#orchestra kid moment

[dirtytransmasc]

Modern Aocorro high school au: what if Spider was a harpist in his high school orchestra and Ao'nung was down bad about it.

Spider was already your classic high school heart throb. He was popular, buff, handsome, a little rough around the edges, yet still a total sweetheart.

For Eywa's sake, he carpooled his siblings to school or rode his skateboard to school, volunteered around town 24/7, used reusable straws, he'd hand his pocket change to anyone in need, and was known for getting into fights with bullies in the parking lot.

Not to mention that he had the prettiest golden curls and brown eyes anyone had ever seen (at least in Ao'nung's opinion).

So to say Ao'nung was crushing, hard, was probably the understatement of the century, and could you even blame him? The guy was perfect, an angel, and it was driving him insane.

He'd catch himself staring during gym practice, marveling at his muscles, cheeks flushing, or in the locker room when he took his shirt off to change, his heart pounding away in his chest.

he thought he couldn't be even more down bad for that boy than he already was, his confident personality rendered null and void when he was around, his tongue caught in the back of his throat, unable to do so much as squeak at him… until the day he caught him in the orchestra room, practicing.

Now, he had heard Spider was in orchestra and had even seen him rolling around some large black case around the school before, but he'd never actually caught what he played.

But walking past that half-opened door was how he found out the love of his life wasn't only a sweet handsome hunk of a guy, but he played the harp, the instrument of an angel.

The sheer audacity of this boy was getting out of hand, he swore to Eywa, he was gonna kill him one of these days with his impossibly hot antics.

He stands and watches as Spider presses up against his harp, eyes focused on his sheet music, hair tied up in a messy bun but a single golden curl hangs he keeps blowing out of his face, and his fingers strum along the strings, working the muscles throughout his hands and arms.

The sound of gentle music flowed from the gap in the door, and it sounded just as pretty as Spider looked, soft and sweet, but still robust, still full of base and bravado. It was so fitting.

Watching Spider's face quirk with focus and frustration and pride as he worked through the song made the other's heart swoon, he swore it must be palpating or maybe skipping beats. He just knows it wasn't beating right, especially as he rubs his hand over his chest and feels how heavy it beats against his ribs.

And thats when Spider just so happens to turn to see who was gawking at him from the hallway, and instead of telling him to stop staring or throwing a pissed-off glance like Ao'nung is sure most other's would do if they caught someone staring like he had been, Spider just smiled.

"Like what you hear?" he quipped, leaning forward to turn the page of his music binder.

"Y-Yeah, yeah, you're... amazing," he choked out an answer, coughing into his fist to try and cover up the stammer in his voice and the blush on his cheeks.

"You flatter me," he replied, sitting back and looking Ao'nung right in the eye before he looked away with an even brighter smile, and it was like his skin was set on fire by just that single glance. "Are you gonna come in or are you gonna keep standing out their like some weirdo?"

"Oh, I-I wouldn't want to bother, I was j-just passing by,"

"It's free period, it's why I'm in here all by my lonesome," he puts on a fake pout and bats his lashes in his direction for show, "keep my company yeah? I'm sure you've got nothing to do if you've already spent so much time staring."

He moved his bag off the chair next to him before patting it.

"Sit," his tone was warm and inviting and his eyes were soft and almost pleading, so he did, with a deep breath, he sat next to the other boy.

He managed to be even prettier up close, and Ao'nung had to tear his eyes away so he didn't make a fool of himself. He decided to turn his attention to the harp. It was beautiful, made of a soft, warm-toned wood, intricately carved and painted with the image of flowers he couldn't name off the top of his head.

"She's a beauty isn't she?" Spider asked

he only nodded at first, before feeling the urge to touch, his hand moving before he could think better of it, but he managed to stop himself before he made contact with he wood.

"Can I?" he asked, quite pitifully, finally making his own eye contact with the blonde. Eywa save him, he was too pretty, it was unfair. He felt butterflies tickling his stomach and his head getting fuzzy. Why didn't he run when he had the chance?

"Go ahead," he answered with a huff of laughter.

He tried to steady himself as he stroked a hand down the curved wood that he saw resting against Spider's chest earlier when he was playing, feeling the warmth from the other boy's skin still clinging to the wood.

His fingers sought out the strings Spider's rested on moments ago, the metal threading bit into his flesh ever so slightly when he ran his fingers down them.

"I catch you staring all the time y'know, you're not very good at hiding it."

Ao'nung feels his heart drop through the floor and into the stone-cold basement beneath them. Fuck. He fucked up, he fucked up so bad, Spider must think he's a freak-

"It's cute."

"What?" he didn't mean to ask that out loud, but when he did, he said it far too loud.

Spider just laughs at him, gently and without malice, his eyes crinkling into almost nothing, his cheeks going a little red, his nose scrunching a little. Ao'nung feels his heart swell.

"Oh, it's never subtle, especially since you turn bright red, and the second you realize I'm looking back, you turn tail and run away like you have the devil on your heels," he pauses to wipe the tears from his eyes, "It's just cute, adorable even. I kinda like having a not so secret admirer."

"You don't think I'm some total freak?"

"Nah dude.... who's to say I'm not staring back?" he said nonchalantly.

Ao'nung was sure his brain was melting, cause he just found out his crush might like him back? Potentially. And that was just simply mind-boggling, cause, he wasn't gonna sell himself short, but he never thought he could be on Spider's radar.

They hung out with different people, and he used to be an ass to his siblings before he transferred to be here, and sure he apologized and made up with them, he always seemed to hold a bit of a grudge.

"You are?" he had to ask.

"Mmmmmm, maybe a little," he replied with a cheeky grin plastered on his face. "I will admit, at first it was because I was trying to make sure you weren't being an ass, but, things might be changing."

Ao'nung nodded to himself, clearing his throat, trying to decipher what that could even mean. Was Spider saying he was starting to like him too? did he have a shot with him?

"Listen, the bells about to ring, so why don't I give you this," he pulled a pen from the spine of his binder, tearing the corner off of one of his sheet music, which felt oddly intimate, and wrote something down on it, before handing it to him.

It was his number. Spider just gave him his number.

"Text me? we can start gettign to actually know each other, and maybe you could start joining me in here during free period, I could give you some lessons on the harp if you'd like?" now Spider sounded a little sheepish.

Which somehow made Ao'nung feel a bit more confident, so for the first time in seemingly forever, he answered Spider with some level of confidence.

"Yeah, I'd like that, I'd like that a lot."

"Good, good, I'd like that too."

They were both smiling now. The bell rang. They both hesitated to break eye contact.

"I'll text you, promise." Eywa, he was making promises. Already. He really was a hopeless sap. But it felt right when Spider huffed a laugh at it, a hand coming up to cover his smile a little. He was flattered.

"You better, stalker," Spider laughed, finally starting to pack up his stuff.

"Rude," he faked a gasped, lingering in the door, knowing he had to get to class, and he needed to let Spider pack up so he wouldn't be late himself, but wanting to let the moment last just a little longer.

"I think staring is rude, but I think I'll give you a pass, so long as you stop running away when I catch you, deal?"

"Deal."

"And you have to meet me here tomorrow."

"I will, it's a date," the words slipped out of his mouth without thinking about how it could be interpreted, "oh, not like-"

"It's a date" Spider repeated.

Ao'nung found he could only nod. It's a date. Even if it wasn't like that, it was still nice to think about. a date with an angel.

"Now go, before you're late, wouldn't want you to get in any trouble." Spider crossed his arms and jutted out his hip like he was some disappointed mom or something.

"Right, bye Spider."

He waved goodbye. It was corny and childish, but he waved. Spider waved back. He had his number clutched tightly in his other palm. Spider had his phone clutched in his hands as if he couldn't wait for the message to come any longer.

"Bye Stalker."

He has a feeling he's gonna have to get used to that nickname, but as he rounds the corner, his chest still feeling warm and full of butterflies, he doesn't think he minds all that much.

[artiopoda]

live action remake this new useless avenger movie that WHEN are we getting a new fantasia

[neil-gaiman]

Hello Neil, my name is Zalean. If you have a few minutes, I wanted to tell you a little story. Not really a question and I’m not sure how to use tumblr but I wanted to say thanks so much for coming to Florida a few months back and talking with Art Spiegelman. It was my first time ever figuring out how to buy tickets for something. I lived in, middle of nowhere, Vermont for most my life and had no idea what I was doing, I had never been to anything before, nothing had made me excited enough to do the 5 hour drive. And then you just appeared 20 minutes away from where I am living now.

See, I was just starting to get to know your books and work because I fell in love with Good Omens so deeply when I discovered it during season twos release. Funny thing is, I knew of you all along without even realizing it, Stardust has been my favorite book and movie since I was a kid because it was my dad’s favorite story. Finding out my two favorite things were actually connected, I started trying to get hands on as many of your books as I could. I hadn’t read in years before finding your books. It was eye opening.

The talk event at the Dr.Phillips Center was sold out by the time I knew about it, someone had asked me if I knew of the event when they saw my Good Omens keychains my mom had made me. I called the box office because there is no harm in asking. I explained how I’m an art student at UCF and desperately wanted to be inspired and learn from you both. The customer service people were amazing and ended up calling me back to get me a seat in the orchestra pit before they were released to the public. I drove alone, I walked there alone, I sat alone, and it was worth it. I was so thankful to get a seat and grateful to my professor who was a bit jealous he didn’t know about it but let me leave class early to go because of course the art professor would be understanding for any learning opportunities in the arts. And it was truly wonderful, it seemed real and that’s what I wanted. I didn’t want a show. I just wanted to hear, in some sense, that you were like everybody else. I brought a notebook and pen for any information or story’s that I thought made a difference to my little life. The other people around were wonderful, you inspire kind people.

Like I said, I had never been to anything like this and I didn’t know what to expect. I didn’t know you would have signed books and I only found out because the people next to me came in late. I asked them why they brought the books after it was over and the lights turned on. They did look at me like I had three heads for a moment until they realized I didn’t know there were books to buy, they looked kinda sorry for me but they were so nice. I had never really thought about the importance of someone’s scribble before this but it’s something that proves you were there. It says “Remember when this person made you happy? Remember when they changed your life? Remember when they gave you hope? Look at this and remember.” I hope to see David Tennant and Michael Sheen to get an autograph now that I understand the meaning behind it a bit more but honestly I just love diving into everyone’s projects, the wonder you all create. Oh what fun it is to live a life full of stories!

