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from-the-clouds · 1 year

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moonlight on the river - joel miller x reader

masterlist | song inspo

summary: Joel has been many things to you. A dealer, a mentor, a friend, a lover. Lately, it’s the latter. Sometimes he’s none of those things, or a handful of them, or all of them at once. And it’s up to the both of you to decide in the moment which things are true. Takes place during episode one of the TV series. pairing: joel miller x f!reader words: 2.4k warnings: angst, fluff, good ol' fashioned hurt/comfort. depressive thoughts, reader sort of has a death wish, references to alcohol/drug abuse, death, loss of family members & loved ones. implied age gap, references to casual sex, heavy petting (no smut). a/n: it's been months since i posted a fic on here! some of my best work comes when it’s 2am, i’m emo and touch-deprived and i have an 8am appointment so i stay up until 5am to write. this was actually supposed to be fully a fluff piece but the angst queen had to strike.

You wish you could drown in the pile of blankets you’ve wrapped yourself in. Wish the couch would swallow you whole, like a whale, then drag you down to the deepest depths of the ocean and leave you there until you can’t hold your breath any longer, until the cold pricks the tips of your fingers and toes, until you succumb completely.

But in some ways, you’re already existing like that, in the sea-level equivalent of the Marianas Trench. One of those sea creatures that look not of this Earth, features warped – adapting, evolving, surviving, despite your environment’s best efforts to eradicate. Your mother had once shown them to you in her old textbooks and shown you the photos of anglerfish, frilled sharks, phantom jellyfish. The memory of your mother makes you wince, and you try to think of something else.

How anyone else around you managed to put on a brave face and make their way through each day was beyond your comprehension, even though you do it, too. They probably all feel the same way about it as you do, but no one talks about the collective trauma you’re all slogging through. No one has anything new to add, and it’s foolish to believe that anyone’s insight could somehow take the pain away. Even if you have a chance to tell your story, there is always someone who has it worse.

Get in line.

Exhausted as you are, you don’t sleep much. Most of your nights are spent at the precipice of unconsciousness, and you can never quite make it over the edge, the helicopters, radios, sporadic gunfire always manages to rouse you first. When you do manage to sleep, you’re plagued with nightmares. You prefer perpetual fatigue.

A knock at your door comes suddenly, and you start, sitting up quickly – but quietly – to not alert the unexpected guest that someone might be in the tiny studio you call home. It’s well after dark, which makes you doubt that whoever, or whatever is at the door, isn’t there for a friendly drop-in or a cup of tea, not that friendly drop-ins or cups of tea ever happened.

But before you grow too panicked, your name is muttered, accompanied by another impatient rap of knuckles against the hollow wood. It’s a familiar rasp, even-toned and calm, and your shoulders sag in relief before you abandon your post on the couch.

“Joel?” you ask softly, squinting in the dim light of the hallway through the crack in the door. He doesn’t look any different, though it’s been about a month since you’d last seen him. You’re not sure what to expect, but he’s the same as always, wearing a worn, tight denim shirt and fraying jeans. He looks tired, but you can’t recall a time when he doesn’t. Everyone looks tired all the time, it just only concerns you because it’s him.

Not waiting for an invite, he steps through the small opening you allot for him and into your place, wordlessly.

“What the fuck, Joel, it’s past curfew are you trying to get yourself killed?”

“I’ve done worse,” he says, dismissively, and yanks the door from your hand to close and lock it behind him.

You don’t argue with him. You rarely do – which you think is partly why he likes you – but especially now, you don’t have the energy. And when you do, he’s too stubborn to listen.

Joel has been many things to you. A dealer, a mentor, a friend, a lover. Lately, it’s the latter. Sometimes he’s none of those things, or a handful of them, or all of them at once. And it’s up to the both of you to decide in the moment which things are true.

So when he steps forward, crowding you backwards until your rear hits your kitchen countertop and you have nowhere to go, you don’t ask questions.

His hand cradles your chin, tilting it back to look into his sad eyes, and he kisses you. For a split second, it’s chaste, and you’re almost confused, until it’s suddenly not, and his grip on your jaw tightens, his lips parting. Joel stakes his claim, his free hand winding into your hair and pulling. You sigh, closing your eyes.

He moves both his hands to cup your ass through the flimsy athletic shorts you’re wearing, lifting your hips up and against him, making to carry you to the bed, or maybe even take you on the countertop – it could be one of those days. Everything he’s doing would normally light you on fire, and there’s a primal instinct that’s telling you you like it, but for some reason, you hesitate.

Joel senses it right away. You’re not sure how. And you don’t want him to. You’re prepared to submit, even though you feel numb everywhere, because you hope for the chance to feel something, anything other than what you’ve felt the last few days. He pauses, too, pulls back.

You expect to meet his eyes when you look up at him, but they are fixed on something else. Tugging on the collar of his shirt, you try to kiss him again, but he doesn’t budge, until you follow his eyes. An empty bottle of liquor sits on the bar behind you. Fuck.

“You’re drinking again.” It’s not a question.

“That was actually from yesterday,” you say, like it would make any difference. The remnants of a hangover have been tweaking your temples all day, biting the back of your eyes. It was half empty when I got it. It was just one night. I can have a couple drinks without getting out of control. Your brain cycles through several more excuses before you decide not to waste your breath.

“What did I tell you about this?” He reached behind you and lifted the bottle, holding it in front of your face like you hadn’t been able to see it clearly enough before.

“You should talk,” you don’t like being cruel, but you’re already desperate to end the discussion. He’s probably drunk or high right now, but it’s none of your business, and you’d given up trying to save him a long time ago.

You shift your weight to lower yourself off the counter and move away from him and the once-inviting warmth of his embrace. Joel doesn’t let you make it far, reaching out to grip your upper arm and tugging you back to face him with little-to-no effort on his part. His strength always startled you, even though it shouldn’t, considering his size. It also should’ve scared you, but the manhandling mostly just turned you on. Not enough that you were going to keep letting him lecture you.

“It’s different. You’re still so young.”

“What does that matter?”

He doesn’t have an answer.

You lift your chin, squaring up to him. “That’s what I thought.”

He puts his hand on hip and studies you carefully. Despite your attitude, you’ve never liked disappointing him. He’s the closest thing you have to a father, which you can recognize is an awfully fucked up way to feel about someone you regularly have sex with, but you lived in an awfully fucked up world.

There’s a wistfulness to Joel’s expression you’ve never seen before. He chooses to change the subject, and you’re thankful until what he says registers.

“I’m leaving town tomorrow night. You might not see me again.”

It takes a moment to process, but it hits you like a blow to the gut. So hard, you’re surprised you don’t stagger backwards with the force of it. Even when it settles, you know it hasn’t even sunk in all the way.

“Well…” you take a long, thoughtful pause, and offer the only thing that your brain can come up with, “....stay safe out there, then.”

“Yeah,” he runs his tongue over his teeth and squints at you. “You want to tell me what’s going on?”

Snorting, you know it’s important to remain as blase as possible so you don’t cry. Although, you don’t really cry anymore. Even when you want to, the tears never come. At some point, after watching every person you’ve ever cared for die in uniquely devastating ways, you must’ve reached your lifetime limit.

“I know you. Something’s up.”

No, you don’t! You want to scream, but that would be a lie. It’s been three years since you met, maybe one since your….arrangement, or whatever you’d call it, had begun.

How the two of you had become so close was a mystery even to you. It’s not like you were charming or charismatic, or willing to put up the innocent act. You didn’t try to inflate his ego, which most men loved. At first, you didn’t even really like him at all. That changed with time. Somewhere along the way, things just clicked.

“It’s nothing that no one has ever felt before,” you shrug. Joel has his fair….or rather unfair share of demons, and is the last person you want to complain to. Most of the time, he’s unflinchingly guarded, but he’s shared enough – secrets whispered in your ear while tangled in damp sheets, your hand on his chest, feeling the steady thump of his heart – to make you wonder if you have it so bad. Focusing on a fixed point, a crack in the tiled floor, you avoid his eyes.

“Hey,” his voice pulls you back. “Don’t do that.”

“I’ll be okay,” you say. “I’m just having a d-a week.” A month, a year, a life. Reluctantly, you meet his gaze.

His face softens, his hand reaching to clasp with your own, thumb grazing across your palm. “Come here,” he murmurs. He pulls you against him tightly, tucking your head under his chin, his fingers weaving into your hair.

“You’re going to be alright. You’re a strong girl.” He’s too smart to believe that, you think. But it doesn’t stop you from pressing your lips against his sternum. His broad chest is sturdy, firm, and you close down your eyes.

Neither of you speak, and one of his hands begins to stroke your back in soothing circles. You stay wrapped in his arms for a long time. Long enough to think about how you might never get to do this again, and you suddenly want him in all the ways you never had him, and all the ways you had. Just one last time.

He presses a kiss to your temple. “I can tell you’re exhausted, baby. Let’s get you to bed.”

There’s no reason to protest, he’s right, so you let him lead you to the bed. You’re already in your pajamas, and he draws back the covers and tucks you underneath them carefully.

“You’re staying,” you say. It’s meant to be a question, but it comes out like command, and although you can’t stand the idea of pleading for it, would if you had to. You’re that desperate.

You hear the clunk of his boots landing on the floor, feel the dip of his weight on the opposite side of the bed.

“Of course,” he says softly, voice barely above a whisper as he slides underneath the covers.

Joel’s arm snakes around your waist, and you’re being pulled back against his chest. You wriggle to be closer, even though it’s not possible, his nose resting on the crown of your head, stroking your hair softly. He’s being so tender, so sweet, it makes you feel sick.

“What if I don’t want you to leave?” you turn your head slightly, so you can see him out of the corner of your eye. You want to be able to remember his face, in case you never see him again. He was handsome, you’d always thought that, even despite the years between you.

“It’s my brother. I don’t have much of a choice, baby.”

Joel had told you all about Tommy. You wished you could be resentful at his leaving to find his brother, but you knew you’d risk pretty much anything for the chance to see anyone in your family again.

You shake your head. “This…sucks.”

He offers a rare chuckle, one that vibrates through his chest and straight to the ache in your stomach that started when he told you he’d be leaving. “It does. I’m sorry.”

Joel sighs, his breath on the nape of your neck, and you shiver. “I’ll miss you.” It’s a simple truth you can hear in his voice without even needing to look in his eyes.

“I’ll miss you.” You reach for his hand.

You roll over to face him, his head propped on his opposite hand, looking down at you.

“You remember everything I taught you?” he asks. “Be smart, keep yourself safe.”

Joel had proven to be a pretty valuable resource when it came to survival skills. He’d taught you how to shoot a gun, to load and reload it, how to take it apart, clean it, and put it back together. You recalled the feeling of him leaning over your shoulder, adjusting your grip to shoot at a target. And even if most of his lessons in hand-to-hand combat resulted in him having his way with you on the kitchen floor – you didn’t mind it at all – you knew enough to defend yourself.

“I do,” you answer. “And I will.”

You think of all the time you’ve spent with him the past few years. How it has made things bearable. It’s likely the last time you’ll ever see him, and you know what you’re supposed to say. But for the life of you, you just can’t say it.

Instead, you lean in to kiss him, lazy and lingering, both your hands on the side of his face, palms pressed against the scruff of his beard. You pull away after awhile.

“Tell me about what it was like. Before all this.” When the outbreak began, you were just a child. It felt like a dream, your memory so fuzzy it was hard to recall anything except the worst parts.

Joel does, and you listen, captivated, though it’s not the first time you’ve heard it. For such a gruff man, he paints a pretty picture.

