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musings-of-miss-j · 3 months

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no rest for the wicked (nor the foolish)

part eight: in which you're forcibly removed from your comfort zone by none other than the resident ginger, and you meet a certain someone's alter ego(s)

a harbingers x gn reader series!! (includes dottore, childe, arlecchino and pantalone x reader. the rest of the harbingers will not be romantic interests)

notes: surprise surprise, the burn is still slow!! mentions of blood, gn reader with a dosage of snark that probably exceeds the recommended value

series masterlist

author's notes: *daddy's home plays faintly in the background, slowly but surely increasing in volume as i approach you on a hoverboard with a comically large witch's hat on my head and a ridiculous pair of sunglasses on*

word count: 4725

* ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊˚** ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊˚** ੈ✩‧₊˚*

It was, by all accounts, supposed to have been a completely normal lab session. You were planning the reaction route you’d take to test the enzyme you’d synthesised and the various ways to ensure its effectivity other than the rate of the reaction and the yield as you waltzed through the door (the inscriptions were glowing a pretty purple-pink hue reminiscent of sakura blooms that day). The redox apparatus from two days prior was sitting exactly where you’d left it, nothing out of the ordinary there. The abnormality came in the form of a segment currently in the process of detaching the round-bottomed flask where your product had accumulated from the condenser; the first thought to register was the sheer audacity for anyone to even contemplate touching your experiments, while the second, this is my chance to study the constitution of these ‘segments’ up close, wasn’t far behind. Glancing up sharply, your flask still clutched in his un-gloved hand, (a voice in your head shrilly protested his lack of adherence to safety procedures) the segment began moving away, no doubt to disappear to wherever him and the rest usually stayed. With more agility than you thought you possessed, you rounded the workbench and grabbed him by his sleeve.

“You. What are you doing with my condensate?” You demanded, grabbing the flask from between his fingers and setting it down on a stand. Now that the imminent danger of your work going to waste was neutralised, you took the time to analyse this segment of your supervisor’s while you had him cornered. This version of Dottore was at least five years younger than the one you were familiar with, probably from his late Akademiya years. And he wore no mask, leaving two brilliant scarlet eyes on full display, rimmed with pale blue lashes and dark shadows beneath them. The segment coughed and fidgeted, trying to find a way to escape your clutches.

“Hold still,” you ordered, reaching up to touch his face. You were startled by the smoothness of the skin, having expected something cold and metallic. How in Teyvat did he pull this off? You tilted the segment’s face this way and that, looking for hidden wiring or steel plating or anything else that would belie machinery, yet you found nothing. You gave his cheeks an experimental squeeze, and were further surprised when your fingers dug into what seemed to be soft skin, then dropped your hands, stumped.

“Huh. You look very human.”

“Prime did tell me that was the intention,” the segment agreed, flushed in the face and still trying to discreetly push past you.

Even his voice didn’t sound robotic in the slightest, riddled with natural dips of tone and perfect inflection for the context. Your eyes took in every detail, every movement, still failing to spot anything that would’ve given him away as a machine.

“Incredible. Did he give you a name?”

“No. Prime wouldn’t waste a second thinking about something so inconsequential.”

If you weren’t mistaken, the segment sounded almost bitter, staring blankly down at the wall with those striking eyes. You felt a twinge of pity; being a clone for Dottore was probably a thankless task. “Would you like one?” You offered, not unkindly. “If your system permits that sort of input, of course.”

“I- I have no use for such things.” It was strange to think that your Doctor, impenetrable and unmoving as he was, had been capable of stuttering to the point where he himself recalled and implemented the trait.

“How about Theta? I’ll need to distinguish between you lot somehow.”

“It’s of no difference to me,” the segment- Theta- mumbled, before shooting you one last look, then disappearing in the split second it took to turn your head in his direction. You wondered where he’d gone, and why he was so wary of you.

Oddly enough, you didn’t see the Doctor for the entire morning and well into the afternoon. It was far from ordinary for him not to be in the lab the moment you arrived, (you suspected he slept there, if he even slept at all) muttering under his breath as he worked and occasionally ordering you to hand him the wrench or scalpel or graduated pipette in a tone so entitled it tempted you to bash him in the head with the very equipment you handed him. Still, you couldn’t deny his usefulness. Having two pairs of hands was always easier than one, especially when the other pair was as experienced as they came; you could bounce any question off him and receive a convincing answer, even if he could never resist throwing in a mocking remark about ‘how shameful it must feel to have such a rudimentary fact slip your mind.’

However, you had much better uses of your time than fretting over the location of your boss, such as extracting a sample of noradrenaline from the brain of a body so fresh you half expected the eyes to open in the midst of your operation. Even after such a time-consuming procedure, the Doctor had yet to make an appearance. You wrote it off, assuming he wouldn’t be present that day, and ate all the fruit tarts you’d brought while boring holes into your notebook with your eyes and trying to determine what exactly had gone so wrong amidst your calculations that the percentage error was at an unforgivable fifty seven percent.

“One hundred cubic centimetres of sulphuric acid sounds unreasonable,” a voice from over your shoulder remarked. You blinked, refocusing on the sheet of paper. A whispered curse slipped past your lips as you registered where you’d went wrong; the decimal point of the volume of acid was indeed one too many zeroes to the right. You twisted to see who’d given you the hint.

It would’ve been incredibly easy to mistaken this segment for Dottore himself, but he lacked the jagged scar spanning from above the mask to his chin and cutting right through the corner of his lip. This segment’s face also wasn’t as harrowed, unlike Dottore’s hollowed cheeks and deathly pale complexion. You probably would’ve missed the difference yourself, if you weren’t so accustomed to the tiny details of the Doctor’s countenance. The segment grinned lazily.

“Like what you see, sweetheart?”

Oh, for the love of-

You shoved him away with a roll of your eyes. Not quite as Dottore-like as his appearance suggested, then.

“You segments are rather friendly today. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Since Prime isn’t here to hassle us about disturbing you, we thought we might as well make use of the main lab.”

A frown formed between your brows as you mulled over his response, absent-mindedly scratching out the mistakes in your calculations.

“Main lab? There’s others? And why would the Doctor forbid you from utilising it on my account?”

The segment leaned over, resting his elbow on the workbench and his cheek in his hand as he watched you. “What do you mean why”- a delighted expression crossed his face, and his resounding cackle made you look up apprehensively from your notes. “Oh, what a scream. You mean you don’t know?”

The notion of ‘not knowing’ made the scholar in you bristle. “Don’t know what?” You snapped, crossing your arms and turning to subject him to the full force of your glare.

“You’ll find out soon enough, lovey,” he replied with another laugh. You scowled.

Patronising piece of-

“I heard you even gave one of us a name,” he said, interrupting your furious train of thought. “I didn’t think you were so besotted.”

You clicked your tongue dismissively, waving him off. “Don’t be ridiculous. It’s counterproductive not to know the names of one’s assistants.”

It was the segment’s turn to bluster. “I am no one’s assistant!”

“Mhm. Be a dear, Gamma, and pass me the dichloromethane so I can make some aspirin for the inevitable headache you lot are going to give me.”

Muttering and grumbling and secretly preening over his namesake being a highly dangerous electromagnetic wave, he slid you the bottle and even a measuring cylinder and pipette to boot. You rewarded his extra efforts with a small smile, and Gamma suddenly understood every nonsensical thought that Prime had experienced since you arrived in Snezhnaya.

Throughout the day, more and more of the segments appeared from Archons-know-where and took to hovering around you while you go about your business, or chattering and doing a fine job of distracting you from whatever you were reading, or even rushing to assist you. You didn’t complain; it was fascinating seeing these different facets of the Doctor. Most of the older segments are rather similar to him, although Gamma had a rather prominent flirtatious streak, while another you’d named Omega was more snappish and impulsive. The younger ones were unfailingly comical; Theta was so easily flustered and a little more apprehensive about explosive compounds than the rest, and Pi, whose name referenced the pastry that was such a direct contradiction to his character, was rude, arrogant and reckless.

(“Since you’re such a bitter pill to swallow, I’ll call you Pi.” You grinned at your own joke. “No other aspect of you is remotely close to sweet, after all.”

Pi scowled animatedly, shattering the beaker in his hands from how hard he’d gripped it. “I won’t answer to a name given by a simpleton.”)

“Pi, clean the mess you made in the fume cupboard! Some of us have organic lungs that can’t handle toxic fumes, you know!”

“I don’t see how that’s my problem,” he snapped back, then slunk off to do as you’d told him when you weren’t looking.