The people that were sitting next to me let me look at their signed books and hold them. I flipped through some of the big ones, handed them back and expressed my gratitude just to be in the theater. I showed them all my little quotes I wrote down, I never want to forget why I create things and you say so much about never stopping, always creating. Then the women handed me a different book, a smaller book, but when I tried to hand it back, a bit confused, she softly placed it back in my open hands and said “I want you to have it, we have plenty and I want you to love these stories just as much as we do. It’s just starting for you, I want you to remember who started it”. The book she handed me being“The Ocean at the End of the Lane”. The first book I decided to read by you and had just finished a week before. The women had no idea she given me a signed copy of the book that made me want to read again. Your books make the world better. For such a big theater and such a big stage, I just wanted to tell you my little point of view.

The story you told about wishing you enjoyed the past more than you did, I hope you get to enjoy it now, and I hope you want to. And thank you, to you and to Terry Pratchett for creating something special. I convinced my dad to watch Good Omens with me over December break, he loved it.

I forget sometimes that everything is someone's first time, and then I read something like this and feel like I need to remember that better. I'm glad the people beside you were kind.

[pitchsidestories]

know that you're not alone II Leah Williamson x Reader

Masterlist I word count: 2279

“You know, you can always tell me what’s going on in your mind…“ Leahs words made you look up in surprise. You hadn’t even noticed that you were lost in your own thoughts. With a sigh, you sat up a bit straighter on your team mates couch; “It’s just…“

“It’s what?“, Leah prompted you to continue. She was sitting on the opposite side of her living room on a piano stool. You also didn’t notice that she had stopped practicing.

“I’m not where I thought I would be with 26… and it seems like everyone else has got it all figured out with with marriage and kids…“, you explained truthfully. Leah smiled empathetically at you; “Trust me, no one’s got it all figured out yet.“

“Well, you do.“, you shrugged in response, taking in her perfectly tied pony tail. “I do? I have nothing figured out.“, the defender laughed. You pointed at the piano; “Your career is flying and I don’t know how you manage all the things you do at the moment.“

She was currently learning to play the piano for a performance with the BBC Concert Orchestra and you couldn’t help but be impressed by her eagerness. “I don’t have it either. I don’t manage all these things by myself.“, Leah replied, shaking her head.

A moment of silence passed between you two. “I’m so sick of it, Lee.“, you complained. “Okay, wait.“, Leah started, turning back to her piano but you interrupted her; “No, why don’t those things matter too? That we play for a great club? Have amazing friendships?“ “It does matter. We might not get measured by that but it does.“, Leah replied, before you could continue your rant.

As she played the first notes on her piano, you looked at her in confusion; “What are you doing?“ Your team mate remained silent and carried on playing. You recognized the song quickly and groaned; “Oh no. Not Cat Burns.“

“Hey, don’t complain about her music. She’s great.“, Leah scolded you with a laugh. “You’re obsessed with her.“, you rolled your eyes, amused. The defender gave you a death stare with a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth; “Shut up and listen to this song.“

Thankfully, instead of singing the song for you, she turned it on and continued playing along. “Okay, fine.“, you gave in and had to admit that the lyrics of the song really resonated with you.

Still, you had to make a comment about the song text; “Wait, why is she singing about the troubles of being 26 when she’s just 23?“ Leah rolled her eyes at you; “It doesn’t matter what age. The twenties are always confusing and I have a feeling the thirties won’t be any better.“

“Kim and Jen seem pretty comfortable.”, you disagreed winking. The blonde gave you an amused look:” Yeah but I can tell you, they still don’t have a clue what they’re doing?” “Yes, I guess you’re right with that.”, you admitted chuckling.  

The softness in the defender’s features disappeared again and the usual stern expression returned when she demanded:” I am. Now listen to the rest of this song.”

With closed eyes you let the lyrics comfort you like a warm hug from a friend, by the end of the song you had to swallow hard: “Okay, I might still not like her music that much but the song hits right there it should be.” “You just have no taste.”, Leah shrugged.

As usual you couldn’t help but to tease your teammate a little bit: “Rude coming from someone who’s music taste is stuck in the 70s.” “Not my fault that they don’t make music like that anymore.”, the blonde responded with a dramatic sigh.

That didn’t stop you from adding:” But you’re not from the seventies, you’re a nineties girl.” “And? I can still appreciate that music.”, Leah replied unimpressed.

To appease her you took the place next to her, already placing your fingers on the keyboard:” Let’s play another song together.” “Which one?”, she curiously turned her head to face you directly.

Sheepishly you grinned at her starting to play the opening of North London forever:” What about this one?” “My favourite one.”, she answered laughing. You loved making your normally serious friend break out of her shell and hear her laughter fill the room.

Later that day Leah offered you to stay overnight, as usual you were sleeping in the same bed side by side but when you woke up the next morning you couldn’t believe your eyes. “Lee stop stealing my sweaters.”, you scolded her not quite as serious as you liked it to be.

In a sassy tone the defender remarked: Too late.”  “Also, it’s winter break you don’t even need to go to the gym.”, you told your teammate.

Stubbornly she packed the final things into her sports bag: ”And? I still have to get up at some point.” “But your bed is so cozy.”, you countered, wearing an innocent smile on your lips.

For a moment Leah paused in her movements: “You can stay in my bed if you want.”  “Thanks. When are we supposed to meet the girls again? So, I know when I have to get ready?”, you asked her as you were closing your eyes.  Promptly the defender reassured you before heading out of her home: “You have a few more hours.”

With a sigh, you snuggled back into the warm blankets, snoozing for a bit longer. Leah, on the other hand, was trying to focus on her exercises in the gym instead of Keiras video call. “Lee, you have to tell her how you really feel about her…“, Barcelonas midfielder was telling her.

“It’s not that easy, Kei.“, Leah replied between two sets of lunges. Keira sighed; “Why not? I think it’s pretty simple. Honestly, didn’t your self-help books teach you anything about that?“ “Actually, no. They don’t tell me how to tell my team mate that I might have a crush on her.“, the defender rolled her eyes.

“You’re lucky that football is my love language and I only have experience from dating other players, so here’s my advice. Are you listening?“ Instead of Leah, Keiras girlfriend Laura replied to her question; “Yeah, I’m listening.“ “She wasn’t talking to you!“, Leah laughed.

Laura grinned into the camera at the Arsenal player; “I know but I’m still curious.“ “You two need to shut up to hear my advice though.“, Keira reminded the two. Leah took her phone to see her friend better and patiently sat down on her mat; “Enlighten us.“ “Stop being afraid and go for it.“, Keira advised her.

The defender frowned; “Just a short question about that statement.“ “Sure, go on.“ “How many girls did you ask out again? And how many times were you asked?“ Keiras cheeks immediately turned red while Laura hysterically laughed in the background.

The Barcelona player grimaced and admitted; “They always ask me.“ “And now tell me why I should listen to you again?“, Leah asked with a smug smile. “Because I’m your best mate and I want you and her to be happy.“, Keira replied, making big innocent eyes at her friend.

Leah let a few seconds pass before she shrugged; “We’ll see.“ “Can’t wait to see you guys later.“, Keira smiled happily. “Me neither.“, Leah answered before resuming her strengthening and mobility exercises.

When Leah came back from the gym, you were wide awake, having showered and dressed yourself. When your guests showed up in the evening, Leah and you were just in the process of preparing dinner.

You left your team mate alone with the pizza dough and opened the door; “Kei and Lau, hi. You’re lucky we already prepared everything to do the pizzas!“ “And we’re starving!“, Leah yelled from the kitchen. “Same here.“, Keira laughed back and you stepped aside to let the couple into Leahs kitchen.

The Arsenal defender couldn’t help but to smirk at her comment: “I knew you would say that.” “Stop only talking and let’s start doing the pizzas.”, you reminded them why you four were in the kitchen. The mentioning of food made Lauras stomach growl:” Please.”

“Did Lee already told you?”, curiously the Barcelona midfielder turned to you. In confusion you lifted your eyebrows:” What do you mean with she told me.” “Keira shut up.”, Leah demanded while hitting her playfully on her arm.

With a soft chuckle Keira lifted her spoon so the Arsenal defender could see it: “Be careful I’m having the tomato sauce in my hands!” “I don’t care.”, the blonde replied cheerful. Clearing your throat, you intervened: “But I care about the pizzas.”  

“We have enough sauce, don’t worry.”, Leah reassured you. You could feel your muscles relaxing as she softly touched your shoulder. Optimistic the Roma player added:” Yes, they will turn out great.” “Ours yes.”, Leah grinned cheekily putting her free arm around your waist just as to underline who she meant with ours.

Eyerolling Keira countered: “Excuse me I have a Roma player in my team.” “Yeah, but she’s Austrian. Laura doesn’t know how to make a pizza.”, the defender interjected feisty.

Not too impressed by the blonde’s teasing Laura asked her interested:” So it’s a competition of who will make the better pizzas.” “Yes.”, you nodded.  Your teammate confirmed: “It’s now.” “The game is on.”, Keira answered, while throwing flower into your direction.

Surprised you looked down at your clothes who were covered in white now:“Keira what the hell?”  “Barca isn’t good for her. She would have never done that a few years ago.”, Leah sighed out loud. Laughing you continued:” Yeah, she’s getting too confident now.”

After you four put the pizzas into the oven you told them:” I’ll go to the bathroom now and get myself cleaned.”

While you were away the Barcelona midfielder whispered into her close friend’s ear:” Go after her Leah.” “To the bathroom?!”, the defender exclaimed. Winking Keira cheered on her: “Uhm you’re usually in the locker room with her, so there’s nothing you have not seen yet.”  

“There’s a difference between a locker and a bathroom, Keira.”, Leah shook her head. “Don’t be a coward, Leah.” “I’m not.”, she pouted.

A few minutes later you nearly walked into your teammate as you opened the door from the bathroom: Oh sorry, Lee.” “Oh, don’t worry.”, the blonde waved it off. You could sense that something was off with her, so you wanted to know:” Are you okay?” “Uh sure.”, Leah licked nervously her lips.

“You looked like you were about to say something…“, you prompted your team mate to speak. “I… uhm…“ Leah was never lost for words, you knew that.