It’s easy to imagine what your life might be like if none of this had ever happened. It would have been better, infinitely better, for yourself, for Joel, for everyone. It would be better, but if it hadn’t happened, you wouldn’t have met him. For some reason, something about that doesn’t feel right.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller #pedro pascal #tlou fanfic #tlou hbo #the last of us #fluff #angst #joel miller fanfic #joel miller x you #hi please read this and say nice things to me i worked really really hard on this #writing #fanfiction #joel miller imagine #joel miller tlou #joel miller the last of us #joel miller fluff #joel miller angst

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eldritcmor · 1 year

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More incorrect quotes

Gaz: *over coms* Cornfield cornfield cornfield. Storm getting yeeted into the sky. Cornfield cornfield. Hey look! More cornfield!

Price: Has anyone seen Storm, recently?

Soap: has anyone seen the microwave recently?

*Distant explosion*

Ghost: Found them.

*Storm dancing around the kitchen in a shark onesie with death metal blaring from their phone*

Gaz: *filming around the corner* and here we see Dad's I mean Price's favorite child

*Storm and Soap are sparring*

Storm: oh come on, my father could at least throw a punch when he hit me. What the fuck is this shit?

Soap: *stopping immediately* your father what?!

Storm: *petting the moss between an eldritch forest gods antlers* it's so soooft.

The god: *rumbling in contentment*

Ghost: how in the fuck?

Storm: *pointing at soap* daddy issues make you a people pleaser. *Then to ghost* mommy issues make you well a sociopath or a psychopath. Take your pick buddy.

Ghost: thanks.

Gaz: wait what does that make you?

Storm: *proudly* absolutely fucked up

Storm: shit fucking ass crackers!

Gaz: what did you lose?

Storm: my will to live. Also have you seen my pen?

Gaz: The one that lights up?

Storm: yup.

*Ghost carrying Storm over his shoulder, wrapped in a blanket like a very disgruntled sack of potatoes*

Angel (thank you @kawasama): why?

Ghost: cause otherwise we would have had to use sedatives.

Storm: *angry hissing*

Storm: *sniping to the beat of Yung gravy's oops* my ex be on some hoe shit~

Gaz: *in concern* you good?

Storm: *grinning as the target's head pops* just peachy baby.

Storm: *dangling upside down from the claws of a 20ft tall creature made of teeth and shadows* No! Bad night god! Put me down!

The rest of TF-141: *getting ready to piss off a eldritch creature with bullets*

Night god: *pouting as it sets Storm down*

Storm: good job! *Praising and cooing to said creature* now go find the pretty bastard. *Holds up a picture of Graves*

Night god: *sniffs and takes off*

TF-141: *concerned and scared* what did you do?

Storm: solved a problem.

Storm: *being hugged by soap*

Soap: aw, who's getting used to human contact.

Storm: *angry hissing noises as they try to escape*

Storm: *being carried over Ghost's shoulder.*

Soap: *being dragged by storm by his tactical vest*

Gaz: *being dragged by soap also by his tactical vest*

Price: oh great, it's the will fuck shit up train. In level order no less.

Storm: *fresh out of a cold shower with a large sunburn on their back*

Soap: *Slaps the sunburn as a greeting* Ay storm!

Storm: Shit ass you sheep fucking pile of discarded cowshit.

Soap: well no need to be rude.

Storm: *riding on König's shoulders*

Price: hey, kid. Whatcha got there?

Storm: A sad friend, can we keep him?

Storm: *in a massive cuddle pile of their siblings(not by blood. found family), dozing happily while on leave*

Front door: *Creaks open*

Storm: *Sitting bolt right up, letting out the most heinous death rattle in warning*

TF-141: *was invited here, as they are in the states and didn't wanna be base bound* •-•

Storm: *waking up* shit!

Price: *leading a mission brief on next target*

Laswell: *walking in, carrying storm at arms length* I think this one is yours, price.

Storm: *chilling on the couch, jamming to music*

Ghost: *wandering by and just scoops them up like a sack of potatoes*

Storm: ope, I've been scooped. Hi ghost!

#captain john price #john soap mactavish #call of duty x reader #141 x reader #cod mw2 #incorrect quotes #simon ghost riley #taskforce 141 #mw2 141 #call of duty mw2 #Eld writes #kyle gaz garrick

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hugheses · 5 months

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The Rise of the Hughes Brothers with Jim Hughes - Nov 3, 2023

transcript below cut ↴

Jeff Marek: Not exactly a secret that, right now the Hughes family, all three of them dominating the National Hockey League. Whether it's Jack with 20 points, whether it's Quinn leading all defenders or whether it's Luke trailing Logan Cooley by a single point in rookie scoring, this is the Hugheses’ NHL. We're just skating in it. Father Jim Hughes is a hockey director of player development for CAA, he joins me now. Jim, how are you today? Thanks so much for hopping aboard.

Jim Hughes: Hi Jeff, how are you today?

Jeff Marek: I'm doing very well. Let me jump in with last night. I'm gonna ask you a few things historically about the kids and growing up and the family and how in the family full of defenders you ended up with, you know, one of the elite forwards in the game. But I want to rewind to yesterday. So, you know, watching Vancouver just take apart the San Jose Sharks, I mean, it's a blowout. It's a, it's a tilted ring, 10 to 2 is the final and I'm seeing Quinn, we all are and he's just piling on points here. And after two periods, I think we're all, you know, rushing to our media guide to try to figure out, OK, what's the most amount of points a defenseman's ever had in a single game. And it's Paul Coffey and Tom Bladen with eight. And I'm thinking to myself, Quinn's got a shot. Here, like Quinn's got a real shot here. And then third period rolls around and you know Carson Soucy’s on the power play and things are sort of Tocchet’s calming everything down. Was there a part of Jim Hughes that said, ‘I want to see if my kid can set a record here?’

Jim Hughes: No, and the reason why we we know we know David Quinn and Wiseman and and and and Gordon, they're they're all on the other bench and I think I think the Vancouver staff know that really well in terms of you know they could have been maybe even goalie interference on Demko at at the end but. Everybody wants that thing to just get going and get out of there and and you know, it was it wasn't an easy night for San Jose, so. I I think it was done, you know in the right way with the right manner and and and I think yeah, I mean I I think it was it was time to put some other people on the ice and give some other people opportunities.

Jeff Marek: Interesting, that is... Listen, you're very much a hockey guy and I understand where that comes from. On my perch here. I just love watching records get broken. And right now, you know, your sons are playing on a different level. And man, New Jersey is must watch television. Vancouver is must watch television and a lot of it is because of your boys. Like when you watch them right now, like what? You know take us behind a father's eyes here. What do you see when you watch all your three kids playing in the NHL right now?

Jim Hughes: Well, listen, it's a it's a, it's a very difficult league. It's a humbling league. It's a really hard league. It's a man's league and... You kind of just keep your feet in the ground and you just go one day at a time. Yeah, they're having success because, you know, the general managers, the coaches, they've done a good job building this team and putting good teams together and adding pieces so. So the journey, you know, Jack's been at this five years now and so they're building it and it's really starting to turn the corner and you know, I feel the same way about Vancouver and Quinn’s situation, but you you're bringing these additional pieces such as Hronek, who's doing a wonderful job with Quinn. A guy like Toffoli that's playing with Jack, who's just a hockey, you know, you know, he's a hockey, hockey, hockey guy, and that's probably why Jack loves him so much because they have so much in common. But Toffoli's got so many… intricacies and he does so many things well as a hockey player, he's a hockey junkie, so. You know they've added really nice pieces and you know, just sit back and you know Ellen and I, we just, we were in the living room last night, we actually had three TV's going. We watched the U17s from Prince Edward Island at 6 o'clock and then we watched Fantilli and Kent Johnson in Columbus, and then we turned on the Vancouver game, and I think we had the Ottawa game on the other TV. So it was like we, it was a busy night here, but we, we sit here and we watch and we're, we're enjoying you know how the kids are playing and. Yeah, they, they work hard in the summers. We have a fantastic group here of about 12 to 15 players. And they get after it three times a week. And we're big proponents of, you know, when you're 20, you got to, you got to make yourself better. When you're 21/22/23, you got to keep improving. You got to keep working on your skill sets and you gotta keep climbing the mountain. You got to keep getting better. So we have this group in the summer with Dylan Larkin and Werenski and Debrincat and Kyle Connor, Beniers, and Copp, and Sanderson. Luke, Jack, Quinn. I mean, so they get going and and really they challenge each other all summer and they just keep getting better. And now that's what you're kind of seeing in, I guess you're seeing in the... In the early part of the season.

Jeff Marek: With Jim Hughes, you know, one of the things, you know, Elliot and I, every year at the NHL Players Media tour. Uh, it's always fun catching up with Jack and one of the things that he always talks about, we always ask him too, you know, how? How were the family competitions in the offseason? How was, you know, the summer golf and summer tennis and whatever games the kids are playing against each other. And I can't help but think. And you can... Can shine the spotlight on this it seems. As if this is a family where all the kids have grown up, not just competing against other kids, other teams, but competing against one another like it, it seems as if you know competition has been at the forefront of their minds. You know, since they were, you know, able to play hockey, golf, tennis, whatever it is. Have they always been like this amongst each other? Like ultra competitive?

Jim Hughes: Always, and even when the kids were living in Mississauga. On a Saturday afternoon, Saturday night, when all the hockey was done, there would be six of them down in the basement. Maybe playing, you know, basement hockey and everybody, everything has a winner and a loser, unfortunately. So if they're out playing tennis or they're playing golf or they're playing pool. There's a judgment. There's a judgment going on. And so I don't, I don't think they're trying to outdo each other but it's... It's a competitive environment and no different than the Tkachuk family or you know, we can go on and on and on, but yeah, they get after it, there's no doubt, right? You know, if it's, if it's golf, they get after it and if it's, if it's tennis, they get after it, and so they probably bring out the best in each other.

Jeff Marek: You know it. It's so fascinating too. And listen, Henry Staal was, you know, was asked, you know, similar questions about his boys as well, you know, is there one sort of common thread that's running through all the kids here? I mean, you've got three kids in the NHL, like getting one to the NHL is remarkable enough. You've got three in the National Hockey League. Like, what's the, we always talk about, you know differences between people. I'm curious what the similarities are between these three kids, that allows them to be top of their field, top of their position in the NHL.

Jim Hughes: It's a very good question. Obviously people see the skating. And we used to drive the Zamboni guys crazy because we'd have six nets on the ice and people said, “We only have two goalies, why do you have all these nets?” But it was all it was, all skating mechanisms. It was all going around nets and and it's a tight turn with explosion and a burst and coming out of the turn faster than you go into it. But I would think that the biggest common threat between the three of them is their work ethic. And I always say that to the young kids and the kids we work with. Is that the work ethic propels and makes everything better. If you have a great work ethic, your skating will get better, your shot will get better, your passing will get better. Your physical training and the gyms will get, everything can get better. If you have a high workload. And so I would say, you know that would be the common thread because you've just got to keep getting better in all areas of your game, and if you got the work ethic ingrained in you then you know, there is a very good chance that you can become the best version of yourself.

Jeff Marek: You played, Ellen played. Jim, I'm curious. You know what that you know, you know, when you, when you snatched the pebble from the master's hand, then you can leave the temple of moment was. Like do you remember the moment where the kids got better than you and what was that like for Jim Hughes?

Jim Hughes: Um, well, we've never played in the league, so [laughs] it's really easy. It's really easy. We just we support, we're we're we're, we're resources and we're- we support and listen with any of these kids in the league that get there, there's a small village of people, it's coaches and strength coaches and NTDP coaches and youth. Approaches and there's a lot of people that are involved with the process as we call it resources and so. You know we try to make friendly suggestions like we there's ups and downs and there's roadblocks and there's highs and lows and. Sometimes we try to bring the temperature down like. You know they're competitive people and Jack will say something and I'll say, you know, Lindy wants what you want. You want what Lindy wants. You want the same thing. Like relax, it's gonna be OK like. You know, like, you know. And so it's their competitive environment, it's their competitiveness. But sometimes you know, not throwing gasoline on the fire is a good idea. And that would be my suggestion to a lot of parents out there that are listening and and we're all guilty of it. And I've been, I've been guilty of it too. But if you can learn how to really message with your child, your kids and bring the temperature down and have common sense conversations and talks. I think it's, I think it'll go further and it's more helpful.