The youngest of the segments, who barely reached your waist and had yet to even speak in your presence, had taken to trotting after you wherever in the lab you went, weaving between your legs and staring up at you with wide eyes half-hidden by a mop of messy blue hair. You’d come immensely close to tripping more than once, but you couldn’t bring yourself to scold him at all, instead nudging him out of the way like a cat sitting in the middle of the hallway. The segments were helpful enough, even if you’d been talked back at more times that day than your entire career as a lab technician in the Akademiya supervising young recruits, and by the time you were contemplating the prospect of heading to the dining hall for a bite to eat everything was in order; reagents alphabetically stored in their cabinets, counters wiped and glassware washed, even the enormous, curved windows were polished to a high shine. You spared them an approving look as you walked past, arms laden with bottles of (carefully separated) acidic and basic waste, admiring the aerial view of the snowy forest below, draped over the mountainside like a shaken-out blanket. The young segment was still tailing you, a lollipop you’d fished out from one of your pockets in his mouth; his utter disregard for where he was stepping had put you on your last nerve, but every time you sat him down in a safe corner he’d stare dolefully up at you before reappearing in your peripheral vision a few moments later. It was a wonder you hadn’t lost your temper, really.

“Epsilon, I can see your reflection in the window,” you pointed out in an unimpressed tone to the segment who’d been on the verge of grabbing your shoulders in an attempt to startle you. He huffed and grumbled, shaking the hair out of his eyes and cheekily tipping the neck of one of the bottles you were carrying as though to let the acid milkshake within, so to speak, spill, then pranced away from your scathing glare with a merry tune on his lips. You didn’t know how the segments seemed so familiar with you, as though they’d known you all their lives; Pi somehow knew how much value you placed on your leather gloves, as he’d threatened to use them for chromium extraction when you didn’t let him take one of your fungi petri dishes, Gamma had off-handedly mentioned how it was a shame your ear piercings had closed up years ago because you couldn’t match with their fluorescent blue test tube earrings, and Theta wordlessly handed you a pile of the expensive cider wood parchment you preferred to use and hurried away before you could say anything. It was baffling, to say the least, but you appreciated the extra help. It meant you could skip off to have a rather overdue lunch without fretting over something or other you might have mistakenly left over a Bunsen burner, even if it was strange leaving the lab without the Doctor’s voice criticising your lack of commitment to your education as the door swung shut behind you.

You weren’t even surprised to find Childe outside, leaning against the doorframe and tossing a dagger through the air, letting it flip over itself before catching it once more. When you opened the door, he stumbled into you and the dagger slipped from his hands as he nearly knocked you backward; but in a rare moment of swift reflexes you jumped to the side to snatch it from mid-air before it could stab either of you in the leg, only for Childe to latch onto your cloak as he fell and subsequently landing you on top of him. For a long, drawn-out moment, you just stared at each other; one of your hands pressed to the floor near his head while the other gripped the knife a safe distance above you. You quickly noted two things. One: Childe was bony and being draped over him was overall an uncomfortable experience; the apex of each of his ribs dug sharply into your chest, and two: his eyes were a peculiar, beautiful shade, less like the sea and more like heavy velvet thrown over something that glowed bright and blue, dimmed by the weight of the fabric.

Childe was finding it difficult to process anything other than your closeness. Yes, you were even more breath-taking up close and yes he would’ve given anything to place his hands on your waist and pull you closer still, but he was even more enamoured by the dips and points of your knuckles where your hand gripped the dagger, the creases in your leather gloves around each finger and the oddly calculating look in your eyes as you appraised him. You could stab him, he realised with a rush, staring up at you. You could drive the blade down and lodge it between his ribs and he probably wouldn’t be able to react fast enough because it was you, and his blood would stain your cloak and blouse and a coppery taste would fill your mouth. He wondered if Signora was right, and whether you really would look better in red.

You cleared your throat, breaking the spell, and Childe suddenly noticed all the other tiny little things he probably wouldn’t get close enough to see again. The notion that such things would remain secret almost made him panic, and it took considerable effort not to clutch at you as you rose to your feet and dusted yourself off. You extended your hand to him, and he allowed himself a split second of self-indulgence, the liberty of seeing your outstretched hand reaching towards his collapsed body as something more than it was; he let himself believe that you, so bright and resplendent in your every trait you might as well have been the moon, were offering him, a creature writhing in the darkness, salvation or even just a moment’s respite.

You hauled him up from the floor with a grunt of effort (he couldn’t possibly be as bony as he felt. All that weight had to come from somewhere), then took off your glasses and held them to one of the wavering white lamps, handing him the dagger.

“Hello, Eleven.” You frowned at the new scratches on the lenses and started rubbing them with the hem of your blouse, even if you knew it was a fruitless endeavour. “How long were you waiting out here?”

“Long enough,” he all but whined in response, slinging an arm around your shoulder and ruffling your hair. Your only protest was a half-hearted grumble as you shoved your glasses back on, and his chest warmed with the thought that you no longer instinctively rebuked his touch. “C’mon, Trixy. I didn’t think you were the type to ghost someone after a date.”

“What are you talking ab- oh, for heaven’s sake,” you said exasperatedly, shooting him a look as he walked towards the stairs with you in tow. “Don’t be so dramatic.”

He beamed so widely you nearly stumbled on the steps, blinded by the intensity of his glee.

“So you’re not denying it was a date?”

You sighed out an incredibly inappropriate curse, drowned out by Childe’s hearty laughter.

“You are an incorrigible man.”

“Well you went on a date with this incorrigible man,” he countered cheerfully and not without a healthy dose of smugness. That earned him a withering look, and you detangled yourself from his side as you walked down the corridor.

“Everyone makes mistakes,” you said with a shrug, laughing slightly when he let out an indignant splutter. Childe bristled, trailing after you with an exaggerated pout.

“You should apologise for hurting my feelings, Trixy.” “If I were to apologise every time I bruised your fragile ego I’d never have time to say anything else,” you teased, linking your arm with his and pulling him along. “Now come on, they serve an exquisite pumpkin soup on Wednesdays.”

You wondered at what point you’d become so friendly with the Harbinger, to feel relaxed enough to so casually poke fun at him. Maybe your self-preservation instincts were decaying. Maybe it was worth it.

“I don’t want to see that… Arlie again,” Childe protested. You looked at him sidelong.

“Oh?” You asked, feigning surprise. “Why not?”

Because she outranks me and I don’t like having to share your attention, he thought. “She beat me in a fight once,” he admitted grudgingly. It wasn’t even a lie; that bitter defeat was indeed part of the reason he felt less than ecstatic around her, though the atrocities she’d carried out to become the fourth Harbinger were impactful too.

“Infighting between members of the same organisation should not be the norm,” you stated, shaking your head. “You Fatui are ridiculous.”

Childe laughed, tugging you closer by your linked arms to elbow you in the ribs. “You’re one of us ridiculous Fatui now, remember?”

“I am not!” You protested, affronted, before sighing at the self-satisfied expression on his face and changing the subject. “Tsk. So you refuse to speak to her just because you lost to her once? That��s immature, even for you.”

“No, no, defeat is all part of the battle. I don’t like that she refused a rematch.”

You hummed thoughtfully, chewing over his response.

“So you believe you’d win this time?”

“Maybe,” he replied with a shrug, steering you past the dining hall’s entrance. “It doesn’t matter though, does it?” He continued, as though the idea of combat for the sake of combat was the most normal thing he could possibly conjure. “Sparring with a strong opponent is the real goal. Say, Trixy. Are you any good in a fight?”

You snorted. “I’m a scholar, Eleven, not a warrior. And even if I was, I wouldn’t spar with you.”

His face took on an almost comically wounded expression. “What? Why not?”

“Because I know when I’m outmatched,” you replied dryly, letting him drag you along. A dejected expression you felt compelled to ease fell over his face. “Although I do have passable aim with a bow and arrow,” you reluctantly offered, and the change in his demeanour to unadulterated ecstasy was laughable.

“Really?! You’ve got to show me.”

“What? No, absolutely not.” Your reply was swift and decisive, but Childe was nothing if not meddlesome and persistent.

“No, no, no, you’re not getting out of this,” he jubilantly exclaimed, tightening his hold on your arm as if to prevent you from running off. “We’re going to one of the training grounds right now, and you’re going to do some target practice.”

“I’ll use your bloody head as a target if you don’t drop it, Eleven,” you threatened.

“Great idea, let’s try that too!”

Even as you lamented his utter insanity, Childe steered you to the west wing of the palace where you’d never been before. Upon looking around, you concluded that all forms of combat training happened there; the sound of crashing steel and muffled gunshots, interspersed with the occasional crackling, sloshing or rumbling from what was probably from Vision holders practicing how to utilise their elements in battle. The silver in the walls was twisted into different patterns from what you’d become familiar with, abstract depictions of battles long-past and a whole wall of solemn, important-looking text gleamed almost menacingly, commanding the attention of any who walked past it. From your passable fluency in the Snezhnayan tongue, you deciphered it to be an oath of sorts where the reader swore to carry out a myriad of jovial things such as turning the snowy landscape into a ruby’s facet with the enemies innards or their own, and wreaking havoc within the heavens until it rained scarlet. All in the name of Her Majesty the Tsaritsa.