You cocked your head, watching her closely, before trying to encourage her; “Remember the ‚You know you can always tell me what’s going on in your mind‘? That counts for you too.“

Finally, Leah sighed in defeat; “Are you sure you want to hear it?“ “Yes.“, you nodded determinedly. Another few seconds passed. “I like you.. not just like team mates or friends. You get me like no one else does.“, Leah revealed.

For a moment your breath stopped; “You mean…“ “Yes. But you don’t have to say anything right now. We can just continue the evening like nothing ever happened.“, Leah explained.

She was about to turn away from you and go back into the kitchen but you held her back; “No, I don’t want to forget it.“

With hopeful eyes, Leah looked back at you as you started to quietly sing live more & love more by Cat Burns under your breath; “'Cause if there's something you wanna do, just do it. Don’t let your head stop your heart from moving.If there's someone you wanna talk to, talk to ‘em. Who knows who we'd be if we just live more and love more.“

Biting her lip, the defender listened attentively. When you stopped, she lifted her eyebrow; “I thought you didn’t like her music!“

“Oh, I think our pizza is ready.“, you changed the topic, innocently blinking. Leah suppressed a laugh while you went back to the kitchen, where Keira and Laura had placed the pizzas on the table.

“Ours looks prettier“, Keira declared pointing at big smiley face on their pizza. “No, it doesn’t!“, Leah protested. “Yeah, it does!“ “Children!“, Laura interrupted them with a laugh. You sat down, taking a slice of your and Leahs pizza and happily biting into it; “As long as it tastes good. That’s how you actually recognize a good pizza.“

“Yours definitely looks like it was made with love.“, Laura commented, winking at the two of you. “Laura!“, Leah exclaimed but her face had turned a slightly pinkish colour. The Roma player shrugged; “Just saying.“

“You’re right though, Laura.“, you smiled and reached over the table for Leahs hand. Laura returned the smile; “I know.“ Leah shook her head about the girls on her kitchen table; “I hate you all.“

“No, you don’t.“, Keira countered. “Sadly. But I could need a kiss right now for all the bravery it took to say those things.“, Leah explained, looking at you with a slight pout. You raised your eyebrow, laughing; “From a team mate and friend?“

“Coming!“, Keira answered and stood up from her chair. “I didn’t mean you, Kei!“, Leah grimaced before leaning towards you and kissing you for the first time.

You were so caught up in the kiss that you didn’t even register Keira saying; “Rude. Do you have it on film, Laura.“ “Yes, I got it.“ When you two pulled apart, you saw the other couple happily looking down to the photos on Lauras camera.

[fangirl-dot-com]

Chapter 7 - Family Dinner

Pray for Christian. He’s just realizing that he now has two kids, who race every weekend in dangerous cars, only for them to have no life outside said cars. Max might be a little OOC, but ya know – who cares. I know I said that I would post tomorrow but free practice doesn't even start until midnight where I am. So it's going to be pushed back to Friday night at the latest and then a definite post on Sunday. Anyway, enjoy and don’t forget to comment if you want to be added to the tag list.

The entire way to the restaurant, you were almost shaking with anxiety. You knew you would get there 15 minutes early, but would that be too much? Would you be the last one to show up? Vito had texted you that so far, it was only him, Christian and Geri, with Riggs and Lacy. But that couldn’t stop your brain with coming up with worst case scenarios. But, you couldn’t help it. You took a couple of deep breaths as the car pulled up to the restaurant. 

Around the entrance, there seemed to be thousands of reporters and photographers. That made you panic as well. You shot a quick text to Vito, letting him know that you had arrived. You waited in the car until he came out to get you. You noticed that Riggs had decided to come out as well. You only now notice the size difference between him and Vito. The man was massive. PR agent and personal body guard? You were set for life. 

Vito opened the door for you and helped you get out of the car. The moment you were two feet on the concrete, the flashes of the cameras started going off. You tried your best to smile, but it was difficult when you were being blinded by the lights. You mentally laughed at yourself at the Weekend joke. Thankfully, no one grabbed you or anything. It was probably because Riggs had placed his hand on your back and carefully led you inside. No one would get passed that man. 

The ambiance of the restaurant was a stark contrast to that of outside. The lights were dim and there was a live orchestra in the corner. Vito was able to catch up to you before you got to the table. 

“Quite a show that was,” you mentioned as you spotted Christian at a table in the corner. 

“Well, you are trending everywhere on social media kid,” Vito replied as Christian stood up to greet you. 

“Nice to see you again sir,” you said as you shook his hand. 

“And you as well kid. That was sure some entrance.” You let out a small laugh. 

“All I did was walk it. I think I might be blind for the rest of the night. I can still see all the flashes.” A woman, who you recognized as Geri, let out a laugh. You turned to her. 

You obviously wanted to shake her hands for the rest of your life. It wasn’t every day you got to meet Ginger Spice. But you forewent all of that, and settled on a light hug. “It’s an honor to meet you ma’am. I asked Vito if I could have brought something for you to sign, but he said I probably shouldn’t.” You heard a smack of a hand against a forehead. You continued, “But now seeing you in person, I should have brought my entire CD set.” 

Geri and Christian both laughed out loud at your statement. Geri was able to calm you down as she promised that the next time she attended a race, you could bring something. You were able to sit next to her at the table. 

You were definitely fan-girling the entire time. But who cared. Geri was a nice person to keep a conversation with. You were relieved to see some familiar faces already at the table. Mitch was seated across from you with Lacy at her right. Riggs had sat next to his wife while Vito found a seat on the other side of you. The rest of the table was left empty for Max, Checo, and whoever they were going to bring. 

One waiter came to the table and asked for everyone’s drink orders. Because you were only 20 and the drinking age in America is 21, you asked for a water. 

Vito had joked around with the waiter, “Can you bring that in a sippy cup for her? She tends to spill.” A slap to the arm had him shut up as the rest of the table fell into small laughs. 

You argued back, “It’s not my fault that you’re so old. Did you remember to drink your prune juice this morning? I know how grumpy you get if you don’t.” You flashed a wicked smile at him as you took a sip of your drink. 

The adults started to laugh a bit harder. 

The laughter only died down when Christian suddenly stood up and rounded the table. Your eyes followed him and landed on two figures. Your heart picked up as you came to the conclusion that they were Checo and Max. You didn’t know what to do. Should you stand to greet them? Or would that be weird? 

You got your answer when they both just decided to sit down. However, Max was seated directly across from you. There was nowhere for you to hide from his sight. As he got situated, you quickly looked down at your dress and pretended to wipe something from the fabric. But, when you looked up, you made direct eye contact with him. Not wanting to wait for him to do something and come off as rude, you leaned a bit forward and put out your hand. 

“Uh, it’s nice to meet you,” you shyly said as he took your hand in his to return the gesture. 

His accent was a little heavy, “Nice to meet you too. It’s Y/n right?” 

“Yes sir,” you responded, almost a little too quickly. But Max had a questioning look before huffing and waving his hands. 

“There’s no need for that, kid.” He picked up his drink and took a sip. “You shouldn’t be much younger than me, no?” 

“Uh, six years younger,” you muttered. A choked sound came from across the table, which got everyone’s attention. Your cheeks heated as everyone looked at the two of you. 

“Is everything all right Max?” Christian asked, a look of concern on his face. 

Max points at you, “Where’d you find this – this..” you thought he was about to insult you. You winced at the thought. Except he finally finished sputtering, “literal child. She called me sir.” He all but whined the last sentence. 

Christian spoke up, “Well that child beat your 7 year time record for the practice track.” He took a sip of his drink as everyone’s eyes fell on you. 

“Uh, I didn’t mean to?” You wanted to die, but you continued, “I think I could have done better but there’s was something off on Turn five, but we said it was the…”

“Balance,” Max finished your sentence, nodding his head. “I’ve been trying to tell them to fix that.” 

You shrugged, “It wasn’t bad though.” 

“Did you slow down on the curve?” 

“Yep, and accelerated coming out of the apex.” Max gave you a giant smile. Cars and racing he could talk about.

“How did you feel about the steering?” he questioned, hands coming above the table. You soon found yourself doing that as well. 

“Eh, it was ok, but it was a bit understeery?” you didn’t want to go insulting his car, but you had a preference. 

“Oh my gosh, I know. I had that problem the entire season.”   

Everyone around you two knew that the moment the hands went above the table and were being flung everywhere, there was no stopping the two of you. They practically had to tell you both to shut up so that the table could start talking of other things and order the food. Your cheeks heated up when they pointed out your rambling. 

“Sorry,” you muttered, going back to your drink. 

“It’s fine kid. I’ve had to deal with Max for years. I think I can deal with it again,” Christian said as the waiters brought out the food. The Dutchman across from you rolled his eyes at the statement, which caused you to laugh. 

He was actually a joy to talk to. You were able to finally greet Checo a little bit into the actual dinner. You didn’t know whether to say you were sorry he was retiring or to congratulate him. So you kind of did both. 

Oh well. 

Throughout the meal, discussions of next season came up along with the car. Christian was pleased to know that the both of you preferred an oversteer car. Yes, the car would still be more towards Max’s preferences, but you could work with it. You knew that you would be second driver. But you honestly didn’t care. 

“I know how to play the teammate. I’m not looking for a championship right now. I’m just glad to be here,” you told Max and Christian. “Of course, I’m going to fight for a win, because that’s what I know to do. But I’m not going to block if Max is going to be faster than me.” 

The two men nodded, thankful for a person like you. There weren’t many people who would willingly give up wanting to be first driver. But you understood this. 

As long as Max Verstappen was in a Red Bull, he will be driver number one. The rest of the dinner went smoothly. As everyone was standing to leave, Christian announced that everyone was welcome to join them at a club. All the adults seemed to cheer as if they forgot that you technically couldn’t go. 

You didn’t mean to show disappointment, but Max picked up on it. The math was mathing as he put two and two together. 

“I think I’m going to skip out tonight. Not really feeling it.” His accent was heavy as he put his hands in his pockets and shrugged. 

You and Max somehow found yourself at the back of the group. He leaned down and semi-whispered to you. 

“Do you want to go get some ice cream?” 

You face must have lit up as he mirrored you with a smile. Max offered to drive you to the place. You quickly said goodbye to Vito, before promising that you’d text him when you got back to the hotel. You followed behind Max, trying to keep up with his long strides. The heels and long dress were making it difficult, but you managed.

