#i.... don’t tag names on who’s talking often and I apologize for that

[halfvalid]

kitten

ABOUT

alternate title: the pet name 'kitten' is gross when used by men but it's cute when a woman nami says it

rating: general audiences

characters: live action!nami | fem!reader | live action!roronoa zoro

pairing: live action!nami x fem!reader

word count: 4.4k

description: nami is aware you've got a crush on one of the straw hats, and she's determined to find out who—but she's completely oblivious to the fact that you actually like her.

tags: strawhat!reader, female reader, fluff, kissing, confessions, no use of “y/n”, pet name "kitten", banter, absolutely tooth rotting amounts of fluff, a little bit of (affectionate) zoro slander

author’s note: i interrupt your regularly scheduled zoro fic posts to provide you with a sapphic nami oneshot instead because she is my wife and i love her dearly.

zoro accidentally popped up a bit too much in this because he's always on my mind. my apologies <3

You’d always liked astronomy. The current-world navigation had nothing to do with the stars, really; at least not when it came to the Grand Line. Unnatural magnetic fields and the odd weather was reason enough for that—but celestial navigation wasn’t even often used in any of the four quadrants. Too finicky, people would say; you know the practice had stopped being in use in the Marines years ago. 

Nami knew it all, though. She was the only one of the Straw Hats who could read the stars, the sky spreading out as a map that only her eyes could read. 

Your interest in it had always been more… artistic. While Nami babbled on about angles and reference points and sextants, you liked to talk about the planets and heavenly bodies blanketing the sky. It was dusk, and the sun was kissing the horizon good night, dull hues of pink and orange spreading alongside the sea with a golden shimmer as it tucked safely away. 

You’d been lying out on the main deck for a good few hours, stretched like a cat along a hammock you’d strung up forever ago, when you heard footsteps. 

“There you are, kitten,” Nami said with a laugh, and you sat up to appraise her. The evening glow cast fire to her orange hair, a blazing halo surrounding her head and painting her skin over in gold dust. “I’ve been looking all over for you.” 

“Hi,” you said with a soft smile. “What for?” 

“Well, for one, you missed supper.” Nami gingerly took a seat on the side of your hammock, the canvas cloth rocking from side to side with the motion. “Avoiding your crush again?” 

You let out a sigh, half-exasperated as your bottom lip sucked in between your teeth. You nibbled at the flesh there, not responding. Nami had figured out a few weeks ago that you had a crush on one of the other Straw Hats, and she brought it up every so often, although all it did was cause a crease in your brow bone and a flicker of annoyance on your face. 

“What, am I not supposed to bring that up?” Nami teased. The light shone in her crystal blue eyes, clear like the sky during midday, not a cloud in sight. “You still haven’t told me who it is.” 

“Because you’ll pull something if I do!” you protested. “Don’t try to deny it, you conniving little witch.” 

Nami gasped in mock-offense, a hand plastered to her chest. “And destroy your dignity like that? I would never.” 

“I don’t trust you,” you answered, and Nami clicked her tongue. “What did Sanji make?” 

“Fish. Soup. Rice.” 

“You’re so undescriptive,” you said with a wrinkle of your nose. Nami just laughed. 

“Not everyone can be as artistic as you, kitten. Come on, everyone left the kitchen already. You don’t have to worry about running into your mystery man.” She winked at the last sentence, and your breath caught. Nami seemed to notice, because she laughed, stepping up from the hammock and grabbing your hand to help you off. “You’re hilarious.” 

“I didn’t say anything!” you protested. Nami just gave you a look, and you rolled your eyes, but let her drag you along the ship until you reached the kitchen. “You’re so mean to me,” you said, slumping into the nearest chair available. 

“Mhm. Here.” Nami started serving up a plate, loading it full of food before passing it over to you. It was quickly joined by a bowl of soup. “Eat. We’re docking tomorrow, so you should get your energy up. We’re going shopping.” 

“Shopping for what?” you asked, bringing the bowl of soup to your lips. Seaweed. “If you say rope and boat parts I’m going to scream.” As much as you liked the pirate life, there was only so much of the technicalities you could take. You weren’t very much a practical soul, lumped in very much with Luffy when it came to your general attitude of your job description. Pirating consisted of adventure and art, in your opinion. 

“Rope and boat parts,” Nami said with a straight face. She’d always been the exact opposite, all focused on maps and making sure everything was running smoothly. “Well, only partly. I’ve been sent to go clothes shopping too. And to pick up a few other supplies.” Her eyes sparkled. “You’re coming with me, right? Well, unless you want to join your…” 

“Shut up,” you said, making a face at her as you set your bowl down. Nami just laughed. 

“Just putting it out there, kitten. I’m sure you might be more interested in going with Usopp to talk to the stevedores. Or Zoro to the local tavern. Or Sanji for the—” 

“Nope, nope, and nope. I’m going with you,” you said firmly. There was a whisper of a smile at your lips, but Nami didn’t seem to notice it. “And I still don’t get why I’m a kitten.” 

“Because,” Nami answered, propping her elbows on the table as she gazed over at you. “I’m the cat burglar. You’re the kitten.”

“Why isn’t Luffy the kitten?” 

“Luffy’s the captain, and I don’t like him as much.” Nami straightened, starting to clean up around the kitchen and load the abandoned dishes from when everyone else had eaten into the sink. You smiled at that. “You don’t like him, do you? I feel like you could do so much better.” 

“My lips are sealed,” you answered. Nami gave you a sidelong look.

“That better not be a yes.” 

You just shrugged, raising the bowl of soup again and finishing the rest of it before turning to the rice and fish. “Let’s not talk about it. What about you? Any romantic prospects—” 

Nami turned so abruptly you almost choked while eating. “I just barely started learning how to make friends. Maybe we wait a few months before we get to that,” she said. You coughed, palm pressed to your lips as you cleared out your airways.

“Okay. Aggressive.”

Nami scowled. “That was not aggressive.” 

You pulled a face. “Kinda sounds like you have something to hide, Nami,” you teased, and although you didn’t actually expect her to react, she did. To your surprise, Nami turned away again, the very edges of her face pinkening. You stared at her, heartbeat slowing to a steady thud in your chest. There was a faint taste of panic at the back of your throat, slightly sour and acidic like blood or rust. “Um, what was that?” 

“What was what?” Nami asked evenly. Too evenly. You gaped at her back, organs wobbling precariously inside of your chest. 

“That—thing.” 

“Kitten, if you want me to understand what you’re talking about, you’re going to have to be a little clearer than that,” Nami said smoothly. “Now it’s getting dark. You should get to bed. Last chance to shove yourself with your crewmate of choice.” 

“I’m still going with you,” you said stubbornly, shoveling the last of your rice in your mouth before slipping off your chair. You moved around the table, setting your bowl and chopsticks into the sink. “You want me to do them?” you asked, nodding at the dirty dishes that’d piled up. Nami shook her head.

“Go sleep,” she said gently. “I’ll get you in the morning.” 

You watched her for a moment, lips twisting before you finally relented. “Night, Nami,” you said, and she turned away. You were safe there for a moment, admiring how the soft backlit glow from the windows etched shadows along her face. She really was beautiful, and your heart thudded fast in your chest. 

Nami was the strongest person you knew. The smartest person you knew. The Straw Hats wouldn’t be the same without her, and sometimes you found it funny how she seemed so convinced you had a crush on one of the other members of the crew when it was so obvious that she was your north star. 

Ah, well. She’d just have to keep on guessing. 

Nami woke you at the crack of dawn, where the hazy rays of the sun just started rising up from the sea shore. You’d traveled to shore while asleep, and everyone was already up and running. 

“Luffy left already,” Nami was saying, tying a bandana around her head as you gathered up the rest of the supplies you needed. “And we’ll probably spend the whole day out, so we can get lunch in the village.” She eyed you. “I packed breakfast. Come on.” 

You followed her off the ship, savoring the early morning wind along the harbor. The dock men were all already hard at work, milling around the dozens of boats with tools and equipment propped on their shoulders. “Where to first?” you asked. 

“Boat parts,” she said, casting you a sympathetic smile. “Some rope, extra sails, some other stuff. After that I’m thinking groceries—I put Sanji in charge of bulk stock this time, so just stuff like soap and necessities—and then clothes.” She grinned. “And some fun stuff.” 

“Sounds good to me,” you said. Nami did most of the talking, but you were content to watch her barter, leaning back on your heels as she argued with sellers and eventually left with a satisfied smirk on your face. She hired some of the dock men to carry the ropes and items to the Going Merry, looking her arm in yours and going off to your next stop. 

“You know, you’re basically stealing from them like this,” you told her, a smile evident in your voice. “Forty-five thousand berry to thirty thousand. That’s actually terrifying.” 

“I said take it or leave it and he took it.” Nami shrugged, but you could see a beam of pride shine through her face. “But enough of that. The market’s up ahead.” 

The entire village seemed to have been brought out, because true to Nami’s words, there was a fair going on. Stalls boasting all kinds of wares lined the streets, and you peeked through all of them, even at Nami’s urges to hurry up and focus only on your shopping list. She watched you with a soft smile on her lips, the expressions interlaced with ones of exasperation. 

“I should’ve just picked a random man and carted you off with him,” she said with a click of her tongue as you spent far too much time glancing through a stand of knick-knacks and jewelry. “Currently either Zoro or Sanji are my top contenders.” 

You barely suppressed a snort, fingers carefully combing through a bowl of baubles. There were various items inside, from earrings missing a sister to pins and little statuettes. “How come?” 

“Usopp has Kaya, so I would hope you don’t like him,” Nami said. You raised an eyebrow, glancing up to meet her gaze. 

“Kaya’s all the way back in Syrup Village, Nami. She can’t do anything, and who knows when we’ll return there?”

Nami gave you a horrified look. “Kitten, that’s a terrible thing to say.” 

You just laughed, dropping your gaze again and picking at the bowl. There was a dull gleam of something at the bottom; it wasn’t gold or brass like anything else there, and was instead a shining, milky white. You dug through the pile, trying to get to it. “You’re such a romantic.” 

“Does that mean it is Usopp?” 

“I do not confirm nor deny a thing,” you said, finally plucking out what had captured your attention. It was a necklace, the pendant a glittering star on a gold chain. “And I want reasoning.”  

“You’re not buying that,” Nami said, gaze flickering down to it before meeting your eyes again. “Zoro because he’s conventionally attractive and Sanji because he can cook.” 

You scoffed, studying the necklace. “Those are terrible reasons.” 

“I can’t think of any good ones,” Nami protested. “The only thing I can think of are reasons you wouldn’t like any of them. Because they’re all kind of losers and you could do much, much better.” She tilted her head imperceptibly upwards, and you saw a little glimmer in her eye, a reaction that bore uncanny similarity to the one she’d worn the day before. You swallowed, throat suddenly dry. 

“You think Zoro’s conventionally attractive?” You turned towards the stand seller, motioning at the necklace. “How much?”

“You’re not buying that,” Nami repeated, shooting you a look. “It’s a waste of perfectly good berry.” 

“It’s five hundred at most,” you scoffed, fishing a wad of bills out from your pocket. Nami sighed, but she didn’t argue. “Barely anything. Do you think Zoro’s conventionally attractive?”

Nami looked distracted. “Hm?” 

“You said Zoro was conventionally attractive,” you repeated, voice firmer this time. You tried to suppress the little tremble in your cadence as you passed the money to the seller. He counted it and gave you a firm nod. Carefully, you dropped the necklace in your pocket. “Do you think he is?” 

“Well—from an objective standpoint—” 

You pushed past the swarm of patrons milling around the stands, Nami having to quicken her pace to keep up with you. “Attraction isn’t objective.” 

“Kitten.” Nami grabbed your wrist, forcing you to slow down, and you flinched. She tugged you in the direction of another stand, probably something off her list. “Why do you care so much? Am I right? Is he the one you like?” 

You wiggled your wrist out of Nami’s grip. “I don’t care, I’m just curious. Because you’ve been blushing for the past half hour and you mentioned Zoro was conventionally attractive. And if you say he’s conventionally attractive that means you think he’s conventionally attractive. So assumedly you are blushing because of—” 

It clearly took Nami a moment to unscramble your honestly entirely nonsensical words. “Kitten, I’m trying to figure out whether or not you have a crush on Zoro. You’re not supposed to be trying to figure out if I do. And I have not been blushing.” 

You relented, but still couldn’t suppress the pout that threatened your mouth. Your teeth pressed against the flesh of your lower lip, running alongside the skin but not fully biting. “You said Zoro was conven—” 

“If I have to hear you say the words conventionally attractive one more time, I swear I will lock you in the hold,” Nami said sharply, and you had to choke back your laugh. “And the reason I said that is because every single time we go out, at least five people turn to stare at his stupid face. Do you not remember that time on Mirror Ball Island? We practically had to fight women off of him.”

“Okay, fine,” you said, a glimpse at her features seemed to support her words. She was as guarded as ever, and clearly irritated, though her vexation didn’t seem as bad as the annoyances she’d hold over the rest of the crew. They never did, really; Luffy always liked to say that you were Nami’s favorite. “I’m hungry. Can we eat?” 

“You didn’t answer my question.” 

“I neither confirm nor deny anything,” you repeated for what seemed like the thousandth time in the past week. “Restaurant. Please.” 

Nami didn’t look away from you, but relented, and the two of you went to the nearest restaurant to have lunch. You were mainly silent during the meal, replaying the conversation from before over and over again in your head. There was a buzz of uncertainty in the pit of your stomach, one that you entirely disliked. 

Before you’d been fine with keeping quiet about your crush—you never felt too threatened or upset, under the impression that your feelings wouldn’t be reciprocated and that Nami wouldn’t fall for anyone in the near future anyway. And you didn’t mind her guessing between your four male comrades to find the one who’d stolen your heart. 

But the reactions and the blushes were a development. And you were starting to think that Nami herself had a mystery beau. 

Nami talked about work during the meal, going down her grocery list and checking off the things she’d gotten. You watched her as she glared down at her notebook, pencil caught between two fingers as she scribbled down notes to herself. “You’re not eating,” you said gently. 

“Sorry. Distracted,” Nami answered. She shot you a smile, but it quickly fell as she turned back to her notebook. “What about Sanji?” 

You suppressed a sigh. “Are you still on about this?” 

“Yes,” Nami insisted. She finally shut her notebook, slipping it into the bag hanging off her waist and picking up her chopsticks to return to her soup noodles. “You’d never go hungry with him around, at least.” 

“I think you need to raise your standards. I already don’t go hungry with him around, I don’t need to date him for that.” 

Nami clicked her tongue, but it was good-natured. “You’re making this so hard for me.” 

“I don’t want to talk about myself anymore,” you insisted, setting down your chopsticks. You’d basically finished your bowl already; there were only the final remnants of broth and rice noodles at the bottom, the soup seasoning darker in color; more pungent. 

You fiddled with your hands, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in your stomach that persisted even as you thought back to what Nami had said about Zoro. Her reasoning had been sound enough, but you still felt vaguely sick, that bitter taste of sour iron at the back of your throat again. 

“Are you okay?” Nami’s eyes met yours, and you flinched away. “You’re acting weird.” 

“I’m fine,” you muttered. “I think I’m going to head back to the ship and take a nap. I’m kind of tired.” Before Nami could say anything, you got up, chair scraping along the restaurant floor. “See you later?” 

“What? Kitten, wait—” Nami called, but you just swallowed, glancing over your shoulder to shoot her an apologetic look. 

The Going Merry was a breath of fresh air as you stepped foot back onto her deck. There were some dockmen milling about, setting material along the deck as Usopp directed them as to where everything went. 

You brushed past them to veer towards your hammock, slipping onto it and kicking your legs up along the cloth without pause. Your eyes closed, and you let the sun melt down on your face, the tension in your chest easing as you embraced the beam of the sky. 

You stayed there for a while, knowing you were safe as Nami wouldn’t come find you until she’d finished with all her actual tasks. Although this was occasionally irritating if you were in real desire for attention, you appreciated the responsible side of her now. You didn’t have to confront her for a few hours yet, so you spent the time on your hammock, watching the clouds drifting in the sky and picking out the dull stars that shimmered as the sky got darker. 

It was just before suppertime when you remembered the necklace you’d bought. Stars were just beginning to materialize, dark blues and purples replacing the cerulean hues that previously blanketed the Earth. You fished the star necklace out of your pocket, peering at the pendant again. It was made of some sort of shimmering stone you didn’t recognize—perhaps opal—that made it glow like an actual star, iridescent when light hit it. 

“Hey, kitten.” 

You looked up, watching as Nami made her way across the ship deck to where you lay. She looked tired, but still bore a soft smile on her face as she met your gaze. “Hi,” you said, tucking the necklace back into your pocket. Behind her you could see the last of the hired work carrying barrels down to the hold. “Get everything done?” 

“Mhm,” Nami said. “Wanna talk about earlier?” 

“Not really,” you muttered, the sharp tang of rust dancing at the back of your tongue again. “Sorry about storming out. I felt unwell.” 

Nami studied you carefully, arms folding unconsciously over her chest. “I can stop bothering you about your crush, if you want,” she said finally, a gust of a sigh leaving her lips. “I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.” 

“No, it’s okay,” you said, getting up and climbing your legs over the edge so you were sitting on the hammock. “You didn’t make me uncomfortable, Nami, I swear.” 

“You walked out in the middle of a meal, kitten,” Nami said, and you could hear her voice starting to get upset, even as she tried to level her tone. “Clearly I did. Was it because I kept trying to figure it out? Was I right with Zoro? What—”

“It’s not because of that,” you interrupted, trying to keep your voice gentle even as your chest squeezed inward. You were powerless to your muscles; to your heart as it did a pathetic little thump-thump thing inside of you. 

“Then why?” Nami leaned forward on her heels, and the setting sun caught her eyes, kaleidoscope blue glittering a thousand different shades like the opal of your necklace. “Just tell me, kitten. So I won’t do it again.” 

“It was because of you,” you mumbled, shying away from her gaze. Nami sighed. 

“Yes, we established that I did something to upset you already. I’m trying to find out what—”

“You called Zoro attractive and I was jealous,” you blurted, before you could even think to stop the words from falling out of your mouth. Nami froze, and you lifted your eyes up hesitantly to see her reaction. 

Her shoulders were all tense, face guarded, eyes blank from their usual expression. “Oh,” she said evenly. There was an ugly purse tightening at her lips, and she fought to keep them in an even line. “So it is Zoro, then. Thank you for telling me.”  

She turned away then, her movements abrupt as she started walking. A pulse of panic captured your heart, and you called desperately out to her, volume far too loud in the late hour. You didn’t find yourself caring. “I wasn’t jealous of you!” you cried, and Nami’s entire body went still. 