Jeff Marek: You know it's so fascinating when you look at your three boys, there's I think an assumption that everybody makes, which is well, you know what their development has been a straight line. They've always been great. They've always been marvelous skaters. They've always dominated. They make it look easy. It must have come easy to them. I know you talk a lot to hockey parents. Can you share with us some of the setbacks? Because you mentioned like development, you know this, Jim better than a lot of people. Development is not a straight line, it's a bunny hop. It's you know. Two steps forward, two steps back, one forward, three back, four forward, one... You know what it's like, can you share how many setbacks the kids had along the way and how they work through?

Jim Hughes: There's constant setbacks and you can- you can sabotage yourself if you're not careful. Because the world of youth hockey, and youth sports in general is, it's not an easy climb and so you've got to be persistent and hard working. But. It's it's a, it's a. It's a challenge in so many ways of getting there and quite frankly. At an early age, I think we- a lot of people can attest that Jack was a little bit different than a lot of the other kids up in Toronto. But for Quinn and Luke, you know for Ellen and I, all we wanted was hopefully they had an opportunity to go play college hockey in the US. Which both of them wound up going to play at Michigan. But, we were realistic and you know, we weren't. We didn’t have these grand plans of National Hockey League or anything like that. All we're trying to do is just move the kids along and hey, hopefully maybe they're good enough to play in college someday and then, you know, one thing led to another. But we didn't get, we certainly didn't get too far ahead of ourselves and, you know, the NTDP didn't didn't hurt either because it's a place that they value practices and strength conditioning. So it's, it's a good place to really propel, propel yourself if you know, and you see a Norris doing it, a Brady Tkachuk doing it, you see... You know, there's countless guys that have come out of the program that have taken those resources and used them along the way.

Jeff Marek: Between Vancouver and New Jersey, how are your frequent flyer points doing these days?

Jim Hughes: They're manageable because, you know, we went up for the first game in Vancouver and then we were on the first flight the next morning and we caught the- we went right to the arena in Newark and we caught their home opener. And then we- we caught two more in New Jersey and then it happened that Vancouver was in Philly. So we caught five games on the trip and then we come home and now we're just bunkered down and we got our televisions and we're comfortable just watching games on the television, and doing it that way too. And so I think it's important to stay out of their way a little bit. We- we visit here and there and then we get out of the way and let them do their thing.

Jeff Marek: It's got to be the biggest thrill. It's got to be great. Jim, listen. Thanks so much for parking time. I know you're very busy. Not just, you know, watching the kids, but working at CAA. Hockey director of player development. Thanks so much for parking some time with me today. Much appreciated. Congratulations on the early success for the family and all the best in the future. Thanks. So much for doing this.

Jim Hughes: Thanks, Jeff. Talk to you soon. Take care. Bye.

bonus bit from later on in the podcast that was relevant to my interests

Jeff Marek: Listen, I just had a conversation with Jim Hughes, father to the stars. What used to be Henry Staal is now Jim Hughes, and Hughes has the three boys and you know their, Jack Hughes is leading all scorers with 20 points. Quinn Hughes leads all defensemen in points and Luke Hughes trails Logan Cooley by only a single point, like right now, this is domination by the Hughes family. Can you sort of, you know, isolate these three and share what you think about these three players that are top of their field amongst their peer group?

Brian Lawton: Yeah, it's really incredible. We've been talking about it for, it really started quite a while ago, particularly in the US, NHL Network, American kids, you're going to really jump on that. I remember the first time we met Jack at NHL Network. He did an interview at the finals. And Jack was so confident that the guys completely hated him. They were like, “Oh, my God, this kid is so confident, you can't be that confident.” And as time has gone on, they've grown to love him because he doesn't do it in an evil or rude way. It's just who he is. He's a very confident hockey player. He went through hell in a handbasket to get really where he is. I mean, it wasn't easy when he came into the league. But he never stopped believing, he remained with that confidence and obviously now, I mean it's ridiculous what he's doing. So I give him a ton of credit. He's a great kid, he's fun loving. He's a character. His abilities... Everybody always knew he could skate, the first time I really ever saw Jack do anything special was at the prospects game. He got even against the player and blew by him. And it was so unnatural. I was like, that's not natural. Those two guys are equal. He's the weaker player. The defenseman is much stronger, but they're dead even. And he just turned on the jets and I just went, “Oh my goodness, this guy just has a hidden gear that he can call upon any time.” And I believe that that is still what's happening at the NHL level now. He's earned respect. Where if you go back and you watch his overtime winner against the New York Islanders, Ryan Pulock backs off him. Gives him time and space. He walks to the middle, shoots it in the net, end of game and he never looked like he wasn’t concerned about anything, and that's that confidence. But he's earned a little bit of room and now you give him an inch and he's taking a mile. So that's his greatness, plays the game with his head up way faster than you think. Not super strong. Seems abnormal he's doing as great as he is because of that. But he's no longer small. Or frail. And we saw that early on for him. He's over the hump. He's going to be a great player. He's proving it every single night and everybody seeing.

Quinn on the other hand is just magically gifted, also with the player that plays his head up. Jim did a great job with his kids teaching them that. But his skating is so incredible, his IQ. There was a play last night he made for Van where he's out at the blue line. He backs his body outside the blue line, extends the space in the offensive zone for himself to create a little time and space. And ends up just absolutely geeking the forward out that was covering him, where he's looking for his jockstrap as Quinn blows by him to the outside, comes in and takes the slapshot, ends up in the back of the net. The magic in that is the feet and also the ability to play with the head up and then, I'll say it again, another very confident hockey player. You're the last man back with the checker at on you at the blue line. If you turn it over, it's a breakaway and it's on you. Absolutely no fear, I feel like he could make that play 9 out of 10 times, if not 10 out of 10, that's special. Luke, on the other hand, we haven't got a good read on, watched him a lot at Michigan. I watched a guy, quite frankly, struggle defensively, particularly turning to one side. He really had an issue with that in college where guys were blowing by him. He appears to have really cleaned that up. Now his feet are taking root. He's really the biggest of the three brothers. His potential is untapped. I don't know why we'd expect him to come in and dominate more than Jack did his first couple years. Quinn was a little bit of a freak. He stayed a little bit longer at college. He was able to come in and really be effective if truths been known, Quinn could have left college a year earlier. He just couldn't really get the type of assurance as he wanted to, to leave Michigan. So he stayed another year, grew his game, walked in and was really dominant. Luke, on the other hand, I think it's just a matter of time. I don't know who will be the best of these kids, but you're right, this is hockey's version of royalty right now for a family that's just dominating in the league.

Jeff Marek: You know it's interesting, Lawts, because I mentioned to Jim, I'm watching the Vancouver game yesterday and after two periods, I'm looking at this and saying well, hang on a second, if Quinn gets, you know, three more points here in the 3rd and we've seen him pile up before and he's playing against San Jose. With all due respect, he's getting into that, Paul Coffey, Tom Blade and you know. Either tying or setting a new record for points in a game by a defenseman. And I asked Jim if, you know, he thought that, you know, if he wanted to go see, you know, wanted to see his son, you know, set a record last night, would Quinn have liked that? And he said absolutely not. And it's because it was a blowout and it's respect to David Quinn and no one likes being on the end of these blowouts, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera. I mean, this is a guy that, I mean, that's a very hockey answer. I get it. I personally when you're, I think you I think when you're close to a record, you owe it to the game to try to try to break it like, you owe it to hockey. You know what I mean, Brian, like you owe it to hockey to try to break that record. And the other example that I cited last year was a December game between Buffalo and Columbus, when you know all of a sudden bam bam, bam, bam bam, you know we're halfway through the game and Tage Thompson has six points and we're all wondering about Darryl Sittler in 1976. And then, you know, his ice time diminished and held back and stopped shooting et cetera, but I always have felt that when a player gets close to a game record, regardless of what the score is or how the other team may be offended, I think that you owe it to hockey to try to break it, to give it a really good shot because these records have stood for a long time and when you get close, you should really go for it. Do you have a thought on that one, whether Quinn Hughes should have said, or Rick Tocchet for that matter, should have said my guy’s close to a record that's stood for a number of years, I'm going to give him a chance to break it, or you say hold on a second here. It's a 10-nothing blowout. Let's pump the brakes a little bit.

Brian Lawton: Well, from the coaches perspective, you're trying to create accountability in the room and that rises one individual above the rest of the group. And that's not inherently normal or accepted in hockey. Now, from a player's perspective, I can tell you that they're aware of these things. They'd like to do these things, but they're never going to come out and say that. I don't think Wayne Gretzky, you know, is really openly gonna say, “I went into game 39 knowing I needed five goals to get 50, so I did it. You know, I didn't really care if we won or lost.”

Jeff Marek: Yeah. Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah.

Brian Lawton: You know, so it. But make no mistake, having been a player, if there's something that you're aware of, of course you'd love to do it, but you're never going to hear that from players and quite frankly, hockey players. You know, I used to be a sports agent. We used to have all sports at Octagon, they still do. They had basketball players, football players, baseball players, a lot, I've got a lot of great athletes from other sports. But I'm biased, of course, but I didn't- I, one time. I won't say who it was I met, who was supposedly the nicest guy in another major sport. And went to a charity event that he had, was really excited to meet him and he would have been like the 700th nicest guy in the NHL. Like I was just blown away. He was not a super great, nice guy. So I've always had this thought. It's not true about all players. That was a bad sample size, but it's a very known player who's still playing to this day. He really had that line and don't try to guess because I don't want to get into that and embarrass him. But hockey players are just brought up differently. Things are, you know, now it's changing when I say, you know, people at NHL Network, or a few of the guys, I shouldn't say people, were not thrilled when meeting Jack. Jack's a great kid, youth. But what's different about him than other players at that age that maybe had that kind of success is they will tell you more what they think. Whereas in my era you were really, that wasn't happening. It was not happening, Jeff. And personally, I think it's a good thing. Jack Hughes is a great kid. The fact that he's going to tell you what he thinks and that's maybe different than what was 30 years ago does not make it wrong. As a matter of fact, I think it's better for hockey. I really do. So you gotta let these kids express themselves.

#much to ponder!#the brady and josh mention... ntdp polycules never die #the nhl network guys hating jack at first but then realizing hes nation's princess and bending the knee... yup!#jim hughes #jack hughes #luke hughes #quinn hughes #transcript

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vamqyr3 · 10 months

Text

↳ SIMON “GHOST” RILEY // 2013. ᴥ

EP 1 .

CW// Yelling, idk it’s angst what do you want, aftermath of Simon dying and leaving you with a kid.

You pour two parts pasta, one part cheese, lined to the backing on the box. Shifting his little feet to lay along the leg wide holes cut through his high chair. “Luke give it a minute, honey.” He’s a thoughtless toddler, without a response. Bits of cereal to fling around on sticky floors, honeyed watermelon and carrot paste. He had been restless since 7 months. Peopled have stopped Inviting you to things, piled next to your water bill and oily napkin bunch. The large of you knew he didn’t deserve the butt end of it. Your nature is casted into stone. From loved, thought of and care for to distant and diseased. Hugged from time to time, yet no one’s trying to lay with crazy.

His father was a dead beat, not his fault. Not yours. His, the fathers, Simons, his fault. It was hardly and appropriate breakfast, now matted to the front of his cotton shark print top.

He’s zipped into the back car seat. You hope to see the day he’s attached to the booster, then left without one. Sad to see it from the front cushions, driving, give or take a new decade.

His school isn’t far it’s the drive that’s hard. One hand to his aid one to the front. Remembering which way to turn, if he was still breathing, did you buckle the left strap? How fast are you going?