Wow. Bloodthirsty much?

You eyed the oath distastefully, missing how reverently Childe mouthed it as he led you into an empty archery range. Rows of targets stood on the other side, pockmarked and their paint scratched, with a few of them sporting an unfortunate red-brown stain. You were grateful that there was no one there, at least; if you were a little rustier than you remembered then there was no one to witness your mediocrity other than Childe, who was presently looking through the extensive selection of bows and chattering about the various advantages and disadvantages of different models. You riffled through one of the many quivers of arrows scattered haphazardly about, admiring the high-quality steel of the heads. Some of them even had meticulous patterns along their shafts, no doubt hand-painted, and you appreciatively traced a particularly striking golden dragon with tiny, methodical scales spanning the entirety of the arrow, ending at the head where the dragons jaws were open in a roar.

“Well, Trixy? What bow are you going to use?”

You glanced up from the quiver, twirling the dragon arrow between your fingers, eyes skipping over the countless bows laid across the stands. You noted the ones tossed carelessly across them with a disapproving glance, and eventually picked the one that was the most similar to what you remembered using, long-limbed with a straighter taper and made from wood you recognised as Yumemiru from the distinctive diamond-shaped whorls.

“Why that one?” Childe asked, mesmerised by the sight of you in his element with a weapon at your fingertips. What were you thinking about when your hands reached for that particular bow? Did you have any specifications, preferences in regards to size or even the type of wood it was made from? Were your eyes drawn by the faded blue leather wrapped around the handle? Would you prove to be better, smarter, quicker than he was? The thought sent his heart racing and his brain spiralling with the prospect of having you as a competitor, an opponent.

“Does it matter?” You replied with a shrug, testing its weight in your hands. “I’m no expert when it comes to the craftsmanship of weapons. The bow I learned to shoot was probably older than me with a string practically on its last life.” You frowned slightly, looking up at him. “Why do you ask? Is there some sort of technique or guideline I should follow?”

“No, no, don’t worry about doing something wrong,” he reassured, his back to you as he assembled a quiver of arrows. You lowered the bow to stare at him, flabbergasted that he’d so quickly and accurately read the involuntary hesitation in your answer.

“Usually we have beginners start with a compound bow, but you probably have your own inclination by now,” Childe continued, oblivious to your astonishment. “What you’ve got there is a longbow,” he added, tossing you an archery glove. “They’re generally more difficult to master and harder to use.”

You pulled off your glove after making sure his back was still turned before replacing it with the one he gave you, and then picked up the bow again with new interest.

“I see. And yours?” You asked, nodding towards the one he had picked, white wood gracefully curved and narrowed at the tips.

“This one’s a recurve bow. They’re better at close range and generally need more strength to draw.”

Childe couldn’t help but be entranced by your contemplative expression, all furrowed brows and a distant gaze as you took in the new information. He had to agree that you really were a scholar before all else; the pensive look you so often sported might as well have been made to be worn by your features. In your eyes, even an archery range became an experiment, a mystery to untangle. You sighed and turned to face the targets, nocking the arrow and drawing the bowstring back to touch your chin. Childe watched as you adjusted your aim, mentally evaluating your form, then let the arrow fly. He let out a low whistle of appreciation when it hit the centre with a satisfying thunk.

“Clearly your aim is more than just passable,” he remarked with an excited glint in his eye that you didn’t quite like.

“Accuracy is all I have,” you replied with a shrug, lowering the bow and gently pressing your fingers into the indent the bowstring left in your chin, perfectly aligned with the barely-visible scar there. You’d forgotten how tender the skin could get. “I doubt I can still hit a moving target, for one.”

“But you can get the bullseye every time?”

“Not every time,” you corrected, making your way to the target to pull the bow out of the wood. The painted dragon really was a masterpiece, and you took a moment to admire it before heading back to the archers’ stand. Childe grinned and followed after you, bow temporarily forgotten.

“So most times then?” He pressed, trailing closely behind you.

“Where are you going with this, Eleven?”

“I still think we should spar,” he replied brightly, so close he was practically breathing down your neck. “We’ll make it so that if you manage to shoot me even once, I go down, or we could”-

You twisted around to poke his chest with the fletching of the arrow, cutting him off. “No.”

“Please?” He implored, rounding on you whatever direction you turned to avoid him. “Please, please, please?”

“No!” You repeat, louder and with the full force of your irritation. “I’m not dying before I get this damned certificate!”

There was a beat of silence as he stared at you, slightly aghast. “You think I’d kill you?”

“…I don’t think you’d do so on purpose, no,” you conceded, taking out your pocket watch. “But your strength exceeds mine to the point where fearing for my life in a duel wouldn’t be unreasonable.”

“It is unreasonable to assume I’d ever hurt you,” Childe groused, continuing to block your path every time you tried to move past him. “Stop trying to get away,” he added, bending over to pinch your cheek. You stared at him, utterly at a loss for words, then quickly smacked his hand away with an irate grumble.

“I need to get away, I still have lab work to do.”

Childe flapped his hand as if physically shooing away the idea. “You work too hard, Trixy. Take a break.”

“And what do you think this little exercise was?”

“A chance to impress me with your archery skills, of course,” he replied without missing a beat, wiggling his eyebrows teasingly. You rolled your eyes with a quiet huff of laughter, pushing past him, and he dutifully followed after you.

“You’re not very difficult to impress, are you?” You teased back.

Only when it comes to you, he thought wistfully.

* ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊˚** ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊˚** ੈ✩‧₊˚*

taglist:

@viridian-coffer, @vvzhyxx, @darifes, @whore-of-many-hot-men

@aenishas, @lovel3tter, @randomidk-123, @autistic-deer

@luvenus702, @zoriaisasimp, @ra404, @crownohomo

@diamondcookie45

if i missed you somehow please message me directly, bold means i’m having trouble tagging you! to be added or removed please comment on the masterlist post of this series <3

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tsspromptmonth · 6 days

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Cafe Menu Drop!

Hey Babes, we'll be hiring baristas next week starting on the 21st, so watch out for my truly insufferable number of posts about that. On that day we'll post a link so you can send in your application or like whatever.

Now since this is a cafe we figured y'all would want a menu, but like fanfic has so many options so this is just the basics, more will probably come.

Important Deet: Our baristas can't work for free and you pay in comments! Writers are needy bitches who need encouragement. Our hand-crafted stories will run you 1 comment per 100 words, so for a 500 word request, you'll 'pay' in 5 comments on any Sanders Sides story.

The Sleepy Bean Café serves up a range of story sizes: you get to request the size you're craving! The biggest size the machine can handle is a quintuple shot: 5000 words. (That's 50 comments for you big spenders out there!) Sometimes, our baristas are having such a blast mixing up your request that they add a little extra and go over the size of your original request. Consider that a bonus and the managers will look the other way.

Full text under 'read more'

Our baristas think they're creative and might add a little somethin extra from the menu, so if there's anything you just can't stand, better tell us up front.

And for all you barista hopefuls, six days til the hiring process begins. I'm gonna need a lot of bitches to make all these drinks.

~Remy XX

Sleepy Bean Fanfic Cafe Menu

More options available by request.

Drinks (Setting or AU)

Brewed Coffee = Canon Verse Steamed Milk = Soulmates Latte = Human AU Hot Chocolate = Parental AU Herbal Tea = Magic AU (Modern day or fantasy) Machiatto = Time Travel Cappuccino = Gods AU Green Tea = Merpeople

Milk (Tone)

Skim = Hurt/No comfort 2% Milk = Hurt/Comfort Heavy Cream = Fluff Oat Milk = Ambiguous ending Coconut = Crack taken seriously Olive Oil = Crack

Syrup (Characters)

Starfruit = Janus Loganberry = Logan Peach = Patton Kiwi = Remus Cherry = Roman Cranberry = Virgil

Toppings (Tropes)

Whipped cream = Only one Bed Caramel drizzle = Childhood Best Friends Chocolate sauce = Fake Dating/Marriage Chopped nuts = Arranged Marriage Burnt sugar = Time Loop Chocolate Shavings = Mutual Pining Honey = Sick Fic Cinnamon = Enemies to Lovers Nutmeg = Love after Loss Blended = Found Family

All drinks are 1 comment per 100 words with a 500 word minimum.

Specials

The Serpent God

A cappuccino with 2% milk, starfruit, and crushed raspberries. (Gods AU, hurt/comfort, featuring Janus, and hiding a fatal injury.)

Space Jam

A boba with starfruit, kiwi & Loganberry jellies, blended with honey. (Space AU with Janus, Remus, & Logan, found family sick fic.)