When you got to his car, he popped the door open for you because you weren’t able to figure out the handle. You weren’t used to the expensive super-cars. Yes, the cars you drove were nice, but not millions of dollars nice. 

“You can play some music if you’d like to,” Max mentioned as he began to drive out of the parking garage. 

“Famous last words Max,” you said as you scrolled through your playlist. A familiar 33 caught you attention. You bit your lip trying not to smile. “I really like the thought and meaning behind this one. Super nice vibes. Very rememberable.” 

“Oh? Well then play it.” 

You snorted at his innocence. The moment the familiar beats came on, he looked at you with a face of betrayal. 

“You did not.” 

“I did too. It’s a very catchy tune Max.” He reached out and pressed the off button. 

“I’m revoking your DJ privileges.” Now it was your turn to look at him with a face of betrayal. 

“You did not.”  

“I did too. If you can’t play something nice, you won’t play anything at all.” 

“What would you play? Some oldie from 1953?” 

He snorted before putting his eyes back on the road. “I am not that old.” 

“Sure.” 

“We’re in the same generation Y/n.”

You argued back, “You’re on the fine line of millennial and gen z. You probably post memes on Facebook like an old lady.” 

The two of you fell in silence, before you busted out laughing. Max started to wheeze, which made you laugh even harder and clap your hands like a seal. By the end of the drive, you were wiping tears from your eyes. 

A bright ice cream cone lit up the sky at the car approached the store. You were able to get out of the car since the handle was much easier to figure out than the outside one. Max held the door of the shop for you and waited. He got curious when you didn’t directly come in. 

He found his answer when he saw you kneel next to a cat to pet it. He was surprised that it let you touch it. After you were done, you stood up and flashed a sheepish smile at him, muttering an apology for keeping him waiting. 

“I just love cats,” you sighed, looking at the kitty outside with heart eyes. 

Max fished his phone from his pocket. He quickly put in the password. His fingers quickly found the giant album just for his cats on the photos app. He handed his phone to you. 

“This is Jimmy and this is Sassy. What do you want and I’ll get it for you. You can keep looking.” You barely muttered a response, too enthralled with the gorgeous creatures on the screen. Max chucked as he went to get the ice cream. 

You were too busy swiping through all of the pictures. They were both so pretty. Max had to nudge you to hand you your cone. 

“Thank you for letting me see these,” you traded the phone for the cone. 

“No problem. If you ever find yourself in Monaco, you can come over to see them.” Your eyes seemed to twinkle at the thought of meeting his cats. “Do you have any?” 

You seemed to deflate at the topic of you being cat-less. “No, I’m away most of the year and I live by myself. My apartment is in Nice, but I think I’m going to move somewhere else.” 

Max’s eyebrows creased, “Does your family not live close?” 

You deflated even more. “No. To be honest, I don’t talk to my family. Like ever. I’m an only child as well so no siblings.” You kind of just shut up after that. Max felt awful. He knows that you probably know a lot about him. But he never thought to look up anything about you. 

He wanted to talk, but you continued, “But it’s fine. Racing is my life and takes up 100% of my time.” Max knew that it wasn’t fine. Racing was his life too, but he had friends and family to keep him company. He had Kelly and P, Christian, Lando, (maybe) Charles. He could try to convince you to find a small apartment in Monaco so he could keep an eye on you. 

He takes a moment to really see you. Right now, you weren’t a piece of art of you were almost face deep in your ice cream. This made you look younger than you were. And that hurt Max’s heart. His dad might be awful, but he still talked to him. 

He must have zone out because your talking brought him out of it. 

“Are you excited to race in Vegas?” you ice cream was almost gone.

Max shrugged, “It’s going to be difficult, since it’s cold. I’m worried about the grip of the tires.” 

You thought for a moment, “Well, if you get far enough ahead, you could always swerve to warm them up further. I know that would cut down on speed, but you’d be able to take the corners a bit better.” 

“How are you feeling about free practice one tomorrow.” Your eyes were now lit up once again, and Max is glad to see you perked up. 

“I am so excited. Did you hear that they’re going to do the walk up announcements again?” Max shook his head, (he actually did but wanted to hear you explain). “Well, they’re doing it and I have the perfect song, if I get announced.” You pouted. “Do ‘reserve drivers’ get announced?” 

“I don’t know. But I will make sure that you get one.” He put a hand on you shoulder. 

You squealed and thanked him. “I am a bit nervous about the lap times though.” 

Max suddenly hunched as to tell you a secret. “What you have to do is before you go into the flying lap, heat your tires to the max.” 

“Max, max, max, super max.” He deadpanned. “Sorry, continue.” 

“You have to push the throttle a couple of times right before you go to get the wheels spinning. The more they spin, the more friction they’ll have on the track, and the more they will heat.” (a.n. guys I don’t know if this is correct. I’m a writing major not engineering. But, more friction, more heat – I took one physics class so call me professor). 

“Aaahhhhh,” you had a far out look, contemplating the precious information you’ve been given. You wanted to talk about something other than racing. “How’s your family?” 

It was now Max’s turn for his eyes to light up. He brought out his cellphone again to show you more pictures. Some were of him and Kelly. Others of him and P. It was when he got to the drivers, you started to panic. 

“Do you think they’ll like me?” you mutter, suddenly finding you dress more interesting. Max looked at you with a confused face. 

“Kid, I’ve known you for,” he looked at his watch, “three hours now and I think I want you as my teammate for the rest of my carrier. Don’t worry, they will love you.” 

You let out a sigh of relief. 

“I just, don’t want to make a fool out of myself.” 

“You won’t, kid. You won’t.” 

After the topic passed, and Max finally finished his mess of the remainders of his ice cream, the two of you made you way back to his car. He made sure that you had texted Vito that you were back at the hotel when he dropped you off. Thankfully, his hotel wasn’t that far away. 

“Good night Max. I will see you tomorrow teammate.” You winked. 

“See you tomorrow, teammate.” You started to walk away before you remembered something. 

You rushed back over to the car and knocked on the window. Max quickly rolled it down and leaned over the dash. “Is something wrong?” 

“Which song are you picking? For the announcements? Because I think you should totally go with Max 33 or Super Max, or to annoy more people, the Dutch anthem.” 

Max only chuckled and rolled the window up. Not giving you an answer. He could see you in the mirror flailing your arms as he left. He would see you tomorrow. 

The first thing Max did when he got to his hotel was get changed. After that, he needed to make a quick phone call. 

He clicked on the contact and waited for the person to pick up. The phone didn’t even ring twice before the sound of the call being accepted filled the quiet room. 

Kelly’s face filled the tiny screen. 

She was the first one to speak, “Hi baby.” Max gave her a sleepy smile. “How was dinner.” 

“Oh it was great. I got to meet the rookie.” Kelly leaned her head on her hand. 

“How did it go?” 

“It was great Kels. I see myself so much in this kid.” 

“Is that a good thing?” 

“Yep. How do you think Penelope will feel about getting a sister? I’m already looking at how to adopt a teenager.” 

Tag List : @awekbachira @lightdragonrayne @leilanixx @angsthology @digitalizeduniqueness @topguncultleader @landosgirlxoxo @gods-menace @itsjustkhaos @thefandomswhre @alwaysboredsworld @vellicora @bintuabbas @sam-is-lost @empress-kimiko @assholeinatrenchcoat @kagatinkita @glitterquadricorn @zyonsay @tsukishimawhore @treehouse-mouse @ashy-kit @lilypadlover

[luna-andra]

Domesticated!König Headcanons: Meeting the future In-Laws ✨

Image: @Skavod29 on Twitter (Source)

I was floored by how much attention my first headcanon post got. Y'all had me fucking emotional and I am so happy it's something people actually like. It keeps me coming back to post more of my silly little ideas. Forever grateful for your support! ❤️

I also need to reiterate that my blog/posts are 18+ so MDNI, this one has some NSFW bonus HCS 💋

If you missed the first one, here :) StepDad!Konig is here!

I got other stuff! Masterlist pinned on my blog

When you decided it was time for your parents and König to meet, you were tempted to slip a Xanax into his morning coffee. It is not like he hasn’t said a polite hello and a few words over the phone or when you facetime them, but now he was finally meeting them in person. You’ve seen him more calm talking to two- and three-star generals than this, the kinds of things that rattled your nerves.

You swore he changed attire more times than you did. The sight of him re-rolling his sleeves on his button up shirt made you intervene before he undid them all over again. He paused when your hands held his, then flicked his azure eyes up to you. “They’re gonna love you, my king.” Your gentle smile and comforting words got through to him.

They welcomed you and the mystery man with open arms at their front door. Mom never knew how to keep her thoughts to herself, but she really did mean well. Of course, the first thing they all notice is how König has to duck under their doorway to come inside. “You weren’t lying when you said he was tall,” mom said. You gave her a warning look followed up with an apologetic smile to König. He managed to chuckle it off, it was nothing new for him. It did make him curious about what else you’ve said to your mom about the two of you.

You gave König a tour of your childhood home, nearly having to pry him from the wall of photos of you and your family. He had the biggest shit-eating grin on his face of the little timeline displayed in pretty frames; your first elementary school photo, a photo of you in a boy/girl scouts uniform, another of you during extra-curricular activities (band/orchestra, JROTC, sports, theater, robotics team, etc.), a prom photo with you and old friends, and lastly your high school graduation picture. König wanted a copy of one of them to keep in his wallet, mom promised to get him one behind your back.

König's field day got better when you showed him your childhood bedroom. Depending on how you last had it decorated, you were either low key bashful or regretting even showing him. It was like traveling back in time for him, giving him a glimpse of the kid and teen, you used to be. A chance to fall in love with every facet of you.

He was getting more comfortable when he found out your dad wasn’t out to get him as much as he thought. They ended up sitting in the living room, talking about a topic after your dad played twenty questions to figure him out. Something either about guns, hunting, hiking, fishing, blue-collar work, and if your dad is a veteran, they got along faster than you could imagine. You and mom caught up in the kitchen as you helped her finish up with cooking and setting the table.

If you have siblings, they showed up in the nick of time before dinner, to share embarrassing stories of you when you were a kid, or the stories you all waited to tell when you all were adults to avoid from getting in trouble. König watched and listened as you got more animated with laughter. Loving every second of this. He had a handful of memories he could count on his hand that were of happier times, but your memories became his favorite ones.

