.

Eddie continues to stand, feeling unworthy of your comforts. It feels reminiscent of when he first visited your home. The awkwardness of being new friends was evident as he stood in the corner, waiting for permission to sit on the couch or even enter the room. Now it’s like he wouldn’t sit even if you asked him to. Eddie preferred to pace while he talked. He has too much energy to expel to be still.

You give him your attention finally, arms crossed again, waiting for the apology he owes you. He clears his throat, hands nervously wringing together. “So first of all, I’m sorry for ruining your valentine. And your Valentine's day, for that matter. I wasn’t thinking clearly.” He chuckles dryly, nervously scratching the back of his neck. “Shit, I wasn’t thinking at all. I just got caught up in my stupid bullshit. But I swear, I wasn’t trying to be an asshole. It was just-” You raise an eyebrow, not quite believing him yet. Eddie releases a breath like it was struggling to get out. “Seeing that valentine I made that everyone gave me shit for…” he sighs again, struggling to find the words. “It just brought it all back. I was a kid again being pointed and laughed at in front of everyone.”

As he says this, your features soften when you recall what he’s talking about. You heard what some of the other kids were saying about Eddie’s valentines, but at the time you didn’t think he cared what they thought. He was always unapologetically himself to the point that the thought of Eddie being embarrassed or ashamed never even crossed your mind.

Eddie looks at you with a sad tilt of his head, wild curls bunching at his shoulder. “That doesn’t make it right, but I thought you ought to know why I did what I did.” He shakes his head dismissively. “It had nothing to do with you and I’m sorry I couldn’t control myself. I’m a fuckin’ idiot, sweetheart.” He smiles ruefully, “but you already knew that.” His eyes dim a little at his self-deprecation.

You nod in understanding, a small smile on your face. “I appreciate your apology.” You weren’t sure if you were ready to forgive him just yet, and you wanted to be sure he realized that.

Although Eddie knew it wouldn’t be easy, he can’t help but feel disappointed he hadn’t earned your forgiveness yet. Regardless, he nods with a tight lipped smile in acceptance before reaching a hand into the inner pocket of his leather jacket. “I wanted to make it up to you,” he pulls an envelope out, “with this.”

You blink owlishly at Eddie’s outstretched hand, surprised he brought more than flowers. Standing from the couch, you gingerly take the card from him, watching him for any signs of what it might be.

As you open the package, Eddie is already explaining his reasoning. “Now, I know it’s not the same, and it doesn’t hold the same meaning as the original, but I tried my best to remake it for you.”

Pulling the card from the envelope, you gasp at what you find. The writing is much neater, the drawings more detailed, and even the paper feels like it’s made of thicker material, but there is no doubt that this is Eddie’s reconstruction of the card he destroyed.

The premise of the card was the same. A penguin (your favorite animal at the time) wearing sunglasses, surrounded by icebergs with bubble letters saying ‘U R COOL’ after your name. The sketches are much more sophisticated than any nine year old could make. It was clear that Eddie had honed his art skills over the years by doodling in the margins of all his school work instead of paying attention in class. But it wasn’t what the card looked like that made it special. It was the thoughtful gesture itself.

When you look back up at Eddie, he shifts on his feet uncomfortably, scratching the back of his neck. He’s unsure what to make of your expression. “So, uh. Do you like it?” Before you can answer, he’s already speaking for you with a defeated slump of his shoulders. “You hate it, don’t you? I’m sorry, I know it’s not-”

“I love it.”

His eyes go wide, genuinely surprised. “Yeah?” He perks up when he sees your beaming face. “Really?” Eddie lets out a small ‘oof’ when you crash into him with an enthusiastic hug. His chuckling rumbles against your ear as you hold him tightly. “I’ll take that as a ‘yes’.”

Parting from the hug, you admire the valentine some more. “And I do forgive you, Eddie. I just wish you would have told me what Valentine’s Day really means to you sooner.” You search his dark chocolate eyes. “We’re friends, right? You know I would never make fun of you like that.”

And Eddie did know that, but in that moment, he couldn’t rationalize his intrusive thoughts away. It’s easier to hear that you’re loved versus actually believing it. All he can muster is a shrug, unable to put his inability to trust into words. “Yeah I know.”

With his unconvincing answer, you try a different approach to get him to understand what he means to you. Wordlessly, you leave the room leaving Eddie standing there wondering what you’re up to. You’re back before he gets the chance to overthink your departure, a picture frame in hand. As you fiddle with the tiny metal prongs holding the backing in place, you begin to explain. “From now on, I’m gonna make sure everyone sees this.” You slot the valentine into the frame before securing the backing once more.