Peach Berry Sweet Treat

Peach/Loganberry Cobbler Latte, with ginger cookie crumbles. (Human AU, only one of them knows they are dating with romantic Logicality.)

Melting Clocks Crumble

A macchiato with burnt sugar topped with whipped cream. (A time travel AU with only one bed, time loops and a choice of characters.)

Lost in Space

Boba tea with steamed skim milk, kiwi/peach boba. (Soulmate Space AU, romantic Intruality, hurt no comfort.)

Winter's Comfort

A mocha with 2% milk, topped with caramel drizzle, nutmeg, and chocolate shavings, syrup to taste. (Parental human AU, hurt/comfort, childhood best friends, mutual pining, and love after loss, any characters.)

A Classic

Herbal tea, with 2% steamed milk. (Human magic AU, hurt/comfort, any characters.)

Cinnamon Sunrise

Steamed milk with cinnamon. (Human AU, with enemies to lovers. Your choice of characters, tone, and tropes.)

#sanders sides #tsspromptmonth #fanfic cafe #the sleepy bean fanfic cafe is open for business in november #the sleepy bean fanfic cafe #sasi

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firegirl888101 · 1 year

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Insatiable Madness (6)

|Sagau Yandere Fatui Harbingers x Reader|

And so they remain in this world for longer than what they planned.

Reader is Gender Neutral!

"What gave you the idea I can tell the future?" You scoffed.

"That doesn't matter! Tell me, do I become the strongest? Does Lord Capitano finally recognise my strength and duel me?" He answered.

"How am I supposed to know? The game isn't even finished, you psychopath!"

"It can't be that far away that even you don't know." He scoffed.

"It's not a question of how far in the future it is, it's whether I can actually answer it or not that matters!"

"Oh, so you do know but you just can't tell me because it would mess with the future! I see..." He muttered to himself.

That is not what I meant.

"Tartaglia leave the poor Decider alone. We've tormented them enough." Pulcinella scolded, prodding his walking stick at the ginger.

"But I need to know!--"

"-And you will learn what you want later, when The Tsaritsa has finished her plans with them." He scolded.

"Come on, boy, I thought I taught you better than this."

"Dottore what is taking so long!? I was promised we wouldn't stay here much longer." Sandrone raised her voice.

Why is that cosplayer so pissy? It's not like she can actually 'traverse back to Teyvat' like she says she can.

"I'm not sure, let me redo my calculations." He replied.

All Sandrone did was groan in response. "Fine! You do your calculations, I'm taking The Decider with me."

"Don't stray too far!" Columbina waved, giggling at The Doctor's increasing speed in shuffling his papers.

You felt her grab you by your restraints and drag you with her, she seemed to be heading behind the counter.

"Now that I have your undivided attention," She coughed into her hand. "Educate me about these beautiful machines this place has!"

"What."

"I have never seen machinery so big and so seemingly illustrious in my lifetime! You simply must report to me which genius created such pleasing creations."

Careful there Sandrone, out of context it sounds like you're describing something else...

"Well..." How were you supposed to explain them? You didn't know how they work, you've never worked a day in your life! You're just a college student with barely passable grades.

"I don't want any hesitancy. Speak now." She glared.

"Uh... This one! This one is used for frying things, the things being chips... They're more commonly known as fries though."

"Ah, I see... And I suppose the liquid in this 'basin' is oil?" She questioned, tracing her hand on the metal.

"It's not a basin, that would be in a bathroom... But yes, it is. I also advise that you don't touch it, it's most likely still hot. Not that I'd mind it burning you..."

"What did you say, you unrisable creature?" She spat, turning to you with a blank gaze.

"Nothing, Sandrone." You sighed. "Now that I answered your question, will you answer one of mine?"

"Of course not. It's also 'Lady Sandrone' to you." She smiled, turning back to the oil with a look of interest.

"So... how does one make and then 'fry' these 'chips' in this machine?"

"Would you like the basics or the very start of the process?" You sighed, you really didn't want to explain that you cut a potato and then clean and so on.

"The very start, just who do you take me for?"

Fantastic. You shouldn't really be picky in this type of situation though.

"You take a potato, clean it then cut it into strips..."

"Important! Thin or thick strips? What's the exact diameter? The length?"

"It depends what type of chips you want, as typical fast food chain's ones are thin like fries they're quite thin and short. Those who get long ones are said to be the luckiest." You explained to her, as she writes everything down on a piece of paper.

"And the diameter?"

"You don't need a specific size, as long as they're somewhat equal they're fine. They're going to be eaten anyway, I don't see why you're making such a big fuss."

She stayed quiet for a moment. "I want them to be perfect."

Nothing is perfect but if I said that she'd get even more pissed off.

"Next, you take your clean cut chips and put them in this basket. You then place the basket with chips in the oil and wait for a certain amount of time for them to cook."

"For how long?" She questioned. "I don't know? I've never personally used one before, I'm just saying what I've seen others do."

...and by 'seen what others do', you mean impatiently peering behind the front desk to see what the workers are up to.

"Useless, and here I thought you were becoming convenient for me." Sandrone scoffed.

"Well, the chips are supposed to be a golden colour so I think that's context enough..." You mumbled.

"And then what? Surely there is more."

"Not really, once they're cooked you put salt on them then eat. Some like to eat them straight away, but I like to add sauce sometimes."

"Excellent, I have written every word of your explanation down. As you provided the least minimal detail possible, you will show me a clear and explained demonstration." She scolded.

"I'm sorry, you want me to use one of these machines to help you with your notes?"

"Precisely." She nodded to herself.

"No." You answered shortly. "I have no idea how to operate one of these machines, what if I set fire to the building?"

That's a bit dramatic, but you don't want to embarrass yourself. Besides, a fire could count as arson and you weren't willing to potentially get yourself to prison with the rest of these lunatics.

"I suppose that is anxiety raising. Especially when I've been ordered to stay out of public eye..." She sighed to herself.

"What a dilemna this situation is. I'll have to take the machine apart and rebuild it once I return to my lab. You will aid me in my endeavour, won't you?" She glared.

She's good at staying in character. It's freaking me out.

"S-Sure..." You stuttered in fear.

"Excellent." She smiled at you once more.

Suddenly, lots of cars could be heard from outside the building. You could tell they were fast as the sounds left as soon as they came.

Oh, please tell me that's help!

"What was--"

"Marionette, bring The Decider now!" Dottore shouted from the other room. "We need to get out of here, they alerted their own soldiers!"

"You did what while under my merciful eye?" She turned to you.

"Sandrone, there's no time to be mad! Get your puppeteering arse over here right now!"

"Ugh."

She dragged you to the rest of the harbingers, who all gave you nasty glares.

"What did you do!?" Signora screamed in your face.

"I called the authorities to arrest you nutcases! You're all delusional and high in the fucking sky if you think you're the actual Fatui Harbingers from a fictional game!"

"Did it ever occur to you that you are currently being held hostage by multiple enemies of yours? You have courage to do such a thing while captured by us." Capitano praises.

"We have circled the entire building! Give the hostage and we will arrest peacefully!" An officer yelled from the front entrance.

Finally! I thought they'd never arrive.

"Dottore what do we do?" Arlecchino shouts at him. "Let's just kill them all again, it worked before didn't it?" Childe grinned.

"Not this time, Tartaglia. Even if we disposed of these soldiers, I am positive more would soon arrive." Capitano stated, unmoving unlike most harbingers.

"So you're saying even if we take care of them, we'll still be outnumbered."

"They're not soldiers, idiots. They're police officers who work for justice." You spat at them.

They all looked at you, silently telling you to shut up then turned back to eachother.

"Listen to me, as I'll only suggest this once." Signora thought outloud. "I'll freeze them with my cryo delusion, then we'll run to a safe place? As much as I'd hate to do that as I'm wearing heels, I believe it's our only option."

"I agree with Rosalyne," The old man coughed. "We need speed and tactiful thinking if we wish to leave this world."

"Signora, I've never known you to be so vague!" Childe laughed at her, looking at Pulcinella in hopes he'll laugh along with him.

"She's obviously talking about the park we entered this world in." Arlecchino scoffed at his behaviour.

"Then that is what we shall do." Pierro agreed.

Signora then pushed herself through the double doors calmly. You couldn't see what was happening due to Capitano covering your view, but you could hear screams and hysterical laughter.

"Please don't tell me she's killing them." You muttered, a look of repulsion present on your face.

"Did you even listen to her plan? She's not killing anyone." Sandrone rolled her eyes.

"I don't trust you, nor do I trust her."

"A wise decision on your part, but it doesn't aide your case of being kidnapped." Pierro answered for her.

"I'm aware of that, arsehole..." You whispered. "Pardon?" He glared.

