#I missed doing colourings! Hopefully I can keep up with them

[juletheghoul]

greedy

a/n: I cannot be stopped at this point, this man brings out the WHORE in me and I have happily accepted my fate lol. This is un beta-ed, any mistakes are my own. Shout out to @foli-vora for being a constant source of love and support and for contributing so much to this world, thanks my love! 🩷Hopefully you enjoy!

Warnings; 18+ no minors, vague but big-legal age gap, piv sex, dirty talk, Marcus being a total glutton for your greed over him, creampie, heavy possessive feelings from you because lets be REAL, master / slave dynamic (power imbalance), Marcus calls reader Girl, reader calls Marcus Dominus, let me know if I missed any!

Pairing: Marcus Acaciusx F!Reader

word count: 2.4k

reblogs are appreciated

Prev chapter Masterlist series masterlist

His house was in order, and that was mostly thanks to you. 

Since your return to Rome, and the villa, he has been busy. Mostly, it’s been a parade of high ranking officials, members of the noble families making their pilgrimage to pay homage to the ‘Saviour of Rome’.

He despised it.

With all of the ferocity within him, he despised it. You could see it in his visage, in the clench in his jaw when they’d come to call. The way the normally confident expression in his eyes, faltered and focused on his sandaled feet. If he hadn’t been the person he was, you might have laughed. But he was, and so you didn’t. 

After a few weeks it inevitably died down, and the whole house seemed to take a deep breath, it wasn’t to last though. Just as the air seems to settle, someone comes calling, someone very important. 

“Lavinia–” She is a true beauty, of high Roman birth and the daughter to one of the most influential men in Rome, just a step below the Emperor himself. “You honour me…” He is at a loss for words as she floats into the halls of his house. His eyes find yours but you don’t need him to say a word, within a moment you’re flitting towards the other attendants, and within the span of a few breaths, his table is laid out with enough food and wine to impress even one as fine as her. 

“I have caught you unawares have I not?” She giggles and the sound is almost calculated to ensnare, the jewels at her throat and dangling from her ears glinting almost as brightly as her eyes “I am glad to see I am not vying with anyone else for your attention, I wanted you all to myself this day.” He leads her to his table, and sends everyone out of the room but you. 

“Yes, well.” He clears his throat, and already you can feel him closing up, hiding behind his mask of courtesy. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?”

You stand behind his chair at the ready, and watch her cast her spell on him, silently. 

“Does one such as me need a reason to visit with you General Marcus? Surely with your victory you’d have a steady parade of young, quite available women marching through your halls, fighting tooth and nail to catch your eye.” She shook out her long blonde waves, subtly, but not so subtly angling herself in the most flattering way. “You are unmarried and unattached as of yet, all of Rome knows it.” She bites her lip, appealing to him in the way beautiful women always appeal to men and it shocks you to feel the unfamiliar stab of anger in your belly. 

He grunted, noncommittally. 

“I have come to…speak of such things.” She stretched towards him like a cat, picking a grape from the platters on the table, and nibbling at it softly, her lips the colour of ripe pomegranates. “If you would care to hear them, of course.” 

He has no interest in marriage, he cares too much for his time alone, he will tell you to leave–

“I will, of course, listen to whatever you have to say, Lavinia.” If you hadn’t been as experienced with him, you would have gasped. Instead, you stood there, trying with all your might to keep the shock off your face, and the tremble out of your hands. “Wine.” He spoke the word clearly, and it pulled you out of your shocked anger behind him. With a practiced hand, you poured for him, and then moved quickly to pour for her. 

You don’t catch his eye, but you feel it on you, no doubt noting the furrow in your brow,  tracking you, as you make your way back to your place behind him. You let go of a deep, steadying breath and for a moment you could swear on all of the Gods you see him smile over his shoulder. In the blink of an eye, it’s gone. 

“Let us speak of them then.” She claps her hands together happily, “My father would have come to speak to you sooner or later, but I thought it best to test the waters myself, without the scrutiny of his eye.” She leans towards him again, elbows on his table, holding her delicate face in her hands and even you have to admit, it’s masterful. The jewels on her fingers only enhance the hue of her eyes. She takes advantage of the cut of her dress, the calculated pieces of flesh she has on display, and how cunningly she uses them is something to behold. You look down at the simple tunic you wear, the uniform of your station and all at once, you feel beneath her, beneath everyone. 

“And what would your father have to say to me, I believe you are more than capable of making a case for yourself. You strike me as the sort of woman that gets what she wants.” His tone is different, he sounds almost interested and it’s a dagger through your heart. 

Steel yourself, you are nothing but a slave, no matter how many times he buries himself inside you. You are what’s available, until he finds another, equal to him. 

She giggles, tickled, but unsurprised that he seems to be responding to her charms. 

“I do get what I want, in the end.” She smiles, and it is truly lovely, “and what I want is you.” 

“Shall I fetch more wine Dominus?” You step beside him, whispering with a tremble in your voice, hoping, wishing, praying to all of the Gods that he’ll spare you from this torment. 

“No.” A soft word, and your stomach turns. You step back silently. “I am surprised you have come to me, I am sure there are armies of men ready to fight to the death for you, why am I the one you want”

“Oh come now Marcus, you have just led our army in a great victory, the streets cry out your name, the Emperor himself has thanked you for your service, you are the most desired man in all of Rome, you know this.” She brushes his question off, “I can raise you up higher still, to the very halls of the Senate, should you wish it.” 

“The Senate? And what would I do in the Senate? I am no politician, I am quite content where I am.” He smiles for her benefit, and you do your best to remain impartial, and invisible. 

Unfeeling. Unmoving.

“It is an option, should you want it.” She reiterates, “Now, what do you say of this match? What are your thoughts?” She picks more food off the plates, completely confident. 

“I will say this, you honour me greatly,” She smiles, licking at the tips of her delicate fingers, “It is a lot to consider, and I would be grateful if I could have some time to think, send you word of my final decision once I’ve had time to settle back into civilian life.” He bows his head to her and she responds in kind, seemingly pleased with his response. 

She stays longer than the others, and he entertains her to her heart's content, sharing the less violent stories from the war he’d just won and letting her have her fill of his food and hospitality, and you stand behind him. Listening to it all. Until she grows tired and tells him she must depart. 

“I look forward to hearing your answer, don’t make me wait too long.” She smiles, pressing forward and kissing his cheeks boldly. 

“It was lovely to see you, please give your father my greetings. Be safe.” 

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, the air in the room felt thin and for a moment, your thoughts clouded your awareness. 

“You are angry.” His voice cuts through your reverie, making you jump where you stand at his table, setting it to rights. 

“Dominus?”

“Speak plainly, girl. You are displeased with Lavinia coming here, offering herself to me.” He stares at you, his eyebrow raised from his place on his favoured chair. 

“I, I have no cause, no reason–” You stumble over your words, wringing your hands to stay obedient.

“Yes you do. She comes into this house, this house that has been your home for a long time, and asks to make it her own. She would be your Domina, and that angers you.” He speaks with a smile in his voice, his eyes shining with the novelty of your misplaced, and maybe grossly inappropriate anger. 

“I, Dominus–your will is my will, whatever you command–” He raises his hand and for a moment you see a flicker of anger. 

“Speak truthfully now, girl. I see the rage on your face. I feel it in your gaze. I will hear the truth, tell me how you feel.” He narrows his eyes for a moment, and you know he wants to hear the truth. 

“I hate it.” You let go of a deep breath, steadying yourself for the wrath of insolence but it never comes, instead, he smiles. 

“I would hear your reasons.”

“I–I would not have her come here. I would not have her marry you. I have no wish to call her Domina or have her order me away from you. I… I would keep you all to myself,” his smile widens, “Dominus.”

He gestures for you to come closer, and you do, until you stand before him. 

“Would you now?” You stand in the space between his legs, watching the way his eyes dilate to hear you speak of keeping him. 

“Yes Dominus, I would have you all to myself, I would not have her keeping your bed warm.” You seethe at the thought of it, to hear him having her, the way he has you makes your blood boil and he smiles bigger still, his eyes crinkling with the mirth of it. 

“Tell me, my fearsome girl, how greedy you are that you cannot share your Dominus with another.” His hands slide up the backs of your legs, slipping up to cup your backside while your hands land onto his shoulders. 

“I am greedy, I cannot share you Dominus, I will not.” You press yourself closer to him, your fingers threading through his graying curls. “I could not bear to hear you with her.”

“Hmm. You want my cock all for your own, is that it? Only you are fit for the gift of my seed? Tell me.” He pulls your tunic up, and off, stripping you of everything until you stand bare before him. “Only you, and this sweet little cunt, hm? Is that the way of it?” He presses kisses to your belly as he speaks and all at once the anger is gone and replaced with a hunger that only he can satisfy. 

“Yes Dominus, only me-” You pull his face up and claim his mouth, moaning into it at the feeling of his hand cupping your sex. 

“Take it then, girl, take what so clearly belongs to you, what you would keep all to yourself.” 

You waste no time in stripping him bare, relishing to see the way his cock stands at attention for you, and not for the other woman. You ache at the sight of it, the proof of your desire for him dripping onto your thighs in your haste to mount him and when you finally feel him notch his cock at the mouth of your cunt, you practically drop yourself onto it. 

He groans to feel the way you clench around him, the two of you breathing heavily into each other's faces, adjusting to the way his cock seems to kiss your womb. 

“Is this what you wanted, girl?” He bucks up underneath you, and your breasts bounce in his face, mesmerizing him enough to make him do it again. “To claim me like this? Tell me–is this cock yours? Am I yours?” He bounces you again and it’s hard to focus on anything but the fullness of him, the way you feel the pleasure of it lights up every nerve in your body. 

“Yes, yes Dominus, mine–” Your fingers grasp his hair tightly and with every flex of his hips, you roll yours, grinding the pleasure center of your universe against the coarse hairs at the base of his sex. “Your cock is mine, only mine.” he lets out a filthy moan to hear it, and your nipples harden. 

“It is yours, take it, Gods, take it all–” He cannot seem to control himself, quicker and quicker he flexes, until your arousal drenches his lap and the sounds between your legs are wet and obscene. 

“Harder please Dominus, I want it harder–” You hold onto his shoulders, rolling your hips faster and within a moment, he moves forward, placing you on the plush carpet at his feet. Once on the floor, his hips piston and the sounds of your coupling ring out through the room. 

Your orgasm takes you by surprise, your legs seizing up on his hips, and pulling a scream from your throat. He groans, feeling the way you squeeze around him, the force of your climax milking his cock dry. 

“God's girl, you have knocked the wind from me.” He breathes hard in your ear, pressing his lips to your mouth before moving his kisses down your throat, peppering them across your chest. His tongue licks at one nipple, then the other, making you flutter around him. 

A few moments pass, and although you are comforted by his weight, you don’t want to overstep. He forestalls you though. 

“Come girl, I would have this place set to rights, and retire to bed.” He pulls out with a hiss, moving up and away, “I would have you tell me of your anger, in depth, in my chambers.” He holds out his hand to help you up, and you take it with a smile. 

----

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[20-th-centurygirl]

summary: more texting with jude!

part 1

masterlist navigation

𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧

2/3/2024

jude:

no pen no paper but you still draw my attention

you: cringe

jude: was just being nice 😒

you: womp womp

10/3/2024

you: pov you're giving birth

jude: so funny i forgot to laugh

you: why don't you ever appreciate how hilarious your girlfriend is 😒😒😒

jude: bc you're not funny

you: blocked ‼️

12/3/2024

you: jude

you: i love you

you: but is this so up close and personal??

you: like can we take a step back

jude: you love being this close to me don't lie

you: you're staring into my soul

you: i hate you for still looking good in these angles

jude: 🤪🤪

19/3/2024

you: i can't sleep

you: i miss you and your snoring too much ☹️

1 missed call from jude

jude: answer

you: no you need to sleep so you're not tired for training

jude: i'm awake anyway

jude: can't sleep without you snoring and drooling on me 🙄

you: i don't snore or drool

you: trents gonna moan at me for keeping you up and making you all moody for tomorrow

jude: just shush and answer you drama queen

21/3/2024

jude: what colour eyes do you think our kids are gonna have?

you: yours hopefully

you: i don't like mine

jude: i love your eyes

jude: esp when i make them roll back 😏😏

you: you're all talk bellingham

jude: come over nd i'll prove it

you: omw 🏃‍♀️‍➡️🏃‍♀️‍➡️

[wisteriaiswriting]

Can you do an autistic trans(if you do that) male reader who doesn’t really get social cues but is overall pretty quiet and reserved with the people from the Hazbin hotel?

𝕊𝕚𝕝𝕖𝕟𝕥 𝔹𝕦𝕥 𝔽𝕣𝕚𝕖𝕟𝕕𝕝𝕪

Words: 1111

𝔸𝕝𝕒𝕤𝕥𝕠𝕣:

He will be unaware at first, so his first impression about you is not good. Thinks you’re being rude on purpose, but when he finds out that's not the case he’ll feel slightly bad.

For his assumptions he’ll subtly apologize by dropping presents in your room (Unnamed of course.) and lending you a helping hand.

If you two become close he will take you to his tailor to get matching suits, different colours obviously, can’t have you taking his signature colour now, can we?

***

For the first few days you’ve been at the hotel Alastor has been weirdly stand offish. Others didn’t mind, often glad he’s staying away rather than closer. But you wanted to know why, so you asked Charlie.