You hang your trophy in the center of your living room wall. Once you’re satisfied with the results, you take a step back and admire it with your hands on your hips. “There. Now, anytime someone visits me, I can brag to them about the personal valentine you made me.” Looking back over your shoulder, you see Eddie smirking bashfully.

“Oh come on. No one’s gonna want to see that.” He gestures to the hand drawn image, but you’re already shaking your head defiantly.

“Too bad. They’re gonna have to. Matter of fact, I’m gonna require they marvel at it for no less than 60 seconds before they can even enter my home.” Your arms are crossed with a playful smile on your face.

Eddie chuckles and there’s a small pause as he appreciates you. “You’re such a dork,” is his mumbled response.

You point up at the framed doodled penguin adorned in shades behind you with an astonishing amount of confidence. “Not according to my best friend.”

He huffs an exasperated sigh. “That’s it. I’m taking it back.” Eddie starts towards the wall, reaching above you. “You’re not cool anymore.”

Instinctually, you put your hands on his chest in an attempt to stop him, but Eddie isn’t one to back down. “No! You can’t!” Giggles bubble out of you as you try your best to stand your ground. “I am cool!”

#eddie munson fic #fluff #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson x reader #bestfriend!eddie munson #gloomweed writes #stranger things #eddie munson #valentines day #angst with a happy ending

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faxaway · 2 days ago

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happy vday @clemblog !! <33

[lover status popup]

this was my first time ever drawing north and by GOD was it fun.... even if her hair tried to murder me like 3 separate times <333 happy vday!!!!!! i hope you enjoy, and thank you so much for exchanging cards with me <3

#dbh vday exchange 2025 #i had a blast with this one i cant lie #HA #blast #sorry #dbh #detroit become human #dbh north #my art

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sirazaroff · 2 days ago

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Hey :)! Just asking but how does Glinda hide her scars on the visible parts of her body(like hands or the one on her face). And if anyone ever noticed did Morrible say that Glinda got attacked by the Wicked Witch?(you don’t have to respond with a drawing :), hope you have a good day/night)

Hey there! Thank you for the inquiry, I know yall are waiting on me to say SOMETHING since first posting the two ideas. Such a tease I am~

I will make a disclaimer that my ignorant ass has yet to know what goes down in act 2. I have plans to change that soon enough. Here’s my current take on things but I’ll make an update if they no longer have any merit in the timeline.

And speaking of a timeline, just keep in mind that after she’s struck on the back, the final beats of act 2 start to play out: Glinda going to Kiamo Ko and witnessing Elphaba’s ‘death’. The Wizard leaving and Morrible tries to grab power before Glinda can, and then failing. Glinda takes over as ruler and changes Oz in Elphaba’s vision.

——————

So, why does Glinda cover her scars?

It’s cause of her image as hope to the masses. The Good Witch can’t be appearing all busted up like that, people will ask questions. They’ll be afraid that the Wizard can’t actually help them, or at the least that Glinda can’t. Truthfully she’d rather people believe the truth but between the threat of more punishments from Morrible, and the fact that she’s putting her own public image and safety at risk, it’s better to just hide the scars. No one ever really sees them and so they never question it.

——————

Now let’s talk about how she covers them.

My thought process is that with her hands she would hide those with gloves during the frequency of the beatings. Gauze underneath, hoping they won’t bleed thru while she’s away from the palace. When Morrible eased up on this, Glinda switched over to covering them with makeup since they could finally heal over.

For her lip, Morrible gave her 3 days to figure out how to deal with the fresh wound before throwing her back into the spotlight. The pain of this caused Glinda to resent smiling. This scar would also be hidden with makeup once healed.

Now once she’s struck by lighting, all of this goes out the window. Glinda is quite literally bedridden for a few weeks and her absence is dully felt. Ozians are aware something happened at the palace, but they’re not sure what and who did it. In that instance it was easier to just blame everything on the Witch and rile up the public. (This narrative falls apart after Morrible tries to make for a power grab. Ozians will learn that it was she who hurt Glinda).

When Glinda can finally stand again, she’s in no shape to work. Of course that doesn’t stop the Wizard from having Glinda stand out on her balcony and address the worried masses.