She turned back towards you, so slowly that you found yourself capturing your breath in your throat waiting for her. 

“I wasn’t jealous of you,” you repeated once her eyes met yours. “I was jealous of Zoro. Of you thinking he was attractive.” Your fingers fumbled together, trying to find something to occupy themselves with as you choked out the final sentence. “My mystery man is you, Nami. I like you.” 

It took a long while for Nami to respond, and the Going Merry rocked as you waited, a soft sway of delay and building panic. There was a shimmer of something in Nami’s eyes, and her lips tugged downwards. 

Her voice was hollow when she spoke. “What?” 

“I don’t like Zoro or Usopp or Sanji or Luffy, Nami,” you said, hands tightening around each other with every word spilt out from between your lips. “I like you. I like you when you call me kitten. I like you when you complain about me buying things but let me do it anyway. I like you even when you’re teasing me about my crush.” Your voice dropped to a low mumble. “And I was jealous because you thought Zoro was attractive.” 

“Oh, kitten,” Nami said, and you glanced up to see her right in front of you, bent over to meet your level sitting down. She reached for your hands, and you let her take them, exhaling as her tender grasp clasped around your palms.

“Nami,” you whispered, horrified to hear how wet your voice sounded. You blinked rapidly, trying to keep the tears at bay. “Nami, you may be the ship’s navigator, but you’re my north star. I like you.” 

Kitten, I do not think Zoro is attractive,” Nami said, and you had to choke back startled laughter at that being what she was focusing on. “That is the least of your worries.” 

“But—you seemed so annoyed when you thought it was Zoro—don’t you like—” 

“You’ve got it all wrong,” Nami said, a soft laugh leaving her lips. They were trembling. Her entire body was trembling, even her hands as she cocooned yours in them. “I was annoyed because I thought you liked Zoro. Because—I like you too.” 

You swallowed, surprise forcing your jaw to fall slack as you met her gaze. “Really?” you whispered. Nami nodded; she coaxed soft circles into the skin of your hands, a supportive smile edging up her lips. 

“I really thought you liked someone else, kitten, I would’ve said something before if—” Nami let out another gentle laugh. “If I knew. It wasn’t until you told me about the crush did I realize. I got a little… too overprotective, and then… well, it wasn’t very platonic at that point.” She ducked her head, hiding her smile, but you slipped one of your hands out of her grasp to push it back up. “God, you’re too good for any of them.” 

“I don’t want to talk about how the rest of them suck,” you murmured. “I want to talk about how amazing you are. Oh—and—” You dug your hand in your pocket, pulling out the necklace. “This reminded me of you. I got it for you.” 

“Kitten,” Nami breathed, as you unclasped the necklace and carefully put it on her. It swung around her neck before you adjusted it, golden yellow bright against the white of her pale skin. The opal glittered, catching the moonlight that’d steadily glowed brighter from behind you. “Thank you. It’s still a waste of money though.” 

“Not for you,” you said, grabbing her hands to squeeze her fingers. “Never for you.” You took in a nervous breath, your chest tightening inside—but it wasn’t all bitter and sour, nothing like the taste of panic. 

Nami met you in the middle when you finally leaned up to kiss her, your hand slipping up the side of her face, fingers curling in her orange hair. She smiled when she kissed, soft and carefree for once, that serious facade she always took on melting away in the moment. She kissed softly; tenderly; like the moon shining gentle waves on the East Blue below or the sun in the hazy morning sky casting light across the world. 

There were footsteps approaching from behind Nami. You opened your eyes, tilting your gaze up to see Zoro staring down at you both. Nami broke apart from you, glancing over her shoulder. None of you said anything. 

“Okay,” Zoro decided, and then walked off. You barely managed to stifle your giggles until he was out of earshot. 

“God, he’s such a loser,” Nami said, and then kissed you again. 

© halfvalid 2023

[kennahjune]

Teen Dad AU

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Tag list is open until I finish this series so feel free to ask to be added!!

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Steve Harrington had a son.

An actual son.

And his name was Louie.

And little Louie Harrington was Steve’s pride and joy.

But there was a problem. Steve was 17. 17 years old and with a son.

It’s fine.

Martha Timbley was the mothers name. “Was” because after she gave birth and dropped Louie off with an extensive apology, her parents packed everything up and took her to New York.

So Martha Timbley was the mother, until she had to leave.

Then Nancy might’ve been, but she met Louie after they had already broken up. Nancy was content with simply knowing about Louie’s existence. Steve wouldn’t hold it against her, really.

Louie was Steve’s pride and joy, as said before, and he loved to talk about him to people.

Except Steve is 17. And the only friends he has are a bunch of 8th graders and his ex girlfriend and her new boyfriend. 99% of which don’t even know about Louie’s existence.

So Steve didn’t get to talk about Louie as much as he’d like.

Speaking of the baby Harrington, there was a soft cry from Steve’s bedroom. Steve, who had been in the bathroom getting ready for a shower, rushed in to pick up a now crying baby Louie.

“Hey hey hey, it’s alright baby it’s alright. What’s the matter honey? You hungry? I bet you are, huh?”

Steve loved talking to Louie. Which makes him sound pathetic. Louie’s only 6 months old at this point in time. And for him to be Steve’s favorite person to talk to?

That’s just kind of sad.

But the point still stands.

Steve carried Louie carefully downstairs and into the kitchen. Steve never put Louie down while making the bottle, gently bouncing on his feet and rocking back and forth.

The bottle was easy enough to make. Steve took it into the living room and sat on the couch with Louie in his arms. Little Louie drank the bottle right up to the delight of Steve. His big brown eyes stared right at him while his little baby hands curled around his ears. Steve chuckled quietly.

Little Louie had Steve’s eyes, much to his delight. But he had a mix of his and Martha’s hair, curly and mostly brown with blond highlights— like Steve’s— but had a ginger tint to it that reflected Martha’s firey curls.

Louie finished the bottle and Steve burped him gently. It was nearing only 5 PM on that Tuesday in August of 1984, but Steve felt himself growing tired and worn with exhaustion. Louie was a sucker to put to sleep and to keep asleep, often waking in the night with screams and cries and needing to be held in order to fall to sleep.

Which was fine with Steve. Well— the holding part. He didn’t really like the screaming and crying part but that was to be expected with babies of Louie’s age.

Steve liked holding baby Louie during the night. But he often feared that he’d roll over and crush the boy. So, Steve let Louie sleep on the bed with him while surrounded by pillows at all times.

It was around 6 PM now on that fine Tuesday. Steve finally plated up a small dinner for himself of pasta. He let Louie gnaw on a couple of noodles while Steve rocked him gently.

It was nearing 7 when Steve finally out Louie down for the first time in nearly 3 hours. Louie wasn’t asleep, not quite yet. But Steve tucked him in and surrounded him in pillows as if he was.

Steve turned the radio on and turned it down real low. He let the soft tunes of some country song lull little Louie to sleep.

Louie fell asleep clutching a small bear Martha gave him. Steve was upset that she couldn’t be in Louie’s life. Even if there wasn’t anything between the two of them Louie deserved to know his mother cared. Steve sighed.

As much as he wanted to collapse on his side of the bed, he refrained.

Instead, Steve pulled out a duffel bag from under his bed and set to work. His parents would be expected home in two days, and he already knew what the outcome would be.

They’d enjoyed their trip to where-ever-the-fuck for the past 7 months, they’d made sure Steve knew how much they didn’t miss him over the phone when they asked about the house and neighbors more than him.

But that’s fine. It’s whatever. Steve didn’t need their approval. He’d stopped caring about it after sophomore year; when he’d won his first game with the winning shot and they hadn’t bothered to say anything outside of “you should be doing that all the time”.

So really? Fuck them.

But they were currently Steve’s only means of housing.

So he’s kind of fucked.

But he packed the duffle bag nice and tight. He packed the bag with his clothes and a blanket and moved to pull out a suitcase he still had from his first (and last) trip with his parents when he was 9.

Into the suitcase went most of Louie’s stuff; clothes, toys, extra bottles that weren’t going to be needed until Thursday. And then he packed one of the smaller pockets with his important things; birth certificates and the papers showing that his car was in fact his.

He already had a diaper bag with the rest of Louie’s stuff. He kept it packed all the time for when he could convince Nancy to babysit for him. Like tomorrow.

Tomorrow, Steve would have work from 9 in the morning to 5 in the afternoon. Not ideal but he needs the hours. Nancy would be over by 8:30 with a promise of watching Louie.

Steve doesn’t know how Nancy hasn’t clued anyone in on Louie’s existence. But as much as he wanted to question it he didn’t fancy pushing his luck.

With the bags packed he set them aside by his door. He’d put them in the car tomorrow when he left for work. But for now, he all but collapsed on his bed. He had the vague feeling of Louie wrapping his little hands around his finger before he officially passed out.

…

First part is officially out!! I’m working on my s3 steddie part 4 behind the scenes but that should be out soon as well. Expect part 2 of this sometime in the following week.

Second Part:

[int-writersmind]

Potential Customer

Summary: You work at a record store, bored out of your mind, until Peter Parker walks in and catches your eye. Peter Parker x Reader 

*also I wrote this with the Ps4/5 Peter Parker in mind, but honestly it's generic enough to be any Peter.

Genre: Fluff; Flirting

Word Count: 2k+

When you decided to take a job at So-So Records, you thought it would be like that movie Empire Records where every day would be an exciting romp, well hopefully not a potential job-losing-filled-romp. Unfortunately for you it was much more boring.

Your days were mostly filled with dealing with tourists who were kind-hearted but utterly clueless or pretentious audiophiles who would give you their opinions without even asking you. However, for all your big talk you weren’t that knowledgeable when it came to music, you just liked what your liked and were opened to suggestions (from unpretentious, kind customers of course.)

It was a weekday, you couldn’t remember which, since they all seem to blend together when working back-to-back shifts. You were alone, the shop had a few customers idling around. 

You were at the front counter, elbow resting on the check-out counter, head resting on one hand, the other lazily flipping through a catalog. When the front bell rings, your eyes barely flicker upwards. It isn’t until that potential customer who walked through the front door is standing right in front of you do you finally look up.

“Um, hello?” says the Potential Customer.

“Welcome to So-So Records,” you decide to stand up straight and give your full attention to this Potential Customer. Clueless Tourist or Pretentious Audiophile? “Can I help you with anything?”

“Uh, yeah, um,” The Potential Customer, a mid-twenties guy with chocolate brown hair and amber eyes that complemented, reached into his satchel and pulled out a notebook, flipping through the pages. “I’m actually looking for this album? I’ve been to a few other places and had no luck, they all say So-So would be my best chance.”

The Potential Customer, with his slouchy shoulders and tendency to fidget quite often, placed a hand on the back of his neck, rubbing up and down. Your eyes dart from the hand on the back of his neck to the hand that gives you the notebook. Your gaze lingers a little too long on his long, slender fingers. Strange, you know, but sometimes the most attractive parts of a human were really strange. 

You refocus, eyes skimming the paper, on it was a title and artist, your brain flickers with the passing glance of the cover. “Uh, yeah, I…think we have this, follow me.”

You move from behind the desk, taking the notebook in hand, glancing at the words once more. You lead– 

“I’m Peter by the way, I know you didn’t ask, but still…” You glance back, gesturing to your name tag, as you lead Peter down the aisles of various genres of music. “I actually never been to a record store before, didn’t even know they still existed.”

“I was like that too for a while,” You stop at a section where the older music was located, placing the notebook on one section of records. “Gotta thank the hipsters for making it popular again, even though they are some of the most annoying customers.”

“The only memory of records I have is when my Aunt and Uncle used to play some every so often on the weekends.”

You start to flip through the albums, scanning for the right one, “Do they still find time to play some?” 

Peter sighs and leans against a row of records, looking elsewhere, “No, no, my Uncle, actually…passed some time ago...”

You stop for a moment, fingers pausing, you look in his direction. As if he could feel your eyes on him, he looks up at you. His face, neutral with maybe a hint of sadness. Like he was used to saying that a loved one who must have been important in his life was gone, but also still hurt when thinking about him. 

“Apologies.” You say, not completely happy with the response. How many times had he heard that?

“Don’t be,” Peter crosses his arms, smirks a boyish grin that makes him even more appealing. “It made me think of a nice memory that I forgot about, more memories about Uncle Ben will never not be nice.”

You smile as you return back to searching for the record, “Oh, look I found it! That’s surprising.”

Peter moves closer, hovering over your right shoulder to get a better look, You sharply suck in breath, turning your head to look at him. Peter glances at you, and smiles, “That’s great, kind of a shame though.”

“Why?”

“'Cause it means I have to leave now,” You hand him the record and the notebook, to which Peter plucks it from your hand, looking over the front and the back, while moving away from you. You exhale deeply as you follow behind him.

“Who says you have to go? Unless you have somewhere to go?” You finally say.

“I think I can spare some time,” Peter looks down at his pretend watch on his bare wrist, “Are you gonna introduce me to some music that will change my life?”

“Please,” You laugh as the two of you lazily walk down the aisle, “I’m hardly the last person to do so.”

“Don’t you-” 

“Work at a record store? I know, I know, but I like what I like. Sue me if it’s Top 100.”

The two of you stop at the end of the aisle, you standing at one end of a row of records, Peter moving over and doing the same.

“I guess it’s better than getting made fun of for having an old man's taste.”

“Really? You get hate for having a love for the oldies? That’s some bullshit, especially in a place like New York.”

“Well, when you're a nerdy kid with thick glasses and a love of science, it’s not so cool” Peter flicks through the stack, pulling up an album by a band that was huge in the 70s. 

“Hmm, if you like that group,” You flick through some albums on your side, skimming until you land on the second record by a female-led group from around the same time. “How about this?” You model the record, posing with it, flipping it from front to back. “And…it’s on sale.” You move over to the same aisle as Peter, standing close to him like he did to you earlier. 

Peter takes the record from your hand, “I think younger, nerdier me would have loved this.”

“Younger, nerdier, you sounds like he was such a cutie.” You response. 

“Was?”

You shyly smile back, moving away with your hands behind your back. ”

This was grossly unprofessional, what were your intentions with this potential customer? Making a sale or making a move. You push that thought out of your head, if you were making him uncomfortable or pushing it too far, then he wouldn’t be smirking at you like that. That smile that causes a slight flurry of butterflies in your stomach. 

The two of you continue your walk back to the front, the long way of course. Bobbing and weaving through different aisles, many short, some long. Passing through pop–contemporary and classic, and some RnB, ending up at one end of the store, in the rock section. “What were you like in high school?” Peter asks.

“Quiet, mostly,” You lean against the wall and Peter does the same next to you. “Not too popular but I had friends, spent a lot of time with my art and music teachers, focused on doing little stuff like that instead of more fun extracurricular activities.”

“Huh, yeah I get it, I found some time to do some little stuff to distract myself in high school too. Nothing…too exciting.” 

You inch closer to Peter and so does he, to the point where the two of you bump shoulders. “Oh sorry…”

“Don’t be,” Peter says.

You open your mouth, but nothing comes out. The two of you just stare at one another, the hum of whatever record you put on earlier lightly plays in the air. The dry smell of the older, original pressings of albums of the past, filling up the room. 

You dart your eyes downward, quickly, towards his lips, before looking away. God, now this was unprofessional. “Shit, sorry.” You move off the wall, but Peter’s hand on your wrist causes you to turn. His touch wasn’t aggressive, or rough, but gentle and light. Like a feather was tickling the underside of your hand instead of his long, slender fingers. 

Ding-Ding!

Both of your heads turn towards the door, a middle aged couple walk in, wonder in their eyes, cameras slung over their head. Clueless Tourists. You and Peter look at one another, before resigning to the situation and finally making it to the front. You, behind the counter, Peter in front, the two records under his arm.

“Hello, welcome to So-So Records, I’ll be here if you need me.” You say to the newest potential customers, as they give you that polite nod, and split off into the rest of the store. Peter places the records on the table, when all of sudden his phone goes off, he opens it and stares intently at the screen. “Something wrong?”

“No, ah yes, no,” Peter says, his head whipping from his phone to you multiple times. “I-God, I hate to do this but I can’ take these right now–”

“You can always come back.” You take the records from the counter, holding them in your hand.

“Really?”

“Yeah, I close tonight, you can come back later and get them.” You place the records behind you, before looking back nervously. “I mean only if you want, obviously, duh.”

“Duh.” Peter dryly chuckles, glancing once more at his phone. “I really have to leave, but I’ll be back, I promise. It’s a date. I mean, no, not a date, but–”

“I gotcha.” You wink and smile at Peter as he nervously backs up, sneaking in a last look before leaving through the door, with a ding-ding.

God, you can not believe what just happened! Are you some teenage girl whose knees go weak when a semi-attractive guy shoots you a smile? Who’s touch makes your face heat up, even if it’s just shoulders touching, or gentle, kind, fingertips on your wrist?

For the rest of your shift, you did more of the same that you did every day at your job. Helping customers, listening to unsolicited music advice, and a lot of needless flipping through the store’s catalog.

As the day wined down, the sun dipping into the horizon, you made peace with the fact that Peter wasn’t coming back. Whatever, this  is reality not some rom-com where fate will bring the two leads back together at the end.

You also decided to buy your recommendation to Peter as well, you had plenty of copies of it in the store, so if he decides to come back after all, he could get his own copy. 

You pull down the store’s  front gate, squatting down to lock the padlock, pulling it to make sure it was secure, the record under your arm.

“Making away with customers orders I see.”

You turn to face the familiar voice, Peter slightly out of breath, but still as charming as he was this morning. “Potential customer.” You say, standing up, smiling ever just subtly.

“Sorry I’m late,” Peter glances at the closed store, with its darkened lights and gated entrance. “Like really late.”

“Hmm, that’s ok,” You turn to walk down the sidewalk, your head peering over your shoulder, “Walk with me?” 

As you walk down the sidewalk, record held in your arms across your chest, Peter falls in rhythm with you, so close that his hand occasionally grazes your leg. Jokingly you say, “I thought you forgot all about me, wouldn’t be the first time.”

“Oh god no,” Pete dryly chuckles. “The only thing I could think about was you, I-I mean coming back here to pick up the records and uh, and also to see you, I guess.”

“Ah, you guess huh?” 

The two of you wait at a crosswalk, before deciding to jaywalk as there were no cars in sight, you make a turn once you get to the other side, on the block that you lived on.

“I was actually coming to tell you that I no longer need that record actually, the one I came in for. It was for a, uh, a project that quickly evolved to…something else.”