Who asked Alastor, to which he gracefully answered.

“Well, I don’t enjoy seeing terrible manners around the hotel, surely you don’t either?” At his words the reason for avoidance clicked in her head.

“Why didn't you say so? Well knowing you, you wouldn’t… But Y/N isn’t that good with social cues, so he doesn’t mean any of, whatever he’s been doing.”

“Oh…” At her words he left the room, finding you. “Well hello my Handsome fellow,”

“Hi?” After his most recent actions you didn’t expect him to just waltz up to you.

“Unfortunately someone has ruined my suit,” Correct, a good chunk was missing. “And hopefully you would accompany me?”

“Sure, I guess?”

“Perfect!”

ℂ𝕙𝕒𝕣𝕝𝕚𝕖:

She's unsurprisingly similar when it comes to social cues.

When it comes to you being autistic or trans she won’t notice, that’ll be the last thing she knows.

You two can not be left alone, someone will need to supervise you both.

***

It has been barely a week since you fell into hell and it’s been terrible. There were too many things happen that you could say or even recall, so today was meant to be relaxing. Or at least somewhat close, until someone pulled you around.

They were your only friend here, so of course you had to follow. After a few hours walking around you found you both in front of a hotel, one called the ‘Hazbin hotel.’ Excitedly knocking at the door while you watched.

Within seconds the door swung open revealing an excited blonde.

“Oh my, hi!” Pulling you both in as she spoke, which allowed you to see other people hanging around. “I’m Charlie, and welcome to the Hazbin Hotel!”

“Told ya you’d like it here.”

You were both aware nothing was said beforehand but you didn’t confront them. Seemed like the others knew something was up, so they had Charlie pull you away.

“Since you're new, how about a private tour of the Hazbin Hotel?”

𝕍𝕒𝕘𝕘𝕚𝕖:

Compared to the other hotel residents your quietness is a surprise, but a welcome one at that.

If you ask or signal at all to her she’ll be at your side to subtly help you with social cues and anything else needed.

Especially if you’re new (Also if not) she’ll help you get masculine clothing, although she might have to get others help as she isn’t the most masculine either.

***

Charlie had just brought you to the hotel in a… not so good condition. She wasn’t sure what you went through to look like that but she knew you needed some help, and she was going to help where she could.

“Alastor, I need your help”

“Hmm?”

“You know the newbie, I have to get him some clothes. Problem is I have no clue where to go.” At her words his smile increases slightly.

“I could help, for a price…”

“Nevermind.”

While she wanted to help she wouldn’t risk anything with Alastor, maybe Angel would be better.

𝔸𝕟𝕘𝕖𝕝 𝔻𝕦𝕤𝕥:

He’s seen some shit during his time down in hell, so your actions and attitude isn’t seen as weird to him.

To a degree he’ll take advantage of you. Never anything you wouldn’t want, but to keep him safe from Vaggie or Alastor.

But only he can do it, if anyone else even tries he’ll be there to protect you.

***

“Vaggie, why would I do that?”

“Oh I don’t know, maybe you–”

“Doesn’t matter, I would never when Y/N is with me!”

At his words Vaggie looked down at you, finding you wrapped in Angels pairs of arms. You had a few blooming bruises around your face but otherwise seemed alright.

“Just… Don’t do it again, I don’t want to see Y/N or Charlie get mad at you.”

“Really, Y/N mad at me? Never!” One pair of hands had come up to cup your cheeks, able to leave multiple kisses. Causing Vaggie to leave quickly.

“Now, let me take care of those bruises.”

𝕊𝕚𝕣 ℙ𝕖𝕟𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕦𝕤:

He’s been thrown into the same boat as you, has absolutely no understanding of social cues.

If anything the eggs make it worse, as they are somehow worse than sir pentious.

He has accidentally hurt the both of you at once somehow, no one is sure how that happened.

***

The streets didn’t seem too busy, which was weird for hell. But it might’ve been the fact you and Sir Pentious just weren’t aware of them walking. His tail was swaying dangerously behind him, knocking over any people.

During this his eggs were scattered around the both of you. Some stayed behind, in between and some strayed next to you. Which caused an even bigger barrier to form, now people had to step off the path.

ℍ𝕦𝕤𝕜:

When he first meets you he won’t really care, he’s had worst people hang around.

If he’s being honest he understands and gets social cues, but majority of the time he just doesn’t care about them.

Even then he knows with your lack of awareness you’re likely to get into some unwanted trouble, so he hangs around a lot more.

***

Husk never had the heart to blame you for any trouble, he knew you never meant it. So tonight he accompanied you to a nearby bar, intending for at least a semi-nice night out. But of course someone had to ruin it.

A drunk demon decided he wanted to bother you for the night, ignoring Husk the whole time. But over time his anger rose, you weren’t even looking at him and you didn’t seem interested.

In which you weren’t, but he seemed so incessant that you spoke, even if you didn’t. His attitude quickly became clear very quickly, except you didn’t notice. As he reached for you Husk was quicker, sending a card flying into his head.

That caused everyone to start their own fights. Which gave you two the chance to leave, with minimal injuries of course. Taking the chance you both ran out, luckily no one else was waiting outside.

“We’re going back.”

[calaisreno]

His Favourite Jumper

Sherlock can be careless, but he always tries to make things right.

1627 words / Prompt: Eavesdropping

“What’s this?” Mrs Hudson frowns at what he’s showing her. “John’s jumper?”

“John’s favourite jumper. I need to fix it.”

She takes it in her hands and assesses the damage. It’s a nice jumper, all worsted, cabled up the front, the sleeves set in with steeks. Certainly hand knit by someone who knew what she was doing. She assumes it’s a she; there aren’t many men she knows with the patience to knit.

“What did you do to it?”

“The flat was chilly, so I was wearing it. Borrowed it. John wasn’t home. I was doing an experiment and spilled acid on it. I’ll need matching yarn, I assume. And knitting needles.”

The holes are extensive, she notes, and even a good darner would find it hard to repair such extensive damage. Still frowning, she looks up at him. “Do you know how to knit?”

“Well, no. But knitting is just interlocking loops. How hard can it be?”

She stifles a snort. The poor boy is distressed, but determined to fix what he’s ruined. No one should despise a novice effort, but…

“Sherlock, love, these are a lot of holes, and matching the colour and type of the wool is a bit harder than you might think. Even if you could find a match, even you could darn them all, it’s not going to be like new. He’ll be able to tell.”

His face falls a bit. “But he can’t know I’ve ruined it. And he’ll notice it’s gone.”

“You might buy him a new one.”

“This one was hand-made by his grandmother. It won’t be the same.”

 Nothing is the same, she wants to say. Sometimes we have to let go of things. 

But he’s looking at her so hopefully, and it’s a shame to crush that kind of hope. It’s obvious what’s happening. He’s been in love with John since they moved in together. Sherlock can be careless, but that’s because he’s heedless in his enthusiasm. This isn’t the first jumper he’s ruined, and that’s surely part of his worry. John does have a temper. 

“Just tell him. He’ll forgive you.”

“He’s always forgiving me, and I just keep ruining things. Please, Mrs Hudson. Won’t you show me how?”

Now his eyes shine with tears that threaten to fall.

She gives him a darning lesson. 

John notices the jumper is missing. She sees him going through the laundry, looking for it, and then through the bins. 

When he asks, she plays the innocent, asking him when he last wore it, whether he might have taken it off and left it somewhere. He shakes his head.

She’s watching an old movie late one night when Sherlock brings his work down to her. 

“It looks awful,” he says, slumping on her sofa. “I can’t give it to him like this.”

“I think you’re underestimating him, love. He’s not going to leave because you ruined his jumper.”

“This is not the only thing I’ve ruined,” Sherlock replies. “I broke his mug, I lost his charging cord, and I accidentally set his book on fire. It was only a paperback, but still. He must think I’m trying to drive him out.”

“No, he doesn’t.”

Sherlock’s face is pleading. “Please, Mrs Hudson. You must show me how to knit.”

“Knitting a jumper takes time.”

“How long, would you estimate?”

“Well, there’s the size. It’s not a large one, so that’s all right, and it’s a thicker yarn. Made in the round, so there won’t be much stitching up. But you’re a novice, and that adds hours. I would say… forty hours, minimum.”

“A week, then?”

“When will you find forty hours in your week to work on it?”

“John goes to bed earlier than I do, and he’s at work most days. I’ll sleep when he’s home, so I can work on it when he’s gone or asleep.”

She gives him a knitting lesson.

A skilled eavesdropper, she overhears their conversation, John asking, Sherlock giving a shrug and suggesting that if he had indexed his jumpers, maybe he wouldn’t have misplaced it. 

At night, Sherlock comes down for instruction. She shows him how to make ribbing around the bottom and cables as he travels up the body. He has good dexterity and makes quick progress.  

“He’s bought himself a new jumper,” he informs her. “Very cheap. Obviously machine-made. And the yarn is plastic!”

“Acrylic,” she says. “It has the advantage of laundering well. No shrinkage.”

“I hate it,” Sherlock replies. “But mine looks uneven. I’m not happy.”

“You have to check your gauge. You’re new to this, so it’s probably changed as you’ve become more proficient.” 

She pulls out her gauge ruler and shows him. “See? It’s narrowing. Your stitches are getting tighter.”

“How do I fix it?”

“You can either switch to larger needles, or you can recalculate, unravel, and start over. Either way, you’ll need to pull out a few rows.”

He presses his fingers against his forehead. “This is going to take years!”

“Not years.” She pats his hand. “You’ve got the hang of it. Even experienced knitters have to pull out days of work sometimes. It’s worth it to get a jumper that looks good.”

He gives a heartfelt sigh, slides the jumper off the needles, and begins pulling the stitches out.

She admires his determination. It takes him weeks to work his way to the armholes, and then she shows him how to do a steek where he will attach the needles for the sleeves. As his consulting business picks up, the weeks turn into months. 

At Christmas, John wears a dark blue jumper with an Icelandic yoke of red and white. She admires it; he smiles and tells her his grandmother made it for him. Sherlock’s eyes are on him, every time John isn’t looking. It’s not the jumper he’s admiring.

The jumper is set aside after Moriarty steals the Crown Jewels, hacks into the Bank of England, and breaks into Pentonville Prison. 

Sherlock bows out of John’s birthday, claiming he has a ‘thing.’ When she comes up to check on him, he’s finished one sleeve, ready to start the other.

She can see John is hurt that Sherlock skipped his birthday. He didn’t even get him a card. He says nothing, but the way he looks at Sherlock makes her certain; he’s in love with his flatmate.

Afterwards, an awful silence fills the flat. She can hear the floorboards creak a bit as John paces back and forth. There’s no violin to soothe him to sleep. 

It’s days before she can bear opening the door of his room, but she knows she has to put things in boxes. His brother has promised to continue paying the rent until he can collect his things. But it’s heartbreaking, looking at all the familiar clutter. She has to tidy up.

There are clothes scattered on the floor, and she gathers them for the wash. She goes through his drawers, tallying how many boxes she’ll need. In the wardrobe, all his suits and shirts hang in dry cleaner’s bags. 

As she prepares to close the wardrobe door, she spots a file box with a label reading: Experiment. Do not open!

She opens it, of course. Can’t have experiments biding their time in the wardrobe. He always had odd ideas about what was acceptable. 

Inside, she finds the jumper. He worked on it for more than a year, and it’s nearly done, just the bottom half of the second sleeve left, and he’s tidied up the ends on the inside already.

It’s a good piece of work, she decides. A long apology for something John would surely have forgiven. It’s love unspoken, words he could never say.

Such a shame, she thinks. 

That evening, she finishes the second sleeve, weaves in the final ends. It needs hand washing and blocking, so she takes on those tasks as well.  

When it’s done, it looks perfect. If she were judgemental, she would say it’s even better than the original. She folds it and wraps it in tissue paper, places it inside a Marks & Spencer shopping bag. 

John Watson is going to get his apology, even if it’s long overdue.

She finds the dismal little flat where he’s living now. Moving out hasn’t made him any happier, she can see when he opens the door. 

“Mrs Hudson,” he says, apologetic. “You didn’t have to—”

“It’s fine, John. I’ve brought you something.”

He opens the bag, reaches in. Frowning, he pulls out the jumper. 

“This,” he says, practically speechless. “It’s beautiful. It’s almost like the one…”

“The one Sherlock ruined,” she finishes. “He was so distraught over that, John. He was afraid you wouldn’t forgive him.”

“And… you made this… to replace it.” He’s feeling the wool, an incredulous smile on his face. “Mrs Hudson, this is beautiful.”

“No, love.” She smiles, the tears starting to fill her eyes. “He made it.”

For a moment he just gazes, not comprehending. “Sherlock? He made this?”

“For you. He ruined the other— it was an accident. You know him, so careless when he got caught up in things. And he wanted to make it right, so you’d forgive him. He didn’t know how, so I taught him. He did it all himself.”

He buries his face in the jumper. She can see his shoulders shaking.

“There, love. He had it nearly done, and was intending to give it to you, before… well, I know he’d want you to have it now.” She pats his shoulder. “He really loved you, John. I hope you know that. He worked on this for over a year, right up to the end. He loved you.”

Weeping, John raises his face. “I loved him too. And I forgive him.”