Everyone pestered the two of you for the story of how you met. And since you’ve been doing most of the talking, you looked to König to tell the tale. Your eyes never left him as he started the story from his point of view, recollecting the moment he saw you and how he was trying to come up with an excuse to try and talk to you. It donned on you that this was the first time you were hearing the way he saw you. “And now we’re here,” he concluded, looking over to you with a grin and a touch to your hand underneath the table.

NSFW Bonus:

König couldn’t stop thinking about taking you in your childhood room, nearly fantasizing what it would’ve been like if the two of you met as teens/younger adults. Indulging in the idea of sneaking into your bedroom window or standing outside with a boombox in 80s/90s style fashion.

Of course, your parents offered you to stay with them, not wanting you to have to rent a hotel room or travel back (depending on how far away you lived from them), so the later the night got, the more distracted König became with fulfilling his dirty thoughts.

It was just like the old days, having you home and hearing the music coming from your speakers when someone passed by the doorway. You were just showing König your CD collection, right?

It definitely wasn’t because you were trying to muffle your moans and screams as he pounded you into that fucking mattress. Making you a drooling and brainless mess under his rutting hips. He kept praising you for taking him so well and for being so quiet like the good little fuck thing you were, making it harder not to cum so fast. Secretly, this was your fantasy too, and you wanted it to last a little longer than the 10 minutes of foreplay and fucking you had already endured.

Likes & reblogs are always appreciated! Stay tuned for more to this unexpected series! Asks are opened for requests & ideas for others.

[ataraxiaspainting]

As Grief Consumes.

Yan Childe x F Reader.

Synopsis: You are on the run from the eleventh of the Fatui Harbingers after he kills your husband. But soon, your fear turns into a want for revenge, and by then it is too late for you.

Warnings: Yandere themes, violence/some gore, accidental self-harm, essentially kidnapping, massive power imbalance, manipulation, and stalking.

Word Count: 4.4k.

Ten Songs Like This Piece:

Anna Maria by bôa

Once Upon a Dream by Lana Del Ray

An Unhealthy Obsession by The Blake Robinson Synthetic Orchestra

I Want a Girl (Just Like the Girl That Married Dear Old Dad) by The Buffalo Bills

Unwed Henry by American Murder Song

Who Is She ? by I Monster

Happy Together by Filter

Tear You Apart by She Wants Revenge

Missed Me by The Dresden Dolls

The Dismemberment Song by Blue Kid

“When you begin a journey of revenge, start by digging two graves: one for your enemy, and one for yourself.” – Jodi Picoult, Nineteen Minutes

i. “The further you sink, the more you drown in lies told by both you and others.”

You had first seen the eleventh of the Fatui Harbingers when he was towering above you, unblinking, at the end of your bed. Dressed in elegant gray attire, he stood tall, exuding an air of opulence. His eyes, reminiscent of frozen azure or sapphire gems, shimmered with an ethereal glow, just like his Hydro Vision.

Initially, his absence of blinking and his predatory demeanor seemed only odd, almost as if he were a wild animal, your tiredness preventing you from seeing the situation in its entirety. 

However, once you had awoken enough from your sleep and realized that he was an intruder, a profound sense of terror and alarm engulfed you. Your husband’s snoring was the only audible thing in this moment, the Harbinger’s and your breathing. You had practically jumped out of your bed to run, not thinking. 

“That took a while.”

No. No. No, this can’t be happening. Ji told you that he was able to pay off his debt just in time. Your throat constricts, your gaze widening as your mind teeters on the brink of crumbling, all because of the presence of the person standing just a few feet from you. You can’t breathe. Tartaglia smiles at your fear like you are a new toy he had purchased and then placed on the highest shelf. 

“Why are you–”

“Shh,” He cuts your questioning short with that sound and a simple lift of his finger to his smirking lips. “I just want to chat, girly.” He whispers, putting a lazy arm over the raised footboard. “Don’t cry or scream for help, okay? We both know no one would come anyway.”

Nobody is here to help you get out of this, even Rex Lapis himself.

“Why are you here, Lord Tartaglia? That… is who you are, right? Please, he did pay off his debts.”

You don’t know what to say next. You don’t know what to say next, and it hurts you. What is one supposed to say, when their house is broken into by a Fatui Harbinger and they are just so casually standing a few steps away from you? A Fatui Harbinger who was said to be a wild card and oh so infamously conniving? Would begging for Ji to not die be a good choice? Would you die too then, whether he listens to your pleas or not? Perhaps asking him to at least make his death not painful and long would suffice. It is a gamble, no matter how you slice this situation.

Your husband is not a stranger. You know his life story and what he had done in his life. He knows your life story and actions too. Would Tartaglia listen to you if you kept repeating that Ji had paid off his debt already? Something tells you he won't listen to you, even if you speak enough to make your throat bleed.

“I doubt that.” His voice carries a cheerful melody that unsettles your stomach. “Harbingers aren’t one to be given false information, sweetie.” He chuckles as the tears that are about to fall from your eyes reflect the moonlight. “Anything you want to tell me before I get down to business? It can be anything at all.”

You find yourself tightly embracing your arms, as the frigid air playfully grazes your skin. Perhaps buried within your subconscious, you entertain the possibility that Ji may have deceived you. Maybe he fabricated a story to cease your persistent reminders about visiting Northland Bank and settling his debt with the Fatui. Alternatively, there could be an undisclosed motive behind his deception. Then again, could it be Tartaglia who is deceiving you, or perhaps you are deceiving yourself?

“Do you have to kill him?”

“Yes, princess.”

You don’t say anything for a moment after that blunt response. Tartaglia drinks up every emotion on your face like they are bottles of the sweetest cherry wine. Unfortunately for you, he does not seem the type to be a lightweight.

“Why can’t you do it another way?”

He looks out your window to the Sandbearer trees and bamboo growing in the back of your house. “Because he won’t ever be able to pay off his debt, no matter how much he works or how much he sells.”

You would think the lightness in his tone is simply him fooling around for a moment if he hadn't broken into your home and is a Fatui Harbinger. You know better than to think so foolishly. Perhaps it is simple amusement, with how his eyes look at your cold sweat traveling down your forehead to your neck, and your tears migrating down to your bare feet. You can sense the heaviness of his gaze, as it carefully observes your every action, from the not-so-subtle movement of your fingertips to the gentle flutter of your lashes. He would not be joking at a time like this.

The left side of the bed creaks as you hear Ji’s yawns and grumbles and him rubbing his eyes with his pointer fingers. Were Tartaglia and you too loud? You don’t think so. Your blood runs cold as your head turns and your fearful eyes make contact with his calm ones. 

As you move towards Ji, a wave of childhood nightmares washes over you. In those dreams, a formidable monster lurked behind, forever out of reach no matter how fast you ran. Your legs become burdensome and immobile as if shackled by iron chains. Should you cry out? Warn Ji to flee before it's too late? Tartaglia would easily catch up, but the longer you remain inert, the weightier your guilt grows.

You could still do something, can’t you?

You can still at least try, can’t you?

“[First]?” Your husband’s voice mixed in with drowsiness. “What are you doing up?”

The hand over your mouth doesn’t budge as much as you struggle and claw at it. It’s no use. Ji can’t see anything because his glasses are on the bedside table. He can’t run if he doesn’t know what is here, waiting to tear him apart into little pieces.

“My love? What’s wrong?”

Tartaglia answers before you can.

“I’m afraid your deadline has passed.”

This has to be a bad dream, so you close your eyes and wish that you would just wake up already. But you never do.

ii. “Your flames can either bring life and warmth or cause destruction.”

You woke up in the morning to a cold bed. You sit up and your neck naturally turns to your right, your tiredness keeping you from remembering Ji is dead. You somehow still wanted to check if Ji had already left for work, but he wasn’t there. There was a faint glimmer of hope as you kept denying that Ji hadn’t passed last night after all. But that glimmer was quickly followed by a crushing weight. The bed was cold, the spot where Ji usually lay being taken instead by a head of ginger hair and freckles, a strong arm holding your waist in place.

*~*~*~*

As the sun retreats into the Earth's embrace and the moon takes its place in the celestial stage, the fire dwindles to a mere glimmer of its former radiance. The flames flicker with feebleness, urging you to tend to its dwindling strength.

“Sigh… I’m traveling again today anyway. I don’t need this anymore.” You stand up and almost cry out in pain at your sprained ankle. You can hardly see Liyue Harbor from here. The only thing you can see almost clearly is the giant red gates, the lanterns so small they could be mistaken for little bits of dust or gliding flower petals. You’re thankful that you were not hurt back then and escaped before Tartaglia’s boat set sail for Snezhnaya. Now you can’t go back to Liyue until you are assured that Tartaglia has died. “Time to go.”

You start walking down the mountainside, being careful to not trip on a tree root or rock. You made that mistake before, and you surely do not want history repeating itself. Especially since your ankle just started healing, though it is not healed enough to not make you wince with every step you take. It still beats having it broken though, you suppose.

You would rather sleep, you would rather have someone here to help you through this. Before your eyelids can close again as you walk, you slap yourself. You have to pay attention, because if there are any Fatui skirmishers, mages, or agents here you have to notice them before it is too late for you. You are certain that Tartaglia gave them orders to look out for you. It is what you would have done if you were as obsessed as he was with someone you had never met before. Thankfully though your thread of fate differed from Childe’s, or at least you hoped so.

You have to keep going, it is what Ji would have wanted you to do if he was still alive.

It is what Ji would have wanted you to do. Your sword is dragged behind you, a light thunking sound audible every time it falls a bit at a small ledge. It has seen better days, that is for certain. Its edges are dull and its surface is chipped and stained. The wooden hilt is rotten and split, exposing the worn and tarnished metal beneath.

The sword is old, but there is still strength in the petals beneath all the rust and decay. Despite the more than obvious corrosion, it still manages to retain some of its original sharpness. Having any weapon is better than having none. You cannot just be here out in the wilderness by yourself like some rabbit waiting to be eaten. You have to continue to run and live. You have to, for Ji.

“Huh…?”

Just your luck. The mask the man wears is somewhat scorched and burned at the edges, likely from the fiery attacks the typical Fatui Pyro Agent wields in combat. The red mask’s surface has been ruined by heat and age, leaving it an almost brick color. Its shape is angular, giving it a harsh and intimidating appearance. Nothing is exposed, with even the nose and mouth covered by its metal.