"You know what? I've had enough of staying quiet. Fuck every single one of you! I hope that one day you breathe a vapes' cancerous flavour and your lungs dissolve at the second!"

"What's a vape?" Dottore turned to you.

"Okay, maybe I've been assuming too much, maybe you imported some illegal drugs from elsewhere? That's not the point though." You sighed.

"I feel better now that I got that out of my chest." You smiled to yourself, noticing Capitano giving you a blank stare through his mask in return.

"It certainly doesn't help you, but you do what you deem fit."

"Let's move!" Signora's voice could faintly be heard from outside, the harbingers one by one leaving the building through the doors.

"Apologies." Capitano coughed into his hand, picking you up and throwing you over his shoulder.

"Hey! I can walk myself, you tied my wrists together not my ankles!" You argued to him.

"Does it look like he wants you over your shoulder?" Scaramouche rolled his eyes, before realising something.

"Nevermind, you wouldn't be able to see." He laughed in your face, hitting your head which banged against Capitano's back.

"Dude! Careful, I don't want to be near his arse! Besides, I--"

You stopped yourself from talking when you managed to turn your head to the police officers outside. They looked in terrible condition, you thought Signora was being drugged up when she went on about her cryo delusion!

Seeing the police officers shout to each other as they struggle against the ice freezing them in place made you realise one very important thing.

These cosplayers... They're the real fucking deal.

How do we feel about some bonding time with Sandrone? :>

I don't want the reader to be too quiet about their situation, but I just wanted to make it clear that they're afraid since they're aware of the current situation they're in. I'm not exactly sure how I'm going to write this but I suppose thats what practice is for...

Please don't expect too many happy, nice and generally fluffy scenes.

This is Yandere, a genre which should never, under any circumstance be considered normal. It's abusive, unhealthy and leads to a lot of victims facing awful conditions which they never should or ever have to endure no matter who they are.

This is fiction that I'm writing, meaning it's all taken light-heartedly IN A FICTIONAL SENSE.

If anyone, by chance, is currently in conditions where a loved-one or yourself has suddenly become distant and/or being hurt when away from eyes please get help. Talk to them, or if it's you, talk to someone you know you can trust.

If you can't talk to anyone, find authorities who can help you. Call 999, as it is in the U.K, or your local emergency service. They will always help you, and will never deny your rights or freedom.

Thanks for reading this, I hope all who's reading knows this information already, but I thought I'd include it since who knows when it comes to where you are in the world and whether your education programs taught critical information like this.

✨Elusive✨ Taglist!:

@valeriele3 @pale-value @pix-stuff @yumi-genshin-writer @yuii-v @itz-luna @annoying-mary @etherisy @khalhaimdad @haikyuusboringassmanager @magica-ren @sweatyexpertdeputyduck @booksandteaplusart @9140 @whatamidoing89 @raesleepyhead @nasidibakar @shikanosn @purpleamethystsblog @chihawari @esthelily @stuffyfrenchflowers @conspicuous-mayonnaise @sielt @katsumikumo @greyhoundwires707 @carminerin @raidendeeznuts123 @angelofdarkness2

Quick Reminder Here! If you no longer want to be on the taglist that's completely fine; I take no offence whatsoever so please don't hesitate to tell me. ^^

392 notes · View notes

rottenpumpkin13 · 3 months

Note

I can't remember if you were the one who made the gag that Cloud, being from a mountain town, can handle extremely low temperatures without any issue. I have a question!

What happens if Cloud GETS a cold?

• When Cloud gets a cold, suddenly everyone is a licensed physician with at least 20 years of medical practice. Angeal is the first to notice Cloud's unusual sniffing, runny nose and sneezing.

Angeal: I know just what you need.

*He makes Cloud a soup that smells like Zack's fermented socks*

Angeal: Don't worry, this soup will cure you instantly. It's an old recipe back in Mideel, mothers make it for their sick children.

Cloud: What's in it?

Angeal: Banora White apples, chocobo feet, the dirt from your healthiest plant, chocobo liver, coffee beans, chocobo wings, vinegar, chocobo breast, spoiled milk, chocobo tongue, ginger root, chocobo bones, mushrooms, chocobo—

Cloud: WHAT DID YOU DO TO THE CHOCOBO??

• Zack is the second to notice Cloud's chills and shivering.

Zack: I know just what you need.

*Zack wraps him in 13 fluffy white blankets, making a Cloud burrito, and leads him towards the stairs*

Zack: Isn't it cozy? Let's take the stairs so no one makes fun of you.

*He leaves Cloud on the edge of the stairs and turns around to tie his shoes*

Zack: I'm telling you, Cloud, you'll warm up in no time!

*Zack turns around, Cloud is gone*

Zack: CLOUD? CLOUD!

*Meanwhile Sephiroth is taking the stairs in an effort to be healthy, and is knocked down by a giant marshmallow*

• Genesis is the third to notice Cloud's clogged nose and inability to breathe, and knows exactly what to do.

*Genesis leads Cloud to his office, where he set up a smoke machine to diffuse essential oils*

Cloud: *cough* This is a lot of smoke *cough*

Genesis: Trust the process, Cloud, inhale the—

*Lazard beats the door down*

Lazard: ARE YOU SMOKING WEED IN HERE?

Genesis:

• Lastly, Sephiroth notices how sick Cloud is and tries to help with a remedy from his childhood.

*Sephiroth hands Cloud some pills*

Cloud: I'm not so sure about this...

Sephiroth: Trust me, Professor Hojo used to give them to me whenever I was sick, and I turned out fine.

Cloud: No the fuck you did not.

Sephiroth: .....

Sephiroth: Just take the pills.

*Cloud reluctantly takes the pills*

Cloud: Huh.... nothing happened. I was expecting to be turned into a—

*Cloud faints and is out cold*

Sephiroth:

Sephiroth: Perhaps it would've been wise to mention that Hojo used to sedate me when I was ill.

#ff7 #ffvii #final fantasy 7 #sephiroth #final fantasy vii #genesis rhapsodos #angeal hewley #zack fair #crisis core #cloud strife

79 notes · View notes

nikethestatue · 11 months

Text

A Match Baked In Heaven

Part II Here

Part III

Gold On the Ceiling

Two and a half hours later, and the headquarters of Marigold Agency were decked out in Halloween finery like it was Harrods or something.

Ri-di-cu-lous.

While Azriel hauled the larger pumpkins under his arms, and then the boxes with the smaller ones, Elain threw herself with unbridled enthusiasm into arranging them: on the steps to the carriage house, and the stoop, and everywhere else.

Pinky rushed from one end of the corridor to the other, following Azriel back and forth, as many times as he had to make the trip. That dog was a machine. He didn’t get tired, or even winded, just running back and forth, his tongue lolling about. He possessed Elain’s levels of excitement over this ‘project’. He was absolutely not needed, but he felt that he was playing an integral part in the decorations, just by running around and spinning in circles with insane excitement.

There were antique lanterns, fake spiders, skeletons, dried flowers artfully arranged between the cascading display of pumpkins and gourds.

Once the last of the decorations were finally dragged out of the cellar, Azriel went outside and stood in front of the house. His arms folded on his chest, his brow furrowed, his expression serious, he assessed the work that they’ve done.

Elain backed away from the stairs and stood beside him, while Pinky rushed from the house needing to be the centre of attention and parked between the two of them, looking up at the house.

Elain's house as decorated by her and Azriel and Piglet

“You like it, baby boy?” Elain asked softly, and for one absurd moment, Azriel thought that she was addressing him.

“Yeah I like it,” he said, catching himself too late and remaining standing frozen in place and mortified.

She looked up at him and a small smile splayed her pink lips.

“Well, I am glad,” was her reaction, though he knew that she caught his slip. “And, thank you, Mr. Night. Really. You’ve been an immense help.”

Suddenly, he felt uncomfortable…like he stepped into a different world where he didn’t belong. While they were decorating, and he was running in and out of the house, it was…nice. Even easy between the two of them. He joked. She laughed. The dog…well, it did whatever that dog did. But now the magic was no more–back to reality.

“No problem,” he answered tersely.

He didn’t know what else to say to her now.

She reached out and took him by the elbow.

“Come on,”

“Are we going to do the matchmaking stuff?” he asked, sounding rude even to himself. “I mean, if we aren’t then I got things to do.”

Elain nodded once, and said, “we are”. It was pretty obvious that she also felt the instant alienation between the two of them. “Please go ahead and make yourself comfortable in my office. I will be right back.”

He shrugged and didn’t argue, walking back to the carriage house. He found the loo, pissed, washed his hands, attempted to make sense of his thick black hair, and failed. His stomach rumbled, reminding him that he hadn’t eaten anything since the meat pie. He still had two left and he still considered giving Elain one, though he wasn’t sure if it was the right thing to do. He didn’t like blurring lines. It was unhealthy and did nobody any good.