@lisbeth-kk @keirgreeneyes @totallysilvergirl

A knitter of jumpers myself, I imagine that Sherlock would enjoy the mathematical aspects of the craft. 🧶 💕

[lindwurmkai]

hey, have you heard that pillowfort has ✨ drafts ✨ now? (as in, the ability to save your posts as drafts.) they're still working on the queue feature (update: it's done!), but drafts are a big step forward!

in case you missed it so far, pillowfort is like a cross between tumblr and dreamwidth/livejournal, with a simplified dashboard reminiscent of old school tumblr and some classic livejournal features such as communities, threaded comments, and the ability to make individual posts followers-only or mutuals-only.

what are communities? basically, central hubs for posts about any subject you want that, unlike hashtags, can be moderated. they may have rules, such as "[subject matter] must be tagged" for example. you can post directly to a community or reblog existing posts to it!

since the site is currently experiencing some financial trouble, i thought i'd help out by spreading the word once again.

edit: the fundraiser was a success! crisis averted! i knew we could do it :D

why you should give pillowfort a chance:

no ads

no venture capitalist funding

no spying on the users

completely free to use except for optional premium features

nsfw is allowed except for sexual depictions of minors. if you're unsure what exactly that means, their tos may help

communities and the privacy controls mentioned above are excellent features

great community, low drama compared to other websites (so far)

the site's features themselves encourage genuine connection and good-faith conversation over endless "discourse"

every blog can automatically be filtered by original posts only or reblogs only

reasons not to join:

if you enjoy algorithmic social media. there is no algorithm at all

if you want to post or look at machine-generated art. they're still finalising the wording and personally i hope some exception will be made for models trained on ethically sourced images, but basically an anti-AI rule is in the works (update: finished!)

if you cannot live without reblog additions (reblogging with comment). all discussions on a pillowfort post take place in the comments section, and only your own followers see your tags. this has its pros and cons for sure! a similar feature to scratch that itch may be implemented in the future, but it will never be exactly like on tumblr.

if you need everything to be an app. the website works fine in a mobile browser and a progressive web app will hopefully be released soon (basically it's like an app in your browser and on mobile these can be added to the homescreen like real apps i think? they have push notifications!), but there's not going to be a native app available through official app stores due to the restrictions of those stores.

other factors to consider:

yes, the userbase is still small. depending on your interests, activity may be very slow. but we can change that! and on the plus side, reblogging your post to a community is a good way to easily get more eyes on it; way more effective than simply adding tags imo

the site culture is a bit different than on tumblr. many people read everything that's been posted since the last time they were online and don't follow more users/communities than they can keep up with. it's still somewhat lacking in shitposts and heavy on "essays" but don't be afraid to post whatever 😅

there are no blog themes like we have them on tumblr as yet, but you can customise your blog's colours and use html/insert links and images in your blog description

likes literally do nothing except to let OP know you enjoyed their post. you can't look at a list of all your likes. beware!

the staff is small and development is slow. some highly anticipated planned features other than the aforementioned queue include: - multi-account management - dashboard filters/reading lists - post bookmarking (since likes don't work that way) but we don't know how soon any of those will be implemented.

there is a user-developed browser extension (well, a userscript) called tassel available that adds additional features much like tumblr's beloved xkit :)

✨ okay, so how do i sign up? ✨

if you're interested but confused by the sign-up process or still under the impression that you need to pay to sign up (false), i'll put some clarifications and invite codes under the read more below. plus a note on donating, premium features, the paypal issue etc.

in a nutshell:

it's free

signing up without an invite code is possible, but you may have to wait a short while - supposedly less than an hour atm. just submit your email to the waitlist

if you don't feel like waiting, you can either use an invite code from an existing user or pay $5 to sign up instantly

every user gets plenty of invite codes and we're all willing to hand them out at the drop of a hat. they're really not hard to come by

some invites to get you started (just click the link):

invite 1 ▪ invite 2 ▪ invite 3 ▪ invite 4 ▪ invite 5

invite 6 ▪ invite 7 ▪ invite 8 ▪ invite 9 ▪ invite 10

invite 11 ▪ invite 12 ▪ invite 13 ▪ invite 14 ▪ invite 15

invite 16 ▪ invite 17 ▪ invite 18 ▪ invite 19 ▪ invite 20

i'll try to periodically check if any have been used and cross those out.

...paypal issue?

ok so paypal doesn't like working with sites that allow nsfw. as a result, you need a credit card in order to donate to pillowfort, buy one of those insta-registration keys, or subscribe to premium features*. i personally happen to have a credit card and would be willing to help out anyone who trusts me enough to send the money to me via paypal, but i realise chances are only my friends will do this.

some users are currently organising various activities for the purpose of letting people who only have paypal contribute to the site's survival. it's not super relevant for new users and won't get you access to premium features, but i thought i'd mention it anyway in case someone loves the concept of the site so much they want to support it immediately. a fundraising community has been created to collect posts of that nature!

*premium features are strictly limited to two categories of things:

fun little extras that no one truly needs

higher image upload limits, because obviously big images take up bandwidth and are therefore a reason for increased costs

you will never need to pay for vital accessibility features or anything of the sort. :)

[t0yac1d]

My Juliet, my special girl (C. Diaz x Fem!Reader)

I hope that she looks at me and thinks, "Shit, he is so pretty"

Warnings: gang violence, death, after Olivia's Quince, blood, contemplating suicide

Word Count: 889

It was the morning after Olivia's Quince. The morning after a beautiful party. The morning after Latrelle shot Ruby and killed Olivia.

"It's all my fault."

"I shouldn't have shown mercy to Latrelle."

"I shouldn't have gone after him in the first place."

Cesar blamed and hated himself deeply.

He hated what happened to Ruby and Olivia because in his eyes, that should’ve been him.

In his eyes, that should’ve been him who got shot.

In his eyes, that should’ve been him who got killed. 

I need to cry, but I can't get anything out of my eyes,

Cesar sat on the edge of his bed, eyes filled with frustrated tears that threatened to spill but they wouldn’t fall. No matter how upset he was, they wouldn’t pour.

Or my head. 

And oh my god, the night. That night kept repeating in his brain. 

The sound of the gunshot.

The sound of Ruby screaming his name before getting shot. 

The sounds of Geny and Ruben screaming as their son lay on the ground, bleeding out. 

Every little detail played continuously in his brain. It was like a record player stuck in a loop.

Did I die? I need to run,

Days went by without Cesar coming out of the house. He felt like an empty body, just moving on its own throughout the day.  

but I can't get out of bed for anyone.

He was scared. 

Not of Latrelle or any gang member after him. 

But of his friends and Ruby’s family. 

What if they all hated him? He wouldn’t blame them, but this was the last thing he expected that would break the group up. 

He couldn’t get out of bed to see anyone.

 Not for you,

Not even for the girl he wanted to live for. 

When he did get the courage to go outside, he went to school first. He wanted to see if everyone still wanted to be his friend. Because if not, then he’d just apologize and go away. Leave their lives for good and keep them out of harm’s way. 

When Cesar got to school, no one greeted him. It was like he didn’t exist. 

He hated how no one talked to him, but he couldn’t blame them. He took their friend away.

Cesar skipped a couple classes that day. He just sat in an empty and dark classroom, silently sobbing and crying. 

My sour boy is a pain, 

His chest hurt with each sob he let out, 

I wanna shoot him in the brain,

He doesn’t deserve to live. It should’ve been him instead of Olivia.

He feels like if he died, everything would be better for his friends. 

 but I'd miss him in the morning. 

But a part of him says that this isn’t the way to think. That what happened has already happened and there’s not much to do about it but move on and make amends.

It really hurts when I need to so bad, but I can't see her..

He missed you, 

My Juliet, 

He missed you so dearly.

My special girl.

The only girl that can really, truly help him through a time like this.

But I need to understand when I can power through,

Because he knows you’ll get him through this, and help guide him to the right choice here. 

Cesar pulled his phone out with shaky hands and sent a text to you, he was sure there were a few words that were misspelled, but you’ll understand what he meant. Hopefully. 

He sat in that classroom, patiently waiting for you to come to him. But this time alone helped him think to himself, about himself. 

Sometimes I act like I know, but I'm really just a kid.

He’s just a kid. He doesn’t know what he’s doing. All he’s really doing is causing problems.

With two corks in his eyes, and a bully in his head.

And hurting those around him because of his actions.

I wanna make a colour that no one else has seen before 

He wants to get out and do something with his life. He doesn’t want to be stuck in the gang for the rest of his life. 

I wanna be so much more

He wants to show everyone that he can make something of himself. That he’s not “Little Spooky”. That he’s Cesar Diaz. 

You walked into the classroom and saw Cesar sitting on the floor. You walked over to him and sat with him. You didn’t say anything to him, you just sat there and looked at him with a slight frown. 

You didn’t like this. He looked so exhausted. 

He had dark eye bags under his eyes, and even then they were red and puffy from the crying. He had tear marks on his face and his clothes were disheveled. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, resting his head on your shoulder, as you rubbed his back and lightly scratched his head while you held him.

“It’s ok Cesar.” 

He leaned back and looked at you with teary eyes, wondering what was running in your head as you saw him like this. 

I hope that she looks at me and thinks, "Shit, he is so pretty”

The one thing that was running through his mind at this moment was how you thought of him.

Something I can't believe..

[jwirecs]

RECOMMENDED NCT FICS OF NOVEMBER 2023💖

hello, hello! here are my nct recs of november! hopefully these beautiful stories get more recognition as well as the writers 💝

** anything in parentheses and bolded are my thoughts that can be disregarded if needed **

🔞smut || 💔angst || 💕fluff || ✅completed || 🔄ongoing || 💯favorite

Makeup, Make Out || @polarisjisung💕✅

↳ somewhere between testing eyeshadow palettes and mascara wands, renjun tests the prospect of loving you (i love me some soft renjun. soft renjun is prob in my top 5 fics to read about in nct. like how can you not enjoy reading soft renjun fics?????)

Ready For Love || @jnnul💕✅💯💯💯

↳ a boy who has never taken a relationship seriously. a girl who is seriously over relationships. when they end up finding each other, will they let their ideas of what a relationship should be like ruin their relationship before it even starts? (the concept of one person believing in one thing and the other person believing in another but they come to one accord to overcome the obstacle is amazing. literally as op has said in their warnings "match made in heaven", they truly are and i love that.)

Misses Suh? || @nctsplug02🔞💕✅💯

↳ (there was not exact summary, but if you remember the jeongs fics from this author then i present you the suhs. stop i freaking love these fics from them. i hope theres going to be more suhs.)

Silent Treatment || @polarisjisung💕💔✅

↳ your boyfriend broke some guy's nose for you, but what he doesn't realise is he also broke his promise to you (how does one give jeno the silent treatment???? easy, pretend to be oc cause thats what i did. LOL LIKE HOW CAN YOU GIVE THIS MAN THE SILENT TREATMENT. mans gonna be looking at you with them eyes and you are just gonna fold. gosh hes adorable and sht)

Trauma || @peanutpinet💕💔✅💯

↳ Being the son of the famous Nam Goongmin came with a heavy price to pay for Jaemin. Though Taeyong managed to get Jaemin out of his father’s mafia business and helped him to heal, there was still some trauma that Jaemin had yet to face. Until he came across a girl that he would soon learn that he can’t always run from his problems (the fact that the story lowkey connects with the other fics that they have is a gold mine. my ass is out here re-reading everything from the beginning aka the first one all the way to this one while i wait for the next one.)

Enough For You || @midmourn💔✅💯

↳ you wanted to be enough for mark, but no matter what you did, you weren't. (brb let me just sit in the corner real quick. stop, i need more angst nct fics to satisfy my angst side. like you can just feel the hurt that the oc is feeling, cause i know for a fact everyone has been through this once in their life time.)

I'm A Mouse, Duh! || @springseasonie🔞✅

↳ Nomin in police costumes and Y/N in a "mouse" costume (it's literally just lingerie). Will they fuck? Keep reading to find out! (1. i love the mean girls reference. that movie is a classic. 2. another roommate threesome, i may have a problem. BUT THATS FINE. this fic was hella good.)

I Wanna Make You Scream || @nctsplug02🔞✅💯💯💯

↳ (johnny in a scream mask?????????? sir???????? HELLOOOOOOOOO????? like god this fic is, oh child.)

Rent Is Due! || @starillusion13🔞✅💯

↳ (theres no summary, but do you know what else is due??? my insanity after reading this fic. like god dam. had to take a moment to breathe after finishing the fic.)

Strawberry Cough || @hazyhae🔞💕✅

↳ when your longtime bestie and plug moves out of town, he recommends one of his buddies to fill your weed needs. jaemin is glad to deliver that, and maybe even more. (the fact that jaemin automatically has a stock of the strawberry flavor for the oc is cute as sht. mans literally fell in love at first sight.)