The plastic of his fist sized shoes squeak under his foot. Slides past the front gate, squishy playground and over to where you could not see. You’re off today unfortunately. Meant to report to base and check up with whoever from 141 was left with the shortest stick. It was patronizing, the jut of the gas pedal and the stop for ID. You were no child meant for coddling, you just so happen to have a child, one of Simon’s.

”Doing any better?” The walk here made you sick, the air had a smell of dust and rubbing alcohol. Price’s hat made you sick, the pins on his desk slipped down your throat and jabbed you stomach. “How’s Luke?”

“Fine,”

“You should let me n’ Gaz take him out, yeah?”

“Oh then what after that Price?” “Listen,”

“Take my son out for a drink? Show him a few tricks in your big ass truck? Price? I want you to show my child how to load a gun, captain. You know what why don’t you just carry him off to the front lines while you’re at it?” He just sort of stands there, takes in a breath like he’s going to speak and readjusts.

“It’s my day off you know I don’t have to be here,”

“Yes you do,”

“On whose orders?” “Mine,”

“Right, Right the same ones that got Simon killed, it’s all clicking sorry,”

There’s a sort of prickle to those words, it tickles his face and makes wrinkles. “You knew damn well what you were gettin into,”

“Oh my god, how many times are you going to send for me just for us to have this same argument? I hate it, I hate it here. Theres that same goddamn picture that’s been up since our first date. And the fucking Gym still has the same equipment. How many times am I going to look at that stupid ass wall of yours and remember the time Simon put a hole in it? Like I can’t, I look at my sons skin and I worry just how long it takes till all of our grief leaves scars on it.”

Price finally lets go of that breath. “Look, the boys are worried,”

You were too, shifting to anchor yourself. No part of this was supposed to leave you gasping at night. To have your son set In a deep driven drudge of speechless resentment. To have him shielded yet still affected. Up asking why he couldn’t show off his dads sporting gear like Hunter could. Luke has no father, he never did. And that wasn’t your fault or his.

“I have to pick my son up,”

FIN. // EP 2. // MASTERLIST.

@bootboob @yippeerrrs @ghostsfavhoe

@the-faceless-bride @konigsblog @russadler

ect… I couldnt find all of them.. send in an ask for tag list

#cod ghost #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley #call of duty #ghost cod #ghost mw2 #simon riley x you #ghost call of duty #simon riley x reader #simon riley #simon ghost x reader #call of duty modern warfare #cod modern warfare #cod #cod mw22

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babyanderson · 5 months

Note

uh huh!!! cuz finkin bout askin abs what she get me for chrismas n she say i cant kno yet caus is not chrismas yet n n n nnnn wrapin presents for under da treeeee

thank u for the request!! i’m sorry it took so long to do this:(

“mama,” you tap on abby’s arm softly, wanting her attention. she smirks, still facing forward towards the tv. you’re sat in between her legs on your shared bed, abby’s finger’s tracing shapes along your back.

“i know what you’re going to ask, baby. i’m not telling you. christmas is two days away. you can wait,” she smiles down at you, sighing as you whine into her chest. every day for the past month, you’ve been asking and asking abby about christmas. what did she get you? what did nora get you? what did mel get you? does abby want to know what you got her?

“but- please! won’ tell anyone!” you say, looking up at abby through your eyelashes. she shakes her head, picking you up to sit you on her lap. “i’m not telling you, baby, but, you can help me wrap everyone else’s presents, if you’d like,” she offers, making you snap your head up to look at her, nodding feverishly.

you’re both now sat in front of each other, on the floor of your bedroom, the presents piled up next to you. you hand abby the presents and she wraps them, it’s a good system.

“who’ this for, mama?” you ask, passing abby a squeaky chew toy. “this one is for alice. you like it?” you hum in agreement, leaning over to squeak it a couple times. you close your eyes and pick up the next present, opening your eyes to look at it. you wave the shark plushie up at abby, her nose in it’s mouth.

“hey!!! off my mama!!!” you gasp, dropping the shark.

“oopsies..” you whisper picking it back up. you gasp once more, feeling abby’s hands on your cheeks and her lips all around your face. you giggle loudly, wiggling on her lap.

“mama!! mama, stop!!! mama, i busy, no kissin’!” you exclaim, abby pulling away slightly. “but you’re my baby! cutest little baby!! my baby!!” she says back, kissing all over your face once more and you wriggle around in abby’s lap, hitting her chest lightly in a fit of giggles. she pulls away, looking at you seriously.

“okay, we gotta finish these presents now,” she says, looking over your shoulder to the mountain of presents that are yet to be wrapped. “mama, you the one that distractin’ us,” you laugh, reaching for another present to give to abby, now situated on her lap. “mama, sleepy. go to sleep? ‘s nap time?” you whisper, your eyes fluttering shut, leaning against abby’s chest. she leans down to whisper back to you. “can go to sleep if you want, baby. want me to put you back in bed?” you shake your head. “wan’ stay with mama.”

#agere #sfw agere #age regression #tlou agere #agere fic #agere writing #the last of us #little!reader #abby anderson #cg!abby #cg!abbyanderson #abby tlou #abby anderson agere #abby anderson x reader #abby x reader #cg!abby anderson x little!reader

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clonemando · 2 months

Text

@blackat-t7t Here is your Fox/Thorn H/C with a cuddle pile at the end. Enjoy.

There was a ringing snap as the old rusted barrier along the walkway gave out under the weight of a fully armored trooper crashing into it and Thorn watched as Fox’s gaze met his own wide with fear before he was falling backward over the edge. Thorn dove for him with a scream but his fingers barely brushed over Fox’s chestplate before his partner was gone swallowed up by the dark depths of Coruscant’s seemingly endless levels the same way many cadets ended up swallowed by Kamino’s waves.

For a moment he just stared feeling a void echoing the one he was staring at being torn open in his chest. Then Rex’s voice broke him from his daze.

“I didn’t mean- I didn’t- Thorn I- Fox-” He struggled to get anything out, horror replacing the rage that had been on his expression just minutes earlier as he corned them on their patrol to yell at Fox for avoiding him.

“You didn’t mean to kill him? Like he meant to kill Fives you mean? Well, you did. Guess you’re the brother killer now, Rex. Congratulations on your revenge.” Thorn said, voice level and empty as he watched Rex flinch and step back.

“What- What do we do now? Do we call-” Rex started eyes flickering around as if looking for some sort of help.

“Call who Rex? The Guard? I am the Guard and there’s nothing I can do now. He’s gone. He’s not a person, there won’t be an investigation. He’s not the first we lost over an edge and he won’t be the last and there’s never anything to do. You just… finish your patrol. Report the lost republic property to the Chancellor and put a few troopers on double shifts until we can get a replacement from Kamino.” He said starting to walk again. He had to finish his patrol. He was already late now and Fox would be upset if Thorn got himself punished for being late.

“You can’t just… just keep working! Shouldn’t you call Thire or something? There’s bereavement leave. The Kaminoans even approved it to keep their products at their most effective. The Jedi-” Rex started as he followed Thorn and finally he snapped.

“If you have forgotten, the Guard doesn’t have a Jedi. We had Fox. That’s it! We had Fox and he could only get us so much because he’s not considered a person either! Now we don’t even have him and we will all need to take triple shifts to cover all the stuff he has been shouldering on our behalf! I don’t have anyone available to cover this patrol. That’s why Fox and I were doing it. We just lost three shinies to senators and a full team was wiped out in a gang raid the week before. We don’t get things like leave or whatever the kriff bereavement is. The Guard belongs to the Senate, the Jedi abandoned us, just like you GAR bucketheads. So kriff off and go cry to your jedi for your extra days off and let me take care of my family. You’ve done enough Rex.” He spat darkly before turning on his heel and continuing his patrol. Rex didn’t follow him this time.

He raised his wrist to access his coms after another ten minutes.

“This is Commander Thorn reporting a 9-12 slash D. Commander Fox was lost to faulty railing in Sector 12-A. We will discuss promotions and schedule changes at the dawn shift change. As his second the Marshal position falls to me now. Carry on with your duties.” He murmured numbly before letting his arm fall and continuing to move on autopilot almost hoping the Separatists would chose to attack now so he’d have an excuse to shoot something. But the rest of the patrol was quiet.

Fox was exhausted. He had spent the last two days slogging through filth and fighting off the weird pollution corrupted creatures that prowled the lowest levels just to make his way to the closest working lift. Then he had to sit on the floor listening to the worst possible sort of music as he slowly ascended out of the dark toward his family and home. His arm was definitely broken and Shark was going to shoot him up with every hypo they had with complaints about the bite wounds he had getting infected but Fox was pretty sure he had gotten off easy.

He couldn’t explain how he was alive. The concussion made it hard to think straight but even with that he knew he had to have fallen at least 100 levels if not more. But at the last minute something had caught him and slowed his fall enough the injuries were survivable. He didn’t really take stock in the Jedi’s fancy force shit but maybe there was something out there looking out for him.

Once he was above the com-cut line where they lost signal to their coms he immediately reached out. “This is Commander Fox. I am injured and will need a medic and pick up from the lift in Sector 12-D, could someone also bring me some caff? I’m kriffing tired.” He grumbled into the line and smiled when it immediately started blowing up, resting his head against the side of the lift and letting his family’s furies and delighted voices wash over him like a warm blanket.

“Cut the chatter! Fox, Shark and I will be waiting for you once you reach the top. I… It’s good to hear from you but you have a lot of explaining on how you’re alive.” Thorn’s voice finally cut in and Fox’s smile grew.

“You’re going to be waiting until the Senate turns for that answer my rose, I have no kriffing clue. Woke up at the bottom with a concussion, broken arm and some jostled ribs but I was able to drag myself up and start walking to the lift not too long after the fall.” He sighed not even realizing he had used his pet name for Thorn until the line filled with cooing from the rest of the guard.

Fox passed out not long after that and only woke up again when Thorn was lifting him out of the elevator and onto a hover-cot and Shark started cursing him out. He squeezed Thorn’s hand then passed out again.

He flickered in and out of consciousness a few more times before finally waking up feeling better than he had felt in years. Blinking open his arms he was unsurprised to find Thorn plastered to his side and Hound using his stomach as a pillow. Shark must have allowed them to take him to the barracks at some point because he was laid out in the middle of the three mattresses they had shoved together at the beginning of the war so they could all sleep together and he was buried under his Guard.

“I thought… I thought you were gone for good. I thought I lost you.” Thorn’s voice was soft with fear and sleep and Fox ran his fingers through the long blond curls.

“Told you I was too stubborn to die. Can’t get rid of me that easily. I still have to scare the Senate into giving us rights so I can marry you one day.” He said with a small smile and Thorn sighed.

“While you were gone I shot the Chancellor. We’ve been dressing up in his robes and pretending he’s got the cornellian flu until we figure out what else to do but now you’re back it’s your problem. I’m taking a thing Rex told me was called bereavement.” Thorn said and Fox’s eyes opened fully from where he had started drifting off again.

“YOU DID WHAT?! THORN! I was gone two days!” He shrieked.

“He implied you were better off dead and I was in mourning. There’s scientific data proving making people work through grief lowers productivity. It’s not my fault!” Thorn whined and nuzzled his face in Fox’s neck while Fox tried to wiggle free but he couldn’t move from how he was buried under so many siblings.

“I’m going to kill you once I’m free. I’m going to kill all of you!” He growled but they all ignored him in favor of continuing their nap.