“Ok, I see,” Your head turns to Peter and he does the same, your eyes lock on to one another, his face filled with nerves. “You were gonna come all the way back here to not buy something. That’s a first, I would have preferred ghosting.”

Peter laughs again, shaking his head, “No, no, I was still gonna get the record that you suggested to me. Sounds more up my alley anyway.” You stop in front of your apartment building, with Peter placing his hand on your arm to move out of another couples way. The two of you stand in front of the building's metal gates. “But it seems I have to come back during business hours to do so.”

“Or not.”

Peter raises his eyebrows in confusion, as you reach in your jacket’s pocket for a notebook you always kept. You write down something on the paper, using the pen you stuck in the notebook holder, tearing off the page. You place the paper on top of the record and push it towards him.

“No I can't-”

“I’m not giving it to you.” You say, “I’m lending it to you. Listen to it, listen to it again and then…call me, or text me and let me know how it is.” Peter takes the record and piece of paper from your hands, his fingers brushing yours. “And don’t ghost me, it would be a shame if I never get to see-talk to you again.”

“Yeah…it would be…”

“Goodnight Peter.”

Peter says your name, it makes your heart flutter just for a moment when he does so, ‘“Goodnight.” But the two of you don’t leave, you two just stare at each for a little longer.

Your phone rings and you’re forced to look at it.

“My roommate, she gets antsy if I don’t come home exactly when I say I will.”

“I understand.”

You nod and turn to walk into the building. Before you go through the doors, you glance back to see Peter staring at the piece of paper before looking up at you, that same smirk on his face. 

God, you are so unprofessional.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Read Part 2 -> Hanging on the Telephone!

Oh my goodness this is my first fic on Tumblr! Please be kind and comment if you like, like if you prefer, reblog if you're like that, I won't judge. Always open for suggestions and to ~virtually~ meet others! I'm so new to this and I know I'm currently talking into the void but, whatever...Bye, thanks if you made it this far!!!

masterlist

[httpsuniverse]

LIPS OF AN ANGEL | MM19

PAIRING: mason mount x wolff!reader ; a bit of george russell x wolff!reader

DETAILS & WARNINGS: profanities, mentions cheating/infidelity, mason's anger is totally understandable, y/n's a bit of a bitch(? idk towards the end tho), rushed ending bc i really wanted to end this hahahah, also not proofread and tons of dialogues ahhahah

WC: 4k

A/N: i apologize for uploading this soo late 😭 i had writers block for a long while :< anyway, enjoy reading!

TAGGED: @i83andrew @pleasantducktimetravel

this work is purely fictional. names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. © newuniverse, 2023. do not steal, repost in other platforms, translate and/or claim this work as your own.

now, four months have passed since you’ve broken up with mason (or at least that was what your letter stated). in those months, mason finds himself longing for you. the man often finds himself up most nights, sleeping so late and waking up so early to head to training and other prior schedules he has every day.

mason would not deny it; that if someone were to ask if he had tried contacting you, your dad and even your stepmum. the couple would always say that they don’t know your whereabouts, but deep inside, he knows they know and knowing you, you were probably the one who asked them not to tell him. the first month was the hardest, he tried calling you every night and every chance he got while on his schedule. he was waiting for your voicemail greeting to play just to hear your voice and after that, he’d record what he wanted to say. a mixture of i love you’s, i miss you’s and please come back. 

it wasn’t easy with you as well. you missed mason and you missed the days where it was just the two of you in your own little world. if you could only go back in time, you’d never leave the house during the night of your fight and maybe this never would’ve happened. you missed seeing mason on the other side of the bed; you weren’t a morning person but whenever there’s a chance that you wake up before him, you’d watch him sleep and listen to his gentle snores while you lightly trace his beard with the tip of your finger. you missed snuggling to him during cold mornings, you missed the lazy make-outs because he couldn’t get his hands off of you, you missed him whispering sweet nothings in your ear after you wake up. you missed mornings with mason, too bad you can no longer relive those moments.

though you can’t help that every time you wake up, you have that thought that you could go back to london, you could return his calls, you could return back to mason and restart your relationship. but every time you do think of doing those things, you’re reminded of what you did. all those lies you’ve told him, and those days where you were away and sleeping with another man. 

going back to the man you’ve hurt seems such a foolish thing to do, and you know the people around mason wouldn’t allow such a thing. though you may think that mason would have the same thinking as the others, he sometimes does not. he wanted to risk it all again with you, he wanted to try and fix it with you. all he wanted is you and you alone.

going back to mason is something that you want to do but wouldn’t do. and on the fourth month, 5 day mark, mason had revealed his month long relationship with a model, lia mendes.

honey, why you calling me so late?

it’s kinda hard to talk right now. 

honey, why you crying, is everything okay?

i gotta whisper cause i can’t be too loud.

you stood in your living room filled with moving boxes, susie and toto were outside while jack was napping inside your bedroom. all you could do was sigh. it felt so weird moving into a new apartment–let alone moving to the southeast corner of france. monaco was a lovely place to live in, knowing that your father lives here (though he travels most of the time), the fact that you live nearby brings you some sort of relief, safety and comfort. though, as many people have said, you disappeared off the face of the earth for a few months, you’ve lived your life quietly with your mum for a while as you wait for the situation with mason to die down.

you were in a rush when you left london the night you told mason you were just going to the store. you left without even taking a second look, not even an ounce of thought. sure, it was a wrong move—a dumb decision as well, but you wanted to run away from all the mistakes you’ve made. you wanted to escape. leave everything you have to the place you once loved—now a place you dread the most. it was not the easiest decision either, but it was the only solution that you could think of.

the night you left mason, you didn’t go to the store. instead, you met george. again, a clandestine meeting. you messaged george when you were a few blocks away from his place, which is why you met a furious brit.

“have you lost your mind, kid?” he says, god you hated that nickname. it was the nickname that toto knew george gave you and became the hint that you and the driver are close. “she could’ve caught me! she could’ve seen your bloody message! why did you want to see me—”

“i told him, george. he–he probably saw the letter by now because i left a few hours ago.”

the driver’s eyes widened, definitely not the sentence he was not expecting to hear from you. suddenly, he didn’t know what to do or say. george tried to pull you in his arms, but you were quick to push him away. “this… george! this is exactly why we need to stop what’s between us!” you said, “i can’t believe i’m saying this but i regret everything that happened between us. i regret taking advantage of mason and carmen. i hate how i know that dad will be so disappointed in me. so please, let’s stop this… we can’t keep hurting and breaking the trusts of the people around us.” 

your voice cracks by the end of the last sentence, you could feel george staring at you but you kept your gaze on your feet. no strength to look at his eyes because you know that this man would do anything just to make you stay. 

“but baby—”

from calling you kid to baby—you hated it. you felt disgusted. you needed to end it.

“no, george. no buts.” you cut off, “i have to go. i… i wish you all the best.”

you walk back to your car, locking the doors in case george runs after you. again, without looking back, you drive away. leaving the confused brit in the empty street.

and even though you ended things with george that night, he hadn’t stopped calling and texting you—afraid that you might say anything about your relationship to others, even with friends and family. all he ever cared about was his reputation, he was scared. after all, he was doing great with mercedes the past season and a scandal with his boss’ daughter would put him through hell. 

now, you were left alone in this apartment overlooking the beauty of monaco. you sat on your balcony with a glass of wine sitting on the table, feeling the breeze of the mediterranean sea. oh you missed mason. you haven’t heard anything from him since you two broke up. 

and maybe it was the number of wine in your system that you ended up dialing his number, the one you’ve deleted yet can’t seem to forget as you knew it by heart. no matter how hard you try to forget about it. it kept on ringing and ringing, and you tried to re-dial once it ended due to the exceeding minute. 

on the fifth try, you finally heard his voice. 

“hello?”

you know that feeling when you’ve spoken to your high school crush for the very first time, your heart drops and your stomach is filled with butterflies to the point where you don’t know what to say? that is exactly what you felt when you heard mason’s voice after months.

“hello?” he repeats, “is this a prank call? ‘cause this is the fifth time you called and i might need to block your number–”

“masey.”

you heard sounds of bed rustling followed by a door closing, you assumed that he was already in bed and was fast asleep. after all, it was already midnight. “y/n?” and that’s when the tears started to roll in, god how you missed that voice. “are you crying? is everything alright?” his voice was quiet.

“y-yeah, just…” you sniffed, “just missing you and i think it has something to do with this stupid wine.”

“sorry, i’ve got to whisper. m-my girlfriend’s asleep,”

“oh.” you wiped your tears, you only found out that mason was dating someone now. “i’m sorry, i should’ve known. god, i’ll hang up–”

“no!”

well, my girl’s in the next room

sometimes i wish she was you

i guess we never really moved on

it’s really good to hear your voice saying my name

it sounds so sweet

“she’s in the other room anyway, we can continue talking.” he continued, “h-how have you been? i’ve seen photos of jack on susie’s instagram, may have had a glimpse of you spending time with them in her stories. have you gone karting with jack recently?”

you chuckle, chugging the remaining wine on your glass before responding. “i-i stayed with them for a month, i stayed with my mum as well, after our… well, you know. i’ve accompanied jack while dad and susie are busy. you know, the season has already started and susie is busy with the f1 academy. i was vacant for a month, but i’ve started working again–i’m talking too much, you should really hang up, mason.”

“you know, it’s really good to hear your voice saying my name, y/n.” mason said, “it-it really sounds so sweet.”

“we should really stop, mason.”

you heard him scoff on the other end of the line, “it’s so funny that you’re the one saying that, i’m not the one who called in the first place, y/n.”

“i know, and i only found out that you were dating someone tonight. y-you should be with her, you shouldn’t be talking to your ex who… who cheated on you tonight. she deserves better.”

“i guess we never really moved on, y/n.” he replied, “i–”

“goodbye, mason. good night.”

coming from the lips of an angel

hearing those words, it makes me weak

and i never wanna say goodbye

but, girl, you make it hard to be faithful

with the lips of an angel

mason couldn’t sleep that night and had trouble waking up, which was the reason why lia, so early in the morning, was mad as her boyfriend was sleeping so deep and no matter how hard she tried to wake him up, she just couldn’t. lia was running late for a schedule that mason had promised to come with her as their break for the season had begun. 

“masey, i’m running super late. my manager is about to burst, can’t you please move much faster?” she said, in a mixture of annoyed and calm voice. “didn’t we go to bed at the same time last night? why do you look like you haven’t at all?”

“because i haven’t slept,” he answered directly.

“why?”

“just… nothing. let’s go.”

the couple exited mason’s house, lia practically sprinted to mason’s car and sat on the front seat. masey, that was the nickname most people call him but now, he only wanted to hear your voice call him that and nobody else. when you say his name, it sounded like it came from the lips of an angel. it made him weak most of the time. 

lia had arrived a half an hour late, her manager was already glaring at mason and immediately separated the couple. while lia was doing her photoshoot, leaving mason alone, he realised that he never wanted to break up with you, even if you admitted what had happened between you and george, or maybe he was just thinking about it as you’ve spoken last night. maybe he just missed you. he did miss you. 

what’s fucked up is that he thought he finally moved on from you, that he was ready to commit to a new relationship. he knew that when he and lia were testing the waters, a month before they officially dated. he has told himself several times that he was over you, yet here he is. reminiscing all the memories you’ve shared the past years you two were together after that phone call. you were making it hard for him to be faithful.

as he was waiting, mason was on his phone when he received a notification of an invite to attend another f1 race with red bull. this time, it was in barcelona. he remembered the last time you and he went to monaco, a weekend to remember indeed. 

“we’re going to be separated for almost the whole day, baby” you laugh, putting on your dress as mason shoves his phone into his pocket. “it’s going to be so weird because you’ll be at the red bull garage, and i’ll be at mercedes!”

“hey, i can still go there, you know? plus we’ll see each other around the paddock.” he replied, walking behind you and wrapped his arms around your waist. “besides, your dad loooves me. i’m sure he’ll understand that this is for work and publicity.”

you smiled, zipping your dress up and turned to face him. mason pursed his lips, signifying that he was asking for a kiss. you giggled, and eventually leaned in to connect your lips together. when you pulled away, you put your hand on his face and ran the pads of your thumb on his beard–the one you loved doing after you two kissed every time.

“you, sir… look so handsome with your outfit.” you compliment, he was wearing his chequered rhude shirt over some white shirt. you leaned in again for another kiss, deepening it–only pulling away when you heard your phone ring. “okay, before things escalate, i have to go. dad’s calling.”

“your dad’s such a cockblocker.” he teased, earning a slap on the arm from you. “i’m just kidding! i’ll see you when i see you at the paddock.”

mason remembered how he stole a kiss every time you crossed paths at the paddock or at the pit lane during his walk. a lot of people saw and took pictures and videos of it, posting it on social media. that video was trending in the world of f1 and football for a few days before dying down. he remembered seeing tweets and posts on instagram, saying they were jealous of your relationship. he remembered the two of you having dinner at toto and susie’s place, how he was teased by you and jack (toto eventually joined) throughout dinner as he went as red bull’s guest and not mercedes. he remembered lying with you on the deck of a rented yacht, under the sun, enjoying the monte-carlo air.

on the other side of europe, you are woken up by the sound of your phone ringing. you were taking your afternoon siesta before returning back to your home office to continue working, and whoever was calling you in the middle of your nap, may they stub their toe on some furniture. tired, you reached out for your phone and answered the call without looking at the screen.

“hello?” you groggily said, “whoever you are, you’ve interrupted my siesta and i may hate you for that.”

“well, hello to you, my daughter.” your father’s voice rang through your ears. “and i’m sorry if i interrupted your nap, but would you be so kind and open your front door please?”

“what?”

“open the door, i’ve been out here for almost fifteen minutes.”

and off you went to your front door, toto was greeted by a grumpy daughter whose eyebrows were furrowed. you looked at your father, “what are you doing here, dad?”

“no ‘hallo, vater’? no ‘how are you doing, dad?’. none?” he joked, entering your place as you made way for him and closed the door. “okay, i will be quick. come with us to barcelona this weekend.”

your eyes widened, “what? i have work, i can’t just leave.”

“your brother told me that you have a flexible work schedule, that you’re allowed to bring your work everywhere you go.” your dad replied.

“theodore wolff, that little bitch.” you cursed under your breath, you couldn’t help but facepalm with what your brother just did. “dad–”

“i know that tone, y/n wolff.” toto stopped you from continuing your sentence, “come on, it’ll be just like the old days! except your brother isn’t here because his finals week aligned with the weekend in barcelona.”

you bit your lip, making a decision as your father can be impatient. if you go to the race, the possibility of running to george is high–no matter how much effort you exert on avoiding the man, you simply can’t as he is, of course, a driver for mercedes. but, it’ll be good for you as well! you haven’t gone to spain for years, a change of environment and working outside of your home office may be good for you as well. you work only on weekdays, and you’ll be free for the rest of the weekend so you wouldn’t think of work that much in case.

“okay fine, i’ll go with you. when’s the flight?” 

“tonight.”

“TONIGHT?! dad, a little heads up would’ve been nice!”

“i’m sorry, pack your bags and we’ll pick you up by 8.” toto said, planting a kiss on your head. “i’ll go now, we’ll see you later!”

—

on saturday morning, arriving at the paddock with your father, a lot of people approached you by the entrance. some asked for pictures, some for autographs (which you didn’t quite understand), and some were nice enough to greet you. to say that you’re nervous is an understatement. you were returning to the paddock, you’re about to see george, his fiancée–the people you've been avoiding for months were in barcelona with you. you opted to stay in your hotel since your arrival in spain, finishing all the work you have left before proceeding with your weekend. as you walk to the paddock with toto, you could feel your palm sweat and your stomach turn the more you get closer to mercedes’ garage. 

“word is, footballers are in red bull’s garage.” you overheard one of the mechanics upon entering the garage. the word football made you even more nervous than you already were.

“oh come on, mate. i think i’ve seen a few yesterday! that’s old news!”

“i haven’t seen any yesterday but so far, i’ve seen james, felix, chilwell–” please don’t tell me mason is here. “–and mount. just last year they were in monaco, weren’t they?”

the other mechanic nodded his head. mason is here. breathing the same air as you, probably a few metres away from you even. i knew this was a bad idea. you thought to yourself.

“you look like you saw a ghost.” said your father after speaking to the engineers.

you shook your head, “well, i think i’m about to see one today.” you joked, “i-uh, i’ll go out to find something to drink.”

toto raised an eyebrow, a bit unsure of your change of behaviour but you gave him a smile and reassured that you’ll be back. “alright, just…be back before quali, alright?”

you nodded your head and exited the garage. walking around the paddock like you were a normal guest, someone who just wants to enjoy the weekend. but it’s hard when people recognize you as toto wolff’s daughter, and as much as you try to stay away from the crowd, people still approached you. little did you know, someone has spotted you.

“oi, mason!” ben called his teammate, walking towards the man who’re talking with the other players. “guess who i saw walking around the paddock?”

“who?”

ben took a step closer to the younger, whispering your name. mason felt his heart skip a beat, realising the same thing you’ve thought about just a few minutes ago: you were here, breathing the same air as him.

it's funny that you're calling me tonight

and, yes, i've dreamt of you too

and does he know you're talking to me?

will it start a fight?

no, i don't think she has a clue.

needless to say, you were good at hiding. mason had presented the pirelli pole position award to max, he wanted to know if you were there to see him next to the driver. but as he scanned the sea of crowd, you were nowhere to be found. after the qualifying, you returned back to your hotel–reasoning that you were exhausted and had a headache. as soon as you were back, you changed clothes and plopped yourself on the bed. but it wasn’t so soon when your phone started ringing, a number you once called.

“hello?”

“a little birdie told me that you were in the paddock today.”

you sighed, closing your eyes but held the phone close to your earshot. “was it ben?”

“you know it. he’s always liked you–in a platonic way, i mean.”

silence followed right after he had mentioned ben, you were exhausted to even reply. 

“y/n–”

“it’s so funny that you’re calling me tonight, mason.” you said, “i assumed the night i called you, you would’ve blocked my number.”

“you know i would never do that. we’ve been together for a long time, y/n.”

“i must be living in your head, mason.”

mason scoffed on the other end of the line, “well, i wasn’t thinking of you until the night you called.” he replied, “and yes, i’ve dreamt of you too.”

you jolted up from the bed when you heard a knock on the door, with the phone on the other hand you made your way to the door. you didn’t even bother looking through the peephole to see who was knocking on your door late in the night, you just assumed it was your dad. promptly, you opened the door–lo and behold, mason mount was standing in front of you. unable to speak, you still held your phone by your ear and stared at him, him and his stupid smile. mason was the one who ended the call and shoved his phone into his pocket.