From here on out Glinda doesn’t cover up any of her scars, only her demeanor. Even if she wanted to cover her back, it’s too large and touching the entry point sends a jolt that feels as sharp as when she was first stricken. She’s riddled with constant pain and walks with a limp, but when in public she acts like everything is peachy and is full of smiles. Glinda does this mostly because the people need a leader and if she shows her true ailments, there’s bound to be a threat for power by those taking advantage. Years down the line she’ll eventually retreat within the palace, unable to physically do much anymore but drink in an effort to numb the pain.

#fooze #non art #wicked the movie #wicked the musical #wicked #madame morrible #glinda upland #glinda the good witch #elphaba thropp #I should give this idea a tag but idk what to call it #yeah! hopefully this makes sense. I ramble so much it’s why I draw for answers too. to get to the point lol #she covers them up until Elphaba dies. then she stops caring about anything #the people are quick to turn on Morrible because Dorothy and co vouch for Glinda’s character #‘uh yeah why are we letting this old woman kill the only good public figure we’ve had in a while?’#if only it were that easy to restore Elphaba’s name 😔

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4ragon · 2 days ago

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Fic request: new relationship narumitsu, miles and phoenix have just begun living together and miles is reveling in it. Preferably miles pov!

IIIIIIII already got a bit off topic on this prompt but I hope you still like it.

It’s a strange day when Phoenix Wright wakes up first. At least, that’s Miles’s first thought upon opening his eyes to discover the bed empty.

He blinked slowly, rubbing an eye with a thumb as he squinted around the room. Even without his glasses it was clear he was alone, with nary a spike in sight. And, yes, even feeling Phoenix’s side of the bed (Phoenix’s side! What a thought.) the sheets had gone cold.

With a disgruntled grumble, Miles began feeling for his glasses on the bedside table.

It had been a month, so far. A month of their new home. A month of good night kisses, of waking in a tangle of limbs. Which, well, not that Miles exactly enjoyed new things. He was a creature of habit. He liked having his day planned out in advance, of knowing what each day would bring, no surprises.

…which of course begged the question of how he let Phoenix Wright into his life, but, well, now was not the time to think about that. Now was the time to become annoyed.

After all, he’d already worked Phoenix Wright into his schedule, his morning routine. He’d worked hard to fit Phoenix into his daily habits. One: Wake up and pry the man off of him. (This of course adds five minutes to his usual schedule). Two: Feed Pess and let her out into the backyard to relieve herself. Three: Get the bathroom to himself (he had to time this perfectly. They’d had to work incredibly hard to find a bathroom schedule that got him, Phoenix and Trucy enough time to prepare.) Four: Dress, and then ply Phoenix with kisses until he agrees to move. (Another five minutes to his schedule. Phoenix was lucky Miles made time for him.)

It was precise. It was perfect. And now it was ruined.

Miles stepped out into the hallway and was immediately accosted with the smell of frying cholesterol. He blinked, brows drawing together as he glanced around. No one in sight. Even Pess’s dog bed was notably empty.

But when he stepped into the kitchen, everything was made abundantly clear.

“Alright, just one more,” Phoenix grumbled, tearing a piece of bacon off for a trembling Pess. “But we do not tell anyone about this, got it?”

“Wright!”

“ACK!” Phoenix jumped, the rest of the bacon slipping from his grasp and promptly disappearing in a flash of white fur and teeth.

“What on earth are you doing?” Miles asked, arms crossed as Phoenix looked over sheepishly.

“Morning, Miles,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “You’re up early.”

“I’m up early?! I am up at my usual time, thank you very much.”

“...Ah,” said Phoenix, looking toward the clock. “So you are.”

A huff. “Really, Wright, what are you doing attempting to clog my dog’s arteries at six thirty in the—”

“Happy Valentine’s Day.”

“Hmm?” And there was a plate being shoved into his hands.

“Here,” Phoenix said. “It’s not much, I, uh, okay I kind of forgot this was coming up, but I had enough to sort of scrounge up something edible. Though don’t judge me on the pancakes, I was trying to make hearts.”

He stared down at the plate. Some misshapen pancakes and bacon stared back. “...Wright…”

“Can you please call me Phoenix?” Phoenix groaned back. “We’re dating, remember? Or did you forget?”

“Forg—That—I—Excuse me?!”

Phoenix laughed. “Don’t look so offended,” he snorted, leaning over and pressing a kiss against the corner of his mouth. “Anyway, can you pull out the spray butter and some forks? I forgot.”

Miles glanced down at the plate again. There was something warm in his chest, something fond and exasperated all at once. Only Phoenix Wright could make a break in routine sound so…nice. A small smile tugged at his lips.