He went back to the office where they’d met yesterday and sat in the same chair. His arms felt tense after dragging 100 pumpkins up and down the stairs and he stretched, trying to settle himself and wondering what the next step in this whole torturous process will be. She’d probably send him to take an STI test. Though probably not–she was too uppity and uptight for that. Was she a virgin? No, that ginger bloke probably wouldn’t have left her one. The memory of the ginger bloke made him grimace and then he wondered why the hell was he thinking about her like that? It wasn’t his business and he shouldn’t have been thinking about her in this manner. But he couldn’t help it. She was sexy in that ‘stern librarian’ kind of a way–where he suspected that behind the veneer of propriety and pearls lived a wild little vixen. She was bossy and demanding in her job, probably her life too, but he wondered whether in bed, she might like to submit, let go of control, enjoy the pleasure of acquiescence. He wondered if she’d allow him to take her body and make it his, in all the ways that he wanted, and in the way she’d love it.

He barely tore himself away from his wandering thoughts, which frankly, were making his dick more solid than was prudent and was faced with a huffing pug, who looked like he was smiling at him.

“Are you ready for a night out on the town?” Azriel laughed, seeing as Pinky was now back to wearing a large green satin bow.

He heard Elain inside the carriage house, the soft clicking of her heels–apparently it wasn’t only the pug who got ‘dressed’–and the clanking of glass and…he wasn’t sure how to describe it, but it was nice. It was proper somehow, for him to be here, in this warm place, after an afternoon of doing marginally physical work with Elain. Decorating the house. It was nice.

He laced his hands behind his head and closed his eyes.

‘Home’ was an elusive concept to Azriel Night, who bounced between group homes and foster families until he was well into his teens. Then the late adoption, but he and Cassian and their cousin Rhys were shipped off to a boarding school and that was hardly ‘homey’. At 17, he began playing football professionally and his schooling effectively ended. He rented his first flat back then, which felt very adult. But ‘home’--he wasn’t sure about that. Never did have one.

“Mr. Night, I thought I'd make lunch,” somehow, Elain slipped into the office and he didn’t hear her. He might have dozed off for a few moments. He opened his eyes and watched Ms. Archeron, the matchmaker extraordinaire, dressed in her professional uniform. Gone was the girl in faded jeans and with a messy pile of hair. This Elain’s hair was arranged over her shoulder, brushed and curled, and she was dressed in a knee-skimming cream dress and a green cardigan which matched Pinky’s bow. Yep, she was certifiably insane–she matched her pug’s bows to her dresses. Of course there was the 3-strand pearl necklace around her neck and pearl earrings in her ears.

But Azriel didn’t tease her about it. She was a peculiar girl, no doubt about that. All he said was, “you look nice, Ms. Archeron”.

She offered him a shy smile, and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

“Thank you, Mr. Night. I took it upon myself to reheat the meat pies,” she explained, a little scrambled and out of sorts. It was like she was shy or something. “And here is tea,” she poured him a cup. “Some salads–Cheddar and pickle, and egg salad…”

It was only then that Azriel realised why she was so fussy and not herself. Her eyes kept darting towards him–his stomach, to be precise. As he still held his arms behind his head, his henley had ridden up his stomach, and he sported a decent amount of bare skin–she could see some of his abs and the deep hip dent, which apparently made her chew the inside of her cheek, while she prepared the tea. At that, Azriel smirked. She didn’t notice it. But he figured that he’d tease her for a little while longer, so he didn’t drop his arms and only moved his torso, baring his navel and a dusting of hair just above his jeans. Enjoy, sweetheart.

“I’ll eat only if you join me, Ms. Archeron,” he warned. “And thanks for making the food!”

“Well, you helped me so much today. I appreciate it. Otherwise, I’d have to do it with my sisters, and trust me, my sister Nesta is not one for lugging pumpkins or decorating.”

With that, Elain visibly shuddered. Azriel laughed softly.

“Glad to be of help.”

Then, he looked at her, and made a snap decision. He was going to go for it.

“Please enjoy one of the pies, Ms. Archeron,” he said with a brief exhale. It’s been a while since he’d shared his food with anyone. A long while.

He piled his plate with salads and pie, and watched Elain do the same. She, of course, was all dainty about it, but there wasn’t a pretty way to eat a meat pie.

“We’ll need to discuss your mating criteria,” Elain said between bites, and Azriel groaned.

“Not that again!”

“Yes. That. I don’t know what you want to call it–preferences? Is that acceptable?”

“Yes, this is better. Let’s call it ‘preferences’,” he agreed at once, as he sipped his tea.

“Alright then,” she powered on her laptop, and got all serious and business-like.

He kind of liked it when she was like that–bossy. Cute, but bossy.

“I will ask you to be vulnerable, Mr. Night,” she told him with great seriousness.

“What’s that mean?” he frowned at her words. “Also, do you have any of those nice biscuits that you gave us yesterday?”

“Yes, but you will get them after we are done with this part of the consultation.”

Pfff, he bubbled his lips, not loving that she was treating him like he was Pinky and he needed to be a ‘good boy’ to get the biscuits. But he decided to humour her.

“I’ll be vulnerable, Ms. Archeron,” he promised. “You want me to cry?”

“Hopefully not. But I might ask you questions that you are uncomfortable answering.”

“If you are going to say ‘this is a safe space’ than I am fucking leaving,” he snapped.

She gave him a displeased look, but said, “fine. At least it’s a confidential space.”

“Fine, ask away,” he leaned back into his chair and prepared for this hellish experience.

“Tell me what you look for in a woman?” Elain inquired simply.

“That’s a broad question,”

“Just throw some things at me,” she invited.

“Pretty,” he decided to go with the easiest option.

“What’s pretty to you? Tall? Short? Thin? Shapely? Rubenesque? Zaftig?”

He stared at her dumbly and then muttered, “that’s a lot of fancy words. What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Elain began, but he interrupted her and quickly said,

“I want her to look like you. Pretty, like. Big hair. Nice soft tits. Long legs. Enough to grab on to, but still thin. I don’t fancy stick-thin women–like someone with some meat on their bones.”

“So a shapely woman then,” Elain muttered and noticed how red her cheeks were.

“Yeah, I guess that’s the word. Hair–definitely like yours,” he repeated.

“What kind of hair do I have?”

“Big. Thick. Long enough to wrap around my fist,” he explained firmly.

“Mr. Night, let’s move on from me,” she ordered primly. “And discuss other attributes that you are interested in,”

“Nice breasts.”

“I made a note of that,” she mumbled under her breath.

“Kind of like yours,”

“Why are you looking at my breasts?!” she snapped.

“Well, where am I gonna look at?” Azriel opened his hands innocently. “It’s not like you don’t know that you are hot. Or is your ginger bloke not give you compliments?”

Elain stuttered, her posture stiffening.

“What ginger bloke?”

Azriel was enjoying himself, making her squirm and explain herself.

“The one you get photographed with…He looks like a sad ginger horse,”

Her eyes popped open and he could see that he touched a nerve.

“My personal life is not in question here,” she declared decisively.

He chuckled, “suppose only mine is then”.

“Yes, besides, didn’t you call me a cow yesterday?”

“Oh, well…I didn’t mean your looks!” He quickly began backtracking. “Just your…attitude.”

“Oh, indeed? I have a cow attitude then?”

“Okay, why don’t we continue talking about what I like in a bird,”

“Perhaps if you stopped calling women ‘birds’ we’d make great strides in finding you a wife,” she was shaking her head, exasperated.

“Are you Italian?” he suddenly asked.

“No, why?”

“Your patience levels are that of an Italian woman.”

She rolled her eyes and said,

“I still don’t understand what you like in terms of looks in a woman. Can we just stay on topic?”

“Yeah, alright.”

He did want to make a comment that he wasn’t the only one who was looking, and that he saw her salivating over his abs, but decided to keep that card to himself for now, and play it later. At that moment, Pinky decided that he needed attention, when he got up and rose on his one hind leg, while scratching his little front claws into Azriel’s thigh. He was panting excitedly and looking up with his big round eyes.

Azriel rubbed the dog’s round head and caught Elain watching the two of them with a frown.

“What?” he smirked at her. “Pinky here is loving on me,”

“Piglet is not loving on you!”

“Sure is. You are, aren’t you, big boy?!” Azriel cooed like an idiot, making baby voices.

Piglet whimpered and panted even louder.

“He adores me!” Azriel announced.

“No, he doesn’t,” she insisted. “He just wants you to pick him up so he could sit on your lap.”

“My lap?”

“Yeah, that’s what he likes. He liked to be cradled like a baby. He is just playing you,” she huffed with a little ‘ha!’ in the end.

“You seriously want me to hold him like a baby?”

“I don’t care what you do. That’s what he wants.”