“hi,” he said, “it’s been a few months, y/n.”

“how did you–what are you–i’m so confused right now.” you expressed, about to shut the door but mason was quick enough to stop you. “what do you want, mason?”

“does he know you’re talking to me? will it start a fight?” he asked, completely ignoring your question and welcomed himself inside your room, shutting the door close. “george. does george know?”

“i called it off with him the night i left a letter for you, mason. i went to his place and i ended things with you both at the same time.”

mason scoffed, shaking his head in disbelief. “wow,” he exclaimed, “george had the in-person “break-up” and all i got is a stupid fucking letter?”

“mason–”

“that is bullshit, y/n. pure bullshit.” mason barked, “all this time, george got the closure that i should’ve had. me–y/n, i was the one you dated for a long time and all i fucking got is a lousy letter about the truth of your affair with george?”

“i was supposed to, mason!” you yell back, “i was supposed to tell you, but the timing just wasn’t right.”

“and you thought lying straight to my face when i asked you about it, was okay?” you were about to answer, but mason was already rushing to the door. when he was about to exit, he said: “i went here thinking i could finally get the closure i needed, but fuck, was i wrong about this.”

you scoff, “that’s on you, then. you come running to the girl who cheated on you.” you said, “does lia know that you’re still hung up on your past? because i don’t think she has a clue.”

ynwolff

liked by susie_wolff, mercedesamgf1, lewishamilton and others

ynwolff so many familiar faces here in spain 🇪🇸 here’s a little dump of my weekend here 🤓

view all 739 comments

yourbffsig oh i know who those familiar faces were 😉

ynwolff 😂 stop

yourbffsig we’re going to a party tonight after what happened, we need to get wasted!!

ynwolff as long as i make it back home on time and alive, let’s gooo

mercedesamgf1 glad to have you back in the garage, y/n! 🐺

ynwolff glad to see the team secure a double podium, thank you for having me! 🖤

mercedesamgf1 a great weekend indeed!

yourmomsig missing you so much, sweetheart! hope you enjoyed x

ynwolff miss you too mum ❤️

theowolff what about me 😓

ynwolff miss you too dumbass 🙄 you’re the reason why i went so you should’ve been with me, i could’ve avoided an unexpected circumstance hahahah

theowolff if only school let me 💀 but hey, at least you ‘enjoyed’

ynwolff i’m blocking you!!

user1 OMG SHES IN THE PADDOCK WHAT IF SHE SAW OR TALKED TI MASE IM DELULU (ALSO TOTO ON THE LAST SLIDE? LMAO)

user2 stop with these assumptions I BEG YALL

user3 people should learn how to stfu im being fr rn

user4 that’s toto’s reaction when he read your comment

user2 also the cryptic messages HELLO ?? i dont think they saw each other or if they did, it probably didn’t go so well

user3 you’re onto something babes 👀

masonmount

liked by declanrice, benchilwell, redbullracing and others

masonmount thank you redbullracing and jodieporter8 for everything!

view all 2,495 comments

liamendes meu belo homem 😩🫶 i love you!

— ❤️ by masonmount

redbullracing THANK YOU!! 🫶

user5 when i tell yall this man is so FINE 🤌🏻

user6 this man is scrump-DILLY-tious

user7 yall CALM DOWN

user8 mason did something happen between u and y/n bc her posts have some sort of cryptic hints and i kinda wanna know whats going on tnx (jk hahaha love u both)

user9 HELPPP me too 😓 like what does her bff mean when she said “whag happened” and y/n saying “unexpected circumstance” LIKE GIVE ME SOMETHING??? A TEA PERHAPS???

user10 currently dying to know what the fucj happened in barcelona

[bwabys-scenarios]

Reunited

Part 22

Illumi x Reader x ??????

Part 21

Part 23

taglist: @tsukilover11 @mercyboluthecrazychicken @sxyriii @merinfawleygoestohogwarts @shidoni-san @living4tomrua

if you want to be tagged in the next update, comment a red heart ❤️ and make sure your blog can be mentioned/tagged!!

warnings: angst, also this is short and a bit rushed, but the next few chapters will be a lot of fun I promise!! Also not proof read so 😭😭🙏🙏 grumpy friend reveal next chapter!! YIPPEE

Illumi tapped away at the dining room table, anxiously glancing at (Name) ever so often. Not even her hand in his could quell his anxieties.

“So, how was your little date, Illumi?”

“Wasn’t a date, mother.”

The air was tense, (Name) caught in the middle of all of it. The longer dinner went on, the more agitated Illumi was getting.

Silva cleared his throat and stood, the table turning their attention to him.

“I’m sure Kikyo informed you all that I had an announcement to make tonight. It’s been over a month since (Name) joined our home, and she has been carefully monitored the entire time.”

Now (Name) was tense. Monitored the entire time? She desperately hoped that was an over exaggeration. Illumi squeezed her hand, a scowl apparent on his face.

“Every report back has been… amazing. Her improvements in her nen ability alone is nothing to scoff at. Factor in her newfound fighting skills and you have yourself a woman with great potential.”

Illumi’s grip on her hand tightened, to the point (Name) had to pull away. His eyes were narrowed, staring his father down.

“What is your point, Father?”

Silva chuckled, waving his hand at Illumi dismissively. “Ever impatient when it comes to that girl, eh, Illumi? I’ll get straight to the point.”

He grinned, an intense aura settling over the dinner table.

“I am proposing that (Name) stay here with us more permanently. As Illumi’s bride, to be exact.”

Illumi slammed his fist on the table, cracking the wood. “Father! Have I not told you that she and I are nothing but friends?”

“You have, but you can’t hide the way you look at her, son. You should be happy that I’m allowing you to wed the woman you love.”

Kikyo sensed the conversation was becoming hostile, so she stood alongside her husband. “Illumi, sweetheart, don’t be stubborn. You’re obviously infatuated with this girl, why n-“

“Enough. I’ll hear nothing more of this.” He began to leave, but was stopped by Silva.

“Illumi.” His warned, Illumi stopping in his tracks. “I had Amane and Tsubone breech the topic to (Name), and from what I heard she was not entirely against the idea.”

Illumi turned to look at (Name) who was hiding her flustered expression behind her hands. Was she really okay with marrying him? Part of him wanted to run over and propose now, but the other, nastier side of him needed control over the situation.

“Oh really? What, did they say we’d take care of her family or something? Seriously, I didn’t take you as the type to marry someone for their wealth (Name).”

Illumi spat those words out without really thinking, rolling his eyes. “Did they say I loved you? That I told them you would be my future bride? I only said that so the butlers wouldn’t poison your food. Honestly why would I ever-“

He stopped when he noticed (Name) slamming the dining room hall door behind her. The sound of her storming away echoed down the halls, Illumi’s family staring at him.

“You’re terrible at lying when it comes to her, Illumi.” Zeno stated, crossing his arms. “And now you’ve gone and upset your loved one.”

Kalluto stood, rushing out of the door to follow after (Name), sending a glare in his brother’s direction.

“My, what cruel words to say to such a lovely young lady, Master Illumi.”

Tsubone appeared by Silva’s side, tutting softly.

“Silence, Tsubone. You should be glad your head is still intact.”

Illumi’s bloodlust filled the room, the man ripping the dining room door off his hinges as he left. Tomorrow, he would attempt to talk with (Name) and apologize, but tonight, he needed to let off some steam.

Good thing he was an assassin.

“He’s made things so much more complicated.” Kikyo lamented, sighing behind her fan.

“No matter. She will be his bride, whether they like it or not. It’s only a matter of time.”

Silva sat back down at the dinner table, continuing his meal. “Once a Zoldyck, always a Zoldyck. The minute Illumi called her his future bride, her fate was sealed.”

——————

Kalluto approached (Name)’s door, listening to her from behind it. He could hear her crying, the sound of sniffling filling the hallway.

He knocked, the door creaking open when he did. “(Name)? It’s Kalluto.”

(Name) sat on her bed, throwing clothing into a suitcase. Tears cascaded down her tears as she packed, sniffling every so often as she did.

“What are you doing?”

(Name) looked up from her task, quickly wiping away her tears. “Oh, Kalluto. Sorry you had to see me like this. I’m just packing. Don’t want to take up anymore of Illumi’s previous resources.”

She slammed the suitcase shut, zipping it before placing it on the floor. “You’re leaving? But (Name), it’s the middle of the night.”

He grabbed her hand gently, the girl looking away. She was angry and upset, not able to think clearly. “I don’t care. I can’t stand being here another second. I don’t understand why Illumi would say such a thing to me!”

She wrapped her arms around herself, tears falling from her eyes. Kalluto held his hand to his chest, unsure of what to say.

Sure, he knew that Illumi was in love with her and didn’t mean the things that he said, but she didn’t. How would he soothe her aching heart?

“… Illumi didn’t mean it. He… has trouble expressing himself.”

(Name) scowled, grabbing her phone and pocketing it. “I don’t really care if he meant it or not, he doesn’t get to talk to me like that. I’m not after his money, he should know that by now, and even implying that is nasty.”

She patted Kalluto’s shoulder, smiling. “I’m not mad at you, and I want you to have this.” She slipped him a piece of paper with her number on it. “If you ever get lonely or need help, this is my number. I’ll see you later.”

Before she could leave her room, Kalluto called out to her.

“Wait! (Name), please wait to leave until the morning! I’ll accompany you, I promise. Just…”

He held onto her sleeve, not daring to look at her face, if he did, he might cry.

“It’s dangerous. I know you’re angry and upset, but… please think about your safety. People know you’re connected to the Zoldycks now, so you have to be careful.”

(Name) stopped, letting go of her suitcase and pulling Kalluto into a hug. “I’m sorry, I didn’t even think about that. I must of worried you, huh?”

He nodded against his shoulder, unable to speak. If he did, his voice would break.

“I’ll be up early in the morning to leave. Meet me in the courtyard at 6 am, okay?”

She didn’t leave any room for discussion, hiding him out of her room so she could get some much needed sleep.

(Name) had such a nice day, and for it to end so terribly made her chest hurt. She knew Illumi was lying, that he didn’t actually think she was after his money, but that didn’t make the words hurt any less. If he couldn’t be honest about how he felt about her, then she didn’t need to stick around.

‘I don’t think I can stop being his friend, I care about him too much, but I need time to think. To sort out my own feelings.’

She laid down on her pillow, a few stray tears staining her pillowcase. “Stupid Illumi…”

—————

Illumi arrived home the following afternoon, covered in blood. He took a quick shower, slowly calming down as the water soothed his sore muscles.

He’d been such an idiot last night. His father had said (Name) hadn’t been completely against the thoughts of marriage or dating, why did he have to say that to her? Not once did he ever think she only wanted him for his wealth. She already hated receiving small gifts from him, why would she marry him for such purposes?

He excited the shower, throwing on a comfortable pair of sweatpants and a tank top. Would she even talk to him right now? She’d been pretty upset last night.

‘No matter. She’ll have to talk with me eventually. I just have to try.’

Illumi climbed the stairs, knocking on her door. It creaked open, revealing an empty room.

“Hmm. She must be in the training hall.” He said aloud, turning on his heels.

She wasn’t in the training hall, but Kalluto was. His younger brother looked up from his workout to give Illumi a cold look.

“Hello brother. What brings you here?”

Illumi frowned. Kalluto had never looked at him like that before. “I’m looking for (Name). Where is she?”

Kalluto set down the weights he’d been lifting, crossing his legs. “She left.”

Illumi raised an eyebrow. “Left? What, did she want to go to town?”

Kalluto sighed, standing. “No, she’s gone. She packed up last night and left for home early this morning. She’s long gone by now.”

Illumi was frozen in place, his eyes widening at thsi revelation. He’d expected her to be angry, but for her to leave with such short notice wasn’t something he was expecting. A wave of nausea washed over him, his nerves getting the better of him.

“… who opened the gate for her?”

Kalluto crossed his arms. “Grandfather did.”

Illumi was gone, the only thing showing he’d been there the lingering bloodlust in the air.

——————

“Grandfather.”

Zeno peered over his shoulder to see Illumi standing in the doorway, gripping the frame so hard it brown under the pressure. “Yes, Illumi?”

“Why the hell did you open the gate for (Name)? You understand how dangerous it is for her to be without an escort while connected to us.”

Zeno looked back forward, out the window surveying the manor. “She wanted to leave, and I will not keep her against her will.”

Illumi frowned. “I don’t give a shit about what she wants right now, I care about her safety.”

“Illumi.”

The dark haired assassin froze in place. “You promised her she could leave whenever she want, and we Zoldycks do not break promises.”

“But-“

“Do not worry, Illumi. I’ve taken some precautions in regards to her safety. Only an idiot would hurt her, knowing she is the future bride of a Zoldyck. We have a tracking device on her that tracks her location and health, so if anything happens you will be the first to know.”

Although he was still angry, Illumi had to admit his grandfather had gone above and beyond to quell his concerns.

He left his grandfather, storming back to (Name)’s room. He checked the room, looking over every detail.

On her desk was a note, folded neatly with a sticker keeping it together. He recognized that sticker, (Name) had written this note.

He broke the sticker seal, opening the note.

Dear Illumi,

Your words last night really hurt me. I thought by now you’d know me better than to assume I’d only marry for money, but I guess I was wrong.

If you can’t handle you feelings, that’s fine, but don’t step all over mine. I truly care for you, so much that it pains me to have to leave like this.

I won’t stop being your friend, that would hurt me too much to bear, but I will be distancing myself from you until I can handle being in your presence. If I saw you now, I wouldn’t be able to control myself. Even writing this now is hard, the tears won’t stop coming.

Please, try and figure out how you feel before contacting me again. I can’t handle the whiplash of your tender touch and harsh words. It’s too much to bear.

I will come visit you sometime after September, so please have everything sorted out by then. I’m patient, but I won’t forever.

Regards, (Name)

Illumi read over the note several times, his eyes scanning the text like it was his own holy scripture.

He set the note back on her desk, sitting on her bed and burying himself in her comforter. He’d gotten too used to seeing her when he returned home, the lack of her presence unnerving him.

Illumi let a few tears fall, joining (Name)’s on her tear stained pillow. He’d made her cry again, and in his mind that was an unforgivable crime.

If anyone but him had been the cause of her tears, he’d have killed them where they stood. Why did he get to escape with little consequences, the girl still seeing him as a friend despite his harsh words?

“(Name)… I promise, I’ll be better. I… I really love you.” He whispered, taking in her scent still lingering on her bedding.

Even though his tears, he still felt angry. Angry at himself for pushing her away, but even more angry at her for leaving. But under all that anger and sadness was a layer of anxiety bubbling to the surface.

She wasn’t there. He couldn’t keep a watchful eye over her, or make sure she was safe. Illumi could only hope she would return to him when she was ready.

He didn’t have much of a choice, and having so little control over the matter was killing him.

Kalluto listened to him from down the hall, the younger Zoldyck sharing his older brother’s keen hearing. He wished his brother could say those words to (Name), frowning deeply. Maybe if he’d been brave enough to share his true feelings, she would have stayed, maybe even become a Zoldyck happily.

Now Kalluto was afraid (Name) wouldn’t have any choice in the matter. His parents had already set their eyes on her, and they weren’t the type to compromise. He just hoped his brother would hold himself accountable for his actions, because (Name) would be affected either way.

—————

A few days passed, and (Name) had arrived home. She lived in a small cabin a few miles out of her hometown, having moved a few hours away from her family when she turned 19,

The small plot of land had plenty of room for several fruit trees and a chicken coop. A small river stretched across her property, fish seen through the clear water.

It had been several months since she’d been home, and (Name) was ready to relax by herself.

(Name) plopped down on her couch, opening her phone to check her messages. She’d texted her friends her change in location to keep them informed.

Pretty Boy🫶: I see. Thank you for informing me.

Silly<3: stay safe!

Grumpy Pants: Don’t forget to lock back door. Always leave it unlocked

(Name) giggled at her friends responses.

She set her phone down and turned on the TV, allowing herself to lose herself in whatever came on.

As the months dragged on, (Name) found herself packing her suitcase again. It was a week until she had to meet her friend in York New, and to say she was excited was an understatement.

She’d been busying herself all summer with picking fruit and preparing jam to make enough money to stay in York New comfortably.

It was hard work, and she often went without breaks all day long, but she’d saved up enough to be able to have some fun.

She’d also taken her first mission as a hunter.

It wasn’t anything special, just collecting some samples of a fungus and returning it to a Fungus Collector, but they paid well. She’d sent all of her Hunter earnings to her family, so she didn’t have to worry about them during her trip.

(Name) mulled over what clothing she could pack, glancing between her several dresses and pants. The air was beginning to chill, meaning no more tank tops and shorts.

She wished her friend could have met with her during the summer, but he’d been busy. (Name) usually never complained, but the weather had been so nice, and she would have enjoyed swimming with him.

He didn’t like swimming, but would watch over her protectively as she splashed in the water, sliding down the small hill when she would slip on a river rock and plunge into the depths. Even though he disliked getting wet, he would jump in to pull her to safety if he even thought she was in danger.

He didn’t like admitting this though, and would scold her heavily after she finished coughing up the river water.

(Name) didn’t want to think about the scolding she would get if he found out how Illumi had treated her. Though, I guess Illumi would get it worse. Her friend didn’t exactly like her hanging out with men, so Illumi was kind of screwed from the beginning. Maybe he’d been right.

“Hmm, if I start thinking about him I’ll cry.”

Illumi had called her several times, asking her to come home. She rejected him each time. Her heart was still hurting, and it wasn’t going to heal just because HE wanted it to. She needed time, but he was rather impatient.

He’d been angry that she didn’t tell him she was going on her mission beforehand, stating he would have gone with her.

“Well that’s why I didn’t tell you. I’m not helpless, I can defend myself.”

(Name) couldn’t help but feel cold towards him. He always felt like he needed to have some semblance of control over her, and it was annoying. After that conversation Illumi hadn’t talked with her again. It had been a few weeks, and although she was still angry with him, the girl worried for his well being.

“I know he’s an assassin and he’s busy, but I wish he would at least tell me when he’s going to go no contact. I miss meeting up with him.”

(Name) paused, her own words confusing her. ‘Meeting up with him? What did that mean. I don’t even wanna see his face right now.’

She mulled over these thoughts as she finished packing, zipping her suitcase together with a sigh.

“Never mind. I need to call the pet sitter…”

—————

(Name) had made plans to spend the remaining week before York New with Gon and Killua. Killua was bad at hiding his excitement over her visit, saying he didn’t care if she came or not.