#star wars #fanfic #the clone wars #tcw #the coruscant guard #my writing #commander thorn #commander fox #sw tcw #hurt/comfort #clone shipping #Fox/Thorn #requests

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solara-bean · 9 months

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As an undiagnosed autistic I LOVE talking about my random interests with people and vice versa. So here's what I think the Touchstarved LIs random interests are 😊

Kuras:

Astronomy/ Astrology

assuming that he really is an ancient Angel he probably had a hand in or watched the universe being made so it still fascinates him how it has developed over the centuries

especially what humans have discovered about it

also the meanings they've given to constellations and other parts of the cosmos in tradition and folklore

it's all intriguing and quite amusing to him

he knows all the LIs zodiac signs as well as his regular patients

would sneer and say ' of course you're a Leo ' without any other context and just walk away in that swift angelic manor that he does

has a vintage telescope that he refuses to replace

if you indulge him long enough and let him ramble on about stars he'll stop and be like ' Wait I could just show you'

hope you're not afraid of heights

Leander:

Plants

especially the poisonous kind

he finds them poetic in a sense because of Co he does

like to have a small journal about them and wishes eridia had more nature for him to explore and document

sketches flowers when he has free time and might even color them

he's not the most skilled artist but he good at drawing plant life because he's done it so often

knows the meaning of plants and makes/ buys bouquets accordingly

hints at how he really feels about the person he's giving a bouquet to

has given ones with negative meanings to people he didn't like but needed something from, he knew they wouldn't understand and would just be like "oh a bouquet how thoughtful" " yes this was made especially for you " *wink wink*

has admired the gardens of high town snobs him and his bloodhounds have raided interacted with ( he'll take a few home just because )

is learning how to make teas, medicine, poison and lotions from plants for the fun of it and to help others

wants to have a large garden one day

Mhin:

Fungus/ Mushrooms

they just think they're neat

like how could you not there's so many cool kinds of fungus

they adore that such life can grow from death

will rarely pick mushrooms because they want them to stay where they belong

doesn't want to separate them from their fungi families 🥺

really REALLY likes cool colored fungi that glow

I imagine magical fungi exists in their world so they get really excited when they find some in the wild

they go crazy for those really big mushrooms and will stare at them for hours if they could

has dreamed of sleeping on a mushroom many times like a little fairy but won't tell ANYONE ( ok except Kuras but they didn't mean to, got really embarrassed )

if you gift them a glowing magic mushroom to keep as a nightlight they'll act unfased at first but congratulations you're basically married now

Vere:

Gemstones

eyes dilate like a cat when he sees one

oooo shiny

has stolen found more than he's bought

has a mini hoard of stones stashed away somewhere in his room

he only shows it to people he really likes ( Ais and S/o )

Ais' earrings intrigues him

Ais noticed and took them off so he could see and was more than willing to talk about where he got them

Vere knew exactly what they were made of right away and wanted to tral them as his own to mess with Ais, but lost interest when Ais admitted he wouldn't mind

would lay on a giant pile of gemstones like a dragon's hoard in his full demon fox form if he had the means to ( would put his S/O in the pile too as one of his treasures )

he'll know exactly which gemstones look best on you for jewelry

Ais:

Animals

like alot of animal facts dude

he has a wide range of knowledge because he can't choose a favorite animal. he likes SO MANY

ranging from the scariest of predators on land and sea to the cutest little fellas ( sharks, tigers, bunnies, small birds, sparrows *hint hint*)

if you tell him what your favorite animal is expect to be randomly given little gifts based off of of it ( illustrations, mini figurines, plushies etc )

asked Vere alot of questions about his fox nature ( " does your coat change color in the winter?" " ...Ais I'm trying to get frisky stop asking weird shit" )

was the type of kid to bring strays home so you can imagine how happy he is about having a pack of soulless

he immediately knew which animal/animals they were all based on and knows how to interact with them accordingly

his love for animals kinda messes with his instincts like yeah I shouldn't pet that large predator but what if he's lonely like me 🥺

is totally fine with getting bit and scratched because he overstepped a boundary and will learn from it

I bet eridia's highborn snobs have captured exotic creatures for show so guess who's pulling up with his red eyed soulless gang for a jail break ( he'd give the creatures to a shelter that can relocate and take care of them )

wants to raise alot of pets with his S/o as they grow old. just one big happy family of strays they've taken in: wild soulless, escaped highborn pets, barn animals, alley cats, Vere, etc.

#touchstarved game #ais touchstarved #touchstarved vere #touchstarved ais #touchstarved mhin #touchstarved kuras #touchstarved leander #kuras #leander #mhin #vere #ais #touchstarved

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anamelessfool · 5 months

Text

WIP WHENEVER

Thank you @kissingghouls for the tag!!!! I tried to pick something a little unique for this challenge...

VISITATION (From 'Domestics')

(family, humor, self-indulgent fluff, Dad Secondo)

2013: Papa Emeritus Terzo, Copia, and Nihil visit their estranged brother Secondo after the birth of his youngest child.

I have this whole ficlet series similar to Bestiary but based on small domestic moments in the lives of the brothers and the characters in my AU. Why? Because it's fun and ridiculously self-indulgent.

I love me a good flashback....

⛧⛧⛧

“Which way am I turning here?” Copia asked.

“Left,” muttered Terzo.

“Left...”

“Right.”

“Oh, Right then?”

“Yes, left is right!” Terzo paused then groaned. “Left is correct.”

“Marian couldn't come?” Terzo asked Copia idly. He smirked. “Hope your leash is long enough.”

Copia frowned. “At some point I wil fly out of this car, yes, jerked back by the leash, your Unholiness,” he replied flatly. “But ah… I'm into that.” Two hours in the car with Terzo gave one plenty of time to practice talking trash. “We should have arrived twenty minutes ago.”

Terzo shifted in the passenger seat. Car rides made him sick, and therefore extra irritable. He glanced in the rearview mirror at Nihil in the back. Nihil was staring ahead, expressionless, his eyes dull like a mesmerized cow. “We would have made time if we didn't stop back there.”

“Terzo, the old man barely asks for anything these days,” Copia said firmly. “So when he asked to stop and buy a balloon for his new grandson I um…had to indulge him.”

“Isn't this thing just brand new? A little ball that sleeps and cries? Why—why does it need a fucking balloon?”

“That thing… is your nephew,” Copia said, and he squeezed the steering wheel. “Have you ever taken care of anything small and helpless like that? You'd understand.”

Terzo muttered something in Italian and dropped his head against the door, staring out the window. Copia assumed if he wasn't so carsick he would really put on a pissy show for them all.

“We’re nearly there,” Copia said, slowing to an agonizing stop at the intersection, looking carefully right and left, waiting the appropriate three seconds at the stop sign, and then continuing on.

[They pull up to a plain suburban house.]

The door opened, Secundo towered over them all, his dark intense presence unmarred by his years away. The former Papa Emeritus II of the Satanic Church of the Void was now wearing a checkered button-down shirt and dark khakis. His grip on his cane tightened as his shark-like gaze flicked from guest to guest. Four Infernal Eyes regarded each other on the porch. Secundo's pitted face moved slightly. “Shoes. Off.” He shifted back, granting them entry.

They were led inside to a sunken foyer. Beyond a small railing was an ordinary living room with a beige carpet. There were halls nearby leading to kitchen, basement and bedrooms. All with as few stairs as possible made it easier for Secundo to easily walk around in his current state. His time as Channel of the Void left him permanently weak in his left side, but they all knew it could have been much worse.

Copia was struck by how unbelievably ordinary the place was. There was an unusual number of crammed bookshelves and a piano near the window, but other than that there was very little evidence of this being the home of a former leader of The Satanic Church of the Void. A single taxidermied goat head loomed over the television that displayed a muted cartoon program. Two small children sat near it in the center of a pile of wooden blocks.

Copia pulled his own shoes off, then knelt to help Nihil out of his. “It's nice to see you again, Secundo.”

Secundo never dropped his intensity and simply changed the words he spoke. “Yes, it is, Copia. Welcome.”

“Is that…is that little Paul?!” Copia nearly squealed as he pointed towards the little face peering from between the metal railings. The boy Paul had a shock of messy dark hair and a wild look that was all too familiar. “He's a small version of Terzo! Look!”

“That had been my unfortunate impression as well,” Secundo replied flatly.

Terzo gave them all a painfully polite smile, then joked. “Not to worry, I had nothing to do with it.”

Nihil’s head whipped from Paul to Terzo. “Yes, definitely our little scamp! An even smaller Terzo, heh!” Both grandson and son threw him identical scowls.

“Do you remember us?” Copia asked Paul. The boy cocked his head, thinking. He was born at the Ministry but the whole family left by the time he was five. “I remember we took out my old trike and you were pedaling up and down the hallways…”

“I distinctly remember you pedaling up and down the hallways on his tricycle,” Secundo said with an amused smirk.

“Just that once! To teach him!” Copia shot back.

[They settle into the collection of couches and proceed to observe the newborn.]

“Nihil, would you—” Sandra frowned. The old man had fallen asleep in the recliner within the past five minutes. She chuckled. “Well then, we will try later! How about you, Terzo?”

Terzo furrowed his brow. “No, certainly not. No thank you, sorella.”

Secundo looked quietly invested from his place on the opposite couch. “He'll reconsider later.”

My AO3 Series | My FicList

Tagging @katyaoaksdottir @fishwithtitz and @thew0man and you, yes YOU!

#ghost fandom #ghost scenes from the void #ao3 author #ao3 fanfic #WIP whenever project #fluff fic #ghost band headcanons #papa emeritus ii #papa emeritus iii #cardinal copia #dad secondo

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donnetellotheturtle · 3 months

Text

Siren

Chapter 9

When Hugo woke up, Varian was gone. Hugo rubbed his eyes as he laid up.

“…Goggles?”

There was no reply. Hugo grabbed his glasses from the table, and found a note.

Hugo,

I went to get a head start on work today. I’m in the painters room if you need me, and Lance is serving breakfast on deck if you’re hungry.

Love,

Varian

P.S

Thanks for last night. Usually I have to deal with those episodes all alone…it was nice having you around.

Hugo smiled softly, then got up and stretched, work with Varian today, and find that moon ring tonight. By Hugo’s approximations they should be in the Kalder pods territory in two weeks. It was just before they hit Rosas port.

He'd ask around, see if anyone knew about it. Subtly though, as to not cause suspicions. He went over to the bucket of sea water and splashed himself quickly before changing into his normal attire.

He felt his stomach grumble and figured he’d made his way over to the deck.

A bunch of crewmen were up and about as he got up to the deck. He could smell food and he turned to see that Lance was cooking meat on something that looked to be a Varian creation.

“Hey!” Lance said. “You hungry?”

Hugo nodded.

“What do you feel like?”

Hugo thought for a second. He didn’t really know much about land food. “…Surprise me.”

Lance lit up at that.

Hugo ended up muching on something called French toast and bacon. It was delicious. He made his way down to the painters room as he finished the last piece of bacon, plate abandoned in the dirty dishes pile.

He knocked on the door before coming in.

Varian was humming as he worked on his personal project of a water breathing potion. He must have gotten done with the balancing and the machine tune ups. His voice still sounded like a siren.

Hugo smiled and closed the door.

“Hey sweetcheeks.”

Varian stopped humming, and then smiled at Hugo.

“Hey. Did you see my note?”

“I did. Lance made me French toast and bacon. It was delicious.”

Varian chuckled, adjusting the goggles on his head. “I’m glad you liked it. Do you want to help with this? I have some formulas that need some reworking.”

Hugo nodded softly, wrapping his arms around Varians back as he looked over the sheet.

“Hugo?”

“Hm?”

“this isnt working on the formulas.”

“I can look at them as I hold you.” Hugo said, smirking into Varians ear.

Varian giggled, leaning back into Hugos embrace as he got the formula and put it in Hugo’s hand. Hugo didn’t let go, just using one hand to look it over.

“Hm. This is like a transformation potion back home.”

“What do you mean?”

“Not all merpeople can shapeshift naturally. Especially if they’re originally from deeper waters, so they use those temporary potions if they need to go on land. Although it’s fairly rare, as most of the deep sea merpeople stay down there. A lot of them are huge too! Like bigger than a whale!”