Groaning, Azriel bent and lifted Pinky off the floor. The dog was dense and heavy, bigger and heftier than he appeared. And what did Azriel do? Yep. He held him in his arms, like a baby. Pinky planted his flat face on Azriel’s forearm and made himself comfortable for the long haul.

Elain watched all of this in silence and then, unexpectedly, she took her phone and snapped a picture.

“I’d rather not have a photo of me at a matchmaker cradling her pug out there,” Azriel gritted through his teeth, and Elain rolled her eyes so hard, he feared she wouldn’t be able to bring them back from the back of her brain.

“Firstly, give me some credit,” she hissed. “Everything here is clad in utmost confidentiality. No one will ever know that you are here. Secondly, I am not taking a photo of you!”

“Who then?”

“Piglet obviously! I run a Instagram page for him ‘The Adventures of Piglet the Pug’,”

Azriel moaned "Sweet baby Moses. Are you for real?”

“I am for real!” she said proudly. “He has 1.2 million followers and gets all kinds of endorsements and even stars in adverts. So, say what you will about me. Be mean to me,”

“I am not mean to you!” he argued immediately.

“Right. Whatever you throw at me, I can take. But don’t be mean to Piglet. He is pure. His emotions are pure. He loves wholeheartedly. He doesn’t fake anything–if he doesn’t like you, you are going to know it right away. And for whatever unfathomable reason, he took to you. So treat him with respect. And if you don’t like him, then don’t make it look like you do. Give him your honesty.”

Azriel frowned and then protectively hugged Pinky tighter to his chest. “I do like him,” he murmured quietly, without looking at her.

She sighed, half-incinerating him with her gaze, but then asked,

“What do you look for in a woman? Character-wise? What do you like? We’ll have to leave appearance preferences for now, because apparently your criteria is that she ‘looks like me’. And I don’t know how to work with that.”

“Easy,” he shrugged, “get me someone who looks like you.”

“Like I said. Moving on. Character? Disposition?”

Azriel even wrinkled his brow, thinking hard about the question.

Elain waited patiently.

He noticed that she had polished off the meat pie, and was now drinking tea, while getting all misty-eyed over her snoring dog in his lap.

“Nice,” was Azriel’s final verdict.

“Nice what?”

“I want the wife to be nice,” he clarified.

“Nice?” she repeated looking utterly lost.

“Yeah, I’d like a nice wife. Not dramatic. Not bitchy. No nagging. Nice.”

“Could you please expand on ‘nice’ a bit?”

“I dunno what else to tell you, lady. Nice is nice.”

He thought for another moment, and then added, “Like you. Nice.”

“Me?”

“Yeah. You are pretty fucking nice, when you are not being a rager. So yeah. Like you. Nice. Homey.”

Rubbing the bridge of her nose, Elain pressed, “Let’s then expand on ‘homey’. What does that mean to you?”

He made a wide sweep with his arm and said firmly, “this. This is homey. I ain’t ever had a home when it’s been like this. Nice and cosy, with a fire and a dog and a woman. So this. This is what I want.

“I want a nice woman, and a nice home.”

“So a housewife?”

“Nah, I don’t want no housewife. I want someone career-minded, who knows who she is and has her own interests and shit. I don’t want a Stage 5 Clinger.”

“A Stage 5 Clinger…”

“Yeah, you know, a sports’ groupie. Fucks any athlete hoping she’d get knocked up and he’d marry her.”

“O-kay…Remember how we discussed language?”

“Yeah. But I ain’t dating you, so we are fine. We are mates, aren’t we?”

“Yeah, Mr. Night, I am not going to go as far as ‘mates’. You are my client.”

“So mates then.”

Elain glazed at her monitor and said, “Alright, Mr. Night. I do have another appointment in 45 minutes. We will need to resume this at a later date.

“Meanwhile, I will ponder on your requirements of ‘pretty and nice’--as eye-opening as they are.”

“I don’t understand why you are complaining exactly,” Azriel wondered. “I just gave you the blueprint of what I want in a wife.”

“Yeah, your blueprint is ‘pretty and nice’. Oh, and how can I forget ‘nice soft tits’.”

“Nice soft tits are a must,” he nodded. “She should bake too.”

“Uh-uh. Of course. Your feminism game is strong.”

"Hey lady, I am a feminist! I actually organised and coaching a girls' football team in my spare time. So girls can participate in sports and play, build teams and relationships. I think it's very important. And I pay for the whole thing as well by myself. And Cass teaches them self-defence."

Elain stared at him, absolutely shocked.

Wasn't he the 'orgy guy' who fucked his way through sports groupies and didn't have a care in the world?

He was volunteering and coaching a girls' team?

"Are you trying to impress me, Mr. Night?"

He huffed, "I don't care what you think of me. Pretty sure you got your opinion all nice and set and wrapped in a shiny bow. Ain't gonna make no different what I tell you."

"That's not true. We have these meetings in order for me to learn more about you, so I can build a robust profile. And I appreciate you sharing this part of your life with me. This is impressive."

"Like I said, I care about women and women's rights--I am your regular Duke of Velaris," he winked, "but it don't mean that I don't want a wife with nice tits who can bake and make a home."

"I'll keep that in mind."

“What should I do with your giant sleeping pug in my arms? Considering that you are throwing me out of the house now.”

“I am not throwing you out!” she protested, blushing furiously.

“So you want me to stay?” he asked immediately.

“No!”

“So you are throwing me out?!”

All flustered, Elain stood up, smoothing her dress over her lovely hips and said,

“I am not throwing you out. I just have another client coming over. If you can, please take Piglet to the lounge and put him in his bed, but not the pouffe. He can fall off the pouffe when he is sleeping.”

“Christ Almighty. Should I breastfeed him as well?” Azriel grunted, as he got up from the chair, gingerly balancing the sleeping dog in his embrace and lifting himself clumsily, so as not to wake Pinky up.

Elain trailed after him, but stayed behind in the kitchen while he arranged the pug in his wide luxurious bed.

“All taken care of,” Azriel reported, returning to the kitchen. “He looked very comfortable.”

“Thank you,” she whispered, and then suddenly handed him a small paper bag.

“What’s that?”

“The biscuits. As promised. We won’t have time for tea today, but…here they are.”

Azriel took the bag wordlessly and looked down at this odd, contradictory girl.

It’s been a weird day and he suddenly realised that he spent most of it with her and he didn’t mind it.

“Should I make another appointment then?” he asked at last, when the silence between them stretched to uncomfortable.

Elain snapped out of it and nodded frantically, with way too much enthusiasm.

“Yes! Sorry.”

“Might need your number for it,” he told her.

“Umm,”

“Don’t know my schedule by heart,” he explained. “Training. Then I have games all through the weekend. I’ll have to ring you and set something up. Unless you have everything you need from me?”

Quickly, she said, “no, there needs to be further conversations. And if you may, please come better prepared next time. ‘Nice and good’ is not exactly a great criteria for me to go by…Though I am beginning to have some ideas about who I might match you with.”

Azriel handed her his phone wordlessly and jerked his chin.

“Input your number,” he ordered.

While Elain did that, he said, his voice quiet,

“Or you don’t need to find me nobody.”

She looked up at him and asked, “230 million is no nevermind to you then?”

“It ain’t about the money. I can just marry you,” he proposed. “The offer stands, you know.”

“I am not marrying you, Mr. Night,” Elain said calmly. “Besides, I am annoying, a cow and a rager. You sure you want to be wed to me?”

“Yeah, you are,” he nodded solemnly. “But nobody is perfect. Look at it this way–it would do wonders for your business. Because you’d be a matchmaker who is actually, you know, married! Gives you some credibility. That you can actually bag a husband yourself and not just peddle them to strangers.”

“Wow. You’ve just insulted every single thing that I am and do. All in one sentence. Congratulations.”

“Listen, I am just telling it like it is,”

“Of course you are.”

“You don’t want to come off as the Crazy Pug Lady. And you are knocking on that door loud and clear, lassie.”

“Ahhh and what are you? My prince? My knight in shining armour who comes to rescue me from my wretched spinsterhood?”

“Something like that,” he agreed graciously. “Only I’ll be wanting something in return now,”

“Ahh, and what might that be?”

“The offer of ‘no conjugals’ was yesterday’s offer. Now, when I marry you, it’s full on consummation.”

At that, Elain gasped softly and stepped back.

“Don’t worry, Ms. Archeron,” Azriel chuckled. “I am not the ravishing type. Like I said, conjugals upon marriage.”

“It sounds more like a prison sentence,” she grimaced. “Thankfully, said conjugals won’t be coming to pass. Here is your phone,” she handed it back to him. “When you are free, ring me up.”

“That’s it? Just like that. A cold hard dismissal of my proposal?” he laughed.