As (Name) exited the boat to whale island, a woman with pretty red hair waved to her, grabbing (Name)’s attention.

“Hello, you must be (Name)! I’m Mito, Gon’s aunt.” the woman called out, offering (Name) her hand.

“Oh, it’s nice to meet you! You raised such a sweet boy. Gon helped us all a lot during the exam, to say he caught a lot of people’s attention would be an understatement.”

Mito beamed, her eyes crinkling from her smile. (Name) looked around, raising an eyebrow.

“Speaking of the boys, where are they?”

“Oh, you know boys, they’re off exploring in the wilderness. Gon asked me to greet you. More often than not he spends his time among wildlife, not people.” Mito mused, leading (Name) away from the dock.

Their home was nice. The interior was tidy, with fresh flowers placed in vases near the windows.

(Name) sat at the small table, sipping on a cup of tea Mito had prepared. It was nearing dark, the two women having been talking all day.

Mito had some choice words to say about Illumi, making (Name) laugh. She didn’t think the woman had it in her to curse so vulgarly!

“Aunt Mito, we’re-“

Gon and Killua, covered in dirt and leaves, stared from the doorway, their jaws agape.

“(Name)!”

The two jumped into the air, landing on the unsuspecting girl. She yelped at the feeling of their weight on her, causing her chair to tip back.

They crashed onto the floor, all three laughing. “Did you two miss me that much?”

——————

They all had a lot of catching up to do, so the three travelled to the guest room she’d be staying in to talk.

“(Name), have you learned nen yet?” Killua asked. He couldn’t help feeling partially worried for the girl if she didn’t.

She answered by preforming Ren, causing the two to jump. “Yeah, I’ve actually known about nen since a few days after the exam.”

Killua scowled. “And you didn’t tell us? Rude!”

They told her about their experiences at Heavens Arena, (Name) making a disgusted face at the mention of Hisoka. “Yuck, you had to fight him of all people? Gon you have the worst luck.”

The boy chuckled sheepishly, scratching the back of his head. “It was a good learning experience. Now I know more than I did before.”

(Name) hummed, looking at the window. “Just uh… try to avoid that guy if you can. He gives off MAJOR creeper vibes.”

“Oh trust me I’m not trying to be buddy buddy with him.” Killua stated, rolling his eyes.

She shared her experience, Killua wincing at his brother’s words. “Yikes, that was harsh even for Illumi. What was he thinking.”

(Name) crossed her arms, pulling her pillow close to her chest. “I’m not sure, but he better get his head on straight. I won’t see him until he’s got his feelings sorted out.”

This was the (Name) that Killua remembered. Stubborn, frustratingly so, yet kind and forgiving. Too forgiving if you asked him, Illumi should be grateful he’d fallen in love with (Name), because there weren’t many people willing to put up with his behavior.

“Have you had any luck with finding your childhood friend?” Gon asked, watching her. She shook her head, sighing.

“No. My parents won’t give me any more information because they say it’s more dangerous to know. I bet they’re glad I have partial amnesia.” She said with a pout, looking out the window.

“All I know is that I used to live in Padokea, so I was hoping I might see him in town, but no dice. I don’t know if I’d be able to recognize him by sight, though.”

Killua wanted to agree, because she’d already found her childhood friend, Illumi, but he couldn’t. Although he wanted (Name) to remember him too, part of him agreed that knowing was dangerous. She had already caught his parents eye, and if she wasn’t careful it could end up getting her hurt.

The three ate dinner together and hung out until bedtime, all retreating to their separate rooms, promising to talk about their plans for York New in the morning.

(Name) spent her days on Whale Island dipping into rivers and helping Mito with the housework. It was still warm there, (Name) thoroughly enjoying her time.

The three had made their plans for York New, (Name) saying they’d have to separate the evening of September 1st.

She didn’t know how much she’d be able to see them, depending on what plans her grumpy friend had for her. They didn’t meet up often, but when they did it was fun. He didn’t ever tell her what he had planned for them, only saying when and where to meet.

As the week ended, the three boarded a boat off of whale island, the three waving at Mito as they sailed off.

—————

Kurapika glanced at his phone, seeing (Name) had texted him.

(Name): We’ll be in York New tomorrow. When you get a chance, come see me! I’m making some more treats!

He smiled at her message, unable to keep himself from blushing. Melody glanced at the boy.

“You’re in love.”

Kurapika looks up, confused. “In love? What are you talking about?”

Melody smiled, twirling her fingers in the air to the sound of unheard music.

“Your heart is singing, racing faster in a love song. You just really care about the person you were talking to.”

Kurapika could barely contain his beating heart, the muscle thumping against his ribs painfully. “You are misreading things. I don’t have the time or energy to be in love. I could never subject a possible partner to my dangerous life style.”

Even as he spoke, he glanced at the friendship bracelet on his wrist, a gift (Name) had sent him for his birthday. It was pink and girly, but he just didn’t feel tight without it on. It was hidden by his sleeve, so no harm no foul, right?

“Hmm. I think everyone falls in love sometimes. It may fade away with time, but your first love will always be in your heart.”

Kurapika nodded, hoping she would leave the subject be. It was already hard enough to acknowledge that he had feelings for (Name), much less talk about it with a stranger.

But a part of Kurapika imagined a world where him and (Name) could be happily in love, living together, perhaps even having children. He quickly shook this thought from his head.

“Let’s get down to business.”

——————

Strawberries: I’m landing in York New now!! Text me when you’re ready to meet up <3

Her grumpy friend texted back a quick response, turning away from the group surrounding him to hide his phone.

Grumpy Pants: Alright. Be safe, and do not explore too much. Dangerous city.

He sent the message, sliding his phone back in his pocket before continuing his journey. He would be arriving by nightfall, so he didn’t know if he’d be able to see her that day. It depended on what the boss had planned for them.

“Who were you texting?”

The man glanced at the pink haired woman beside him, before looking ahead. “None of your business, Machi.”

The woman rolled her eyes. “So secretive. What, is it your girlfriend or something?”

The man froze and unfroze so fast that a normal person wouldn’t be able to catch it, but Machi did. She said nothing, but snickered to herself.

—————

The three friends parted ways sooner than (Name) had expected. It didn’t bother her much, though, because she had some work to do.

(Name) rented out a small condo for her stay. She got a pretty decent deal on it. It was small, but would suit her needs.

The kitchen was the real reason she’d chosen the condo. (Name) needed a kitchen to prepare a surprise for her friend and his comrades. She’d already met a few of them, and really wanted to make a good impression on the rest.

The few she’d met had all been big eaters, devouring any food she sat in front of them, so she assumed the rest of them would have a healthy appetite too.

Because of this, (Name) had her work cut out for her.

Before she reached her condo, she picked up some baking essentials, and a big wicker basket. (Name) wanted to have a picnic, hopefully somewhere pretty so she could take pictures with her friend. She didn’t get a lot of chances to, the only photos of the two on her phone being blurry or focused mostly on her.

As she began to cook, she felt her phone buzz in her pocket, opening it.

Grumpy Pants: Can’t meet tonight. Won’t get there until night. Dangerous for you

She stared at the message for a full minute, pouting.

Strawberries: you know I’m trained in nen and martial arts now, right? I can defend myself!!

He was quick to respond.

Grumpy Pants: Not strong enough. Bad people, hurt you easy

She sighed and continued baking. Around 3 pm, she had finally finished her baked goods, packing them and a few jars of jelly and jam into her large basket. It was quite heavy, the old (Name) wouldn’t have been able to carry it alone, but she was stronger now.

(Name) threw on a white sundress and pink cardigan, slipping on some frilly white socks and black Mary Janes. Her friend might not be in town before night fall, but she was sure his comrades would be.

If (Name) explored town, she might be able to sense one of the auras of the comrades she met and follow it to their location. She gave herself a pat on the back for her idea, walking out of her condo and locking the door behind her.

[youngpettyqueen]

Alright because I’ve gotten 2 things now from who I think might be one person: let’s talk about the issues I have with Harry Kim

First of all, I want to be perfectly clear: my thoughts on Garrett Wang’s acting are specifically about how he plays Harry Kim, and nothing else. I haven’t seen him in anything else, so I can’t comment on his abilities as an actor outside of Voyager. In Voyager, I do oftentimes feel he isn’t very convincing and often comes across as whiny. Again, this is ONLY about him in Voyager. If anybody would like to recommend me other things he’s done, I’ll happily check them out

This isn’t a sentiment I only have about him, or about Asian actors/characters. To name a few, I feel this way about Marc Blucas, Dominic Keating in the last 2 seasons of Enterprise, Jenna Louise-Coleman in her seasons of Doctor Who, and Richard Madden in Eternals. I’m also not obsessed with hating on Harry, but I’ll acknowledge that I shouldn’t be putting my grievances in the tags and clogging them up. For that, I apologize, and when I can go through my tags at home after work today, I will edit tags

I also feel that I haven’t been clear enough on the fact that a lot of my problems with Harry stem from the writing. I’ve tried to be clear on this, but I think I’ve failed to be. For that I also apologize. I think it’s an injustice that Harry isn’t afforded much in the way of character growth, and it truly pisses me off that he ends the show the same way he started it. Voyager is a show that has a very diverse cast for it’s time, but ultimately it fails to deliver with its characters of colour, and sidelines them to a ridiculous extent. This is an issue I’ve had with Trek as a whole, and have discussed multiple times on this blog. Harry gets it bad in Voyager, and I think it’s unfortunate and infuriating, because he deserved better and didn’t get it simply because he was an Asian man in a 90s TV series

To the recommendation I’ve gotten to research Asian depictions in western media: I already do this. I’m actively anti-racist, and I’m constantly seeking out ways that I can be a better ally, and I do my research so that I can always be the best I can be. I constantly challenge myself to unpack racism within myself. It’s why I’m confident that my issues with Harry Kim aren’t because he’s Asian. I don’t feel this way about any other Asian character I’ve encountered, and I don’t even feel this way about any other roles Garrett Wang has played. I’m not writing him off as a bad actor, I just don’t think he’s very good in this one specific show. I will happily check out other roles of his, because I don’t let one show cloud my judgement of an actor as a whole

Moving forward, I won’t be putting any negative posting I might do in the tags. I apologize for not doing this in the first place. I should have, but I didn’t, and that’s on me. I hope this post makes it clear where I’m coming from with him, and that most of my issues with him stem from how he was poorly handled by writers and how infuriating it is to me that he was poorly handled because of racism

[vampirzina]

Could you do headcanons of Fujin with a punk reader? (Especially with how calm he can be mixed with the reader’s chaotic energy)

⛧ ┆ FUJIN w. PUNK!READER HCS

tw(s): gn pronouns (you), sfw, fluff (mostly)

note: although i’m not punk i’ll do my best!!!!! my most exciting ask yet. i’m also so grateful to have been graced with a shot at it after seeing the goth & metalhead ones in other tags. i loved them.

masterlist

— Fujin’s love for the human spirit is undying, and it only grows more when he came across you for the first time.

— You interested him, and you interested him a lot. What is a… Punk? He’s always known it an insult, but why were you calling yourself that? Were you evil?

— His personality is able to sift through your chaotic one, and he actually finds himself seeking you out just to hear you/your thoughts

— He doesn’t mind a chaotic personality, as he’s met humans with a plethora of different personalities. He just needs to learn when and how to talk you away from those reckless moments when the situation is dire and dangerous.

— Would jump to your defense but apologize for you when you got mouthy with a judgy rule-obedient Raiden.

— He’s the one who asked for no pickles, you’re the one who tells them he asked for no pickles. If that makes any sense lol

— Even though he usually has such a high tolerance for humans indiscriminate of who they are, he can see why the scene of punk is the way it is. Injustices are everywhere.

— Eventually, you two become really close, close enough that one day you casually introduce him to The Ramones, Sex Pistols and The Clash.

It’s a new sound, to him, but he doesn’t hate it at all. He’d actually sometimes make a mental note of the song name when you tell him, and sometimes ask if you could play it.

— When/if you two eventually started dating, he would sow something onto your battle vest. It’ll remind you of him, he says, and it does. He would hang a cuff or something of yours on his belt in turn.

ᐟᐟ☆

“Fujin, have you seen my vest? The one I always wear,” you frustratedly lifted a pillow, before throwing it down. You almost cuss—you’ve been looking for an hour and you’ve got places to be.

Innocently does he look over his shoulder with it in hand. He lifts it, “This?”

“Yes, that,” your gaze wishes to turn into a glower at him, but you don’t find the will. He lets you find his work yourself, even if embroidery doesn’t really go with the style of it.

☆ ᐟᐟ

— If you do your hair up with a lot of gel/spray, then he’d attentively watch and, boldly one day, ask to try it. Even if he doesn’t do it perfectly, the gesture is tooth-rotting sweet.

If you shave or cut your hair, he would be the type to notice when you do… And ask if you did something new with your hair. The slightest change can prompt the question, so that there’s a chance to flatter you.

If you are in a band, he would do his best to support you from afar; his presence alone could offset the entire room, making it hard to blend in.

— Make him a battle vest. It’ll look ridiculous on him in contrast to what he normally wears, but he’ll keep it bedside or when he needs something to think back on. If you’re cold, he’ll give it to you again. He smiles sometimes at it.

— Punk!Fujin? He’d be so absorbed into the scene and the meanings behind things that he occasionally begins to know more than you. Unbeknownst to you though, it’s all to impress you... ❤︎

— But getting into fights and protests so often makes him worry for you. He’d try not to make it into an argument about your safety knowing how you are but he’d help you learn a new thing or two to defend yourself (to help him more than you, really).

@𝐕𝐀𝐌𝐏𝐈𝐑𝐙𝐈𝐍𝐀೨

[owlespresso]

something to give

—each other In the wake of the events at the vault, you face several new, interpersonal struggles. tags: gore, teeth-related descriptions, blood, memory loss, somewhat of an AU I'm really, horribly proud of how this came out. It's been in the works for months, now. It's somewhat of an AU, and there are some things you may have to piece together on your own.

You grew new teeth, after the Vault.

Only barely cognizant were you of the change, too preoccupied with the desperate scramble after the Archbishop and his horde of inhuman freaks to really notice. You licked the coppery taste from your gums and swallowed, no stranger to the taste of your own blood and viscera. You don’t realize your mouth even hurts until you're spitting hard white onto the icy concrete outside the Forgotten Knight. Three of them, and a smattering of crimson on the worn cobblestone.

They’re orange under the dim lanternlight.

A few passerby linger at the corners of your vision. None approach. They only look, trying to decide if the stranger vomiting teeth onto their street is worth assisting. You look up. Your chin is hot and wet. The blood streaming out of your mouth warms your chin and throat. It’ll cool rapidly, start flaking on the skin if you leave it alone. You lift your head. Brume dwellers tense under your stare. You’re not sure what sort of face you’re making. You’re not even sure what the appropriate face to make is, in this situation.

“Anyone got a rag?” you ask, instead. “I’d like to clean this up.” Because it’s a mess you made, after all.

They help you, but probably because Hilda put in a good word. Or maybe they want to be on the good side of the beast who put the Archbishop in his grave. Maybe they’re excited for what other changes will fall on your head, the rivers of your blood and brain matter enough to sweep away even the sturdiest of Ishgardian’s foundations. At least someone is looking forward to it.

Your teeth are falling out.

Or maybe—maybe being pushed out is a better way to put it.

New bones are stemming from your often shut jaw. No amount of tensing or grinding will whittle them down.

“Are you alright?” Alphinaud looks up at you with big eyes. He repeats your name, incredulous. “There’s—there’s blood all over you—are you injured?” Panic makes his voice reedy and sharp. He’s become more of a mother hen since you came to Ishgard. Guilt is a bitter taste on the back of your tongue. How dare you make him worry about what little he has left.

“I’m fine.” you say, but he’s already grasped you by the sleeve. You let him lead you to the couch, but you don’t sit. You shrug your coat off, glancing pensively at the fine furniture. You haven’t tracked a mess inside the manor, have you? You toss a cursory glance at the floors.

Alphinaud repeats your name with increased urgency. He prises your coat from your shoulders with surprising strength. Fear makes the body stronger.

“I’m fine—”

“You are covered in blood. Please, do not insult both my powers of observation and intelligence in one foul swoop.” He sticks his heels into the ground with an indignant frown. Stubborn and firm. This is the Alphinaud you remember. A brat unaware that he’s too small for the shoes he’s stepped into. Small and stature and loud in voice and long in word. Agonizingly long. His brows are furrowed and his eyes determined, but his lips wobble. You stare at him.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” you say, and turn away. You walk back into the foyer, glad you haven’t tracked any blood back into the house.

—

“What does it mean when your teeth start falling out?” you drape yourself over the counter. Jannequinard looks concerned, but also flummoxed. 

“Well—I,” he startles and stammers once he realizes you’re expecting an answer, maybe surprised that you’re talking to him at all. “Have you recently suffered blunt force trauma? Perhaps directly to that comely face of yours? My apologies, but this seems like a question for a chirurgeon. Shall I call for one?” He flitters about behind his desk, opening and shutting drawers with increasing urgency. He finds what he’s looking for after the fifth. A linkpearl glints underneath the overhead lighting, gently pinched between his thumb and forefinger.

“No. I’m fine now. I didn’t come here to be treated,” you say, and he deflates.

“You could have clarified before I went through such a tizzy looking,” he complains halfheartedly, stowing it away in one of his likely many pockets.

“I came to ask what it means.” you clarify, feeling no guilt whatsoever.

“In a symbolic way, then,” another voice chimes from above. A woman seats her elbows on the railing above, looking down at you with contemplative eyes. The chandelier light glints off the gold and silver of her bangles and bracelets, jewels and motes of fine metal woven into her dark gown. Wealthy. And smart. With green eyes and hair lavender. “I doubt the answers for your sudden… dental losses can be found via divination, but your problem calls me back to a seminar I attended on dream divination. If I recall correctly, losing one’s teeth in a dream is a sign that one has been talking too much—perhaps indulging in excess amounts of gossip.” 

“I see!” Jannequinard pipes up, clapping his hands together. “That’s the brilliant Lady Leveva for you!”

“Thank you,” you say, not eager to listen to him talk more than you have to. You nod respectfully to Lady Leveva and leave. The frigid air blasts you in the face. It doesn’t feel like you learned anything useful.

—

“Did you eat today?” you ask Emmanellain. His eyes go wide with surprise. Your knees are curled to your chest. A woolen blanket rests heavy across your shoulders, a welcome weight. You’re not sure where it came from, or when it chanced to rest upon you, but you’ve tossed part of it over Emmanellain, who squawked like a little chocobo and fussed until it became clear you weren’t going to move it.