The Day That I Met You I Started Dreaming || @nctstar💕✅💯

↳ You watched in satisfaction as the imprint of your lips stained a faded red colour, two semi-circles adorned by fine lines. The smell of strawberry wafted gently, so subtle you could have missed it. Yet, his voice rang in your ears. “You taste so sweet, baby. You always do.” (stop, i think this was one of the "long" jungwoo fics that i have read so far. i should start reading more jungwoo fics ngl. i honestly like how the story went. like it was at a good pace. not too rushed and not too slow, at the perfect pace. )

They're Roommate || @luvyeni🔞✅

↳ maybe those “jokes” your roommates play on you aren’t actually jokes (nomin threesome??? let me at it. lord have fcking mercy on me)

Young God || @jaeminvore🔞💕✅💯💯

↳ in which you were essentially scammed into cohabiting with a ridiculously clingy demon that lives off of sex. It could be worse. At least he staved off from sucking your soul out in exchange of you sucking something else—among other things (demon hyuck is a menace but hes a cute menace you know. hes gonna be like your bffl demon. i honestly fully enjoyed this one so much, like you dont understand. the mans a cute ass menace)

NCT 127 Texts || @phoxphenex💕✅💯

↳ Baby 127 Calling Dad on Tour (stop i cant wait for them to be parents. like these fans are gonna have to grow a pair of balls and suck it up that these mens are gonna be parents in the future. like can u imagine their kid just texting them. their kid will have them on their knees i swear.)

NCT Dream Texts || @jenosz💕✅💯

↳ Jeno boyfriend texts (the way that i fcking cackled at the first one. i cant, that was literal GOLD. ngl thats prob something i would say to my boo, if i had one LMAO)

NCT Dream Texts || @midmourn💕✅

↳ Your mom hasn't paid me this month (stop jisung would be the one to actually tell his mom. protect this lil sprout.)

8:57PM || @gyeomsweetgyeom💕✅

↳(faster/2 baddies era jaehyun has me on a fcking chokehold im not gonna lie.)

Do check out all of the other NCT Fics that i have reblogged as well!!

** if there is any fics that you guys would like to recommend, please do! i am slowly running out of fics to read **

[hannahssimblr]

I’m on my bed, fully clothed, and I cannot remember how I got here. I don’t know if I’m sitting up or lying down, or what is wall and what is ceiling. When I try to turn to my side, the room twists like a funhouse around me, the bed tilting like it's intent to slide me right off it. Am I alone? I think so.

That's my phone, the bright square of light. It lays on the sheets beside my face, and I grab it. Her name is right there. It's intuitive, too easy to find. 

It rings three, four times, and she picks up. “Jude?” She's sleepy. I woke her. 

“I’m sorry Michelle,” I slur, and I mean to be sorry for disturbing her, but she seems to assume that I’m apologising for much more than that.  

She sighs, “I know you are, and I’m sorry too.”

“You’re sorry?”

“Yeah. Are you drunk?”

“Uh huh.” I should likely be sorry for that too. 

“Where are you? Why are you drunk dialling me?” She doesn’t seem annoyed with me, concerned, hopeful, maybe, so I tell her the truth, “I miss you.”

I assume maybe I’ve passed out or somehow hallucinated this entire exchange because she's not responding, but then she sucks in a lungful of air and her voice trembles, “I miss you too, I wish you were here right now.”

“No, I was a bad boyfriend.”

“You weren’t.”

“I was the worst.”

“Not always.”

“...It's hard being on my own.”

“Yeah, for me too. Every single day has been horrible.”

I feel the kind of crushing, exaggerated sadness that I only ever do when I’ve had too much to drink, like I’m tumbling into a pit of despair so deep that the sun will never warm my face again. I can't think of a good reason why I have done this. “Sometimes I don’t want to go to Berlin,” I tell her hoarsely.

“Yeah,” she says, then hesitating like she wants to choose her words carefully, “You know that you don’t have to go, though.”

“I dunno.”

“You could stay in Dublin if you wanted to, It’s not too late. If the thought of leaving makes you too sad.”

That sounds deeply depressing, but being on my own is depressing too, and then I’m so frustrated that I fear I will start crying or something, “I can’t think.”

“You’re just drunk, but I think you’re saying this because it’s what you really mean.”

“Maybe.”

“I love you,” she says, and I hear her sitting up in bed, struck with urgency, “I haven't stopped feeling the same way about you, I still love you, and I want you to stay, if you're even considering it at all then that means-”

“Alright,” A group of guys pass by on the road outside, boisterously chanting some tuneless song and I’m conscious that I, or whoever brought me in here, never closed the curtains. I don't want other men to see me like this, and yet I'm unable to move.

“‘Alright’, as in, you’ll stay?” She says hopefully. 

“No, like, that I heard you.”

“I think we’re supposed to be together.” 

I wonder if she really believes that. Do I believe that? Maybe. “Mm. Maybe I’ll stay,” Sleep pulls at my eyes, which now rest unfocussed on a shimmery patch of sand outside the window. In the distance the waves roar against the shore, a lullaby. Sleep encroaches the corners of my vision and begins to suck me under. 

“Please,” she says, really crying now, “I don’t want to be on my own. I’ve been imagining you finding someone else and falling in love with them and it makes me feel sick.”

“I wouldn’t do that.”

A sniffle, “No?”

“No, I don’t ever think about other people, just you.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Never ever ever. You're my girl.”

She sobs gently.

“Shell, I think I’m an idiot.”

“You’re not, you just made a selfish decision. You can still fix it and make it okay.”

My eyes are too heavy and the world is too weird and dizzy looking to keep them open, “Will you forgive me?” I manage with the last of my energy, but I’m too sleepy to listen to her answer. I pass out in three seconds, the phone warm in my palm, the speakers buzzing gently with the sound of her voice.

In the blinding light of the morning, though my head pounds and every colour and pattern is an assault on my senses, before doing another thing, I grab my phone from my pillow to see new messages from Michelle. I don't read any of them.

Hey.

I type.

I was really drunk. Disregard anything I said, I don't even remember what we talked about.

Beginning // Prev // Next

[groovebunker]

cc x fran fic masterpost

been meaning to do this for a little while - indulge me so i can pin it.

ongoing work

it's all there in black and white [teen - 4/?]

when newspaper editor maxwell sheffield wants to introduce an advice column, he pairs veteran political reporter cc babcock up with his newest hire, fashion columnist fran fine. the only problem? cc wouldn't take her own advice at gunpoint. oh, and she hates fran's perfect face and stupid laugh and general existence. there is that. aka the agony aunt au.

chapter one -- chapter two -- chapter three -- chapter four

i only liked a lot of things before i knew (the way i love it when you touch me now) [explicit - 1/2]

cc admits she's never been with a man who got her off. fran's nothing if not persistently helpful.

chapter one

can't reach the moon up above, don't dare touch the fire [explicit - 1/?]

cc's never been sure how to want things. fran's determined to show her how.

chapter one

what would you do?

what would you do (if they never found us out?) [explicit - 11/11]

after what was supposed to be a one time thing in the wine cellar, cc and fran find they can't keep their hands off of one another. but it's only because neither of them can get maxwell. right?

i. how it started -- ii. furious -- iii. do you trust me? -- iv. beautiful -- v. missed you -- vi. promises -- vii. i'm glad you're here -- viii. i've got you -- ix[a]. only bought (you) this dress so i could take it off. -- ix[b]. needing -- x. what would you do if they ever found us out

what would you do (the vignettes) [explicit]

i. the smoke gets in your eyes -- ii. while you were sleeping

the latke-verse

i like you (a latke) [teen - completed - 1/1]

fran doesn't want to show up to her ma's chanukah party alone. cc's fed up of seeing her sad since she got back from paris. no ulterior motives here, none at all. aka the fake dating chanukah fic.

seventh time is (hopefully) the charm [teen - completed - 1/1]

cc gets some help with valentine's breakfast.

won't you?

won't you just let me pretend that this is the love that i want? [teen]

there's a lot of things cc and fran never talk about. until they do.

won't you just show me the love that i need? [teen]

cc's never been good at being needed. unless, obviously, fran needs her.

won't you just give me the love that i long for? [mature - 2/2]

neither of them are sure how it's so confusing to be able to have what you want. until it's not.

chapter 1 -- chapter 2

won't you just show me the love i've been missing? [teen - 1/?]

sometimes, you have to go back to where you started for anything to change.

chapter 1

should be over all the butterflies [mixed ratings]

a series of vignettes set in the won't you universe.

august two thousand and nine: the fence -- two thousand and six: crossword -- two thousand: the beginning -- two thousand and three: the first time -- two thousand and seven: look after her -- two thousand and eleven: no such thing as bad thoughts -- two thousand and fourteen: how did you know? -- two thousand and seventeen: i wish you hadn't

one-shots (for now)

trick or treat (or: how cc babcock learnt to enjoy halloween) [mature]

c.c. does not like halloween. fran's absolutely not going to stand for that.

fran fine, sweater thief [teen]

five times fran wears c.c.'s sweater and one time c.c. turns the tables.

wise men followed the star (the way i followed my heart) [explicit]

when the phone rings at 11 on christmas eve, fran doesn't expect cc on the other end.

i want your midnights [teen]

c.c. does leave maxwell but that's not the only reason she runs away from the sheffield house. when she and fran end up at the same new year's eve party, can she convince herself to stand still?

i still see it all in my head (burnin' red) [teen]

soulmate au: the world is black and white until you see your soulmate for the first time. or: how red becomes c.c. babcock's favourite colour.

three minutes [teen]

fran finds someone unexpected on the other side of the table when val accidentally takes her to lesbian speed dating. unexpected but not necessarily unwanted.

black coffee morning on the east side [general]

fran's not sure what cc stands for. but she's absolutely going to find out. or: the one where fran's a barista and cc's a very beautiful stranger who drinks freshly brewed black coffee and blushes a lot.

[changingplumbob]

Nicolas Caldwell

Trying @cawthorntales bachelor challenge to woo Mr Bloom

Download from SFS (only cc are his lashes. He was made with the Waterdrop eyes so I'm not sure if his eye colour is custom but it should be whatever swatch looks grey and blue). For him to have all his outfits you'll need: Werewolves, Cats & Dogs, Romantic Garden and Cottage Living.

Forget that I often make self assured and confident sims because Nicolas is anything but...

Tell us a bit about yourself.

Oh shoot I should have figured that would be a question. Umm, I'm Nicolas, which I mean you probably know from the application. Ah, I'm what's called a military brat. My parents are both in the military and did a whole bunch of postings as I was growing up so we were never in one place for very long. It's made me kind of shy I guess, I'm not great at relating to others. I have one sister, Teresa, she's a decade younger than me but we get along.

And why have you applied?

Funny story. Well not really. Ah my younger sister Teresa actually applied for me. I consider myself pansexual but I've only ever been romantically attracted to guys. That was not a fun conversation with my father. But he's fine abut it now. What was I saying? Oh yeah, Teresa. She keeps telling me I need a boyfriend so I don't turn in to a hermit, I've had to shut down several fake dating profiles she's made on my behalf. I told her I'm shy, and the idea of being on camera all day scares me, and having to compete... But I don't want to let her down, she was so excited my application got accepted.

Tell us about some of your likes and dislikes

I'm a bit animal mad, it's what made me become vegetarian. As much as I like being outside hiking, gardening, bird watching... I cannot stand fishing. I just feel so bad for the poor fish, like what a terrible way to die. And even if you throw them back they're probably freaking out thinking they were abducted, and they are definitely still injured from the hook! Sorry... I don't mean to lecture I just... I like animals okay. You can fish all you like just don't expect me to join.

I'm a little bit musical. I mean I don't perform for anyone but myself and occasionally Teresa. Mum tried to get me in to violin but it was so boring. Guitar is my instrument. Well, musical instrument not... you know. Ah... I did a programming course after high school that was not for me, and I'm rather useless at fixing or making things. Except baking! I do like baking. I've definitely got a sweet tooth.

What are you dreading?

People. You'd probably think with having to introduce myself new places so many times it wouldn't worry me but it does. I'm pretty quiet so people can think I'm being a snob when really I just have no idea what to say. Is there a gender neutral or masculine term for resting bitch face? And I don't know if I can take my guitar. Playing it is what calms me down. Well that and cloudgazing. So hopefully the weather is good and I can get outside between challenges. I've really no idea how this show works. Also worried about losing my contacts but that's an everyday worry.

What are you looking forward to?

I mean.. Teresa showed me the picture of Daisy and yeah he's good looking. Those eyes, I just completely missed what she told me right after because I was dreaming. She also said he wasn't actually organizing it so I really really hope he can understand this all being a surprise for me because it's one for him to. And she said he has farm animals! I want to meet them. Hopefully they'll like me and that can convince him I'm a keeper.

Do you have a message for Mr Bloom?

Oh, ah, sure! Umm... hey there good looking. Give me a chance to show you I'm certified boyfriend material. Well not certified because I've never had a boyfriend. *BLEEP* I didn't mean to say that, I don't want the other contestants knowing. Can I start the message again?

EDIT: Turns out he should have green hair... the save file is his brunette look but on the show he will look more like...

[irishmammonagenda]

Catholic MC Gets Sent into Hell?! Not Clickbait!!!!

content warnings: (i dont really think there is any?) biblical references + swearing maybe? if u see anymore lmk!

introduction, Part One, Part Two, Part Three

The morning frost lay crisp on the ground, crunching under MC’s feet, the black prim and proper school shoes did nothing to keep the cold out, if anything, it welcomed the cold in. Shivering, they continue on their trek into school, hopefully the miserable bastards would have the heating on for once.

What can be worse than going to a highschool?

Going to a grammar one.

And what can be worse than going to a grammar school?

Going to a catholic grammar school.

MC braved the cold for a moment more before the enterance to school grounds came up in front of them. They crossed the threshold. It was monday today so that meant it was oratory day,(not that the other days of the week werent, monday was just particularly long) or morning prayer in the small ‘church’ the school had within it, MC shivered but for a very different reason. Prayers were so mind numbingly boring.