You regret leaving that tacky tent in an instant. You raise your blade and point it at the agent, glaring. In response, the agent crosses his arms with a tch sound leaving the small holes of his mask. Would it be a bad idea to run? Is this agent fast enough to stop you? It’s another gamble, to put it simply.

*~*~*~*

The sound of the troupe of musicians’ instruments fills both you and Ji’s ears sweetly as you dance. The crackling of the fire of the outdoor cooking station provides a cozy atmosphere. You were both at peace surrounded by the warmth and comfort of the song playing and the love you shared.

A drizzle falls from the night sky, adding yet another accent to the harmony. Creating an almost hypnotic rhythm. Ji smiles at you with appreciation in his eyes. He pulls you close as you continue to dance to the melodic tunes playing in the background.

“I love you.”

*~*~*~*

But you take that chance and start running uphill, not being as careful as you were walking down. The agent chases after you as you gasp for air, your eyes going from looking at the top of the small mountain to looking at your feet to making sure you don’t trip and fall. But then you look behind you and see the agent reaching his hands out towards you, aiming to catch you before you can get very far. That is when your instinct kicks in, the rational part of your brain being replaced by pure emotion and impulse.

The agent attempts to sidestep out of the way but only manages to trip himself on a tree root as your rusty blade makes a clear and large bloody slash across his chest. He tumbles down the mountainside, his blood trailing behind him in a crimson stream. He grunts and you go back to running. Only when you are up on the top of the hill do you look down at what you have done

He lies struggling at the bottom of the mountainside. Your tunnel vision makes the world dark, leaving only one color left; the agent’s bright red blood staining the mountainside. He seems to have collapsed on a rocky part of it, his body losing the strength to stay upright. The wind blows at the crimson trails of blood, splattering them over the nearby rocks and foliage. He reaches out with a weak hand, reaching in vain for you, his voice nothing more than feeble gurgling and panting. The agent struggles to stay conscious, but the pain from the massive wound in his chest and the lack of oxygen causes him to slowly lose consciousness. He draws a final breath as he goes limp. The corpse bleeds out into the dirt and rocks, his blood mingling with the soil as he remains still and lifeless.

*~*~*~*

The soft glow of the candles illuminated the bedroom. Ji could see that you were fast asleep, your gentle breathing a testament to this. He leans in close and kisses your forehead, your eyebrows slightly contracting in your sleep, Ji feeling content and happy. A gentle breeze blows through the window, causing the curtains to flutter slightly. As he watches the candlelight dance and flicker, his mind is at ease and his heart is full of love for you. You feel safe and secure in your husband’s arms.

*~*~*~*

As soon as you are certain of his death, you step down from your perch and kneel next to the body.

Was it moral? The question hangs in the air like a noose or a guillotine’s blade as you stare down at him. Your act may have been necessary, but was it right? Is murder a justified response? Was there any chance for a peaceful resolution? What could have been?

Is this what Ji would have wanted? Would he be happy if he knew you had blood on your hands now?

iii. “As we dance, each step forward leads to another step back.”

You go to wash your hands in the body of water nearby.

You stand by the edge of the lake, looking down at your hands as you contemplate. Even though there is no physical evidence of blood on your palms, you can still feel the weight of what you have done. The water beckons you like a siren, drawing you in with the promise of being cleansed both physically and spiritually. You hesitate for a moment before dipping your hands into the water, letting the coldness refresh you. As you feel the water wash over your skin, you can’t help but wonder if the feeling of guilt will disappear with it.

“Not bad, not bad.” That is what Childe would say if he was here with you to witness what had just happened, your imagination producing a proudness in his tone that makes you almost vomit. “Seems you learned a bit from me. Cute.”

You have the urge to shield your ears from the harsh reality that the imaginary Tartaglia relished in revealing. However, you resist the temptation for now. The task at hand is to cleanse them, to rid them of impurity. They remain unwashed and unclean. Therefore, you clench your hands tightly, keeping them submerged in the water. There is a viscous sensation as if you had immersed them in a thick, sticky substance like honey or syrup.

Your imagination stops playing tricks on you for a moment, much to your paranoia and guilt’s utter joy. Perhaps a small mercy, or punishment as now you will be alone with your thoughts once more.

You hold your breath as you count the seconds of you scratching away at your hands. One, two, three, four… you eventually lose count, and by then a small portion of the lake is crimson. Your skin has been rubbed raw and you are bleeding, and when you become aware of this, the pain shoots up your arms and you scream.

“Come on, be proud of what you did.”

There is a chuckle that is akin to those that still haunt your nightmares.

At least you can’t see him, he is just a voice in your head. Though you assume that the real Tartaglia is still out there, waiting to strike. You just wish you could make it to Sumeru before then.

Would you ever be free?

“You did great, you know.”

You do not want Tartaglia’s praise, as false as it is at this moment. Even if he is just a figment, you would rather have no kindness at all, out of both self-hatred and hatred for him.

Would you still be free if you hadn’t killed that agent? You don’t think you would have, you don’t know what that agent would have done to you, if he was sent to catch you or if he was just doing his regular patrols of the area. You don’t know what his plans were. All you know is that he is dead and you are still free. Where whatever his plan had failed, your plan as quickly as it was made had succeeded. You contemplate deluding yourself into thinking that that agent was sent after you, that he did harbor ill-intent towards you and your freedom. 

But you can’t do it, so all you do is put your bloody hands to your face and sob. You taste something metallic in your mouth and it only makes you cry louder. Your tears become mixed with sanguine as they fall and paint your white dress with red dots. You stay in that position for a while after that, but the imaginary Childe’s voice does not leave you for another second.

There is never a peaceful moment, and you don’t know how long you cried for.

“Seriously, stop crying. It sort of ruins how good of a job you did.” After a few more moments of you still loudly weeping, you hear a sigh. “Come on. Don’t be a spoilsport.”

You sniffle into your cut palms.

“Just leave me alone.”

He does not listen to you, as he always does.

iv. “You have turned into the very thing that you vowed to annihilate.”

Screaming. Screaming that is so loud the Golden Finches in the trees all fly away. Screaming too loud, too maddening, to stop and it goes on for about a minute like an alarm. The source of the screaming is you, not that you tried to stop it, blinded by emotion.

The daylight makes you focus on your cut hands, your skin still stained with blood from the night before. The lake’s water has slightly brightened up, and the spot where you cut your hands is less red. 

But your trails sooner than later trail back to what caused your screaming.

Resting in the lush blades of grass beside you lies the source of your frantic cries. Nestled at its center, is a vibrant and tranquil sapphire gemstone adorned with gilded accents that trace the curves of a square. As it draws near to your being, a subtle glow emanates, casting a gentle illumination. A Hydro Vision.

“Aren’t you happy?”

You stare at it. You do not know whether to be happy or continue being miserable. You are deemed worthy and strong by the celestial realm, hence receiving a portion of their formidable might. The only problem is that you had just killed a man. You murdered someone, and you are being rewarded for it.

It is like Tartaglia is here with you, even though you cannot see him.

You know that if you had not killed that agent, you would not be gifted with this.

At least you can defend yourself for real now, even though your self-defense skills are next to none.

You hope this is a joke. There are fake Visions sold in some places, and perhaps it was dropped here by mistake. Maybe a child simply lost theirs. But you know that is not true. There is nothing here but you, this Vision, and your rusty sword. There is nothing else for you, no child coming and snatching up the Vision and running back to wherever they came from.

So you pick it up, and it is slightly cold with little droplets of water on its glowing surface. 

It emits a gentle hum and you can feel its power coursing through your veins. Hydro Visions are said to be a manifestation of the Hydro Archon’s will, a symbol of her sense of justice and benevolence. 

You would laugh if your voice box did not feel like it had just been clawed out of you.

You would laugh if you thought it was funny. But it is not funny, because now you will have to carry this reminder; this permanent keepsake of the man you have killed. It is not funny, but you know Childe would think it was if he ever found out about this.

You cannot escape this because there is no escape. You killed a man and his corpse is there on the bottom of the hill, rotting away, his eyes probably wide and glassy and unblinking. Flies and maggots will soon make him their new home and drill their way into his flesh as he rots, buzzing sounds soon replacing whatever gurgling ones the agent made before he went motionless.

You do not deserve any mercy, because at the end of the day are you really that different from Tartaglia? You both kill those around you to get what you want, the only difference being you killed that man in self-defense, or at least you hope that is what it counts as. You don’t know if you and him are the same. You are no saint. Childe is a sinner. You are a disgrace. Childe is no luminary. 

Or maybe he is. Because of him, you murdered someone. 

Either way, that agent had someone, someone out there who at least was acquaintances with him. Maybe he had a partner, a spouse, a friend, someone back in Snezhnaya waiting for him to return. Now all that they are getting is a body in a bag and maybe some cold condolences if they are lucky enough. 

Your hands still hurt as you hold out one of them and a small fountain of water spouts from your palm. You ball up your fist and close your eyes, making the Hydro power stop. Maybe the heavens know that you and Childe are the same, and that is why they gifted you the same Vision he wields. Whether the Vision of choice was intentional or not though, you know you will never be able to find out, because you are just a human. The divine does not interfere with mortals, after all.

You do not feel good, but you don’t feel bad either, a nauseating mix of both you think. You’re stronger now. You’re more worthy of hell than heaven.

What awaits after you die? What happens when both you and Childe die? If you got into heaven, would Tartaglia tear through the very gates of heaven to get to you? What would happen then? Or if you go to hell, would Tartaglia be able to find you?

If you burn in hell, would the only thing you hear be your thoughts?

You would be alone then. Though you know you are just as alone right now. You are lost in your thoughts, and maybe that is what hell is because you cannot stop them.

You are hungry. The satchel you stole from a Millelith guard ran out of food and water yesterday, and there do not seem to be any apples or sunsettias nearby. You feel so empty.

You think about what caused all of this to happen. You are certain that if Childe had not butted his head into your life if Ji had paid off his debts, if something else had happened, if anything else had happened, if everything else had happened, you would not have killed someone. Hopefully, probably.

You are a murderer.

You hold the title of a killer, yet there may still be a chance to redeem your soul through positive actions. If you dedicate yourself to intense preparation, you could potentially return to Northland Bank and swiftly eliminate Childe. Your motive is driven by the desire to pay Childe back for Ji and all the other lives he has destroyed. You want payback for yourself too. Seeking retribution for yourself is not an act of selfishness but rather a justified response in your opinion. 