“woah!” Varian pulled out a book, taking the note. “tell me more!”

Hugo looked over the book. It had a lot of information. Mostly what they talked about the night before with alchemy. “huh. Didn’t realize you wrote everything down, goggles.”

“Yeah. I want to know as much as I can about underwater life…mom never talked about dad had a hard time even talking about mom so…im curious.”

“Well, like on land, theres a bunch of different cultures and pods and subcultures inside of them. A lot of different tails as well. Most merpeople have a fish counterpart. Mine, for example, is similar to a green arowana. Cyrus has a sand tiger shark tail, and Donella a reef shark.”

“That’s so cool! Do you gain the diets of the fish you’re similar to?”

Hugo shrugged. “depends on our parents, really. Cause we still have a bit of human in us as well. Some people are extremely similar to fish, with more scales. Some have hair that looks like seaweed as an evolutionary trait. Which gets interesting cause seaweed is a treat that vendors sell. Like your streetfood.”

Hugo paused, seeing that Varian was looking back at him with a soft look.

“What?”

“…you’re pretty when you talk.”

Hugo sputtered, laughing softly. “I-Uh-“

Varian grinned evilly, leaning backwards into Hugos embrace. “you’re pretty all the time. But especially when you talk.”

Hugos face was beat red. Varian giggled. “How’s that for flirting?”

“okay no more cuddles for you.” Hugo let go of Varian, still blushing up to the tips of his ears.

“Aw come on!” Varian whined. “Youre allowed to flirt but not me?”

“Yep! Especially when it makes me flustered.”

Varian was about to say something before the balancer made a noise. Varian sighed. “Back to work.”

Hugo smiled, watching Varian settle in to do his work. He went over to the formulas and started taking them more seriously. He pulled a piece of paper and started working on it, drawing his own and starting to test it out.

It was a quiet moment as they did their separate things.

Hugo didn’t know how they would test this potion without revealing that the two of then were…well not 100% human. He was unwilling to let Varian test it on himself since potions like this could be…funny at best. Disastrous at worst. Obviously they wouldn’t be testing it on any animals or other crew members.

It felt like the best thing was to make it and hope to the moon any side effects weren’t permanent.

Varian was humming again. Hugo listened closely to it. A song that was so familiar. He wondered where he heard it before.

He worked quietly and listened to his moon sing.

Hugo was up late again. Hed checked the kitchen and upper deck already. Quietly, he made his way to the next rooms, the cold room. He checked there quickly. Nothing. He. Was grateful. That spot was cold.

Closing the door, he made his way into the next group of rooms. Nothing in any of them. Hugo groaned.

“This isn’t working.”

“What isnt?”

Hugo screamed. Turning around he saw the face of Rapunzel, who looked confused and concerned.

“Is everything okay, Hugo?”

Hugo stood up. “Oh yes captain I just lost an earring! I can’t seem to find it!” He mustered the best smile he could.

Rapunzel, for once, let her smile slip. “Did you think I wouldn’t notice you sneaking out late every night?”

Hugo opened his mouth to speak.

“So what’s really going on, Hugo?” She asked before he could spew another lie.

Hugo scratched the back of his neck. “I’m a night owl. And really, I just lost an earring. I can’t seem to find it anywhere.”

“what does it look like?”

Hugo paused. This was a good chance to get some information.

“Like a moonstone. One shaped like the moon?”

“Ive never seen you wearing that one?”

Hugo couldn’t help but feel prideful. She was avoiding the question. She knew something.

“I usually don’t. I lost it before the pirate crew kidnapped us. Been looking for it ever since we got back on the ship.”

Rapunzel shrugged. “I haven’t seen it. But I can put out a ship wide note to keep an eye out for it?”

Hugo nodded. “I’d appreciate that. I’m going to keep looking. I’ll go to bed soon.”

Rapunzel nodded. “Also it wouldn’t be a bad idea if you guys spent a little time away from work tomorrow? Get out and see the fresh waves. Take a break. You two seem like you need it.”

Hugo watched as she walked away.

Her room was next. She was hiding it. He was sure now.

He was going to get that ring and save this goddamn ship if it killed him.

The next morning came and Varian seemed to get the same conversation as Hugo did last night.

So there they were, standing in the sun. Hugo had half a mind to jump into the ocean with how tired he was.

“Hugo?” Varian asked, taking his hand.

“hm?”

“you okay? You’ve been glaring at that piece of wood since you got up here.”

“…I’d rather be down in the painters room. Or swimming.”

Varian chuckled. “I get it. But Rapunzels right. We need some social interaction besides each other.”

Hugo grumbled. Varian kissed his cheek and pulled away, looking at the bow of the ship, then chatting with the captain up ahead.

“Hugo.” Nuru leaned on the wall besides Hugo.

“Oh uh, hey.”

Nuru smiled. “Its good to see you in the light of day. Usually we don’t see you until dinner.”

Hugo chuckled. “Yeah…not really a people person.”

“you’re a Varian person though!” Nuru smiled. It was a wry one. What was her game?

“I…guess. Though I don’t know how he puts up with me half the time.”

Nuru chuckled. “You two act so much alike. When he first came on the ship, he shut himself off from everyone. Including Rapunzel.”

“Rapunzel? She’s just the captain.”

“Shes more than that to him. They’re like siblings.”

Huh.

“Why aren’t they together much then?” Hugo asked.

“Rapunzel has a lot of work to do. Do you know much about her?”

Hugo shook his head. “basically nothing. Why?”

Nuru had this look on her face. It once again made him wonder what she was up to. “Youre not from Corona, right?”

“No.”

Nuru sighed. “Then you don’t know the story. Okay. Where to start?” She thought it over for a second. “Okay so, once upon a time-“

“Youre starting with once upon a time?”

“Do you wanna hear this or not?”

“…”

“that’s what I thought. Once upon a time…”

There was a woman named Rapunzel. She had long, beautiful blonde hair and green eyes. She grew up on an island, with only her caretaker, Gothel. As a child, she grew up looking out at the sea, Gothel forbid her from going anywhere near it, despite the fact that it surrounded the island.

Then one day, she met a pirate. One who had come to hide from other pirates, and possibly raid her island home. His name was Flynn Rider.

Rapunzel hid Rider from Gothel worried that she’d hurt him. In the meanwhile, Gothel was making a deal. One to sell Rapunzel once she was old enough.

“Sell her….” Hugo processed what those words meant. “…Oh.”

“Yeah. Oh. Girl was prime real estate. Gothel had done this to many girls before. Most were kids when they were taken by her. Rapunzel was a baby when she was.”

“Holy shit.”

“Anyway…”

Rapunzel and Rider figured this out after a couple days on the island. Long story short, Rider had the honor and privilege of killing the witch. Afterwards, they sailed to Corona.

A while after that, Rider, now going by his real name, Eugene Fitzherbert, and Rapunzel bought the sundrop.

They made stops all over, Arendelle, Rosas, the motoniuan shores, even Avalor.

“Wheres that?”

“you really don’t know anything, do you sea breath?”

Hugo pouted. “Anyway, continue.”

“Right.”

Until one day, they came across a farmer and his child. He was 14 at the time. Rapunzel made some mistakes.

“This part is Varians to tell…you should talk to him about it…neither he or Rapunzel have told me the full story but…I think varian might tell you.”

“Whats your game?”

Nuru smiled. “If youre going to be with Varian, you have to let him in. You have to let him let you in too. I can see you care about Varian and are suspicious of the captain.”

Hugo opened his mouth to argue.

“You don’t hide your feelings well, sea breath. At least, not to me. So I have to ask. What’s your game?”

Hugo paused. He didn’t trust her.

“Let me rephrase. What are you really searching for on this ship? Cause it sure as fuck isn’t an earing.”

“….It’s none of your business.”

“…I’d be willing to help. No questions asked.”

Hugo glared at her. “Why?”

“…It’s what friends do.”

Hugo blinked. “Youre not my friend.”

“I could be.”

She had this look in her eye. Conniving but desperate. Hugo could have sworn he saw something shining at her back for a moment. He didn’t trust this.

“Think about it, Sea breath.” She smiled, and walked off. Hugo reeled from the conversation.

He shook it off. Hed figure it out after he got the ring.

< >

Read this on A03!

#hugo vat7k #tangled varian #varigo #varian and the seven kingdoms #varian #vat7k fic #vat7k #siren #nuru vat7k #rapunzels tangled adventure #rapunzel #eugene fitzherbert #sailor au #vat7k au

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thefangirlofhp · 6 months

Text

31. what if: croissants and paintings (a short what-if version of apaixonar)

“The toys, too, Winnie.”

“Really?”

“You haven’t ever touched some of these. They’re going in the pile.”

The five year old twists her mouth, dropping the t-shirt she’d been making a sorry job of folding in order to huff and puff her way across the crowded mattress and climb off. Azriel doesn’t comment on her undoing some of the folded piles as she approaches the open closet, and assesses the chaos of remaining clothes, toys and little girl accessories that Azriel never imagined would end up being what bankrupts him but after embarking on this little discovering adventure in his daughter’s room, he’s realized most of his wallet’s emptied itself right here.

“Is this cause I didn’t tidy up?” Winnie cranes her neck as she looks back up at him. He sets down a folded red shirt that she’s probably worn once as a two-year-old and tilts her head back up.

“Will you keep it clean if I say yes?”

Her eyes glimmer. “Maybe.”

It’s only through the grueling and gruesome process of being a single-father every consecutive day for nearly five years now that Azriel manages to steel his facial expression. Of course, prior to this permanent occupation, he’d been just as capable of doing so—for different reasons. Poker games, lies, and the general detachment of society that comes from introversion, but he’s had to learn to keep a particularly tight lock on his reactions in-front this mini-human copying and pasting every behavior of his into her own system.

He’s not sure how happy he’d be if after all this toiling and hardwork, his daughter would follow in her uncle’s footsteps and end up a corporate lawyer. Oh God, he’s terrified of the shark-like gleam in her eyes turning its attention from animal species towards corporate law and finance.

Winnie grins at the flat expression he gives her. At least he still has the I Raised You card in his arsenal.

“I pwomise to keep it clean. Don’t throw away all my things. Petty please?”

Azriel slides a dress off its hanger, tosses the plastic away into the growing pile on the floor and flaps it out. “I’m not punishing you. We’re donating what we don’t need to people who’ll need them. And Aunt Feyre is going to need some of your baby clothes for their baby.”

“Cause of the baby in her tummy?”

“Uhu.”

Winnie steps into the closet, larger than any child’s closet reasonably need be, and crouches before the shelves. “Why won’t they buy?”

“There’s no need, if your clothes are hardly worn. It’s a gesture, and Feyre said she’d love to take some.”

“Gesture?”

Azriel’s eyes flutter for a second as he breathes in. It’s really therapeutic, possibly—maybe. A chore he can turn his mind off whilst doing, to busy his hands without having to think about anything. Until the chatterbox decided she was done with her coloring, and that shadowing him around the flat was much more entertaining.

“Yep,” he rubs his face, assessing the carnage that is his little girl’s room. On a good day, it is akin to a battlefield. A time like this, where she’s taken it as free reign to open everything that had a lid or door or drawer and throw the contents of everything everywhere? He imagines an escape room is simpler.

But if he’s honest with himself, which Azriel likes to think he is, her presence is something that had made him nearly sigh with relief. If he can’t hear himself think, then he won’t think, and then this will just be a trivial cleaning out of a room that is long overdue such treatment. The clothes in his hands are items to fold up, with no sentiment, and put in boxes for donation. They are not Winnie’s first dress, or the outfit she’d worn to her first visit to the lake. They are not one-month old and two-month old clothes that Ellie had cried over, somehow moved by rampant hormones to find such small items tear-jerking.