Bracing themselves, they walked up the steps to the student’s enterance, their headphones drowning out the screeching of the lower years. It was too early in the morning for them to be starting with their bullshit

MC walked to their form class and sat in their assigned seat on their phone. Their friends’ buses wouldnt get in till later in the morning. They’d see them in or after morning prayer.

Speaking of which, they should head to the oratory now. It was almost time for it to begin, and no way was MC missing registration again. Their mum would throw a fit the moment she got the notification.

Begrudgingly, they walked down a few corridors, took several turns and began to ascend the stairs to the topmost part of the school. To the oratory. One step at a time. One foot in front of the other. MC travels as slowly as their legs will carry them, wishing to prolong the time spent not having to do morning prayer.

Bracing themselves, they see the door to the ornate room in their direct path, all the colours of the rainbow and then some shine out through the stained glass windows, a beautiful mural to God's kingdom and all of his creations.

MC opens the door, but instead of stepping foot into the house of God, they fall into what can only be described as an abyss.

[shadowphoenixrider]

Over a Bowl of Gumbo

(Direct sequel to Sins of the Past, where Gambit makes good on his promise to Shadow, and they Talk. More fluffy than the other one, but about the same amount of talking! At least we know where all the X'Men's 'talk about your feelings' budget went.)

Gambit made his way down the dormitory hall, following the voices that floated up from the dorm with its door ajar, keeping careful hold of the bowl in his hands.

Almost as soon as he'd crossed the mansion's threshold Shadow had been taken from him, bundled away into hot towels and towards the medbay, Beast rattling off orders in Medical-Speak that Gambit had no hope in understanding.

He'd not seen her since, and though he knew full well Beast would take care of the mutant, Gambit had found his mind loud with chattering worries. He couldn't silence them, but he could busy himself the only reliable way he knew how - something that made an even grumpy Scott forgive him. A bit.

As he approached the room, the voices became clearer; a warm southern drawl and the quieter accent no-one could place, talking casually. Gambit smiled warmly, gently drumming his knuckles on the door before pushing his way in.

Shadow was sat up in bed, propped up by pillows and in soft long-sleeved pyjamas, whilst Rogue sat at her feet.

"Hope Gambit not interruptin', mes amies?" He asked, glancing between them.

"No, we're fine here, sugah." Rogue smiled, eying the bowl in his hands and standing up. "There any more of that gumbo of yours?"

"Some, if ya quick. Hopefully Wolverine ain't ate it all." Gambit replied. He noticed the two women share a glance and smile, before Rogue began to take her leave. "She ok?" He asked lowly as she passed him.

"Doin' better now." Rogue nodded. "You did good, Remy."

They shared a smile before she left, and Gambit made his way into the room.

"What've you got?" Shadow asked, shifting to sit more upright.

"Gambit do believe he promised you a bowl of his gumbo when we got back. Careful, it still hot." He smiled, gently passing it to her. Their fingers brushed, and both had to resist the instinct to recoil. "No shrimp, only de chicken."

"And enough spice to kill?" Shadow raised an eyebrow, setting the bowl in the dip of her crossed legs. Gambit chuckled richly - he hadn't realized how much he'd missed her ripostes.

"Need a little spice to warm ya up!" He grinned, sitting where Rogue once had. "Beast would agree!"

"Uh huh." Shadow stirred the stew, taking a conservative taste. Gambit found himself watching her face carefully, gauging her reaction.

To his relief, she smiled, uttering a pleased hum. "Mmm! I can see why Rogue wants to get more."

Gambit beamed at her praise, not quite sure why.

"Glad ya like it, petite." And with that, Shadow dug in - her hunger clear.

Gambit turned his attention to her room, letting her eat in peace. Despite her still being at the X-Mansion as a guest, Shadow was already making her dorm her own. Large posters clung to the wall, one of a sci-fi show Gambit was fairly sure Beast also liked, another that listed all of the raptor birds that could be seen in their area, and yet another with all of the constellations in the night's sky. Books and textbooks were propped up haphazardly together, ranging from the expected subjects of cell biology and biochemistry to a variety of sci-fi and fantasy reference books, one about cat behaviour and another with a title Gambit was sure was there to embarrass people snooping in her room.

Another pile of books sat on the desk by the window, conspicuously kept separate from the others - one Star Wars novel, another about dragons and the last about bird migration. A model of one of the ships from the sci-fi show sat in pride of place in the window, along with a small black resin Egyptian cat, painted with colourful jewellery. Gambit smiled to see it.

"I told Rogue." Shadow's voice broke the Cajun from his thoughts, and he looked back to the young woman. She was stirring the gumbo thoughtfully, having devoured a good half of it already.

"'Bout what happened with your powers?" He asked. She nodded.

"Yeah. I figured that of everyone here, including you, she'd know what it's like..." Gambit nodded.

"That she does, petite. What'd she say?"

Shadow smiled.

"Oh, sugah." Rogue reached forward, gently taking Shadow's hand in her gloved one. "Ah'm so sorry."

"Yeah. When I saw it happening to Wolverine, even on purpose..." Shadow shook her head. "I panicked. It brought everything back, and I just...bolted."

Rogue squeezed her hand reassuringly.

"Ah know that feelin', sugah. Did it myself when mine came in too." She smiled sadly. "Folks 'round here have similar stories, though. You're not alone."

A small smile pulled at Shadow's lips.

"I...yeah. I guess you're right. I just...I didn't know how you'd react. I was scared-"

"That we'd treat you differently." Rogue finished for her. "Oh hun..." Another gentle squeeze. "We all have our demons in our past. If we turned you away for yours, all the X-Men'd have to disband!" She smiled softly, kindly. "You're safe here, Shadow. They'd understand."

Shadow's smile trembled, eyes stinging.

"I, I hope so."

"Gambit brought you in like a bedraggled kitty cat he found in a storm drain." Rogue chuckled. "You're not gonna get left out in the cold like that here."

Shadow took a shuddery breath, trying to regain her composure.

"Thank you. I...I'm still not looking forward to telling the others about it."

"Don't worry about that. You can tell them today, tomorrow, or never at all, if ya like." Rogue said. "No-one needs to tell their stories if they're not ready or don't want to." She smirked. "And if they start buggin' you? They'll have to go through me!"

That made Shadow giggle.

"Thank you, Rogue." She squeezed the other woman's hand. "I really appreciate it."

"No problem, sugah."

Gambit smiled fondly.

"Rogue always better than me at sayin' the right things," he said.

"I dunno." Shadow said, a shy smile playing on her lips. "I think you did alright."

"You're very kind, petite."

A comfortable silence settled between them, the young woman finishing off the last of her meal. Gambit noticed that the teal-clothed pyjamas she was wearing were patterned with sleeping cats, one curled into a ball prominently stitched over the shallow swell of her right breast.

Lifting his eyes to her face - least he be caught staring at that area - he noted that whilst her eyes were still a little red, that was the only evidence of her previous sorrow and distress. The colour was back in her face (perhaps a little intensely thanks to the spices), brightening her nose and cheeks. Her hair had mostly dried, curling tightly in on itself - she seemed to have lost an inch of height, but her brunette curls were now defined, almost like ringlets. He could just glimpse her pale ear lobes hiding behind the thick curtain of her hair.

"You're staring." Her voice snapped him back to reality, and to Gambit's surprise, he felt heat rise into his face.

"Ah! Jus' admirin' the scenery, petite!" He said, scratching the back of his neck. She raised an eyebrow at him, that same unconvinced look as she'd had when they first met. "I...Ya look much better, Shadow."

"I am." She nodded. "I should be better tomorrow, but Beast wants me to take it easy until then. Says it's better not to tempt fate after a shock to the system like I had." She paused for a moment, spinning the spoon in her fingers. "I don't know if he told you, but...I was entering a bad stage of hypothermia."

"Yeah." Gambit looked away, out of the window, where the rain still hadn't let up. His gaze drifted to where they had been. "Said that it were lucky I found you when I did. That..."

"Shadow's hypothermia symptoms were progressing fast." Beast said gravely. "She was displaying one of its most insidious symptoms; confusion. If she had been left alone for much longer, Shadow might not have been able to rescue herself, either under her own power, or to have enough wherewithal to call for assistance."

"You mean..." Gambit's heart felt like it stopped in his chest. The doctor dipped his head.

"Yes. We could have lost her, if not for your intervention."

"Yeah." Was Shadow's soft assent. A long pause, before she made a little 'hah!' "I guess that's two I owe you, now."

"Two?" Gambit raised an eyebrow, looking back to her.

"When you saved me in that alley, remember? When we first met." Shadow smiled. "Now you can add this to the list."

"Hah! You don't owe Gambit anythin', petite." He chuckled. "Gambit just happy you're safe. Besides, ya did pay me back for de first save. Healed me, remember?"

"Oh, yeah." She chuckled. "Well...I guess this gumbo makes two, then. It was fantastic." True to her word - aside for the last remnants of brown liquid at the bottom, the bowl was cleaned.

"Ah, only too glad ya liked it, mon amie." Gambit smiled proudly. "It be a Gambit special."

"It certainly was special. Thank you." Shadow's smile was warm and reached her eyes, making his heart trip over one of its beats. She reached to put the bowl on the bedside table, and Gambit leant over to help. Disappointedly, there was no accidental contact between them this time.

"How mad was Scott?" Shadow asked.

"Very." Gambit chuckled ruefully. "Guess most of it were out of worry for you, be fair. Did kinda disappear without tellin' them and didn't have my comm on. After what happened wit you, makes sense."

"Not mention you have that ability to magically disappear and appear without anyone hearing you." Shadow smirked, folding her arms.

"Hah! So ya keep tellin' me." He chuckled. "Didn't even me a chance to get outta my gear 'fore he be givin' me de lecture 'bout always keepin' my comm on, not disappearin' when he talkin' to me, all de usual." He leant back, stretching his long legs out. "Heard it all before."

Shadow raised an eyebrow at him.

"I dunno Gambit, if he has to keep saying it..."

"Don't! Ya as bad as Rogue!" He laughed. "Least he be keepin' it shorter dis time. Worried 'bout ya. Though, Gambit did manage to sweeten him up by promisin' to do his gumbo for dinner."

"Aw, and here I thought I was special!"

"Hey now, Gambit did promise ya first!" He turned his head, and noticed Shadow's eyes were roving down his body, specially down his legs. He gave no indication he'd seen her. "Gumbo take a while to cook anyway, so might as well do a big batch for de team too, non?"

"That's fair, I guess." A thoughtful pause. "Hey, Gambit?"

"Mmm?"

"...Why did you turn your comm off?"

Ah.

"Well..." Gambit rubbed the back of his neck, feeling traitorous heat start to crawl up his face. "If I knew you were in the state you were, woulda kept it on. But..." Why was finding the words so difficult all of a sudden?

"Gambit thought ya needed time. Scott can be pushy, even when he mean well, and...Gambit didn't think dat was what ya needed right den. So, he figured if he find ya first, you would have the time ya needed...and not be alone."

Shadow fiddled with the bedsheet, winding it around her finger.

"How did you know I didn't want to be alone?" She asked quietly. Gambit tried to ignore the sting in his chest at the insinuation.

"Let's jus' say Gambit have some experience wit this," he said. "De types of alone ya wanna be that nearly kills you...That's when ya need someone more den anythin'."

Shadow opened her mouth. Closed it. Just stared at him for a long couple of seconds, before she glanced shyly at her crossed feet.

"Thank you, then," she said softly, raising her head to look him in the eyes. "For...not just rescuing me, but being there for me." A smile grew across her lips. "For being my friend."

Gambit smiled back, feeling warmth blossom in his chest.

"De rien, petite." He replied. "Any time. You make it easy."

He was pleasantly surprised to see her blush slightly, and more so when she reached over, taking his hand. Though her hand was much smaller than his, her fingers were long and delicate-looking - surprisingly elegant for a woman who presented herself more as scrappy and laissez faire.

"I mean it, Gambit." Shadow said, her gentle voice full of deep-hearted conviction. "Thank you."

The Cajun found himself lost for words for a good few moments, before he clasped her hand in both of his, encompassing her with warmth.

"I feel de same, Shadow. Merci."

Her smile was like a sunrise, and Gambit found himself lingering, staring into blue eyes that reminded him of aquamarines, enjoying this quiet, peaceful moment.

That was until Shadow yawned widely.

"Urgh. Mmm, sorry Gambit." She rubbed her eyes with her spare hand. "Guess I'm more tired than I thought."

"It ok, mon amie." He smiled, squeezing her hand with his. "Ya been through a lot. An' de gumbo probably makin' ya sleepy too."

"Yeah." She looked at him from under regretful hooded eyes. "Sorry to chase you away."

"Non, don't be. Gambit happy to stay an' watch over you, but ya probably get better sleep without him." He smiled sadly, reluctantly getting to his feet.

"Depends on how loud your card shuffling is." She smiled, settling back onto the pillows. "But yeah. I think I need a kip. Thank you again, Gambit. For the save and the food."

"No problem." Gambit replied, taking the bowl. "Get some rest now, ok? Don't go sneakin' out again."

"Hah, rich coming from you." She chuckled, her tone light. "Alright. I'll see you when I see you."

"Sleep well, mon amie." Gambit said, stepping away. Shadow's light went off behind him.

Just before he left the room however, he stopped, glancing over his shoulder. Shadow had her back to him, only her wild messy hair visible above the sheets bundled around her.