“You might have to work on your proposals. Like you have to work on your language. And your manners. And your courting skills. You have a ways’ to go.”

Azriel took his jacket out of the closet and winked at her.

“Bye for now, Crazy Pug Lady. Give my regards to Pinky.”

Elain smooshed her lower lip between her fingers, looking at him, and then commanded, “Put that scarf on.”

“What?”

“Put the scarf on. I don’t want you to catch a chill.”

He took her scarf and wrapped it around his neck. “I’ll give it back to you next time,” he promised, thinking that just like that, he had an excuse to come back here.

“Can’t wait.”

#elriel #pro elriel #elriel fanfic #elain archeron #azriel #azriel and elain #elain #elain x azriel #a match baked in heaven #my writing #my fanfiction #acotar fanfiction #acotar fic #chapter 3 #weekly update

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ultronmachine · 1 year

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cnyazhongmachinery · 2 years

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damianstarastrology · 6 months

Text

astrology x stardew valley

a brief overview of the astrological signs and houses through the lense of Stardew Valley

first house/aries is the player; player's name, hairstyle/color, clothing, farm name, eye color.

second house/taurus is the farm and its natural resources; the trees, stone, logs, and fiber. basic tools and fifty parsnips seeds, the furniture in your house.

third house/gemini is the town, the villagers, townspeople, cliques, dialogue.

fourth house/cancer is the house, house upgrades, grandpa/grandpa's shrine. kitchen and cooking. weather and season.

fifth house/Leo is the festivals, love interests, love lives of the villagers past and present. saloon, arcade games, food and drink. movies artwork and score

sixth house/virgo is your pet, farm animals, garden, horse, and basic skill sets; fishing, foraging, mining, farming (am I missing one?) combat and items collected from. boxes, storage, sheds, barns, coops. greenhouse. cave. fruit trees. traveling cart

seventh house/libra is your best friends (eight+ hearts), marriage partner, children. furnished home and decor, wallpaper/flooring catalog.

eighth house/scorpio is any processing machines; egg/cheese presses, casks, kegs, oil makers, crystalariums, sewing machine, etc. upgraded tools. shrine of illusions. dark shrine of selfishness

ninth house/sagittarius is skull cavern/desert, casino, ginger island, completed community center + museum, movie theater, qi quests, golden walnuts. pirates and pirate ship. sandy and leo.

tenth house/capricorn is concernedape himself, updates, and accomplishments including perfection. gold balance. the jojamart route. late game upgrades like pierre's missing shopping list and magic bait. iridium star wine

eleventh house/aquarius is the fanbase, streamers, mods and modders. stardew wiki also falls here. total earnings.

twelfth house/pisces is exploits, hidden statues, and easter-eggs. late game shortcuts. krobus and linus. haunted chocolatier

#stardew valley #astrology #astrology notes #mundane astrology #astrology observations #astrology community #aaries #aries #taurus #cancer #gemini #scorpio #aquarius #capricorn

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annab-nana · 2 years

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🐚 by the sea shore 🐚 - ohhh can i please have these two prompts

“Looks like we’ll be trapped for a while…”

“I think I’m in love with you and I’m terrified.”

from the a prompt list with natasha romanoff? thank you so much! <33

of course babe!! yw :))

❀ masterlist ❀

"no," you muttered as you tried to turn the doorknob every which way to get it to open, but it wouldn't budge, "fuck."

"what happened?" nat was no idiot and could clearly tell what had occurred, but she was hoping for more explanation.

"you know how bruce 'fixed' the doorknob?" nat hummed in response so you continued, "well, as smart as he is, i think he needs to stick to his phd's and let tony or clint handle the fixing. oh wait-" the knob loosened, but not in the way you had hoped. you turned to show her the knob, not attached to the door anymore and still in your hand.

"great and we can't call anyone because service sucks down here," nat mentioned, you nodding along with her. you two had come down to do the laundry since it was your turn on the rotation you guys had. you and nat had finished switching the first load to the dryer and adding a new load to the washing machine, but now were stuck in the laundry room.

"and most everyone is out right now except for wanda and vision who are having a sitcom marathon in her room right now and i think bucky was asleep when we passed him in the common area so it looks like we will be trapped here for a while..." you sighed while plopping down on the floor, letting your back rest against the wall.

nat took the spot right next to you which was doing nothing to help your heart rate. the tile underneath helped to cool you down, but being this close to her made you feel like you were burning up. you tried not to think about it by keeping your gaze straight ahead of you, but you could smell her perfume and feel her beside you as her thigh just barely touched yours. it was only by a little bit, but to you, it felt like so much more.

you wanted to tell her how you felt so bad. you were just scared of her reaction. you had witnessed how she interacted with bruce and steve and bucky and sam, flirting endlessly. maybe she just has a flirtatious personality or like to flirt in general. she had treated you the same, but you felt like it was just fair treatment. with the guys, there was a more of a spark. you could see it. you knew she wouldn't laugh in your face if you did tell her, but you just couldn't bring yourself to do it.

maybe now was your chance though, right? it was just you and her. but also, if she didn't feel the same, then it would get awkward quickly. then you'd be stuck in here with her in an awkward silence until someone rescued you and there was no telling how long that would take. minutes? hours? days? who knew?

"what's on your mind, pretty girl?" the ginger piped up. she knew something important was on your mind in the way your brows had a slight furrow to them. the face you pulled when you were in deep thought was absolutely adorable to her and sometimes, you would stick your tongue out just a bit. nat loved when you did that. it was the cutest thing ever in her book.

you didn't even think about what you said. when she was around, it was too damn hard to think clearly. so you answered honestly. "i think i'm in love with you and i'm terrified." she watched you cringe as she processed what you'd said and you began to backtrack. "no, i mean- well, i- you know, haha, i, uh-"

"y/n." the way she said your name so soft and sweet had you melting right then and there, but your mortification kept you afloat and attentive.

"yeah?" you felt shaky, but your body seemed stable. you couldn't lose her and her friendship. you were too close to chance it and you idiotically confessed your feeling without a second thought. internally, you built yourself up for rejection, but her next words were far contrary to what you were expecting.

"i'm in love with you too."

you did a double take. "really?"

"i thought it was kinda obvious," she chuckled, showing the shy side of herself that didn't make an appearance often. "i flirt with you all the time."

"you flirt with everyone," you deadpanned, causing her to laugh again.

"yeah, but i flirt with you so much more than i do with anyone else. with you, i do it on purpose because i like you and it's cute when you get all flustered." you feel your cheeks heat up at her words. "yeah, like that," she stated which made you all the more flustered.

"so you like me too?" you felt like a child for asking it, but you needed the confirmation. for all you knew, this could all be a dream no matter how real it felt.

"yes, y/n, i'm in love with you too."

before you could have any type of reaction, the distinct voice of one thor odinson shouted from the other side of the door, "yes!"

you and nat both shared a confused expression as you got up and walked over to the door.

"brother, you have to be quiet for this stupid little plan of yours to work," loki's voice sounded through the door as well.

"loki?" you called.

"guys, let us out!" nat instructed, connecting the dots quicker than you did.

"we can't," peter answered. who all was in on this? "mr. stark said not to let you out until you guys kiss."

nat made eye contact with the camera that sat in the corner of the room before those green eyes met yours. her hands found your face and she looked at you, searching for confirmation even though you two just confessed your love to one another.

so, you did the honors. you surged forward quickly, way too eager to wait any longer to feel her lips on yours and it felt like a dream. you were almost tempted to ask her to pinch you just to check, but you felt too high on the feeling of finally kissing her. if only you didn't need oxygen to survive, you would kiss her forever.

you two were so stuck in your own little trance that you didn't even realize the door was now wide open. it wasn't until the guys let out whoops in congratulations that you were pulled from the daydream-like state.

"it is about damn time," pietro commented with a proud grin on his lips.

"sorry we had to trap you," peter spoke up, guilt clear on his features before you stepped up and wrapped an arm around his shoulders. you always did have a soft spot for the kid.

"i think we can forgive you. right, romanoff?" peter's wide brown eyes left you for nat who wore comforting smile, one that melted peter's worries away.

"of course. it might be the best thing you could've done for us."

"so what i'm hearing is we deserve a thank you," thor proposed, turning his head to the side to offer you his ear as he waited for what he thought he was owed.

"what i'm hearing is y'all have a door to fix," you butted in, a sly smirk on your mouth, "while nat, peter, and i go upstairs to watch that new star wars tv show. how does that sound guys?"

"wonderful to me," nat added while peter nodded eagerly.

"have fun with the door," you called over your shoulder to see three guys who definitely didn't know much about how to fix the doorknob they broke in the first place.

remember to support writers & reblog :)

turn on notifications for @annab-library to be notified when i post something new!

#anna's 5k beach bash #natashxromanovf #blurbs #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff blurbs #❀ taja ❀

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