“Fine. But we are using real butter, not that monstrosity you keep buying from the store.”

“Miles,” Phoenix groaned.

“Phoenix,” Miles replied, grabbing a stick of butter from the fridge and slipping off toward the kitchen table.

#ace attorney #phoenix wright #miles edgeworth #narumitsu #wrightworth #fanfic

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angel-of-the-moons · 2 days ago

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The Bird and The Worm

Steven Grant x Shy!Fem!Reader

TW/CW: None really, some fluff. Overprotective Birb Dad Khonshu, activate!

A/N: Alright since y'all loved this post so much I had to do something with it, and given that it's Valentine's Day and I am, as usual, chronically single, I figured I would share the delulu with our sweet little nerd. It's short, I know. But my chest is hurting and I am thinking of going to the ER later lol (I also recommend listening to Owl City's "The Bird and The Worm" it's a cute song!)

You had been in a very good mood, today, Khonshu had noticed. Humming to yourself, giggling a bit louder than usual at something on your phone. He watched as you practically bounced around your flat.

"I take it something has happened, little bird?" Khonshu hummed, a humored scoff coming from his chest. You continued to buzz around, even reaching for your seldomly-used makeup kit you only used for special work parties or for fun--and the latter was rare.

He leaned against the wall, to remain out of your way, amusement tickling something deep within him. Indeed, you were like a busy little bee, buzzing around her hive.

"Oh!" You finally chirp out a response, beaming happily up at him. "I... Um... Well, I um, got a date!"

That surprised him.

You were a wallflower; a shy, little thing that had beautiful and bright colors that stood out; especially amongst his dwindling followers. Not keen on being the center of attention, you preferred to dance on the coattails of most social situations.

And you had never been out on a date before, let alone asked out by anyone.

"And who is your date?" Khonshu asked, tipping his head to the side as you began to apply your facial primer. Makeup trends definitely changed from how they used to do them back in his day...

"Oh, he's so sweet! Some guy knocked into me while I was out today; knocked my smoothie all over the floor and didn't even apologize." You huff, recalling that rude dude, "Then he showed up and snapped at him! He even paid for me to get a new one, even though I said he didn't have to..."

You remembered how heartbroken you felt--you had been looking forward to your favorite smoothie all day. Work sucked and those little pick-me-ups always boosted your mood and energy when you needed them.

"And after that we sat down and started talking--we have a lot in common." You giggled, carefully dripping foundation on your face before beginning to blend it. "He seemed hesitant at first, when he asked me out, tonight... But he finally got all the words out and, well, I d'nno... It felt right to finally say yes to someone?"

"Hmm." He hummed, thinking hard. You didn't normally warm up to people, and to see you so excited for something... he was happy for you. His shy little bird opening up her wings a little.

"And you are not concerned this man was putting up a front?" He asked dubiously, his own mind drawing conclusions.

"...No. I really didn't get that vibe from him." You replied thoughtfully, looking down at your bronzers and highlighters; trying to think of what kind of look you wanted to go for. Something to match your little turtleneck dress, surely. And well, it was Valentine's Day, so.... You went with some neutral shades. Blush was light and pink; your eyeshadows a mix of red and pink, too.

"...I see." Khonshu murmured, his head tipping to the other side.

"But we're going to meet up for dinner tonight. I hope it all goes well..." Your voice had fallen a little bit; the melancholy tone slipping into your voice a little saddening. You had spent many of these holidays alone--never having anyone to spend them with.

So... Well. There was no harm in letting you have this date, letting you go out and try to have fun with this mystery man of yours.

But you were downright silly to think Khonshu would just up and let you go to an undisclosed location without him shadowing you to make sure your were safe.

He had intended to follow you to make sure your date was what you had claimed he was--not some secret serial killer or someone who had a history of some form of violence towards another person.

But this... was so much worse.

Oh, he was steaming.

Fuming, toxic--an inferno of rage and disgust when he sat down with you at your little table.

The setting was a little roo intimate for his tastes; warm, soft candlelight, round-table booths where two could sit undeniably closer than most would deem normal--tucked in the back where few prying eyes would see.

Well. Save for him, anyways.

But what made him the most angry wasn't even how close you two were sitting; or even how he made you laugh.

It was the fact your date was Steven-fucking-Grant. The biggest thorn in his side since Marc had begun work under him as his Avatar. Even bigger than Marc's challenging and anti-authoritative attitude towards his will.

He was glad the man was no threat, but he hated the fact that naturally, your shy and quiet-natured soul had been drawn to Steven. The man was, by his own tally, a whiney, soft-hearted little cretin.