"Fais de beaux rêves...chère." Gambit whispered softly, before he closed the door behind him.

[grippingbeskar]

lego house

: ̗̀➛ frank castle x fem!reader

warnings — mentions of death, loss, canon typical violence, a lil splash of angst, no smut tho i was in the feels

a/n — i don’t know where this came from but lego house by ed sheeran came on and the words are so beautiful even though it’s an old song, like it’s just gorgeous and now i think it’s frank coded so here you go! hopefully this makes sense, i wrote it sitting in my car before going to the gym so i’m a bit wired on pre workout heheheeh okay bye. by the way it’s not timed to the song, but if you play it over while reading the fic i feel like it’s a nice effect. or don’t!! whatever floats ya boat 💞

✩ ੈ * ⚬ ʚ♡ɞ ⚬ * ੈ✩‧₊ ₊‧ ✩ ੈ * ⚬ ʚ♡ɞ ⚬ * ੈ✩‧₊ ₊‧ ✩ ੈ * ⚬

— i’m gonna pick up the pieces, and build a lego house. if things go wrong we can knock it down…

“Hey. Look at me. Look at me—“ You can’t see anything past the burning tears in your eyes. It’s another trick, something that isn’t real but it feels so real, sounds so real… fuck, even his hands feel the same. He couldn’t be here, though. He couldn’t be here— “I’m here, baby. Look at me. Please.”

“I miss you so bad, Frank. I don’t—“ You suck in a rough breath, air cracking it’s way down your throat through shuddered heaves. “I don’t know why I thought I could do it. I thought I could fix it… fix it for you. But I wasn’t strong enough. They’re gonna break me Frank. They— they know how.”

“Just open your fucking eyes, sweetheart. Please. Please… open those eyes. Come on…” Frank’s breath in on your face. You don’t want to open them, because you know what you’ll see. Frank’s body, twisted into a mangled corpse. Dead. It’s what they keep showing you, what these people know will drive you to insanity.

You can smell him, though. A mix of dirt and that bright pink laundry detergent you forced him to buy. How did they know he smells like… “Come on. Come back, baby. Fuck.”

“They keep showing me you. I can’t keep seeing you, Frank. Not when I know you aren’t—“ You hiccup on a sob, feeling the pain everywhere.

You’d begged them to break your bones, tear your teeth out one by one. Anything would be less painful than this. Feeling his hands, rough and so fucking sure of themselves, cupping your face gently. Almost like they know you. This pain wasn’t one you could take any more of.

“You’re dead. You… you aren’t real. I failed. They— god, they hurt you so bad, Frankie. I’m so—“ You choke again, on your own inhale.

“No, no no no. Just look at me. Look at me right now, I promise you I’m here. Please.” His voice cracks, and you can’t bare it. He’s calling you, whispering your name in a shattered song you can’t ignore. Even if it means seeing it for the last time. Falling into oblivion and never resurfacing. Even if you knew you shouldn’t.

It was Frank. And he wanted you to open your eyes.

So you did.

— i’m gonna paint you by numbers, and colour you in. if things go right we can frame it, and put you on a wall.

Frank held you together. His hands were never strong enough, arms never warm, body too hard, but he held you as best he could.

He could see what they’d done to you. Whatever it was, your mind was scrambled— you could hardly tell left from right, and you kept begging for him to stay. Frank didn’t think there was anything that could break him much anymore, but that fucking voice, those eyes rimmed with tears… that wouldn’t leave him.

“I’m right here, baby. I’m not goin’ anywhere. Stay right here with you, okay?” He gathers your bruised, marred body and tucks you into him. Even like this, your head naturally falls under his chin.

He buried his face into your hair. He breathes in deep, knowing you were under him, alive, and he’d get you for even just another moment— it allows him that one breath. His arms pull you against his chest, your skin cold but shivering. Alive. Alive. Alive.

“Frank…” You sigh. Your body shudders, and Frank runs with you. Like you were never there, he carries you up and out of the hellhole they had you in, and brings you into the light. Sunshine glitters on your skin, and Frank can’t take in the sight. You were losing blood… losing yourself. “You can’t be here. I k-know you aren’t real.”

“Shh. Shh, just keep your eyes open. You’re okay. I’m here.” He doesn’t know what else to say.

You weren’t wrong. They nearly killed him. They broke his ribs, knocked out his teeth, gutted him so bad he swore he was in half. But he made it out. He crawled and dragged his way out of there, because you needed him. You mumble something else, and then your eyes roll back, and you’re gone again.

— i think the braces are breaking, and it’s more than i can take.

“Please. Please. You have to come back, baby. You gotta come… please.” Your hands were gathered in his, lips pressed to battered knuckles as he prayed to you like a deity. You couldn’t believe how real it felt.

You managed to open your eyes— you think. They were dry, and you wanted to close them again, but this sight was different. All you’d seen for the past week was his body. Tied to a chair. Beaten and not moving. But this… he wasn’t covered in red here. He was pale, almost, but his hair was dark and grown out. Nearly curly, if he let it get longer.

He said something, but the sound was muffled by you crying. As heavenly as the sight was— and it was, it wasn’t real. And you couldn’t bare it.

“Stop! Just stop— I can’t see him anymore! Please!” You scream to whoever’s listening, and the mirage of your deepest desire, the constructed image of your hearts one reason to pump any more blood through your veins, it moves with you. “This is more than I c-can take. Please, just make it stop.”

“It’s okay, I’m here. Can’t you see me?” Franks voice is soft as you sob, pulling your hands away from him. It’s mean— cruel, the way he feels so warm, and it feels so wrong to pull away. You want to fall into him.

“Can you make it stop, Frank?” You don’t recognise your voice. It’s shattered, like a broken vase under Franks leather boot. He looks at you, and your breath catches.

It always does when he looks at you.

He doesn’t let you get far. Mirage Frank yanks your arms back, the right one searing in pain, but you don’t think about it. All you think about is feeling him. How you can feel the cold, wet slip of his tears over your fingertips as he holds you against his cheek.

You shouldn’t be able to feel that.

It killed you, in all those images they sent of him. He was cold, and didn’t feel like Frank anymore. He wasn’t him.

“I’m here. I am. Why…” He looks away, and you want to scream again. His palms are warm, calloused in a way you have mapped out. Why isn’t he looking at you? “Why’s she still like this?! You said you could fucking fix it!”

You squeeze his hand, and he stops yelling. You shake, shudder. It’s not real. It can’t be real. It’s another trick— a cruel, horrible trick that the fire under your palm is really, truely your Frank. That he horsely whispers your name, and you stretch your fingertips higher, grazing his cheekbone.

“There you are, baby. You see me?” He’s so gentle, and it hurts so bad. Your arm, your heart. It can’t be real. This is too much. You… you have to ask. You have to. You were weak, and scared, and you had to ask again. Is this real? Are you my Frank, or are you going to fade away again? Please….please be mine.

“Please…” Is all you manage to form, and light brightens the room. You were on your side, and he comes closer. The bed dips— a bed. A bed. “What— no. This isn’t—“

“It’s real. Stop, it’s real. I’m fuckin’ real, sweetheart. Please just… don’t look away. Stay with me.” Your eyes were wide now, unrelenting and taking him in. You reach higher than his cheek, the curl of his hair hanging down his face. His hair… it wasn’t this long before.

His hair grew. It’s longer. Nearly touching his eyebrow. He… he was here.

“Oh, god. Frank.” You sob, and there’s no pain when there should be. You yank and grab and pull at whatever living part of him you can find, which is everything. You thread your hands through his soft hair— feeling it. A sign of life and the living parts of him you can see and hold.

You feel the way he curls against you, dwarfing you. Murmuring words on your skin, kissing you wherever he can reach. You’d move if you could, but you can’t go anywhere but into him. You want to claw your way to his middle and make a home there, feel the beat of his heart against your ear for an eternity and then some.

“I thought you—“

“Shh. Please, just stay with me.” He muffles the broken words into your hair, and you remember them.

You begged him to stay with you. Every-time you were sent those images in your mind, a technology you still couldn’t understand, of Frank crumpled and clinging to life, you’d beg him to stay, and he would fade through your fingers every time. He never spoke, just looked at you, and faded away.

This one begs for you. He says your name, pulls you close, clings to you like you are a lifeline that could reel him to the safety of your arms. It’s how you remember him holding you. It feels… real. You just nod back, shuffling so your head slotted under his jaw.

if you’re broken i’ll amend ya, and keep you sheltered from the storm that’s raging on.

“They broke me. I—“ You choke on your words, and Frank shushes you. “They made me think you were dead. They kept me down there for weeks and messed with my brain… I saw you dead, Frank.” You whisper after a while. You still couldn’t believe it was real. That he was real, his fingers dancing along your spine. “I shouldn’t of run. I’m sorry, I just thought if I could get rid of them you’d… fuck, I can’t see straight.”

“Shh, don’t try talk. You’re okay. We’ll fix ya. I got you.” You trust him. The warmth of his words travel low, over your neck and down your chest, nestling in your crumpled excuse of a heart. It beats a little harder at the intrusion, welcoming it with open arms. “You’ll get better. I’ll be here.”

“I’ll get better.” Repeating the words, hearing them from your own charred voice makes you solid in this reality. You don’t know what you did to deserve this type of warmth, but you cling to it tightly. You’ll never let it go again. “How… how did you find me? You were so…broken.”

“I’ll always find you. Hell or high water. I’ll come for you.” You were fading into exhaustion, out of touch with where you were, but in his arms you felt safe. A wave of it came over you— love. It was scary, but you allowed it to wash over your mind and body, feeling it seep into you. The tides of it’s meaning covering you like a blanket, the fear nothing like the feeling of loss.

You dont know if you’d ever of admitted it before— this feeling. If he ever would. Maybe it took nearly losing each other to be reminded of how important this way. You’d both tried to drift along in the storm, but it was over now, and you had to face it.

Frank feels it, too.

You don’t know how long you’ve been sitting here, but there’s no light anymore when your eyes flutter open and he speaks again.

“I… I never told you. That—“ he swallows.

“Yeah. Me too.” You press your lips to his sternum, the place where he’s surely locked your own heart away with his.

“Yeah?” You nod, kissing him there again. His fingers thread in your hair, holding you closer, but it’s impossible. It’s the wanting of it, though. To be as close as possible, as if you could be pushed together and merged to one.

You drift to sleep, both clutching each other even when you’re deeply unconscious. Maybe it took the end of the world to get here, but you think that it was worth it. The end of the world would be worth it a thousand times over if he was at the peak, because you know what it’s like without him. And no world is worth that.

and out of all these things i’ve done, i think i love you better now.

.

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[it-was-funeral-grey]

Realisations in mess (Al Haitham x F!Reader)

Masterlist Part 5 Part 6

Summary: you're finally home! But what is this mess? clean up + cooking with alhaitham basically

Warnings: vulgarities, trashed up house (matra's fault), reader's ankle is sprained, cleaning up, alhaitham spewing out absolute bs, they eat an onion lol (no joke i was far gone when i wrote that part), sword,

Word count: <3.4k

Inspired by:-

Author's note: im learning how to make gifs! also im not sure if its obvious, but this is gonna be a 'slowburn' type of story!

Thank you everyone for your comments and encouragement! I can;t thank you all enough!

as usual i hope this is ok i tried

Please give criticism! Also, if i missed any warnings, do tell me so i can add them!

Her house is a fucking mess.

Al Haitham can try, but he can't recall what her house looks like. But he knows it's not supposed to look like this.

Archons, what the hell did the Matra do? 

He doesn't stop her when she unslings her arm from around him. Instead, he holds the door open as she hobbles into her living room. He hears her let out a defeated sigh, but when she turns around to face him, she smiles.

"Well, at least I'll have something to do this afternoon," she looks around with pursed lips. "Been thinking of rearranging stuff anyway!"

Her cheerful tone doesn't fool him. It's as clear as day that she's beyond upset at the state of her home.

"You're...going to clean up this mess on your own?" she can't be serious. The place is completely trashed (is that...Harra Spice on the floor?). "Just you. With your sprained ankle." 

"Well, you did see the looks that the neighbours gave me," no, he didn't. He was focusing on other things. Like making sure she leans her weight on him, not her ankle. "I should probably keep to myself for now," she replies, her eyes downcast. "Hopefully, whatever rumours about me will die out soon." 

With that, she squats down, picking up a book off the floor. 

Huh, now that he thinks about it, there are a lot of books here (and yes, that's definitely Harra Spice on the floor.). And no, not notebooks or record books. Actual books- look, there's a book on languages over there and a thick book about Liyue Adeptuses right next to it. Al Haitham has never seen another house with this many books (apart from his own). In fact, most of her living room floor is covered in them, ripped from their bookshelves which lay not too far away from them. 

It must have taken her years to collect this many books. He's impressed that she managed to keep them all hidden all this time.

"I'll be fine, really," her voice strains as she reaches for another book. "Thank you for helping me back! And for everything else." 

Al Haitham's moving before he knows it. One second he's standing up, looking down at her picking up her books. The next, he's dropping his overnight bag and squatting down, grabbing her book for her.

"Oh! Thank you."

"You need to rest your ankle," Al Haitham states, reaching over to take the book already in her hands. "Stand up." 

Moving over to her, he gestures for her to sling an arm over him before standing up with her.

"There's no way you're going to be able to clean up this mess," he unslings her hand gently before walking over to her overturned couch. "I'll help."