“Just did, as a matter of fact! They have the loveliest crowned pies at this little cafe in the Crozier, and the caviar is always freshly-caught!” he chirps, before fixing you with a sly look. His head dips coy to take partial shelter behind a raised shoulder. “Since when did you become so occupied with my day-to-day, old girl? Not that I mind—I’m flattered, really, to receive such special attention from our own Warrior of Light, Savior of Ishgard and the realm of Eorzea aside—hm?”

You hold a hand up to your mouth. A strange, misplaced anger churns nauseous in your gut. Your vision blurs, the rococo pattern on the carpet jumping in doubles. The crackling of the fireplace sounds faraway. Your jaw creaks, bone stretching and splintering, and making room for new growth.

“Old girl?”

You—you hear. There’s a loud cracking. Some vague, instant notion of pain where your mouth should be. It’s still there, isn’t it?

Colors dance behind your eyelids. When had you closed them? When did you start to look away? When did the blood pooled on your tongue begin to taste as plain place as water?

A warm hand cups your shoulder and shakes you.

Emmanellain whimpers your name, this time. His blue eyes are blown wide and watery. He must take after his mother, you think, because he lacks the sharpened features and keen eyes of the count. He’s all round cheeks and soft lines, and he’s saying something.

“answer me, old girl, please! Should I get the chirurgeons—oh, I should, shouldn’t I?” he seems nearly hysterical.

“No. I’m fine.” you say, and he deflates into the sofa.

“Oh Halone! She speaks at last!” he gasps.

“What’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong!?” he gapes at you. “I believe I should be asking you that! You went silent, which I suppose is par for the course for a dashing, silent hero—but then you curled up like a clam and began to shake! And I have never seen you so much as shiver, old girl, much less quake like a newborn fawn! You must understand my quite-reasonable terror!” Emmanellain runs his fingers through his hair, messing up the already ruffled strands. 

It must have been quite frightening, you think, to have the well-being of someone with your reputation in his hands. Especially because Emmanellain has likely never been trusted with the health of anyone, before. Or anything.

A hand waves in front of your face. You blink. Emmanellain comes back into focus. Ah. You haven’t said anything, yet.

“Sorry.” you mumble, resisting the near reflexive urge to sigh. Emmanellain’s mouth balls up, like he has something to say, but thinks better of it before sinking back into his seat with a sigh.

“Well, as long as you’re quite alright—and you are alright, aren’t you? You can… tell me, if something is amiss. I won’t tell a soul, I swear to you, should you wish it to remain discreet!”

“You? Keep a secret?” you ask, honestly taken aback by the idea.

Emmanellain chokes a little on his own outrage.

“Of course! I’m not some cur who would betray a lady’s sacred trust!” he insists, thoroughly impassioned. “Doubly so if the lady in question is you, who have done so much for—”

“You don’t need to go that far,” you interrupt, suddenly wishing you hadn’t made your doubt known at all.

For all his dramatics, he is being rather sweet. Bumbling personality and penchant for gossip aside, he is tender-hearted. It is no wonder, then, that he so fervently avoids taking the field. A younger you would have derided him for his cowardice. But now, you are glad for it. Glad that he is safe, inside the walls of the city.

“I’m alright, really. Just a lot to think about, these days.” You insist, because you don’t want him to worry.

“As, yes, much indeed!” he nods vigorously. “However, if I may offer a morsel of advice—”

“You may.”

“...Ehem, thank you. Most gracious of you,” he nods, but you get the feeling that he isn’t that grateful. “Thinking is well good and all, but if it’s all you do, then you’re bound to think yourself into a rut. Like all good things, it must be done in moderation. And you, Old Girl, have been indulging in contemplation far more than is healthy.”

“Oh?” you’re not sure where he’s going with this, but you cannot deny your intrigue.

“Don’t think I haven’t noticed you pacing late into the night!” he points and waggles a disapproving finger at you. Distantly, you think back to hours spent patrolling the halls of the manor, to the times where you have chanced upon the young lord stumbling inside after a night of carousing, sweat stuck to his brow and pink stuck to his cheeks. Four times, you’ve helped him up the stairs and to his room, but never did you realize he was paying much attention to you. He always seemed too sloshed to realize whose shoulder he was leaning on. “I’m surprised you haven’t worn a rut straight into the floor!”

“I don’t think that’s possible,” you hope not, lest your pockets suffer the repair costs.

“Not the point, Old Girl! The point is that we need to get you out of the house—for you’re sure to drive yourself mad if left to stew with your thoughts any longer.”

Come to think of it, when was the last time you left the manor for more than just an errand run? You blink, raffling through all recent events, but you come up frustratingly blank.

“What would you suggest, then?” you ask. He beams.

“I am so incredibly chuffed that you asked, Old Girl!” he begins. “Why, I recently stumbled across the most delightful—”

You follow along and nod where you can as he lists off recent places of interest. It’s heartening to see him so lively, though you aren’t sure why he wouldn’t be. The snows may fall and the skies may darken, but all that is par for the course here. Nothing of note has happened. You let the matter lie, just happy to hear him speak.

—

There’s a… concoction next to your breakfast. A noxiously bright, pink fluid trapped in a small, round bottle. Y’shtola insists that you take the draught twice a day. You can’t quite remember when it started. But you always remember the warmth of her hands when she pressed a bottle into your hands, and the low of her lips tersely pressed together. 

It’s strange, and honestly a little worrying to see her so tense. Y’shtola, who knows so much and can be relied upon without question. Which is why you don’t question her.

You feel clearer after you gulp the tonic down, anyways. More energized. To the depths of your soul, you trust Y’shtola to do what’s best for you.

You don’t have the capacity to worry about anything but the looming threat of the Horde, anyways.

—

“You have done too much for us, truly,” Aymeric says, illuminated by soft candlelight. Handsome, unmistakably and unfairly so. You’ve never understood why he isn’t more popular with the delicate noble ladies of the court. Being the archbishop’s son doesn’t stop him from having a face that belongs on a cathedral wall.

“To give so much for a cause that is not your own… I can scarcely comprehend the selflessness.”

“Well. It’s my fight, now,” you would have hoped he understood that now. You lick your spoon clean. The pointed edges of your canines click noisily against the sterling silver. “Ever since you took us in.”

“I…” Aymeric seems at a loss for words, for a moment. He’s staring down at his paperwork, something forlorn on his face. “Of course, but you and yours have gone above and beyond—”

“Blue is your favorite color, isn’t it?” you look at the walls.

“Yes, I am… quite partial to it, I would say,” he blinks several times.

“You must have grown up around a lot of it” you observe, casting a glance. The wallpaper is blue. The tablecloth is blue, most of the fine china on the table in the nearby display cabinet are blue, or accented with it. “Do you think it would be your favorite, even if you didn’t grow up surrounded by it?”

“I suppose I have no way of knowing. Why do you ask, my friend? What troubles you?” There’s a furrow in Aymeric’s brow, meal all but forgotten amongst your conversation. Your fingers drum against the tabletop , gaze sliding down to your plate. Your potatoes are half-eaten, roasted slab of meat untouched. It’s more seasoned than anything else you’ve eaten in the city. They really pulled out all the stops for you.

“Nothing, really. I was just curious. I… want to know more about you.”

An inexplicably tender look crosses the smooth satin of his features. The sharp lines around his eyes gentle, bow of his lips curling into a smile. Unreadable to you. You can only hope that you haven’t irritated or otherwise aggrieved him.

“I would love nothing more,” Aymeric murmured. “So long I have spent occupied by the war and our own politics that I have forgotten what genuine conversation feels like.”

“Really? I thought you would have lots of friends.”

“I am well supported by my fellow knights and backed by several members of the High Houses. Those relationships are mostly borne of respect and mutual gain. I would call them connections, rather than genuine friendships. Hardly anything that can compare to your ties with Lord Haurchefant—”

Your bottom molars crack. Coppery sanguine floods the cavity of your mouth. Streaks your teeth with deep crimson. You’re not sure what you look like, right now. You feel fine, only a distant ache thrumming at the underside of your jaw. Across the table, Aymeric rapidly becomes the palest you have ever seen him. He shoves away from the table and jolts to attention. His lips are moving, but you can hardly hear him above the snapping of bone, the thud of your own pulse.

Your lips part. A mouthful of blood drops onto your lip, mixed with a few odd shards of white clattering onto your plate. The world flitters away from you in steady, floating strokes of black. Fuzzy like billows of smoke at the edges of your vision.

And you’re grateful, in the moment, for your dwindling consciousness. Glad to avoid the embarrassment that would surely flatten you after forcing him to witness something so disgusting.

—

Love takes many forms. The medicine Alphinaud insists you take are bitter, but you have suffered plenty a worse taste. These concoctions, meant to heal the remaining tears and breaks left behind by your new teeth, are also love. The fact that your companions look at you with concern rather than fear is also love. Your molars came in unusually sharp, near instantly. Push the old ones out and onto your trousers before you even realize. It doesn’t frighten you as much as it should. Doesn’t keep you up at night.

These days, you are often soothed to sleep by a gentle, steady pulsing, a quiet ripple in the aether. It comes from another room in the manor, always at your periphery. You would compare it to a ghost if it weren’t so familiar. You don’t read into it too much. 

You keep your head down and your eyes on what’s in front of you.

Alphinaud is in front of you, hands on his hips. He looks terribly constipated, which means he has something to say, but is terribly uncertain of how to say it. Or if it’s the right time to say it. Or if it should be said at all.

You look at him upside down, head on the armrest of a comfy sofa in your quarters.

“Spit it out, already,” you grouse good-naturedly. “Or are you scared of me now that I’m becoming a shark?”

He sighs, taught demeanor breaking with a slump of the shoulders.

“You are most certainly not turning into a shark,” he informs you. You open your mouth. He shushes you with a gloved finger. “Or a piranha. Or any other manner of sharp-toothed beast.”

“So you say,” you take hold of his hand, absentmindedly rolling your thumb over the back of it. The fabric of his gloves is warm and soothing to the touch. Beneath them, his pulse thrums. Soft and alive and quickening. “What’s bothering you, Alphinaud? You’re too quiet these days.”

“I am simply worried for your health, is all,” he murmurs with a sigh, white lashes fluttering to fan against his cheek. Round and small, a testament to his youth. Too young to be so burdened by fear, by worry. “Y’shtola and the others are working hard, and I’ve no doubt they will find a cure in due time, but I feel…”

“I’m sorry,” To be the source of his pain for even a moment is too much. “Don’t fret. I don’t feel the pain. And there probably won’t be any subsequent effects. If anything, I can catch the enemy off guard with a well-timed bite.”

“Your condition is unlike any we have ever seen before—and cannot afford to beg assistance from any of Ishgard’s chirurgeons, given the circumstances of it! If you were to suddenly decline…” he trails off, lips nettled into a deeply pained expression.

You squeeze his hand. “I’m still here.” He swallows and softens. He casts you a pitying look. “Enough.” Your thumb presses just a little harder against the back of his hand. You miss the way his ears tinge pink.

You sit up, wrapping a woolen blanket a little tighter around your shoulders. Artoirel, earlier, gently draped it over your shoulders and kindly asked you to keep warm—and who were you to deny such a sweet, earnest request?

“Come,” you pat the spot next to you, shifting a few pillows out of the way. The brocade shimmers underneath the lamplight. Shiny golds and deep blues that remind you of the wallpaper in Aymeric’s manor. “Sit next to me and draw, won’t you? I want to see more of your pretty pictures.”

And who is he to refuse such a simple and earnest request? You’re changing the subject, but you’ve done it so sweetly and blatantly. That should be enough. Alphinaud isn’t very hard to win over these days. Not as stringent nor as scolding as lovely Y’shtola, who you do not know how you survived without.

“Only if you swear to alert Y’shtola or I should your condition change, or should you notice any… side effects,” he stands firm, crossing his arms. He’s doing his best impression of Estinien, you think, solid and unyielding. There’s a determined gleam in his eyes when you meet them, the downturn of his lips made stubborn. “Or—or if something else troubles you.”

You pause for a moment.

“I accept, on the condition that you draw Lolorito as hysterically hideous as you can manage.”

He shakes his head in a vain effort to hide his smile. Your heart feels warm.

“If that is truly what it will take. Wait just a moment,” he heads for the stairs. His supplies are stowed away in his room.

“Several of them!” you call after him, hanging over the back of the couch. “So we can hang them all over the city!”

He reaches the mezzanine and disappears into the shadows of an adjoining hall. All if quiet. 

“I make no such promises!” his voice echoes back down the stairs and into the lounge.

—

They’re pretty sure they know where Thancred is, narrowed down to a thin crescent of land within the Dravanian Forelands. You are, of course, endlessly frustrated. You combed through vast swathes of the area when traveling with Estinien and Ysayle. How in Hydaelyn’s sweet name had you missed him?

Naturally, you must right this wrong. You will join the Thancred rescue party.

So, you march over to your allies, your companions, your friends and voice your intent with more energy than you have had in weeks. They look surprised at first. Alphinaud then looks abashed, and Y’shtola is the only person with enough spine to tell you what’s what.

They do not want you on the Thancred rescue party. Out of concern for your health. Healers they may be, but you know your body. The only aches and pains you face now are those which have plagued you since your misspent youth. There is no compromise to be made, no need for you to cower within Ishgard’s sturdy walls whilst your friends brave the wilds, risking life and limb to recover one of your own.

The Dravanian Forelands stretch beneath a fortunately clear sky. You recall the hospitality shown to you by the gnath during your first foray into the forests, and are pleased to receive an even warmer welcome this time. Indeed, they have both seen and traded with Thancred. The lead is strong, the scent of the trail thick in the air.

You’re not sure how the others don’t pick it up. It is buried beneath the thick of the wilds, leaf not leather and something unmistakably Thancred. Undeniably and deliciously Thancred. The hunt occupies most of your attention from then on. Some animal part of your brain flickers to life, spurring you into instinctual motion. You tread the path at the head of the pack, oblivious to the conversations occurring all around you.

The abode of the tempered gnath smells and feels as insidious as you remember, but the nest is empty now. Save Ravana and some poor sods foolish enough to tussle with him. By the time you reach the lip of the pit, the battle is over and the primal has crumpled. He erupts into fluttering pulses of amber aether, one thousand butterflies extinguish into the chilly night air.

You’re not terribly concerned with the party that ended him, but the bulky warrior at their head begins to yap on about darkness and light. You’re content to let him, keen gaze scanning the grounds in hope of catching sight of your last friend. The air here is thick with him. If he’s not here, then he’s nearby—

Alphinaud’s panicked cry splits the cold air. You’re not afforded the time to look before an axe arches through the air, dark metal gleaming underneath pale moonlight. Fortunately, the rage only takes a moment to reach a boiling point, these days.

You reach up. An arm too thick and too ridden with scale to be yours catches it by the blade, hooked claws like crescent moons. You look the warrior in the eyes. His eyes go wide in surprise, before his features crumple in with annoyance. Not fear. Not yet.

You don't remember the rest of the fight. There were screams, panicked voices you did not recognize, and at last the telltale sound of teleportation being cast. Consciousness clambers back to you in fuzzy, stumbling stages. The dirt and dead grass crunches underneath your boots. The smell of ash and burnt pine. The steady surging of the many nearby rivers.

You blink, and all of the sudden, you are no longer at the heart of the vath’s domain. Rather, your group has taken shelter beneath a hulking ruin. The groans and growls of wild beasts outside.

“What happened?” you ask. Alphinaud is there. He looks scared, sweat slick on his brow. He struggles to gather his words, mouth opening and clothing, several times in rapid succession. “Did we win?”

Your friends stare at you like you are unfamiliar. Even Y’shtola’s eyes are pitched wide. What must you have done to inspire such terror in those closest to you? Alphinaud seems bereft of his typical many words. The silence hangs in the air for several, helpless moments.

“Yes, large in part due to your newfound skill and my hasty arrival,” a familiar voice cuts through the lingering quiet, and oh—

“Thancred!” There is no decorum in the way you rush him. You throw your arms around his waist and squeeze, close enough to take in the wild smell of him, all sweat soaked leather and the bite of iron. Something in you is piqued by the scent.

He laughs. It’s a full sound, incredulous. “Who are you and what have you done with our Warrior of Light?” Calloused fingers pry you back by the jaw so he can get a better look at you. His roguish smile is a familiar, comforting sight. His gaze, though, is prying. He’s searching for something in you and you don’t know what. You can only hope that he finds it, and that it satisfies him. “I don’t believe I’ve ever been honored with one of your fair embraces, before. Did absence truly make the heart so much fonder?” he asks, eye crinkling with a waggish smile.

His one eye.

“Your eye—” you begin, gut churning with the revelation. 

He waves you off. “You’ve no need to fret over me. It’s still usable, merely a tad sensitive to the light. And the eyepatch—doesn’t it have a certain roguish appeal?”

“I,” you swallow, suddenly unsure of what to say. You look down at your hands, and find them stained with blotches of bright sanguine. A cold feeling settles in your stomach. For not the first or the tenth time, you wonder if what you’re seeing is really there. You look to Y’shtola for answers, as you are these days wont to do. “What happened?”

“A conversation best saved for when we are out of the wilds,” Y’shtola declares. “I believe we are all in need of a meal, a good night’s rest, and—” she spares Thancred a pointed look. “a hot bath.”

“Couldn’t you have been any subtler?” Alphinaud asks, sympathetic. 

Y’shtola says something else in reply, and then begins walking. You walk, too, along the Forelands trail until you reach Tailfeather, where a carriage through the Western Highlands has been secured. Thancred can no longer teleport himself, he’s told you. A consequence of his timely escape from Ul’dah. It’s yet another tally to add to the list of misfortunes you were not strong enough to prevent. You stay quiet the whole way back.

Only once you are securely squared away in your quarters in House Fortemps does Y’shtola come to you.

“Your arm was, all at once covered in scales—and your fingers morphed into claws. I have never seen such an abrupt transformation. There was no dragon blood consumed, nor a cache of crystals in the vicinity to create such a transformation.” It all pours out of her at once, a gush of information that takes a few moments for you to process. Not that you are particularly surprised. After all, how many times have you invoked the strength of the void, letting its dark taint suffuse your spells with power unimaginable? You have formed a close bond with Midgardsormr over the course of your journey. Adopting his strength as your own feels natural.

Y’shtola doesn’t seem to agree, as she continues.

“The lack of preparation and sheer speed of the transformation suggest that you’ve possessessed this power from the start. Or at least, for quite time time. Do you have any inkling of how this may have occurred?”