A deep longing for revenge quickly blossoms within, causing your heart to race as an ecstatic smile graces your face. The tantalizing allure of revenge consumes your every thought, compelling you to go to any lengths to savor its sweetness. Your unwavering pursuit of justice echoes relentlessly, echoing the call for retribution. Justice, justice, justice, Revenge, revenge, revenge. Guilty, guilty, guilty.

Victory, victory, victory.

You are going to enjoy his suffering, his pain. You are going to enjoy his screams. You are going to enjoy his cruel death, the torture you are going to put him through. You lust after such a moment like a bite from the sweetest, juiciest fruit in all the land. Apples. Peaches, maybe.

Your soul will feast well that day. You will eat and eat until you are the very definition of gluttony itself. Even if you end up a demon, you will be happy that Tartaglia finally got his due.

You cannot wait.

It is not too late for you, for forgiveness, for another chance. It is not too late to salvage at least part of you. 

You laugh then, and it is croaky and hoarse from how loudly you screamed before, but you don’t care. Yes. Yes. Yes. You ignore how much your throat hurts, how much your hands hurt and your ankle hurts. It does not matter.

A sudden clapping sound, slow but clear. You don’t know whether or not you are imagining it, if you are going crazy or not. You are not mishearing things either way. 

Footsteps, cracking branches, and stepping on roots and blades of grass.

Clap.

Clap.

Clap.

A chuckle.

“Good job.”

v. “Happiness can only be found in surrender.”

[gon-and-killuas-mother]

i watched a documentary about the Titanic (one of those "real time" animations on YouTube) and was once again struck by the musicians playing till almost the very end. except this time i learned that their final song was "Nearer My God To Thee", which actually made me start crying

i'd always considered it an act of kindness to the rest of the passengers, but now i'm certain it was at least partially for themselves. they were musicians dedicated to their instruments and knew the likelihood of survival was slim. so rather than fight the remaining 1500 people for the last 100 or so seats on the lifeboats, and leaving behind the instruments that were rarely far from their hands, they played.

i'm a choir kid, and my brother was an orchestra kid. music is how both of us cope with hard times. when i'm afraid or hurting or grieving, i sing. when the world feels like it's shattering around me, i sing, i sing, and i sing until my throat closes and my voice crumples.

(in more amusing light, just ask anyone i play online games with, anytime i get spooked or chased by a baddie, i do literally start singing like i was in the middle of an opera)

sure, maybe the musicians on the Titanic wanted to play a lullaby to the passengers in hopes of easing their last moments, but i'm now convinced they mostly did it for themselves. not selfishly, music is never selfish, it's always an act of sharing.

if i were a professional orchestral musician, my life would revolve around the instrument i play. i might know the instrument better than any human partner. and if i knew that this would be my last chance to play a beautiful song before being swallowed by the Atlantic, i'd play it over and over and over until gravity and ice cold water forces me to let go.

not to comfort the passengers anymore, they're beyond comfort now. i'd play simply so that the last thing i hear before the water takes me is the sound of my cello, or violin, or viola, or double bass softly crooning the saddest, gentlest hymn to the night. i'd want to feel the vibrations under my fingers no matter how frozen they are, because i won't be able to do it ever again.

what the fuck i'm crying again. i always had an appreciation for the musicians, but it didn't actually strike me so hard until i related to them on a personal level. i don't think they were trying to be heroes, they were just taking comfort in their own craft.

[sixty-silver-wishes]

everyone shut up this is ACTUALLY what fans of different composers are like

Mahlerians are PROUD TO BE ABSOLUTELY INSUFFERABLE DRAMA QUEENS, THE LIKES OF WHICH EVEN THE WAGNER CULT COULD NEVER SO MUCH AS ASPIRE TO BE. WE ARE ONE WITH THE UNYIELDING EBB AND FLOW OF THE BOUNDLESS UNIVERSE, DAMN IT ALL!

Shostakovich fans are like Mahler fans except they actually understand what sarcasm is. We also all really like the Muppets for some reason. Most of us own cats and likely have at least one mental illness.

Liszt fans are either tweenagers who love anime or salty old pianists who know a disturbing amount about music theory. These two factions are constantly at war.

Copland fans are either very, very far right or very, very far left. Either way, neither side actually listens to all of Copland's repertoire.

Tchaikovsky fans are either Russian grandmas or LGBT orchestra kids on Tiktok. Either those or the one noob who heard there were cannons once.

Wagner fans. Yes, there are the cringey neo-Nazi Wagnerians, but anti-Nazi Wagnerians are a whole new level of chaotic good. They spend their time dreaming up the most disastrous, chaotic Ring productions possible, with the sole purpose of making Richard Wagner's entire family simultaneously spin in their graves. They take "death of the author" to a whole new level and constantly run on nothing but 100% pure spite. You want a Wagnerian who would beat up Wagner in a Denny's parking lot on your side.

Prokofiev fans will unironically say "ackshually...". That's it.

Dvorak fans are homeschool kids. They're either soul-crushingly innocent or devastatingly horny.

Sousa fans are just high school band directors who try to convince themselves they like Sousa to get through the semester.

Joplin fans constantly argue over whether Joplin's music should be played twice as quickly or twice as slowly than it's actually written. Also sick of hearing about Janis.

Chopin fans are exactly like Liszt fans, except there are 20% more "uwu softboi flowercrown" edits of Chopin than Liszt floating around on Instagram and Tumblr.

Holst fans will drag you into an alleyway and beat you up with their bare hands if you so much as mention The Planets.

Bernstein fans are either horny theatre kids or communists, but it's more likely they're both at once. They are very opinionated about recordings, and express their approval of the ones they like by gyrating excessively to them. If you put a Bernstein fan, a Mahler fan, and a Shostakovich fan in one room, they will either topple a national government or have a threesome.

Ravel fans are inherently Wes Anderson fans. You can be friends with one for years without knowing a single thing about their personality.

Schoenberg fans are like Mahlerians but with worse memes.

Brahms fans are... I have never met a Brahms fan. I'm sure they exist, but I'm pretty sure my own taste in music scares them off.

Paganini fans are almost always TwoSet kids, particularly the ones who try to convince people that "classical music isn't boring because it's basically metal." If you tell them Paganini played viola, they will spontaneously combust.

Rachmaninov fans are ultimately really chill, but are often socially awkward. If you ask a Rachmaninov fan "how are you?", they will most likely respond with "you too."

Schumann fans are Mahlerians on medication.

Stravinsky fans think they're chaotic and unhinged and listen to the most obscure underground shit, but in all actuality they just decided to enter their edgy phase after a lifetime of being sheltered and forced to listen to nothing but Handel by their parents. Possibly homeschooled.

Ysaye fans are like Paganini fans, except they're depressed graduate music students with permanent calluses on their fingers.

Debussy fans go to art school, decide they don't like art school, but have been doing art school too long to turn back, so they can't get out of art school. They may be high on weed at any given moment.

Satie fans are just possessed vessels of Erik Satie. Death cannot hinder Erik Satie. Erik Satie will return to this mortal plane. Search your feelings. You are already Erik Satie.

[egonspenglerishot]

request if you are still doing them, Egon sees reader babysitting Oscar after coming back to the station from a bust and is absolutely in love with their parental energy. He thinks how good they would be looking after their own kids.

Oh

My

God

Yes

Baby Fever

You were walking around the firehouse gently bouncing Oscar on your hip. Dana had called in a favour as she’d had to stay late at the orchestra for the all night performance. Naturally, you agreed, you loved little Oscar, how he was always curious and really really happy to see you and Egon almost all of the time. You cooed at him and rubbed his back, he was refusing to settle and it was worrying you. You tried everything, his bottle, his pacifer, even singing. You weren’t the world’s worst, you could hold a melody atleast.

You’d lost track of time and the guys were already back from their night time busts. The most recent had taken it out of all of them, and they were all covered in ectoplasm. You sat on Egons bed and held Oscar close. It’s like he knew they were back, and not from the smell. His eyes were latched onto the bedroom door waiting for Egon. That’s when it cracked in your mind that Oscar had wanted to wait for Egon to get home. A small smile spread on your face “he’ll be here in a moment why don’t we settle down okay?” He seemed to be calmer and more at ease now, letting you lay down with him resting on your chest. Within a few seconds he was fast asleep and you yourself were close to falling asleep. The bedroom door opened and the four men stumbled in tired beyond belief.

Egon smiled gently seeing you and Oscar on his bed, but something inside him switched when he realized how close you and Oscar were. You were always so motherly to him, you were always so sweet and kind, it made him want children of his own with you. Egon tries telling himself children would just hinder the ghostbusters, or they’d grow up without a dad, but every time he saw you with Oscar in your arms, it made his heart swell and beat a little faster. He sighed and took his glasses off putting them on his bedside before getting into bed with you and Oscar. You shifted in your sleep and held Oscar close as Egon snuggled up to you, his heart beating faster. He was never good with emotion, his parents rarely gave him any attention.

But every little kiss or nuzzle from you made his heart swell. His mind drifted to his bedside table where he was keeping the ring. Maybe in the future you two would marry, you’d have children of your own, hell you could maybe become a ghostbuster like him, then you could alternate between looking after your children. Egon smiled sleepily and kissed your forehead before he fell asleep.

Peter and Ray looked at each other and Peter smirked “someone has baby fever”

[livwritesstuff]

So you know how parents always have that *one* story about a time where their kid scared them beyond this universe — like their kid could be a daredevil and constantly trying their patience but this particular story is the most harrowing, scariest situation they’ve been in. (This may not be universal but I’m hoping I’m explaining it right lol)

What do you think would be Steve and Ed’s stories for each of the girls?

tw: hospitals, illness, car accidents, in general proceed w/caution if sensitive to children sustaining injuries/illnesses

When Moe was about six months old, she got sick – really sick, hospital-trip sick. All Steve really remembers is that one minute her appetite wasn’t what it usually was, and the next her temperature had spiked to 104 and something about her breathing was not normal and they were on their way to the ER.

They'd ended up staying for three days, Steve didn't sleep the entire time, and because it was before Moe's adoption was finalized, they had all kinds of DFS paperwork to fill out in addition to the mountain of documents the hospital had given them. Steve remembers having to coordinate with Ed dropping everything off at the DFS office and thinking for the first time ever in their years of fostering kids how stupid it was that he was expected to focus on following DFS procedure instead of being there for his baby girl.