"Ah! It's fine," she hobbles over to him, but he's already flipped her couch over. "You must be busy. I can-"

"It's lunchtime now. Everyone's on break." 

"Then you should be taking a break too!"

"I've already done so on the boat."

"Well, what about your lunch? I didn't see you eat anything."

"I had a heavy breakfast."

"That's not lunch."

"Sit down and rest your ankle."

"Hey! Did you hear what I just said?"

Despite your protests, you're grateful you won't have to clean up this mess alone.

"How do you arrange your books?" Al Haitham asks as he lifts your last toppled bookshelf back upright. "By topic? Height?" He then shoots you a wary glance. "…Colour?"

"Topic, then by height," you reply, feeling slightly useless as you sit on the couch with a newly bandaged ankle (courtesy of Al Haitham). "Wait, colour? Do people do that?"

"You'll be surprised," he chuckles, and you see his shoulders relax. "There exists a certain individual that insists on making it their personal mission to convince others to arrange their bookshelves that way purely 'for the aesthetic'," he picks up a red book off the floor, running a hand over the slightly dented cover. "You have a lot of books here."

"Do… you find it strange?" you ask meekly. You wouldn't be surprised if he did. Hardly anyone in Sumeru used books, much less kept them thanks to the (recently abolished) Personal Book Act. This wouldn't be the first time a visitor judges you about it.

"Not at all," Al Haitham replies, flipping through the book gently. "I'm just surprised that you read," he stops at a folded page. "Almost no one reads in Sumeru. Not even Akademiya scholars. All they relied on was the Akasha terminals."

He balances the book in a hand and shuts it.

"I'm impressed that you managed to get your hands on this many. The Akademiya doesn't print any books. And there aren't any bookstores in Sumeru."

He passes the red book to you, and you swear his lips curve upwards for a fraction of a second.

"It's well written, but the author gives no evidence to back up his hypothesis. It's pure speculation on his part."

"You've read this before?"

"It's a title in the House of Daena," he explains, bending down to pick up another book and reading its title. "Although it's better off as a storybook."

"The House of Daena has books about Liyue?" you ask. The book in your hands is a Liyue publication which took you many pains to obtain. If there's an easier way to get access to such books-

"Definitely," he seems intrigued by your enthusiasm. "Many darshans' studies involve learning about other cultures and regions. So, books on such topics would be provided. Although whether the students want to read them is a different story."

So they'll have books about Liyue Law! You haven't been able to get your hands on any thus far.

He picks up a few more books off the floor and places them on a bookshelf nearest to him.

"You have a lot of books on Law. And Liyue."

"Ah! Yeah," his observation shocks you back into reality. "I…actually wanted to study in Liyue's Law School."

"Wanted?"

"Well, you know," he turns to look at you, and you look away. You know you won't be able to control the disappointment written all over your face if you talk about this. "Times aren't exactly the best now. Money is tight right now, with inflation and all. So…"

"I see."

"Yeah," you sigh and quickly plaster a smile, as you turn back to him. "But it's alright. I can still read about it! There are many more books in the House of Daena, so I'll borrow them!"

"…You can only borrow books if you're a student or teacher at the Akademiya."

"Oh."

It takes Al Haitham about an hour to finally get all the books off the ground and into a somewhat orderly manner. The floor is much more empty now, save for shards of glass and foodstuff amongst overturned furniture. Al Haitham knows that the Matra are thorough in their investigations, but wrecking a house to such an extent in search of evidence is seriously going overboard.

He's going to have a long talk with the Matra stationed at Port Ormos when he gets there.

"Here?" Al Haitham asks the lady standing next to him. She's insisted on helping, against his protests. Eventually, they came to a compromise- he'll carry and arrange the books, and she'll point out where to put everything.

"Yep! These few are fine- ok, switch those two," she instructs. "Everything else is in order. Thank you!"

"Where's the broom?" Al Haitham asks, kicking a shard of glass away from her. "There's glass everywhere."

"It must be the bottle of Harra Spice I bought," she hobbles past the dining table over to the kitchen, Al Haitham following closely behind her. "I bought some groceries the day before I got arrested. I left it on the dining table and… forgot to unpack it."

She didn't forget. Al Haitham takes the opportunity to quickly pick up the chairs and push them under the table, which she thanks him for. She was taking care of me and didn't have the time to put it away.

They both ignore the splinters of wood that fall out when he moves the chairs.

"I'm sorry about this whole mess," Al Haitham sighs. It doesn't matter how he tries to reason with himself. No matter what, this whole situation is his fault. And it leaves a really bad taste in his mouth that she's the one paying the price for it. "I'll be sure to pay for whatever damages there are."

"None of this is your fault," she quickly retorts, grabbing the broom's handle…which immediately detaches from the broom's head. "And like I said," she reaches for the broom head, but Al Haitham beats her to it, taking the handle from her as well. "I've been thinking about rearranging the place anyway!"

Yeah. Rearranging, not refurbishing. Past her shoulder, he sees the wrecked kitchen. And shards of broken tableware among other objects sprinkled all over the floor. She's going to need to replace a lot of things.

"Still, if there's anything I can do to make it up to you-"

"If you really want to make it up to me, take care of yourself and don't faint in front of a random person's house again!"

"I'll do my best."

"Is…that a yes or a no?" her head tilts as she frowns, eyeing him puzzledly. "And wait! Do your best to not do that or to do that?"

And out of nowhere, Al Haitham feels the sudden urge to 'push it', as Kaveh call it. Just to see how she'll react. For research purposes.

"Celestia wills the movement of the mountain and hills." he recites an old rhyme while observing her increasingly perplexed expression with great interest. The rhyme was just his grandmother's way of saying that no one knew what the future held- except fate.

"…what?"

"May the stars align your wish alongside their plans."

"???"

The good news is that cleaning your kitchen didn't take very long. The bad news is that you pretty much have to buy a new set of almost everything for your kitchen.

No, you're not joking. All you could do was grab things off the floor and counter and throw them into the bin. It hadn't taken long for you to realise that the Matra had destroyed almost everything, save for your stove and sink, a dented, but still usable pot, a single onion and a small bottle of oil.

Nothing else was spared. Not your tableware. Not your bottles of sauce. Not any of your newly bought ingredients. And most definitely not your bottle of Harra spice.

"This should be the last of it," Al Haitham re-enters the kitchen with a fully filled dustpan. "You need any help in here?"

"No, I'm done here," you groan. The Matra had destroyed all your groceries for the week. Do you even have enough Mora to buy food again this week? "Squeaky clean!"

"…and empty."

"Don't remind me," you grumble, sitting on the counter. "How did they break so many plates? It's not even fragile! It's made of wood!"

"A hidden ability of overzealous and bored Matra, I suppose," Al Haitham says as he dumps the contents of the dustpan into your overflowing bin. "Is there anything else?"

"No, just my room. I'll settle that myself," you answer. Rubbing at your bandaged ankle, you sigh, leaning your head against the overhead cabinet. "Thank you for your help, really. I wouldn't have been able to clean this all on my own."

"It's no problem. How does your ankle feel?"

"It's alright. Doesn't hurt too much."

"That's good. Elevate it when you can."

"I will."

A peaceful silence washes over the two of you as you finally get some rest after cleaning the entire house. But all that's interrupted when your stomach suddenly rumbles.

Oh, Archons. 

"I…I'm so sorry."

"Well, it is a little bit past lunchtime. How are you settling lunch?"

"I have an onion."

"Sorry?"

"I have oil too."

"You're going to eat an onion?"

"I gotta," you grip the onion in your hands. "But all my knives are broken, so I can't dice it."

"Can't you go out to buy some ingredients?" Al Haitham looks a little concerned. "You don't need to eat the onion."

"The only person who sells groceries these days is Bahram," you begin peeling the onion. "But he closes shop early. He should be closed right now."

"So, how are you planning on eating this…onion?"

"I'll try to fry it."

"You're just going to toss that whole sphere of onion onto a pan?"

"Well, I don't have a pan anymore so I'll use my pot," you grab your pot and place it over the stove. "Hopefully, it won't roll out."

"Now, hold on. Don't do that."

"I mean the other alternative is eating it raw, but-"

"Use this."

"Hm?" you pour some oil into the pot before turning to him. "What the he-"

"Calm down. You're going to spill the oil onto the floor."

"Where did that come from?!"

"From me."

Before you is a beautiful green blade, rounded by a white and gold spine. A majestic aura surrounds it- as if it belongs to a higher being. It almost looks too holy to touch.

"Here. Use it to dice the onion."

HUH.

"Waitjustholdonasecond," your words jumble as you struggle to understand his request. "You want me to take your fancy blade and use it to cut the onion?"

"Yes," he pushes the blade further towards you. "Go on."

"You can't be serious. I can't do that to your sword!"

"If it's hygiene you're worried about, I assure you that-"

"No, it's not that!" honestly, it kind of scares you how hygiene isn't your main concern here. "Your sword! I can't cut an onion with your sword! What if I break it?"

"If my sword breaks from cutting an onion, I wouldn't carry it around."

"You carry it around? Where? I didn't see- ok, I'm going off-topic," you sigh. "Are you sure I can use it? It looks really expensive and I don't wanna, uh, desecrate it."

"It's a sword. It's meant for cutting things," he takes the onion from you and slices it into two before handing it over to you. "You're using it as intended. I don't see the problem."

"If you say so…" he lets the blade go into your hands, and you jerk at the sudden weight. "Oh- Archons, how do you carry this?"

"You alright there?"

"Yep, yep, I- I'll be fine!"

Your onions end up more chunky than usual, but you'll take it. You heat up the oil (after trying to squeeze out every last drop of oil from the small bottle) and gently add in the onions later. The sounds of sizzling oil fill the kitchen, and you happily take in the scent emitting from the pot. After a while, you feel that it's time to stir it around so you-

Wait. How are you gonna stir it?

"Uh oh," you grab the handle of the pot, tilting it from one end to the other. But it's no use. The onions aren't flipping over. "Oh no."

"Hm?"

"I forgot I don't have a spatula. I can't flip it."

"Use the sword."

"I- fine. Use the sword."

The final product looks better than you expected. Golden brown onions lay on top of each other inside the pot and your mouth waters at the sight.

"You'll have to wait till the pot cools down a little," Al Haitham cautions as he places the pot on the dining table. "Or else you'll burn your hand when you reach in for a slice."

"Haha, no."

"Hey! What did I just say-"

You really can't help yourself. You're too hungry. Reaching into the pipping hot pot, you pinch a piece of onion and quickly toss it into your mouth.

"Ah- hwot-"

"Unbelievable."

"Take- a slice!" you say between blowing out hot air. "It tastes pretty good! Must be the fancy sword flavour."

"I'll take one when it cools down a little. So I don't burn my fingers and the roof of my mouth."

"Suit yourself."

And the two of you fall into another cycle of silence- this time only interrupted by the sound of you blowing out hot air and Al Haitham scoffing at the display before him. Eventually, the pot cools down, and he takes up your offer and grabs a piece.

"What do you think? Pretty good, right?"

"It's good."

"That's all you have to say about the onions your sword painstakingly chopped?" you hold your chest in fake shock. "How dare you, good sir!"

"Well, my sword seems happy enough," he plays along, reaching a hand out. In an instant, the blade materialises. "I don't see any dissatisfaction from it."

"Woah!"

And then the blade disappears. And his hand is again as empty as your kitchen is.

"How did you do that?"

"Do what? Keep my sword?"

"Yeah! And make it reappear!"

"Well…"

The rest of your meal is spent happily chatting and making the poor man materialise and keep his blade over, and over again.

As selfish as it sounds, you don't want him to go. Because the moment he does, you'll be alone in Vimara Village, with nothing but rumours to keep you company.

But he has a job to do- an important one, at that. He's Sumeru's Acting Grand Sage. He's not a friend.

"I think it's about time I take my leave," he finally says, snapping you out of your train of thought. Standing up from his shaky chair, he grabs his overnight bag. "Thank you for your hospitality."

"Not at all," you reply, slowly standing from your chair as well. "I'm sorry that I couldn't host you under better circumstances."

"Would you happen to know where a certain Dilawar lives?" he asks. "I was told that he lives here."

Ah, so that's why he's here.

"Mr Dilawar lives not too far from here. Just head upwards from here and stop at the second house from the bridge," you answer. "Are… you here to fix Port Ormos?"

"Yes," he replies. "The closure of the port is not a problem I can ignore. Discussing the current state and future of the port with the trade supervisors is a crucial step in fixing the problem."

"Well, if you're on the case, then there's nothing for us common folk to worry about," you let out a relieved sigh. "With you as the Acting Grand Sage, Sumeru is in good hands."

"…Thank you."

You walk him to your front door, and he pauses outside for a moment to look back at you.

"Make sure to rest your ankle."

"I will."

"Keep a look out for any shards of glass on the floor. I may have missed them."

"I highly doubt that, but alright."

"And," he pauses again, looking over at your bookshelves. "Don't give up hope on going to Law school."

"Eh?"

"You must have taken a lot of effort to collect and read through all those books," he says. "It'd be a pity if all that effort went to waste."

He stands a little straighter, looking you in the eye this time.

"This is a temporary issue. Don't let something like that ruin a lifetime of fulfilment."

With that, he turns around.

"Well then, see you."

"Ah! Yeah, see you."

And he walked off.

"Well, you know," she doesn't turn away fast enough for Al Haitham to miss that crushed expression of hers. "Times aren't exactly the best now. Money is tight right now, with inflation and all. So…"

"I see."