She turns her gaze to you. Sightless, yet keener than ever. The silver of her stare slips beneath your skin and prises the truth straight out of your mouth, because you can’t stomach lying to Y’shtola.

“No. I don’t. Mdigardsormr traveled with me, yes, but he gave no indication that this coild happen.”

Y’shtola squints at you, opening her lips as if to speak, but all that emerges is a sigh. Fond exasperation furrows her brows and draws her lips into a begrudging smile.

“I suppose it cannot be helped, then. You have ever been the most vexing problem child,” she teases and you grumble, collapsing onto your mattress. You turn over and shove your face into the cotton blankets. 

“Come now, do not pout,” Y’shtola pats you on the shoulder. “You’re the best of us, you know. Even if you can’t handle a little prodding,” another pause. “If anything feels off, come see Alphinaud or myself straight away.”

“I assume you’d prefer being my first choice?” you inquire impishly, only half in jest. 

“I’ll not be coaxed into kicking the hornet’s nest on this one,” Y’shtola stands, stretching her arms above her head with a yawn, and then a sigh as her muscles stretch and her joints crack. “Promise me.” she murmurs, delicately prodding your side.

You give a grunt, and then a mumble of verbal ascent when the sound fails to satisfy her. 

You count every footfall across the aged wooden floor, heels of her shoes deceoptively soft. She’s inaudible by the time she reaches the landing.

—

It would take hold of Minfilia, sometimes. During particularly impassioned moments at negotiating tables, her voice would crack across the room, tight and wound as a coil of lightning. You can recall a particular insurance—in the office of the Admiral. A sly remark in passing off Merlywyb’s tongue developed into a full blown discourse on the very nature of the beast tribes, and what aught to be done with them.

All people of Hydaelyn were entitled to the Mother’s blessings. Minfilia decreed and her eyes burned that brilliant aether blue, and the room smelled like a passing storm.

“This is love,” Minfillia said, looking deep into the grooves of an Amal’jaan warrior’s spear—symbols meant to provide some sort of luck, or protection. The beastman laid in a smoking heap a few fulms away, smited by your spellcraft.

“This is love,” Minfillia, said, cradling your newly obtained jobstone in her cradled palm. The echoes of countless come before you, packed into one object meant to arm you, to furnish you with knowledge. With fire to melt Garlean steel and ice to freeze entire caravans belonging to certain Syndicate members. With earth and wind to blow away festering corruption, to heal all wounds.

“This is love,” Minfillia rasped, spun gold hair falling stringy and wet in her face. She looked at you with wide eyes—and open arms with trembling  fingers. One of her daggers had been flung overboard, lost to the frenzy of the Whorl. Her eyes were two wide currents of light in the dark and dreary grey. Each breath rattled out of her. “This is love.”

And looking back, you wonder how you even managed to hear her over the wind and chopping of the sea.

The outpouring of your essence into a vessel in hopes that it may one day aid someone else. You think you understand it, now.

—

“Half of your aether in its full capacity,” Alphinaud said to you, shortly after you woke up for the first time after the Vault. Memories of the conversation and several like it come to you, sometimes. Like thin trails of fog gliding in through your open balcony door. His voice was rife with disbelief. Eyes so young and wide and watery—a boy so scared of losing one of the only friends he has left.

“I cannot begrudge you—I am—glad you did it—” he pounds pained. “Yet surely, you must know this does not bode well for your—”

“Casting—” your voice doesn’t sound like yours, sometimes.

“Your health—for your health—”

“Please, take better care—”

“—half of it isn’t your own, anymore—”

“My friend, please. Tell me what ails—”

“You saved my son’s life, and for that, you will forever have my deepest gratitude. Deeply and irrevocably.”

[some-pers0n]

Uhhh....Bio Post?

Hey! Hi! Hello! Any other synonym for ‘greetings’! Nice of you to stop by and read this. If you have, give it a lil' heart so I know you've read it. Means a lot.

INTRO

My name is Some Person, though you can call me Some, Person, or just SP. The SP stands for "Science Party" of course; what else could it possibly be?

They/she pronouns. Don't wear 'em out, alright?

I’m a blog that just is mostly here to gawk at beautiful art and reblog it. It’ll be just about anything, but mostly as of now it’s going to be TF2, WoF, Will Wood, memes, etc and etc stuff. I do reblog a LOT, just keep that in mind.

I am a fanfic author who mostly just dabbles in TF2 and WoF, though don’t be shocked if I post anything from any other fandom.

BYI

I am a rambly person. I can’t really help myself but run my mouth off on just about anything. I’ll frequently post rants and gargle up nonsense about anything, though mostly WoF (I have way too many thoughts on that series). Often times it’ll just be me talking to myself.

If you couldn’t tell already, I do genuinely type like this. It’s force of habit now, I guess. I always sort of worry that I come off as rude or insensitive, so I'll infrequently use tone tags just in case. You don’t need to use them for me though.

I'm also very awkward. I'll say a lot of things randomly or just be really sort of...off in a way. Keep in mind I'm autistic lol

I am a minor. I don’t mind if you make NSFW content or anything, but I’ll do my part to try not to interact with you (even if your art is very pretty and cool–)

I am also an argumentative person. I try to catch myself before it gets bad, but sometimes I get carried away. My deepest apologizes if that happens.

I have a lot of opinions. I swear to God you can press me on just about every topic and I'll have something to say about it.

If you go to follow me, just know that I am a very reblog-heavy person. If you do so, there's a good chance your dash will be flooded with TF2 characters and whatever else I'm incredibly obsessed with at that point. I'm sorry to anybody who follows me and is immediately hit with gay old men holding hands.

I LOVE ASKS!! I love talking with people! Feel free to DM, ping me in posts and tag game, or just...talk to me about anything. No need to be shy around me. Ask me about my thoughts on something and I'll answer as soon as possible. Wanna talk about something else? Sounds great!

INTERESTS

(Legend: Highlight: The Interest | Bold - Special Interest | Italics - Moderate Interest)

TF2

Wings Of Fire

Will Wood

Writing

Astronomy

Psychology

Disco Elysium

TLOZ

Pokémon 

The Magnus Archives

Jerma985

Omori

Persona 5

Deltrarune/Undertale

FNAF

Portal 1/2

SOCIALS

Ao3: SomePerson5

Discord: s0me-person

[soulreader05]

𝓙𝓪𝓲𝓶𝓮 & 𝓝𝓪𝓽𝓱𝓪𝓷 HeadCanons

Do not leave them alone with a gaming console. These two geeks have the worst gaming rivalry, there has been a loss of count on how many times they’ve tied together when it comes to competitive games like Minecraft, Mario Kart, Smash Bros, Mortal Kombat, Call Of Duty, you name it.

These two also have lightsabers battle once every weekend. Nathan likes to record their battles and Jaime likes to analyze them. The winning score between them is half and half.

Whenever Nathan is being his usual asshole self, Jaime will be blasting loud ass Anime music in the living room…to the point to where they will sing the lyrics at the top of their lungs until Nathan finally apologizes.

Jaime Alvarez is most known in the Bluebook company as the little intern who can get away with calling out their boss’s bullsh*t and not get severely ridiculed by him.

Whenever they working in the lab together, their creativity runs wild. Jaime comes up with the most craziest ideas and Nathan puts them into action with their assistance.

Jaime has a habit of overworking to the point where they are knocked out cold on their work desk drooling a bit. Nathan will reluctantly pick them up and take them to bed. (He gives them a kiss on their forehead & makes sure they’re tucked in with their creeper plushie he got for them.)

Nathan likes to makes sure that Jaime is actually get enough sleep and gets their proper sustenance…however they’ll turn the tables on to him because he’s no different to them when it comes to being healthy.

And since Nathan has his own habit of over drinking till he f*cking drops, Jaime always makes sure that their idiot boss has a glass of water and a pill whenever he wakes up hungover. (He knows it them and appreciates it.)

Jaime likes it when Nathan listens to them to ramble about their special interests…probably because he’s the only who doesn’t interrupt them or judge them for talking too much.

Nathan teaches his intern how to dance properly, however Jaime will only learn with their music preference playing in the background, for example they’ll be playing Funk Soda. (Nathan only tolerates it because at least it has some funk.)

If Jaime is ever having a bad or depressing day, Nathan will let them have their day off work and gives them their own space since he knows they don’t really like to talk much about their personal feelings (or past).

However…if their depression goes further as to crying alone in their room, Nathan will just grab Jaime and their personal blanket, roll them into a little sushi and snuggle them. He’ll put on their favorite cartoon and watch it together, having a day to themselves.

Jaime will often call Nathan, boss man, Jefe, Télii, grizzly bear, big guy…and they’ll never explain to him what ‘azhéʼé’ means when they call him in their native language.

Nathan calls them, gremlin, little sh*t, young padawan, mini robot, baby hacker, little creep.

When Jaime’s not paying attention, he’ll call them, kiddo, sweetheart, precious…my baby.

I stayed up late writing this, so I don’t even know if it’s really good, anyways I hope you guys enjoy this.

Tags : @ominoose @hoedamn-eron @howaboutcastiel @reallyrallyauthor @girlwhofellfromthemoon @gingersforeverbox

[letsasoiaftogether]

Targaryen x Otto Hightower...

...IMAGINE being the younger sister to Viserys and Daemon, and having some sort of tension with the Hand of the King that comes to a head a few months after the death of Queen Aemma

(I suck at summaries lmao/this is based between episode 1 and 2)

Word Count: 2,473

Warning: Character death (canon)! Death of an infant (canon)! FIRST ATTEMPT AT WRITING CHARACTER/S (so I apologize in advance for that!)

A/N: OKAYYYYYYYYY, this is my first EVER attempt at writing for Otto Hightower! SHOW!based as I’m not too knowledgeable about book!canon dance of the dragons stuff. I REALLY enjoyed writing this! I don’t know why but Otto Hightower just...has me in his grasp lmao wrote this in like three hours if that tells you how strongly I felt for this idea! lol I hope you all enjoy it! And thank you for giving it a chance!

(p.s. I’ve tagged this asoiaf and hotd, but should I tag these as got? lmao is this still technically game of thrones? how is everyone else describing this show? game of thrones? JUST a song of ice and fire and house of the dragon? lmao)

(GIF ISNT MINE)

Your brother’s wife and son had only been dead for a few days when the talk of the succession started anew – just as bad as it had been for the last few years, but more urgent now that the King of Westeros was a widow.

By the precedent set at the Great Council eleven years earlier, your youngest-oldest brother, Daemon, was Viserys’ heir, but very few were fond of that idea and wanted either Princess Rhaenyra to be named heir or for Viserys to remarry and try for another male heir. The fact that the mourning period had even begun, that your House was hurting, didn’t seem to matter to the Small Council.

Logically, it didn’t matter. The realm needed certainties, not maybes, but that decision didn’t need to be made right then. Not that night. Or even that month.

Viserys was healthy, Daemon and Rhaenyra were healthy. Daemon was healthy enough to have children (if he ever decided to do so), and Rhaenyra was old enough to be betrothed (at the least) and married within the next year or two.

Seven hells, there was you even. Widowed for three years from a second son of House Tyrell, and the mother to two sons (neither who were likely to inherit Highgarden). You could be an heir to your brother if Viserys willed it, or your sons could until Daemon or Rhaenyra produced one.

All of this, and more, was what you informed the Small Council that night as you stood next to your King’s chair in the Small Council chambers, your hand tightening around his shoulder to give him some, silent comfort in the whole mess.

“…even if my brother agrees to remarry, the mourning period is a year. Unless I am mistaken, My Lord Hand.” You threw a sharp look at Otto, silently begging him to try and argue with you. Like you and Viserys, Otto was a widow as well – his wife having died just shy of two years earlier.

“You are not, Princess.” The man smiled, tightly, but softly at your words. The two of you hadn’t always been at odds. Often, the two of you were quite a united front at keeping Viserys on track and the realm prospering, but Otto had grown ambitious in the time since his dear, lady wife’s passing.

“Alright then,” you offered a small smile of your own and threw a glance around the room at the others in attendance, “The mourning period will be respected or there will be consequences.” Two heart beats, waiting to see if any of the men were going to argue or try to talk down to you. “If talks must be had, leave them for six moons. Allow our King to put the memory and his love for our, sweet Aemma to rest.”

Viserys sighed and you caught his gaze, the two of you smiling fondly at one another as your eldest brother took your hand in his own and brought it to his lips, kissing your knuckles. His sweet smile melted your heart. He was a good, gentle man, and he always tried to keep the peace in his House and his kingdoms…

“Now,” you murmured, leaning down to kiss his forehead just as your grandmother Alysanne used to do when you were a little girl, “I’m going to look in on my niece and the boys. Try to get some rest, Your Grace, please.”

“Give them all a goodnight from me, please.” Viserys whispered and squeezed your hand as you pulled away.

You promised that you would and then dropped into a perfect curtsy, wishing the Lords, knights, and Maester of the Small Council “the gentlest dreams” before leaving the room.

The Red Keep was dark, cold, and silent. With the King’s grief, the entirety of the royal court had taken to mourning as well, taking every voice from the halls, and leaving only whispers in the shadows.

Otto has always hated Daemon. He doesn’t want Rhaenyra, but he would back her if she was his only option.

Lyonel is loyal and intelligent. He knows that no one would truly follow Rhaenyra. They will only use her until someone better, someone with a cock came around.

Corlys backs Daemon and then Rhaenys. It’s only natural he would back his wife, but is it because he feels my cousin deserves the throne? Or is it because he craves the throne for himself?

The others would pretend to not have sides, but it was a lie. They all had their own agendas covered with the lie of being best for the realm.

“I was told, once, by a Lord of Winterfell, that the lone wolf dies but the pack survives.” The voice of your father, Prince Baelon the Brave, came to you suddenly and you had to catch yourself on the wall as loneliness and a long-buried grief came rushing to the surface of your heart, “It is the same for us, for Targaryens. One of us may die, but we are only at our strongest when we are united.”

You were ten when your Prince-Father told you that, and seven years later he was dead. His death is what prompted the calling of the Great Council later that same year. You hadn’t understood his words for a long time, but now…now you understood.

Everyone is frightened of House Targaryen because of the dragons. Without them, there is no true reason to have your family as the ruling House of Westeros. The realm followed the commands of the King on the Iron Throne only far enough to not be seen as treasonous; otherwise, they were self-serving and didn’t truly have your House’s interests at heart.

Daemon is seen as a cruel monster, the second coming of Maegor the Cruel. Rhaenyra is a girl of near fifteen; they wouldn’t easily follow her now just as they weren’t willing to follow Rhaenys eleven years earlier. And Viserys…the King was gentle and open handed, but he was so naïve that there was no way it wouldn’t come back to hurt the House of the Dragon once he was gone.

“Your Highness?”

A gasp slipped past your lips at the sudden voice, your head snapping up to stare at the servant who stood some feet away – hesitant and skittish. It was only then you realized you were crying and shaking, your face had been in your hands when the young girl’s voice had pulled you out of your grief-filled-thoughts.

“Oh,” clearing your throat, you wiped at your cheeks with the sleeve of your dress and tried to look as presentable as possible in your condition, “Forgive me I…it…”

The girl – not much older than your niece – smiled shyly and stepped forward, “Pardons, Your Highness.” She pressed something into your hand before curtsying and hurrying away, up the stairs to wherever she was meant to be.

It was a handkerchief and a small gesture, but you appreciated it, nonetheless.

Wiping at your eyes and blowing your nose, you took a few moments to pull yourself together before continuing back to the royal apartments to hold your sons and your niece.

*

“You’ve been sending Alicent to the King’s chambers.”

There was no point in trying to pass it off as a question. The two of you had known each other for far too long for you to try and play ignorant with him. Admittedly, you hadn’t meant to open the conversation with that but the moment you were let into his office within the Tower of the Hand, your gaze landing on him seated behind his desk, the words fell from your lips on their own.

Otto had looked up the moment you were announced, and as you accused him of overstepping by sending his daughter to Viserys over the last two months, he sighed and stood. “Princess,” he bowed and waved the guard away.

Once the door was shut and you had moved closer, putting only his desk between you and him, you asked, “To comfort him only, My Lord Hand? Or something else?”

“Alicent is looking after the King just as she did the last one, Princess. She feels…”

“You feel,” you corrected with a raised brow, arms crossing over your chest as you said, “Please, Otto, do not treat me like I’m stupid. Lady Alicent is doing as you and your brother have commanded her to do. It’s a risky game,”

“Your Highness,” the Hand began to say only to stop as you raised your hand, silencing him even if it pained him to do so (if the fisting of his hands at his sides was anything to go off of).

“Making your daughter the King’s mistress…” you let your voice trail off as you tried to bite back your temper and tried to think a dozen steps ahead of the man in front of you. “…I adore Alicent, just as I adore Rhaenyra, My Lord Hand. And as a widow, myself, I understand how our King – my brother – is feeling. Of course, only a fraction. Viserys loved Aemma far more than I loved my late husband. My brother and his wife had far more time together, of course, for me to fully grasp their devotion for each other.” Shaking your head, you moved around the desk and grabbed Otto’s hand in both of yours, trying to get him to see reason – to think carefully about whatever it was he was planning.

Holding his gaze, you whispered, “Viserys is not ready to move on. If he takes Alicent now…in any capacity…it will be nowhere near what your daughter deserves, Ser. Someone must be a voice for Alicent while Viserys is the voice for his grief and broken dreams, as you are the voice of the High Tower.”

Otto was silent for a long moment after you had finished speaking, his gaze locked onto yours.

His other hand had come up to cover yours covering his as you finished speaking. He had moved closer to you when you rounded the side of the desk, naturally towering over you in a way that felt comforting when you were younger, but now often left you…confused.

There had been a strange tension between the two of you for months, years maybe, that you had purposefully ignored – not yet ready to admit to yourself what you knew, deep down. It was never much of a problem until moments like this. When the two of you were on opposite sides, and although you felt strongly about your own opinions, more than anything you wanted to agree with him – to see things his way – if just to avoid hurt feelings and resentments.

“As the Hand of the King, I must do what is best for the realm.”

“Obviously,” you laughed, smiling teasingly as you tried to push away the nerves that were beginning to creep into your stomach.

The corner of his mouth twitched into a smile of his own as Otto continued to speak, “You don’t want Viserys to remarry, but I think we both know that he will not last without a companion of some sorts.”

You scoffed and rolled your eyes, pulling your hands free of his, “And you think Alicent is the best to do this? Better than…myself? Or some older noble woman from some other House?”

His jaw ticked as he questioned, “Would you prefer to be in her place instead, Your Highness?”