“Are we gonna give away my drawings?” Winnie suddenly asks fearfully, shooting to her feet after coming across a container of old art-supplies.

“No, no,” he instantly reassures her before her hair can turn grey. “Who’d we give them to?”

Winnie stares intensely at him. “People want ‘em.”

He holds back his mouth from twitching. “Do they?”

It’s eerie, how her eyes get so large and round and earnest. “Right?!”

“O-Of course, yeah. Definitely.”

“Aunnie Fey-Fey said they’re art. And-and people want art, right? We gonna give ‘em away?”

“Well do you want to give them away?”

“NO!”

“We’re not, then. Calm down, Picasso.”

She lets out a comically exaggerated sigh of relief. “Thank goodness. I was worried there for a second!”

“Sure thing, Bunny.”

It’s probably a sad thing, spending his Saturday clearing out his daughter’s room and his own wardrobe for the donation Feyre’s asked him to contribute to, but what is probably sadder is that he’s relieved and very much content with staying in, cleaning and doing chores. Cassian has such an opinion.

“I can’t tell what’s sadder,” his friend remarks on the phone as Azriel loads the washing machine, boxes all taped and labelled and Winnie’s room unrealistically clean. He’d forgotten the color of her carpet was such a beautiful tone after he vacuumed it. “This being the highlight of your day, or the poor kid locked up in there with you.”

“Rhys is going to take her and Felix out in an hour,” Azriel turns the machine on. “They’re having a sleepover.”

“Sweet! Let’s get together and have a drink, then. Come on, night out.”

“Nah, man, I have assignments to mark and an exam to write.”

And isn’t he ecstatic about it. He’s been looking forward to this particular day since such sleepover’s been arranged, and he realized that all his chores and tasks neatly lined up to clear this day for catching up on his job and staying in. Maybe he’ll watch trashy reality television, or an even shittier crime show without having to worry about the Eavesdropper Supreme absorbing everything like a fucking sponge.

The possibilities excite him.

“Every word coming out of you is just sadder than the one before,” Cassian sighs, as if he heard Azriel’s thoughts.

“Give your liver a fucking break,” Azriel snaps, defensive over the impossible breach of his private thoughts. “You’re getting married in two fucking weeks and you’ve drunk more alcohol than your fiancé has in her entire alcoholic years.”

“Hey.”

Azriel takes the call off speakers and puts the phone to his ears as he walks out the room. “Speaking of, have you spoken to the resort?”

“That’s why I called. I did, and they’d be more than happy to keep you lot for a few more days. I think dropping some names did the trick.”

“Whatever gets you there,” he replies, entering the living room and immediately feeling his eye twitch at the sight that greets him. “Oi, Winnie, Rebel, off the iPad. Now. Read a book or something.”

Both girls turn their guilty eyes to him, as Winnie slides the device away underneath a cushion as if she wasn’t just caught red-handed. “Sorry, Daddy.”

He throws himself onto the couch next to them with a rush of breath whooshing out of him. “Are you happy with everything? No-one’s being a menace? Cake’s fine? Venue fine? No hurdles?”

“It’s going perfect,” Cassian answers, with the smile audible in his raspy voice. “Don’t want to jinx it, but there’s nothing to complain about. I really got to thank you properly for that wedding planner—she’s a gift from God.”

“Yeah, she’s pretty good.”

“Didn’t she do your wedding?”

“Mhm.”

Ellie’s best friend, Cressida. It’s Azriel’s genius gift to the couple; instead of having to worry his over-worried mind over a meaningful gift, he got Cressida to plan their wedding from A to Z. Nesta got uncharacteristically quietly when he let them know the famous planner had taken them on—he cannot take entire credit for the idea, even though he knows Cressida to be one of the top sharks in her industry; he’d overheard Nesta and Feyre after the engagement announcement discussing it and, well, for what it's worth he’d always meant to call his late wife’s best-friend.

Azriel breathes in, reaches out a scarred hand that fusses with Winnie’s fine hair as she flops across his lap, listening in on his conversation.

“She did a great job on yours.”

“Mhm.”

He focuses on Winnie’s tresses.

“You all-right?”

“Yeah, why not?”

“You’re just sounding a little mono-syllabled.”

“Nah… I’m…Just a little busy. Hey, Bunny, don’t fall asleep. Uncle Rhys will be here any moment.”

“Sure,” Cassian replies smoothly, in a way that says roger that to whatever he’s interpreted in his tone with his freakishly peaked emotional insight. Sometimes Azriel wishes Cassian would spare him some, but then tells himself that what little sensitivity he possesses provides him with enough grief. “Anyway, the resort will have you for the week, same rooms. How’s that sound?”

“Brilliant,” Azriel replies, looking forward to the week following Cassian’s wedding, already feeling himself relax a little at the prospect of napping under the sun at the beach, getting to subtly pass Winnie on to his brother and sister-in-law, finally getting to read that interesting-looking book one of his students left behind in his class that was never collected. Fresh drinks, shorts, loose white shirts and permanently hiding behind a hat and sunglasses to nap all day without being severely judged, everyday. Not having to worry about cooking, washing, or tidying up. He does appreciate some time off, and with the semester he’s had, he’s more than looking forward to it.

___

“What d’you mean you’re closed?”

“We’re very sorry, Mr. Bougainvillea, but some of the kids got sick and it’s protocol to stay home for a few days to prevent it spreading to other children and the staff.”

Azriel can’t believe his ears, or the preschool teacher’s sweet voice. “They’re kids, they’re supposed to have their faces sneezed on.”

“We’re very sorry, Mr. Bougainvillea. After the pandemic, we’ve had to reinforce some stricter protocols.”

He blinks at the fridge covered in magnets holding up drawings, grocery lists and some photographs. Winnie stares at him, unblinking, as she chews on a sliced apple half-heartedly. He turns to his daughter, as the preschool hangs up, and it’s all he can do to not hysterically laugh at his misfortune like a madman.

“Imma stay home?” Winnie hopefully asks.

“Dream on, Bunny,” he mutters, dialing Feyre’s number.

“Hello?”

“Please tell me you can have Winnie for the day. Her preschool’s running a self-imposed quarantine because a kid coughed yesterday.”

“Told you not to put her in a pretentious fancy school like Velaris Stars.”

“Well?”

“I’m sorry, I really can’t; I have meetings with clients and I need to finish a commission before noon.”

Fucking hell.

“Why don’t I call Felix’s school, see if they’ll take her for the day? The principal loves me.”

“Would you, please?” he glances at his wrist-watch, and realizes he’s already cutting it close. “I owe you.”

“No problem.”

He slides his phone into his pocket, gulps down a bitter mouthful of yesterday’s cold coffee and clicks his fingers at his daughter simultaneously while dumping the remaining coffee in the sink. “C’mon. Shoes.”

“I really don’t think we should leave Rebel alone,” Winnie protests as she skips out the kitchen. “She’s sad all alone, maybe I’ll stay with her?”

Azriel snatches his suit jacket off the back of the couch, grabs Winnie’s yellow and green backpack and her lunchbox as he follows her to the front door of the penthouse. “Rebel’s being left alone unsupervised all day in an entire flat, Winnie. I think she’d be sad at you joining her.”

Winnie humphs, taking her sweet time in stomping her feet into her Velcro shoes. “But what if—where am I gonna be all day?”

“Let me worry about that, Bunny, all-right?” he opens the door, and locks it shut behind them quickly. Feyre brings no good news, as Felix’s school has a strict policy against such things and Azriel really wants to write a memo for all preschools and primary schools to remind them not to take such a big fucking piss of themselves—strict policies and protocols, his ass. He wouldn’t bat an eye if a random person sat in on one of his lectures. Back in his day, he wasn’t even in preschool. Preschool was Mom’s shitty two-bedroom apartment and their shitty neighborhood block. And back then, school was an even shittier public school full of kids that no-one noticed if one was missing.

“Hey, heard you’re in a bit of a pickle,” Rhys pipes on the phone, while Azriel and Winnie sit out their options in a quaint familiar coffee shop in the city while Azriel plots his escape. “Preschool bailed on you?”

“Mhm,” Azriel monitors the trickling bleary-eyed morning crowd out in the street, mouth smudged in the palm of his hand. “I’m waiting on Cassian to see if he can help me out. Wait, hold on.”

His friend’s voice trickles in through the second line. “Sorry, man. Schedule booked the entire day, and we don’t have any kid activities before 2pm.”

“Thanks anyway, Cass, sorry to bother you this early, I’ve got Rhys on the other line. I’ll get back to you. Yeah, Rhys, it’s no good with Cassian either.”

His brother-in-law tuts. “Why not take her with you to work? Would your Dean mind?”

“Looks like I’m going to,” Azriel realizes, loathe to let his daughter tag along to his classes which are nowhere near suitable for her to listen in on.

But surely he is overestimating Winnie’s mental capacity to understand university-level criminology classes when his own students struggle on good days to wrap their heads around what he’s teaching? Azriel fucking wishes. The kid soaks up everything she sees, hears and touches, with whatever degree of understanding she’s reconciled it with—he’s terrified what she’ll make of his material. “It’s not the Dean I’m afraid of, Rhys. But having her tag along…”

“Yeah…leave her in your office?”

“I freaked out about leaving her asleep in her crib the first years of her life, you want me to leave her in my office at the university for five hours?”

“Put on a movie, headphones, give her a coloring book and she’s all set for the entire day. Trust me.”

Azriel lets loose a whistling breath, slumping back in his seat and threading his fingers into his hair. “Sure.”

“Hey, you can always bail on your classes.”

“I kind of used all my excuses when she got sick last month and it’s revision week today. The only time these kids actually show up to class.”

“I don’t know what to say, you’re in the deep end, mate.”

“Yeah, I know. Anyway, I’ll call you later.”

“Say hi to her from me.”

“Bunny, Uncle Rhys says hi.”

“Hi, Uncle Rhys,” Winnie grins. “I miss our sleepover already!”

Rhys laughs. “Me too, kid. We’ll do it again sometime soon.”

Azriel lets his phone clatter on the small table, and rubs his face roughly before standing up abruptly. “C’mon, let’s order.”

Winnie trails after him dutifully, reaching out to grab hold of his scarred hand as they wait in line at the counter and study the glass display in the meantime.

“Daddy, am I a bourbon?” she asks, as her eyes roam over all sorts of muffins and pastries.

“Come again?”

“A bourbon,” she repeats, looking up. He frowns. She raises her eyebrows. “You know, like-like a problem.”

“Oh, you mean burden.”

She stares up at him. “That’s what I say.”

“No, no, you’re not,” he stops himself from smiling. “Why’d you think so?”

“Cause I’m giving you a headache.”

He lets his smile loose. “Your socks are a problem. But Daddy’s just cursed with constant cluster headaches, so don’t take it personally.”

“You look kinda mad,” she points out. “And sad.”

“I didn’t get enough sleep, that’s all,” he turns to the barista taking orders and gives her a smile. “Morning, Cer.”

“Morning, Az,” Cerridwen smiles, and leans over to give Winnie one. “And good morning to you too, Winnie. How’re you?”

“I’m good today,” Winnie nods seriously, thumbs hooked into the straps of her backpack as she assesses the pastries. “But Daddy stayed up all night watching bad movies and didn’t get sleep so now I’m his bourbon.”

Cerridwen’s dark glimmering eyes turn to him, begging for an explanation as she holds back a full-blown grin.

He shrugs. “Yeah, that about sums it up.”

“Well, Winnie, what would you like today?”

His kid tilts her head. “Not sure. What do you condom, Cer?”

“Recommend,” Azriel hisses immediately, feeling himself flush hot and red, and pointedly ignores the stare from the old lady waiting behind them.

Cerridwen, to her credit, only softly giggles. “I like the lemon tarts.”

Winnie’s eyes widen. “Uncle Rhys says that’s a bad word!”