So, it's a money issue. The reason that she's giving up her dream is because of money.

Like hell he's going to let that happen.

He'll solve it. He'll fix Sumeru's entire economy. He'll force the port open with his own two hands.

Just get that look off her face.

Join the Taglist!

Tagged: @sh3wholiv3s @simpcreator @confusedparticle @quintessentialdreaming @icedlemontea03 @levisbebe @anxious-piece-of-bread @confused-red-head

[alemonyoyo]

No Country for Young Humans - Chapter 8.5

I am officially back at school, attending my final year of high school! I will be busy, chapters will come out very infrequently!

To tide you over, since I am exhausted, have this short little bit of actual PLOT!!! (IK not just North Star fluff, dw, that will come soon).

Also, I'm drifting a little from the UTY fandom (yeah, uh oh) but I definitely DON'T wanna abandon this fic!

Worse comes to worse, I'll finish it swiftly, and do my best to still make that entertaining. This is the longest fic I think I've ever wrote, most of my other stuff is oneshots!

Sorry about all that, hopefully you can enjoy this very short snippet of what's to come (maybe heh).

Missed the previous chapters? Check out the Masterlist!

Words: 552

Tags: GN Reader, Jealousy, Plot?

Summary: We shift to a new perspective as things unfold behind the scene.

Chapter 8.5 - A New Perspective:

There was a piercing sound in the air. It was faint, but persistent. Her ears, sharp as a dagger, picked up its sound all too well. As she fumbled with the equipment splayed out on the desk beneath her, she found her patience waning thin, the sound piercing into her skull, stabbing like the thick spears of the Royal Guard.

How could she let it get this far? How could she have been so stupid? She should have killed them right then and there when they walked into the Wild East, yet the look on his face; it healed all of her wounds, though only for a moment. She entertained this idea only to keep him happy, but it had been too long now to turn back.

Ceroba walked over to the vials of serum, each a pungent blue in colour, painfully standing out amongst the backdrop of muted greys. She had to do this. For Kanako. It was the only way to keep her alive.

Going through with this though, she thought, would ruin everything for him.

She had never felt so happy for him, the moment they admitted their feelings for him. That flustered look on their face, all bashful yet trusting in her company. They *trusted* her. Star trusted her. And she was going to throw that all away.

Finally, Starlo was going to feel the love she had always wanted him to experience, taken away from the years of torment she knew she put him through. She was happy then, and he was miserable. Now it was like night and day as she wallowed in a sea of misery. But he would be happy. He would finally be happy.

Ceroba clenched her fists tightly, walking over to the large, old TV. No- She can’t let this sway her. Surely Star would be happier knowing her child was safe and out of harm's way. Surely Star would be happier knowing she was happy? Surely she meant more to him? She pressed the small round button on the TV, knowing the tape was already loaded in the slot when she had last watched it. A sobering reminder of why she had to do this.

It wasn’t just for Kanako. It wasn’t just for Chujin. But for the fate of the world.

Well, that is what she told herself as she waited for the video to play, though she was only met with static. Ceroba smacked a pawed hand on the TV, growing impatient and frustrated as she sobbed out. This was too much! Too hard of a choice! Why was this her choice to make? Why couldn’t she have both? Why did they have to be human?

She ceased her abuse of the TV, instead pressing the eject button, waiting for the tape to shift out of the slot. She waited, the still ringing sound of the machines around her whirring in an annoying fashion. She heard the mechanics in the TV shift, the slot opening and pushing out the thick, heavy air. There was no tape, nothing at all.

She felt the hair on the back of her neck stand on end, reaching panicked hands into the slot, trying to slip down into the small slit. Empty.

Someone had taken Chujins tape which could only mean-

Someone knew.

***

“母？”

[pentrologram]

What Normal People Do - 4

Dinner at Simon and Johnny's!

totally didn't mean to forget about this for two weeks.... hopefully this is enough sustenance! i recently started school again, so updates will likely slow.

also i'm a firm adhd (and dyslexic) johnny/autism simon truther so if something doesn't make sense, it's probably because i'm thinking of them as neurodivergent. ao3! ghost/soap/gn!reader (established ghoap)

I Promise, I'll Be Worth The Wait

Simon and Johnny have been learning your schedule.

For a few mornings in a row, while Johnny is still asleep, he can hear you in your room, just a wall over, shuffling out of bed and putting your kettle on before he hears the hum of your TV going, presumably keeping you company as you get ready for the day.

You get back home every day around 1650. Johnny pokes his head over to say hi quickly before leaving you to decompress. You’re always asleep by 2300. Then you wake up at 0600 the next morning, and you’re out of the flat by 0730.

They know your whole schedule by the second week. By then, they have become fixtures in your life, as reliable as the old Honda Civic you’ve been driving for five years. You can easily knock on their flat with the knowledge that they’d be happy to help, whether it be a cup of sugar, advice on how to fix your blender that somehow got broken in the move, or just a little company.

It was no surprise when they invited you over to their apartment for dinner, making sure to plan it perfectly so you aren’t fatigued or grumpy from work.

Johnny is keyed up during the two days following the dinner, constantly asking Simon questions at the worst times possible. Such as how the other night while Simon was awake and Johnny, for once, couldn’t sleep:

“Si.” Johnny shook Simon’s shoulder, earning a grunt from Simon. “Do ye think bonnie likes pasta?”

“Fuck if I know.” He grumbles. “Go to sleep.” Johnny mutters something about being discriminated against but he does, eventually, go to sleep.

Or when they were going grocery shopping:

“Oh, oh! Bonnie’ll love these!” He said, holding up a pack of digestive biscuits, making Simon sigh.

“Yeah, Johnny. I’m sure they will.” He says flatly before looking back at the bread. Five minutes later, Johnny shoves a roll of Smarties into his face.

“Nobody don’t like Smarties.” He says, almost proudly.

“Justify it however you need.”

Johnny is still not satisfied when they’re making dinner (together, as Johnny had insisted), rattling off about every piece of information he’s gleaned from you so far- where you’re from, your favourite colour and food and your birthday, too. No doubt, Johnny is smitten with you.

If he’s being honest, he doesn’t know how to feel about his boyfriend getting a crush on someone new- he was falling hard and fast while Simon would only really call his attraction to you surface level. Sure, you seem like a rather intelligent person and potentially someone he could dare to trust, but he isn’t as outgoing as Johnny is. He can’t know someone for a month and then want to know everything about them- it just isn’t how his brain works.

And if he’s being really, really honest, he’s scared. Johnny’s never been so enamoured before. It’s always been a fleeting attraction, long enough to last a week or two. He feels a little sidelined, jealous, even. Enough so that while following this line of thought his hand slips as he’s cutting carrots for the shepherd’s pie and accidentally nicks his thumb, snapping both Johnny and himself from their thoughts.

“Aw, Si!” Johnny exclaims, immediately putting his potato masher down and reaching for the first aid kit they keep stored underneath the kitchen sink. He coos all about his poor Simon while running Simon’s thumb under cold water and then delicately putting a bandaid over the wound, his warm hands over Simon’s cool ones. It’s then Simon acknowledges that maybe he simply missed Johnny, as all of his time recently has been spent obsessing over you. He can’t help it, Simon knows, but still.

“Gotta be more careful,” Johnny says when he’s satisfied with the condition of Simon’s thumb. He grunts and that is that.

Johnny is like a dog that night, chasing his tail while he waits for Simon to join him in bed, mad with excitement. He needs a steady hand when he’s like this, Simon finds- something mindless and easy enough to tire him out.

Tonight that means that Johnny is cradled to his chest, two burly arms keeping him in place. Pressure on the body helped regulate, as he had learned in a seminar he had dragged Johnny to once.

That pressure now works wonders, because Johnny is out like a light despite all of his fidgeting. In some ways, it feels like he has a magic off-switch for Johnny, which really shouldn’t be as cute as it is.

He hums under his breath while Riley noses open the door, jumping onto the bed and curling right in between their legs. Maybe she could smell something coming off of Simon and came in as a precaution. The thought makes Simon look up at the ceiling.

“Yeah, alright. I didn’t need to sleep anyways.” He whispers.

The next morning Simon makes the finishing touches on the menu for the night. Johnny’s been texting you since he woke up, probably distracting you from your job. Even still, he doesn’t have the heart to make him stop. At some point you stop texting Johnny because he gets up just to start bothering Simon- “What’s that, Si?” or “Gimmie a kiss, ye’ve been ignoring me,” or “Did ye take the dog fir her walk?”.

When Simon is content with the state of their house at 1300, Johnny jumps his bones and drags him to the bedroom out of sheer boredom. Simon keeps his entire 95 kilos on Johnny for the better half of some three hours, out of spite, mainly, boring Johnny to the point where he fishes out his phone and does… whatever it is Johnny does on his phone. Simon never really took to newer phones, nor what the younger people did on those phones.

(Because he could never enjoy the mindlessness of a screen. He’s weary and old, he feels it in his bones, his bad back, his knobbly knees, and he knows that emptiness of those ‘TickTacks’ that Johnny’s endlessly showing him will only serve to agitate him. He knows logically he only has a year or two on Johnny, really, but they were such opposites he rarely ever felt it. Johnny has reassured him multiple times about it, but it never stopped Simon from thinking (knowing) that Johnny deserves better than an old sod like him. They might be feral dogs together but Johnny has more humanity than he, easier to nurture and to be put back into society than him.)

Maybe it’s a force of habit but he uses a flip phone that can only call and text (if barely). It suits him just fine, though, making it hard for any distractions.

So maybe he feels a little smug when Johnny goes:

“Shite, they said they gonn’ be here in twenty.” A pause. “Fifteen fecking minutes ago!” And then Johnny is off like a rocket, rolling Simon off of him and then wiggling away and rushing to put on the clothes he set aside for the occasion, cursing rapidly while trying to fix his hair while putting on his slacks. Simon watches lazily before deciding to follow suit and put on his clothes, too.

“Mask or no mask?” He asks absentmindedly. Johnny doesn’t respond, too preoccupied with fixing his bedhead. He decides on no mask.

By the time Johnny deems himself decent, the doorbell rings and he curses before scrambles to open the door for you. Simon takes longer than Johnny to leave the bedroom, taking care to not rush, so when he inevitably enters the living room, you’re chatting with Johnny while pulling off your shoes. It looks like you’ve come straight from work, if the sterile hair and scrubs are anything to go off of. You wave hi to him, a tiny smile on your face.

He and Johnny pull the food from the oven where they’d been keeping warm while you sit, so politely, on the couch. Hands in your lap and feet tucked to the side, you’re a vision, Simon thinks as he puts a plate full of cobbler on their dinky little dining table.

You sit in a circle, the three of you. Simon serves you and Johnny your plates, letting you talk in peace while he listens, maybe chiming in gruffly when he knows what the conversation has shifted to. The conversation flows and ebbs in a way that Johnny alone couldn’t manage- it’s refreshing, having someone new, someone normal at that. Someone who understands the mundane process of civilian life, who, better yet, has only ever known civilian life. There’s a spark of amusement in Johnny’s eyes as he listens to you talk about work and your college and friends and the gruelling weight that is existence. You are heart-breakingly normal and they simply can’t get enough.

When Johnny leaves the table to use the restroom, though, you go quiet. It makes sense, as he has barely said a word to you for the hour and a half you’ve been here. He decides to change this by:

“How do you stop a baby from choking?”

This startles you.

“Uh, CPR?”

“You let go of its neck.”

It shocks a laugh from you, your eyes widening, caught off guard. Simon’s face stays stony but it softens by a fraction just from the sound of your laugh.

“That’s terrible.” You say when you’ve regained your senses, still giggling a little. He shrugs.

“It’s funny.” He counters.

You promptly shovel a bite of pie into your mouth, but it can’t hide the small smile on your face.

Two hours in, Johnny breaks out the wine. It’s not good, per se, but it goes nicely with the food Simon’s made. The wine loosens you up and makes your laughs come easier. You’re so beautiful when you smile; neither of them can help but try to coax more from you. When you’re more properly eased, maybe another hour or two in, you’re laughing at everything.

(“I went to the zoo last week, but there was only one dog in it.”

You’re already giggling in anticipation. 

“It was a shih tzu.”)

By then, dinner is over, and you can’t be trusted to handle with washing up the dishes. Instead, the alcohol made you curious; you had wandered over to their record player and plopped yourself right before the crate full of records they kept. You could hardly recognise any of them, admittedly. You end up being drawn to an album that’s just sickeningly 80s- there’s a wispy, almost hypnotic landscape of a beach with a random red electric guitar to the right while a guy wearing a pinstripe suit with very strong shoulder pads stares off to the distance with a very motivational look on his face. It’s so silly that it makes you laugh quietly before putting it on the turntable.

It’s jazz, you find. It’s comforting and smooth and, wow, you’re feeling quite tired. Maybe they won’t notice if you just close your eyes for a minute.

(They do.)

Johnny coos at you and takes a few pictures of you curled up against the table the record player’s on, nodded off. Then Simon picks you up, Johnny fishing through your pockets for your keys. They carefully deposit you on your bed, tucking you in, before Johnny pens a little letter for you when you wake up.

Hi bon, you fell asleep when me and Simon were doing dishes. i think you were listning to one of our records. it was lovely, though, thank you for coming!!!!! :D xxxxxxxx Simon and Johnny