Always looking on the verge of a panic attack or a sobbing fit, his very soul radiated something that pissed Khonshu off.

And so... Khonshu decided that he could not let this be. Not his little bird. Not on his watch.

You needed to be kept safe--and being involved with Steven or any of the others meant you could be put in harm's way. Even moreso just than being a follower of his.

At least worshipping him can be done in private. Here you are, in public, with the worm. Instead of devouring him, like a bird should, you commiserated and laughed with him.

And so, he spent the rest of the evening trying to ruin your date; if only to keep you safe. Yes, yes. He had to keep you safe. And away from Steven. Especially Steven.

...Mostly Steven.

When Steven held out the little flower he'd gotten for you, Khonshu made the candle flame flare up and catch the head on fire--making the both of you panic just for him to dunk it in the pitcher of water at your table.

But all that did was make you worry, taking his hands to check them over for burns, handing your napkin from your lap to dry his hands.

He spilled the glass of wine on Steven's crisp and neatly-pressed shirt. All that did was make you giggle at Steven's apology for being "clumsy", and you leaned over with some napkins to try and dab away the red stain on the fabric.

The waiter had dropped your food order, spilling your pasta in your own lap and covering your legs with the sauce and noodles. (Oh, he felt bad for that one.)

But once again, fate was conspiring against him. Steven had all but tripped over himself in an effort to try and flag down the staff for a towel to help clean you off (but maintaining a respectful touch as he did so).

At all the "funny" coincidences of the evening, Steven managed to convince you to let him walk you home.

Khonshu had had enough.

He pushed Steven into a dirty puddle in the sidewalk, splattering your nice shoes with grime and muck, his curls plastered to his head with gross water as he was left sputtering in confusion.

So... naturally, you ripped off your jacket when you pulled him up, and wiped his face with it; offering to take him back to your apartment to clean up.

The night turning out "perfect" for you two had him wanting to smash his skull open on a brick wall.

"Don't mean t' take up your couch, love." Steven murmured into his warm cup of tea. You had so generously offered to wash his clothes for him and let him shower--even giving him permission to use your special shampoos and soaps!--and then told him, since his laundry was dirty... He could have the couch and you two could split the vegan-friendly chocolates he brought for you while his clothes were washing.

"It's okay." You reply, wiping the last bits of your makeup from your face; already having slipped into some cute pajamas with kitty cats on them, your shirt had the slogan "Nap time is the purr-fect time!" on it. You sat next to him, cradling your cup of tea in your hands, the faint sound of your washer humming along in the background.

"Whole bloody evening's been a mess, hasn't it?" He smiled apologetically. "I didn't mean to come home with you--that is! Uh! I mean..." He rubbed the back of his neck and couched nervously, a hint of pink on his cheeks, "Well, I didn't want to impose, y'know? Or seem like some creepy weirdo who tries to stalk girls home, yeah?"

Steven was wearing a pair of your largest pj pants, and an old sports jersey, wrapped up in one of your fuzzy bathrobes. He looked the farthest thing away from a "creep". He had been a perfect gentleman all evening!

"It's okay." You smile warmly at him, setting your mug down next to his on the coffee table in font of you, reaching for your TV remote.

As you both settled in on your couch for a silly rom-com movie that had popped up in your recommended list on Netflix, Khonshu was almost vibrating from the sheer rage he felt--he was certain he would snap his staff with how hard he had been gripping it.

He was even more enraged when, after you had both become so engrossed with the movie you had let your time slip away; that you had offered to let Steven stay the fucking night. And even moreso that he accepted.

When the two of you had fallen asleep, cuddling on your couch--Khonshu hated the fact that you two just seemed... so... Ugh! Perfect for each other! No matter what he had done tonight--somehow you inevitably wound up in his arms; snuggled up and sleeping peacefully.

Well... it was better than the more intimate alternative--but still!

The bird wound up cuddling with the worm. His little bird.

As your chests rose and fell with calm, even breathing; Steven snuggled so tightly against you that his arm was draped over your waist and his nose was in the crook of your neck, Khonshu glowered.

He wondered if he let himself get hit by a car, would it kill him?

It was better than watching his sweet, innocent little bird fall for one of the most deceptively innocent creatures on Earth.

Yes you were happy, but come on...

Why did it have to be his Avatar?!

#moon knight #khonshu #steven grant #steven grant x reader #steven grant x you #valentines day #valentine's day 2025 #valentines fics #happy valentine's day

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