“Oh that he told you not to say?” Azriel grits his teeth. “Black coffee for me, Cer, and a chocolate croissant. Bunny?”

“I wanna cold milk and that one.”

“Coming up.”

Azriel promptly steers his kid back to their table after paying and collecting their order, and plops her straight in her chair without a word. Winnie swings her legs back and forth patiently while he cuts up her puff pastry into manageable pieces, looking around her. All of a sudden, she gasps, and points at the front door. “Daddy, look!”

He looks over, instinctively, to see her pointing at two women walking into the café and he’s about to tell her not to point or stare, but somehow the words slip his mind. His everything slips his mind, as he watches Nuala stride in through a door held open by —quite frankly—the most beautiful woman he’s ever laid eyes on.

Father and daughter ogle as the pair walk up to the counter, chatting animatedly together, and greeting Nuala’s twin cheerfully—a sin some would say, as no dignified person is allowed to be so cheerful, even on a bright and sunny morning such as this. The other woman’s taller than average, with a couple of inches on Nuala, her golden-brown hair tumbling in gentle waves from a ponytail down her back. Azriel doesn’t know when his mouth eased open, but he promptly snaps it shut and turns his attention back to the task at hand, while Winnie continues to openly stare.

He blinks the remnant image from his eyes, shakes the snug black leather jacket and skinny blue jeans out his mind and tells himself he’s just sleep-deprived.

Then, Winnie beams and does the worst thing a child can do in a public space. Calls out.

“Nain!”

Azriel freezes, and looks over his shoulder again to find that the woman had turned at the call, and that her brown eyes were fixed on them. His stomach flips on itself at the smile that blooms on her lips, before she briefly squeezes Nuala’s elbow with a word and comes over.

Comes over.

“Hi,” Elain Archeron, Feyre’s sister, greets with a soft sweet voice. She hasn’t got any makeup on that Azriel can see, and he thinks that it’s surely witchcraft how good she looks. “How are you doing, Winnie?”

“I’m good today,” his daughter reports seriously. “But Daddy—“

“Is pleased to see you again, Elain,” Azriel quickly cuts in, standing up abruptly, discovering that Elain’s taller-than-average height still means she’s quite shorter than him. “Uh, Azriel, Winnie’s dad. We ran into each other a few times.”

“Oh I remember you,” she pleasantly says, shaking the hand he absent-mindedly stretched out. “Wow, it’s been, how many years since I last saw you? I think Felix’s second birthday party?”

“Yeah,” he agrees, nodding. Probably too much. He stops his head. “This one was just a baby.”

Elain’s eyes soften, glancing at his daughter. “Time really flies. You should have seen my shock when I ran into her at Feyre’s place the other night. They were having a sleepover.”

“We colored dinos!” Winnie excitedly says. “Nain said I’m an artist, Daddy.”

“That you are, Bunny. So, uh, what-what brings you to town?”

Elain’s brows furrow in confusion for a brief second. “I work here. The precinct down the street?”

He blinks. Right. Criminal investigator—Nuala’s co-worker. “Right, sorry. It’s been a day.”

Her eyes dart to the clock on the wall. “It’s not 7:40 yet,” her lips faintly smile.

“And I’m ready to call it quits,” he nods. “So, uh, Nesta’s wedding—are you a… bridesmaid? Cassian mentioned something about the rehearsal—are you my bridesmaid?”

Elain tucks her lower lip between her teeth and slowly tugs on it, her face sobering slowly. “Ah…No, I’m not. Nesta didn’t ask me.”

He’s just going to have a quick lie-down in this grave he’s dug for himself.

“Oh,” why the fuck did he even ask? He didn’t give two shits about the groomsmen and bridesmaid pairing. He didn’t give a shit, point blank, about anything beyond his friend’s happiness. “Sorry, I don’t even give a shit about the wedding.”

Winnie gasps. “Bad word!”

“Put it on the tab,” he absent-mindedly tells her, followed by Winnie’s rustling through her bag for a little notebook into which she draws a new shaky strike. “Uhm, it was lovely to run into you, Elain. I don’t want to keep you.”

Elain sticks her hands into the pockets of her skinny jeans and shrugs her shoulders. “Nu and I are actually bailing on the morning briefing. Shouldn’t you be taking her to school?”

“They cancelled,” Winnie answers, tucking her little flip notebook back into her bag. “Cause someone coughed.”

Elain blinks. “That seems…precautious.”

“Paranoid,” Azriel sighs.

“Where are you putting her then? You’re a lecturer at VU, right?”

He nods. “I’m taking her with me.”

Elain glances at his daughter, warily. “Don’t you teach criminology and penology?”

He grimly smiles. “Yeah. It’s…not ideal. I’ll ask one of the staff to keep an eye on her during my classes.”

Elain tilts her head then blinks. “I could do it for you.”

He freezes.

Winnie’s head snaps up, eyes wide as full-moons. “Oh yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes. Pretty, pretty, prettiest please, Daddy?!”

“Sorry?”

Elain’s eyes widen. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to intervene. I was just offering to help out. I could watch her for you on campus. I’ve been meaning to check out some books from the library there, anyway.”

Is this what angels look like?

“I…aren’t you busy?”

“Honestly, it’s been a little slow, not to jinx it. And I was the detective on call last night, so I’ve got no intentions of hanging around for Helion to assign me any new cases.”

“You know, not to sound desperate or anything, but you could ask for my liver right now and I’d hand it over, no questions asked.”

Elain grins, something gorgeous and wide, and one that makes Azriel’s heart thump erratically against his will and he feels physically ill. “How ‘bout a coffee, instead?”

________________________________

the end. October 2023

#apaixonar what if #see this was meant to come out months ago but I forgot about it #:D #and with this we conclude fictober 2023 lads #flufftober 2023 #fictober23 #elriel fic #winnie archeron #rhysand #cassian #elriel #azriel #apaixonar #goodbye

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sizzleissues · 7 months

Text

its a heist (1007 words)

Toxinelle and Griffe Noire

Chimneys pile high, sheets of thick smoke billowing out. It reaches the sky, touches the belly of the curtain of clouds that never seem to part and pries its way in. By one stack a dark bird peers down at the maze of narrow streets, tiny beady eyes searching for a glint of light or the quick movement of a rat. It bends to the point of taking off again when a gloved hand grabs it, pulling it back.

The bird struggles in Griffe Noire’s grasp, a strangled cry leaving its slim beak. Griffe Noire grins down at it, his smile bleeding white into the dusty evening.

Toxinelle looks on with her nose scrunched in disgust, averting her gaze as Griffe Noire bites down.

“Do you really have to do that?”

Griffe Noire drops down off the chimney, tossing the beak aside, and shrugs. “Gotta practice.”

They make their way off the roof, into the patchwork streets. If the citizens of London are alarmed by their sudden appearance, they don’t say anything. Toxinelle takes the lead and Griffe follows, hands crossed behind his back and head up, looking curiously in every direction. His eyes dart to the people who are fancily dressed —adorned with pearls— quietly ushering their children out of their way. He bares his teeth and snarls, watching in delight as they scuttle away like bugs.

He looks out for homes whose doors are a little cleaner than their neighbours, the plaster and brick better held together. Places with valuables most certainly inside.

But that isn’t why he’s in stinking London of all places.

“Stick close. We’re keeping a low profile,” Toxinelle calls over her shoulder. Adrien quickens his saunter to a brisk walk, catching up to her side. Their hands intertwine as naturally as putting one foot in front of the other.

“What’s the plan?” He asks. Then lower, close to her ear. “My lady.”

She shivers beside him, squeezing his hand. He smiles, proud of himself. Her eyes remain firmly fixed ahead as she recounts to him the plan.

It's not often she takes the lead role of things. The way their powers work, he does the damage and she figures out how to get them out of it. Now it's entirely up to her. He will be her tool if she pleases.

“They don’t know we’re coming but we’ve made ourselves rather obvious. We’ll need to blend in.”

“Do we have to though? Can’t I just cataclysm the wall and take it.”

Toxinelle sighs and then gently pats his chest, skipping ahead.

“That defeats the point. They can’t even know what they have is worth stealing.”

The shop is cramped; merchandise spilling off shelves, stacks of old outdated tech in unreachable corners while tables in front display a series of vaguely offensive badges and a rack of clothing thick with dust cloaking an entire wall. The room is narrow, with a small loop of space to walk through. Music bleeds out the edges of a few ancient radios, none powerful enough to cover the whole store so multiple play at slightly different times.

There’s a teenage girl at the counter of the shop. Her dark hair flops over her face, limp with the years of damage done by dye. Her elbows rest on the counter, in the only spare space as the rest is covered by an assortment of oddities and knick-knacks that the owners obviously need to sell off. She uses one hand to prop up her head and the other to flick a toy windmill round and round and round.

The girl lifts her head to the two global super villains walking through the door, before sinking back down again. Just another Tuesday.

Griffe Noire disappears into the back of the store to poke around the box of used VHS tapes while Toxinelle approaches the counter, her mouth curving into a shark-like smile.

“Hi!” She sticks her head out and startles the girl. She stumbles back, knocking over a display of e-cigarettes. Toxinelle keels over with laughter, cackling as the girl regains her footing. The girl looks between the two of them, Griffe returning with his VHS tapes, finally realising just who they are.

“You-.”

“Let's make this simple.” Griffe Noire interrupts, laying the tapes down, bar one. He grips it in his hand. “You let us take a few things, free of charge, and you get to keep your head.”

He crushes the tape and tosses it to the ground. The girl nods.

They fold so easily.

Dressed in blue shirts and black slacks, Adrien holds Marinette’s hand, quietly staring at the space between two statues. Behind them a child gasps at the giant stone statue, crying to his mother that it's holding up the sky. From the corner of his eye he watches Marinette glance up. Her jaw sets.

“Are you ready?” She asks.

“I am.”

“Good, it's time.”

They step into the space between and part, walking down opposite pathways.

His hand plays with the lanyard, spinning around the id badge he just swiped off a dozing attendant. His path takes him up to a restricted area of the building, keeping his head low as employees move to go to lunch.

Adrien slips into the control room and gets to work. Switch off cameras, set off alarms and clear all files and then erase all evidence he did anything. All they can think is someone tripped a fire alarm. Like Marinette said, they can't even know there was anything to steal.

He watches Marinette sneak into the store room from the security cam, reluctantly shutting down the system as planned when she reaches an impassable door. A tape pops out from where it was recording, beeping at him.

Next he places all of the days recordings into a bin, piling stacks of paper on top of them. He lights a match and drops it in.

The alarm wails and he stumbles out the control room, letting himself be swept up by the panicked crowd. People pay no attention to the pre-recorded voice calling them to proceed slowly as not to damage the displays, pushing and shoving to save their own necks.

Adrien laughs.

In the night there’s a glint of light at the bottom of an alley. The ground is damp and smells of urine and the churning of over worked heater systems rattles through the walls. Griffe Noire waits, his eyes stalking a rat in the dumpster. He’s interrupted just as he moves to pounce.

Toxinelle walks in, a bag over her shoulder. She pats it, with a gorgeous twisted grin on her face.

“Got it.”

She removes the box from the bag, blowing off the dust. Its made of a wood older than most nations that should have degraded. Its by a miracle it hasn't. Its decorated with gold leafing, intricate concentric circles crossing and looping together. Griffe Noire takes it with shaking hands.

“The lost miracle box.”

“It's ours.”

This was me practicing atmosphere and description. Trying to something I guess - let me know if its doing the correct emotions because we could have just circled around to boring XD

It fascinates me to no end that there are multiple miracle boxes of miraculous. Not just our Chinese one and the American one. This is the Hibernian miracle box.

Oh and they were robbing the British museum

ehhehehehehehe

IDK LET MY HAVE THIS

#miraculous ladybug #miraculous #ml fanfic #ml fic #toxinelle #griffe noire #claw noir #shadybug #ml paris special #ladynoir

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