There was something about the way he asked it that set you off. Normally, you wouldn’t have been snappy or oversensitive, but something about the way he had worded his question – even with his voice being so monotone and impassive – made you defensively spit out, “Well, I have proven to be fertile and capable of producing male heirs which is the only true reason my brother would need to remarry, Ser. What does Alicent have besides a pretty face and ambitious relations?”

The Hand of the King who had served your grandsire and your brother, for many years, looked at you with a cool look that gave next to nothing away. If your words upset him more than they (naturally) would anger any man, you couldn’t tell. But he was bothered by them in some amount. Otto Hightower was too proud of his House and the name that had been made for it to feel indifferent toward your insult.

“I will ask this again.” Otto finally murmured, reaching out to brush a strand of hair behind your ear, his hand then moving to grab the back of your neck as if to keep you from fleeing the room (and the conversation), “Do you want to be the Queen of Westeros?”

You laughed, breathlessly, and shook your head.

All amusement was gone from you despite your short laugh. How could he ask that of you? How long had the two of you known each other? How many times had you commented on how being the King or Queen felt lonely and tiresome and suffocating? Did he think you had been lying all those years? Simply saying those things because Aemma existed and was Queen at the time making it impossible for you to be?

Grabbing his wrist, huffing when his grip only tightened when you tried to pull free of his hold, you finally answered his question by saying, “I want to be a mother to my sons, a mother-figure to my niece who is now without a mother, and an advisor and companion to my King. You know I’m not interested in Viserys like that, Otto. I would be a poor wife for him. I would be more likely to bed Daemon or Corlys before I would even consider doing such acts with His Grace.” And there was zero desire in your body to bed either the Rogue Prince and/or the Sea Snake.

Otto leaned downward and smiled to himself, “That…is good to hear, Your Highness.”

You opened your mouth to hiss some half-ass attempt at an insult at him, once again calling him out for his ambitions regarding Alicent and Viserys, but any thought of doing so flew out the window when the lips of the Hand of the King were suddenly pressed into yours.

He…Otto Hightower is…kissing me?

His free hand – the one not clutching painfully tight at the back of your neck – grabbed your hip and shoved you back against his desk, his body pressing into your own, drawing every bit of air from your lungs as he kissed you.

Your eyes widened, a gasp rushing from your mouth into his own as realization struck you of what was happening.

And then your hands flew up to grab at his upper arms, your eyes snapping shut as you kissed him back.

What in the Seven Hells is happening?

And why am I not pushing him away?

[synthnetz]

‘ I Can Hardly See The Moon . . . ‘

what’s up! name’s vivian, but you can also call us synth, neo or venus. we’re a DID system. i’m host up in this bitch and i’m also a v2 fictive. i plan on trying to be a little more active on here, so expect some art on here, maybe some writing, and a lot of talking about things we’re interested in. anyone who decides to talk will sign off if they feel like it, but don’t expect it all the time. we will use this account also to talk about our experiences with DID and other disorders. i will tag stuff appropriately and when needed just in case for people who only are here for art.

just some things to note:

we are a MINOR! please keep that in mind

we use i/me and we/us interchangeably

our collective pronouns are he/it/they but please ask if you are able to (i use she/they pronouns :])

don’t treat fictives here like their source. just because some of them have hyperfixiations on their source doesn’t mean they’re fine with being treated like it

we reblog things sometimes, and often lose motivation to post to online spaces, if we disappear sometimes i apologize in advance

also, i have a side blog ( @postmodern-icarus ) that i haven’t posted anything on but i plan on using that sometimes! mostly just to ramble bout my own stuff lol!

PUBLIC SHAMING LIST :

Endogenic “systems”

Anti-recovery behavior / actions (sourcecalling, dating sourcemates because they’re from an alters source, etc.)

Fakeclaimers

TERFs

BLOCKED ON SIGHT :

MAPs / Pedos

Zoophiles

Transphobic

Homophobic

Racist

SH/ED romanticization

And ETC if I don’t like you B-B-BLOOOCKED

Our Userboxes and Other Links !

Twitter : https://x.com/synthnet_z?s=21&t=NadnhYukPIM_7P8OPBABNA

TikTok (relatively inactive) : https://www.tiktok.com/@synthnet_z?_t=8m1lPSWyhfb&_r=1

Will be updated. . .

[gottawhump]

Discipline

Carlisle

CW/TW: vaguely implied noncon, pet whump, minor caretaking a grown whumpee, BBU/WRU, shock collar. Carlisle’s a bit older here. For BBU Community Day 3: Discipline. @bbu-on-the-side it’s three days late, but it’s done.

Ellis. His new Pet, from the Shelter, is named Ellis.

He helps Carlisle keep his room clean, brings him snacks while he studies, listens to him reading stories until he falls asleep in his cot at night.

Ellis is a constant in his life, more than his parents who are often away on business or the household Pets, whose faces change regularly. He is always there.

So when the boy comes home from visiting friends one day, he notices when Ellis is not there to greet him. He is not puttering around the big house, making himself busy and useful, helping out the Domestics at their chores.

Carlisle’s stomach drops out. Sent to a farm upstate, he thinks bitterly. But surely his parents wouldn’t do that to him, get rid of his Ellis without at least talking to him first? He’s not sure.

He finds the man in his clothes closet, curled up on the floor, tears silently streaming down his scarred face. When he sees him, Ellis smiles up at him. It looks as real as all his other smiles have been, but this time Carlisle sees how he puts it on over his pain.

He kneels down next to him, even as Ellis tries to rise to his knees.

“What happened, Ellis?”

“I-I disobeyed an order. Carlisle couldn’t believe his ears. Ellis never disobeyed. “I’m all right, young Sir. Dis-dis-discipline is a nec-necessary and, and humane part of maintaining a Pet’s training. It’s my fault. It won’t happen again. I’m sorry.”

“But what happened?”

“I’m not supposed to tell you.”

it takes a while, as he settles Ellis onto his cot, taking off the hard black shock collar and gently replacing it with Ellis’ soft bright green leather collar, getting him a drink of water, before he gets the whole story out. Direct questions are useless; he has to ask around the topic, gleaning the truth from the Pet’s answers.

What he thinks happened enrages him.

He hides his rage behind a practiced smile. People-his parents-tend to dismiss angry teenagers. He keeps his voice calm and reasonable.

“I want Ellis.”

“He’s already yours.”

He ignores the mild condescension. “No, I mean, for real. I want him signed over to me.”

“You know you’ll inherit all of the Pets when we’re gone.”

“I know, but I want Ellis to be mine now.”

“Why the urgency?”

If he isn’t supposed to know, he can’t bring the real reason up. But Pets aren’t the only ones who can talk around an issue. “He’s useless today because of how someone disciplined him earlier. I don’t want that to happen again. If he’s mine, legally, then I’m in charge of how and when he’s disciplined.”

There’s hesitation, and he braces for more argument.

“Fine.” A few mouse clicks, a few keystrokes. “It’s done. He’s completely your responsibility now, Carlisle. I hope you’re ready.”

“I am.” Well, he thinks he is.

That night, Ellis wakes Carlisle up with his nightmares, something he hasn’t done since the first few months after bringing him home from the shelter. He goes back to sleep quickly, when he sees their familiar bedroom, once he apologizes.

“You’re a good boy, Ellis.”

Tagging for Old Friends: @painful-pooch @justplainwhump @redwingedwhump @maracujatangerine @honeycollectswhump

[evita-shelby]

Finn’s mums and dads

Or the 5 times Finn called Eva mom and the one time he called Tommy dad

Gif by @outerbanksxpeakyblinders

“Bye, mum.” Finn said as he rushed out the door after getting his packed lunch from Eva.

She knew Finn had a crush on her, but somehow him thinking her as a mother figure made her apprehensive.

Should she tell Polly about it, or Ada?

No, it would be awkward enough as it is. How do you say ‘Finn called me mom and I am not concerned because now I feel old and responsible, but because I don’t know if that is okay with you, his real family’ without dredging up things that are difficult to speak of already.

Martha Shelby had gotten the baby blues and her idiot husband, the arrest of both Arthurs and not having the money to give Thomas a chance to use his potential in university had driven her to step into the canal.

Or that was what Polly had confided in her, and something Ada doesn’t know she knows.

Yeah, that seems sensible.

Keep your mouth shut and carry on, Evita, the witch tells herself as she goes back to her chores.

“Come here, kid.” Eva crouched a little to get a good look on the blood on Finn’s lip. “Does anything else hurt?”

A fight in class, one boy had called him names and called Ada a slut and Finn responded to those words with his fists.

Polly didn’t know yet, but she would be livid. Not at Finn, but at the boy and his mother who was already on Polly Gray’s black books.

“No. I’m fine, mum.” He said, still sniffling from being blamed for all of it.

“Finn calls me mum all the time, Ada too, he thinks the world of you. I hope you aren’t put off by it, Eva.” The older witch said as Finn played with colored pencils on the dining table.

This time Eva can’t keep quiet, especially when she tells Polly about Finn’s altercation in school.

“No, not at all. I just wasn’t sure if you were comfortable with that, Pol.” The witch said relieved. Some don’t like that; some utterly hate the idea of anyone thinking of other people being seen as a mother figure.

“Are you comfortable with that? With the idea of being a honorary Shelby?”

“I don’t think it is healthy that he calls your mother.” Grace expressed her opinion quite boldly after Finn called her mum as he thanked her for the ice cream she had bought him.

Finn had never seen a museum, and Eva had taken observing the Irish broad like a scientist observing bacteria in a petri dish.

She came here often, met up with a man Eva didn’t know and today, Finn tagged along.

“Mrs. Gray is fine with it, as is Ada Shelby.” Eva said coolly.

Grace was jealous of her friendship with the Shelbys. Apparently, she wasn’t quite sure her boy toy’s no at Uncle Jack’s proposition weeks ago was a real and firm no.

The witch feels guilty for using him as an accessory, but the kid also got to see the museum that Ada expressed a desire to work for until a background check revealed she was a Shelby, a communist and engaged to a Jewish man.

But Eva doesn’t give a shit her subject of interest is jealous of her, that is of no consequence to the retired spy.

What she does give a shit about is a lying rat telling her not to show love to a child.

So she pricks her with her next words.

“Besides, if I do end up becoming Mrs. Thomas Shelby, it will be easier for him to adjust to my presence.”

“Mum!” Finn runs to her, and Eva is relieved when the Billy Boy trying to show off being Kimber’s driver buys into the lie.

In the next second Eva stops being Miss and turns to Mrs even though she would have been eleven or twelve had she been Finn’s mother.

“Oi, you sweet talking my sister-in-law?” Esme lies with ease and a scowl that sells it even to John who is with her.

The driver stutters an apology and returns to the vehicle as the three Shelbys and Eva walk down the street to her grandmother’s house.

Finn comes over every chance he gets, more especially now that he has asked her to help him catch up to the other boys in school.

“That’s Tommy Shelby’s wife you’re speaking to.” John said making it worse.

He's planning to surprise Polly with an acrostic poem written and recited by him on her birthday.

A surprise Thomas knows about because the boy pilfered one of his books on poetry.

Well worn and well loved, and the last thing the witch had expected to know about the gangster she has only spoken to once.

“Your brother won’t think it funny, John.” Eva warned as the newly married widower jokingly called her his long-suffering sister-in-law.

“Let him and blondie fight over it, least we could do to him after what he did to Ada and Freddie.” Esme laughed.

“Happy Mother’s Day.” Finn stands there on her doorstep, with his hair combed and neat, in his Sunday’s best and holding a small but rather adorable bouquet of sunflowers.

“He’s giving all of the women he considers mother figures flowers,” Thomas explains as he stands there at her doorstep and the witch finds herself replaying that strange little fantasy where they are something more than friends.

But she wants him, loves him in the way she loved Antonia.

“They’re beautiful, Finn. I and honored that you consider me one of your mums.” Eva thanked him genuinely and the boy turned beet red and stammered a ‘you’re welcome’.

“There’s a poem too, Tommy helped me write it.” Finn said and Eva’s immediately drawn back to the man she cannot want.

“And who’s the lucky lady getting those?” Eva asked seeing the forget-me-nots Tommy was holding.

And it is because of that that she must refuse his offers of courtship at every turn.

“We saved the best for last; these are for our mother.” There is a pained undertone to his voice, a sweet sadness that is becoming on him.

“Tell her I said hello, then.” She said and sent them on their way.

“I love you, dad.” Finn mumbles in his sleep and clings to Tommy who doesn’t bother hiding the heartbreak those words cause him.

Eva is no stranger to him and the things he hides beneath the surface, and yet this makes him feel as if he’s somehow bare to the bone before her.

This was just supposed to be a drive to the countryside where they’d pick a pony for Finn, just Tommy, Finn and Eva.

It had been a beautiful fantasy, him with a woman he loves on his arm, quietly pretending Finn is theirs doing something any family does.

He should be used to it, Finn liked to make up for the lack of a father by calling those he finds worthy of the title by it.

And then it comes careening down when Finn says those four words after falling asleep on the picnic blanket.

Tommy, Arthur and John were his primary fathers, then Jeremiah, Charlie and Curly and now, Freddie fucking Thorne.

But it had stopped when they had come back and never with something as strong as an ‘I love you.

“I love you too, Finn.”

[jennilah]

so pins are the new about-me pages I guess

let's make one, shall we?

⬇ Click through to learn more about me than you want to! ⬇

Heya! So my name is Jenna.

I am a 3D animator for film and tv. I genuinely adore my job and think I get to make some pretty rad stuff! Once in a while you’ll see me sharing trailers and reels, or just talking about it in general.  You can check out my vfx work in my tag, or on my website.

I’ve been using tumblr since 2011, you are simply not getting rid of me no matter what dumb thing Staff does.

Fandoms

In that time, I have gone through several fandoms and have made so many memories in each one. People may remember when I was big into Supernatural, record-holder as my longest-lasting fandom, as many of us were. I may have since put that part of me in a nice little box with a nice little bow labeled “happy memories,” but I am still thankful to those who have stayed with me ever since. 

I typically get extremely deep into a new fandom every few years. I apologize to people who don’t care to see it, I try to tag it all for your blocking needs! You can see my up-to-date current obsessions labeled in my blog bio! ☝

I am also a shameless, unrelenting shipper so block any of those tags that might bother you too. (I love imagining characters in love, what can I say)

Art Stuff

My drawings tag (all polished art, original and fanart mashed together.)

My doodles tag (non polished sketches, junk drawer of doodles. Things I deem unworthy of my drawing tag.)

Redbubble

Other social media links

Big ole list of other tags to be found here

In addition to my current main fandom, I also have several other interests that I talk about less often but do still come up occasionally. For your reference, intrigue, or blocking needs, here are some of those things:

-Slashers -Godzilla -Undertale / Deltarune -Marvel -Half Life / Portal -Deux Ex -Action and Animated movies in general  -Pokemon -Zelda: Breath of the Wild -Splatoon -My twitch streamers like Jerma, Kitboga, Criken, Charborg, & Wayneradiotv 

Hobbies

I also love playing games and going to the movies. And I also love convention-going! I am not a serious cosplayer by any means, but I do enjoy trying to whip something up based on my current favorite characters. 

I also have a passion for VR! I think it is an incredibly immersive and fun gaming & long-distance social experience. Sometimes I’ll post screenshots from my VRChat adventures!

I also love birds. Like, the animal. They’re so cute and I love trying to identify them. I like the idea of birdwatching but I am too casual to get up early and go to parks. I am an amateur birder if anything!

And I also love tattoos and plants and dinosaurs and penguins and getting high and science and really, really, really stupid memes.

I think thats it.

[apoptoses]

Omg please don’t apologize for your answer to my genderbent ask!! I’ll admit that as a fellow butch it is really getting to me like…you get it. 

I also don’t really interact with a lot of lesbian media because it’s so sterilized. So often it seems that whoever wrote it was like sure we can have two women hold hands or peck on the lips as long as they’re feminine! As long as they don’t come off as *that* kind of lesbian. Butchness and lesbian masculinity are so often treated as dirty or not taken seriously which is really hurtful! 

And I completely agree that a lot of genderswaps rely so much on hyperfeminity. Slap a pair of boobs on a male character and give him long hair and make up and a feminine name like dude that’s a whole other character now 😭 (and I have to say that I hate it when characters are given silly versions of their names just to make it girlier like c’mon women with masculine/traditionally men names are hot!!)

Maybe it’s just me being butch4butch and projecting but butch!Daniel hits so hard for me like she is literally just canon Daniel to me but afab and how that would change her narrative. I oscillate so often on how I think Armand would be particularly because of his relationship with gender in the books. He’s androgynous but is that just because he didn’t fully mature? I feel like a lot of women are done growing by their late teens so would genderbent Armand be taller or have a different build because of that? It’s so fun to think about and I think she would play a lot with presentation in the 80s and be having gender talks along with the philosophical discussions with Daniel in that era.

Long story short I really love the gender aspect of genderswaps and masc women are so hot and like that is the appeal for me especially since we don’t get a lot of that! I really hope that it doesn’t seem like I’m talking over you or like pressuring you to write anything but I really connected with your response and if it’s something that you’re comfortable with I would really love to hear the angles that you’re thinking of!! <3

No you're not talking over at all! I was so verklempt by someone actually getting it that it took me a minute to answer lol

But exactly, either everything is sanitized ('aw lesbians love picnics and frogs and holding hands in their cottage core dresses!!') or the hyper femininity fetishized. Like I said in my tags, taking a cis man and making him a cis man who doesn't conform to gender stereotypes is no less of a gender swap. But like...society doesn't acknowledge butch/masc/studs, much less acknowledge that we can be attractive.

And YEAH like Daniel did so much solo travel, so much entering of spaces that might not be totally safe for a femme woman alone in the 70s so presenting more masc might be a safety net in a way. And like imagine Armand hearing this soft woman's voice on the tapes when entering Lestat's house but turning the corner and seeing someone like this-

Like!!! Wow!!! Or even with an androgynous masculine shag like-

And when Louis and Armand were together there's a big question of how much they were out in the world vs how Louis' grief kept them from fully entering and enjoying mortal spaces. So like Armand seeing women playing more with gender via clothing, the evolution of pants becoming acceptable for women to wear- would Armand have already embraced that, or by meeting Daniel would she feel free to play around with androgyny and masculine fashion more? I like to think it would be the latter, because their time together was such a period of exploration!

And you can also get into concept of being Other, with Daniel able to relate some way to Armand being othered as a vampire where she is othered as a gnc woman. There's just a lot to play with imo

So thank you SO SO MUCH for this message, it really felt good for me to read ♥ Lately I've had so much anguish over the way I am/attractiveness/getting people to respect boundaries, so it's nice to know someone out there gets it.