The scariest moment with Hazel was the time they lost her.

They’d been at the New England Aquarium with all three girls on a Saturday afternoon – ridiculous, in both Steve and Eddie's opinion, and honestly they weren't even able to enjoy outings like these because they’re still in the stage where they spend the entire time anxiously keeping track of the girls (who were having the time of their lives, obviously – that's why they're suffering through it).

So when Steve did a headcount like he usually does every so often and came up with two, his heart flipped over. He checked again, and again only counted two. 

Triple-checks. Two.

In real-time, they hadn't lost sight of Hazel for more than ten seconds, but it was the longest ten seconds Steve had ever lived by a mile, and he’d spent the whole time thinking that it had to be the worst-case for a situation like this because it was Hazel. If Moe or Robbie got separated from them, they would have no problem marching up to the first person in an NEA shirt they could find and demanding help finding their dads. Hazel, though, is quiet and shy and usually stuck to them like glue. She won’t talk to strangers in the best of moments, so there was no chance she’d find it in herself to try during a bad one.

Turns out, Hazel had been so mesmerized by the jellyfish that even after they all moved on to the next display, Hazel just had to turn back to get one more look, and Eddie had his head screwed on tight enough that day to think of checking there first.

Later, Steve reneged on their plan to take the girls to Boston Pride (which would have been in a few weeks) because it had been scary enough losing track of Hazel in an enclosed space where there were only so many places she could wander off to. The idea of it happening in the dead center of the city, with all those crowds of people, with infinite directions for her to go…no chance. They’d try again next year.

Between all three girls, the scariest moment by goddamn lightyears was Robbie.

When Robbie was fifteen – a high school freshman but placed in the senior-level band class – the school took their music classes (band, orchestra, chorus) to Disney World for the performing arts workshops they offer in the spring.

The student-adult ratio on trips like these is pretty terrible and, in Steve's opinion, there is too much unsupervised independent time for a group of high school students.

Way too much.

A few days into the trip, one kid – a senior with a fake ID who Robbie was friends with through band – managed to commandeer a car and convince a group of kids to blow off curfew and secretly explore the city.

Three hours and half a liquor-store’s worth of alcohol later, Steve got a call from one of the chaperones telling him that his fifteen-year-old was unresponsive in a hospital in Florida.

Planning their last family vacation had taken three entire months of planning and indecision and research.

It took less than five minutes for Steve to get flights booked for the next plane bound for Orlando.

“Maybe if she hadn’t gone on the trip in the first place…” Moe trailed off innocently as she watched her dads pack – she's anything but innocent though. Moe had been pissed to all hell that Robbie got to go to Disney World and she didn’t. She’d spent weeks trying to weasel her way onto the trip to no avail, and she’d been sulking the entire four days Robbie had been gone.

“Not another word,” Eddie warned her, his tone icier than perhaps he’s ever heard directed at one of his kids. Moe opens her mouth to retort, but he cuts her off, "So fuckin' serious, Moe. Not the time."

Robbie had been in pretty rough shape when they finally arrived which was horrible to see – especially for Steve, who had always connected the way Robbie was similar to Eddie with the way Eddie almost died, so seeing her unconscious in a hospital bed, light brown curls strewn out over the sterile-white sheets and tangled amongst all kinds of tubes and wires was pretty much a nightmare come to life.

He was actually thankful for Eddie’s threats to find the idiot driving the car and murder him because he seemed pretty serious about it and making sure he didn't do that gave Steve something to focus on other than counting the hours Robbie had been in the hospital all alone.

[svthub]

svthub presents: snowventeen

Welcome to Snowventeen! Have a cup of hot cocoa and browse our collection of holiday stories...

This collab will contain a combination of SFW and NSFW works. See each individual fic for tags and warnings.

Join the Snowventeen taglist!

➤ Seungcheol: Baby it's Cold Outside by @idyllic-ghost

tags: NSFW - smut, romance, high school sweethearts to strangers to lovers, ceo!scoups x bookstore owner!reader

synopsis: Wintertime is the perfect time for love to blossom. In the cold air, you find yourself needing to be warmed up in the arms of someone new. This holiday season was something special, something magical. It all started with meeting an old friend in your very own bookstore. Somehow it ended with him in your bed. What once seemed buried started making its way up again; the ice surrounding your heart seemed to be thawing. Can old love be renewed?

➤ Jeonghan: Holidate by @onlymingyus

tags: NSFW - smut, angst

synopsis: It's only for a week, he's doing you a favor, and he's your fake boyfriend. Why do you have to keep reminding yourself of that?

➤ Joshua: Cast me in a Better Light by @seungkwansphd

tags: SFW, fluff, musical actor!joshua x pit orchestra member!reader

synopsis: Joshua is a great singer and actor, you can admit that, but would it kill him to have some rhythm? The Christmas musical really will fail if you can't figure out how to read his cues, but he's wondering if you'll ever realize that he's sending you a different kind of signal, too.

tags: NSFW - smut, angst

➤ Junhui: Sounds of the Season by @junkissed part 2: "match of the season" (NSFW)

tags: SFW, fluff, college student radio host!junhui x college student!reader

synopsis: when your university’s radio show hosts a matchmaking event to raise money, you figure, what have you got to lose? the question you should be asking is, what have you got to gain?

➤ Soonyoung: Day Of by @wonwussy

tags: NSFW - smut, crack, fluff

synopsis: December isn’t just for your typical gift giving holidays. There’s so much more to celebrate. You just have to get creative.

➤ Wonwoo: A Winter Interlude by @wondernus

tags: SFW, fluff, romance, coworker!wonwoo

synopsis: maybe this is meant to be an interlude - an unforeseen passing moment in each other's timelines. but with the stroke of a conductor's baton, the symphony lands on the fermata, hovering above the note. do we allow this interlude to become something longer than a short period in our lives, or do we end it after all of it is over?

➤ Jihoon: When We Didn't by @bitchlessdino

tags: NSFW - smut, fluff

synopsis: Remember when we almost? But we didn’t. And now what, you’re gonna sit alone, underneath your barely standing Christmas tree and not expect me to sit next to you? Maybe we should’ve.

➤ Seokmin: Love to Keep me Warm by @strawberryya

tags: SFW, fluff, comfort

synopsis: The holiday season is approaching, and you and your boyfriend decide to spend Christmas together for the first time since you began seeing each other. Trees must be chosen, sweets must be made, and gifts must be wrapped and placed just in time for the day. And nothing makes it better than doing it together with Seokmin.

➤ Mingyu: Hallmark Moment by @onlymingyus part 2: "Love on 42nd Street" (NSFW, fluff, angst)

tags: SFW, fluff, angst, crack, single dad!mingyu x single mom!reader

synopsis: The kids have been watching too many Christmas movies, and are now determined to have their very own magical moment with their parents.

➤ Minghao: Glacial Pace by @wonusite

tags: NSFW - smut, fluff, fake dating, friends to lovers

synopsis: you've been in love with xu minghao from the moment he put a bandage on your cut at the age of six. when he asks you to pretend to be his girlfriend to get his prying family off his back, you quickly realize that keeping your feelings hidden from him will be next to impossible. especially since your meddling friends are determined to have you admit your feelings before the holiday season is over.

➤ Seungkwan: Everyone Knows by @onlymingyus

tags: SFW, fluff, fake dating, angst

synopsis: You know everything about Seungkwan so it shouldn't be so hard to pick out a Christmas present for your best friend. Everyone else knows it's hard to pick out the perfect gift for someone you are in love with.

➤ Vernon: Cold Hands, Warm Hearts by @duhnova

tags: SFW, fluff, humor, mildly suggestive, single dad!vernon x single mom!reader

synopsis: This holiday season, your daughter decided the best present she could give to you was a new boyfriend, which is why she and her best friend Yujin have taken it upon themselves to play matchmaker. Their candidate? Yujin's father.

➤ Chan: Hoodie Szn (But Make it Jolly) by @multi-kpop-fanfics

tags: NSFW - smut, fluff, mild comedy

synopsis: Getting snowed in with your boyfriend isn't as bad as you think: you can put up some early decorations, steal your boyfriend's hoodie - did we mention getting fucked in that hoodie?

[gravedigginbbydoll]

Hawkins University : The Munson Edition

AN: Hey! So this is our first chapter from the perspective of reader! The use of Bug is just as a nickname I find cute. Also pls remember reblogs are appreciated !

→ cliches: friends to lovers, heavy use of nicknames instead of Y/N, we're all just struggling college kids, Music Tutor! Eddie, Resident Assistant! Reader, good girl x bad boy, instant connections, 'I don't trust most people but I trust you', 'are we friends or more?', and 'I can't believe you're such a slut that you have a special dtf drawer...'

→ warnings: mature topics, drinking and drug usage, strong language, bullying, mental health, eventual smut, minors dni

→ pairing: modern!college!eddie x college!fem!reader

<Previous Masterlist Next>

Chapter 2 

Bug’s POV 

When the semester started, you thought everything was flowing well. Your job as a Resident Assistant was rewarding though stressful, your professors were generally pretty easy going, and you had signed up for the easiest class to take in order to complete your art credit. 

At least, you thought you had. 

You had come into the classroom on the first day, only to find empty seats, panic overcoming your senses. 

You had quickly emailed the professor, hoping maybe she’d respond soon. 

She hadn’t replied until that Friday. 

You had opened the email on the desk computer while still at work, trying to complete small tasks and homework while the dorm lobby was quiet. Just reading the first few sentences, you felt your stomach drop to the floor. 

The class had been dissolved, not enough students signing up for the History of Women in Art course. You felt panic bubble up in you as you scrambled to email your advisor, forwarding them the email and asking for a meeting to discuss further what to do. You refrained from including a rant about misogyny and how feminine influences were often undermined and ignored, although you felt an itch to do so. 

You really didn’t care about it at the moment, truth be told, but were more so worried about graduating soon. You had planned to finish your art elective and put your nose to the grind on your major, working hard to finish within the next year. 

You couldn’t start those advanced courses, however, without this last art elective course. 

You sighed with relief as your advisor emailed you back quickly, asking you to meet with her on Monday so you could discuss alternative options and classes. You got back to doing your homework and helping residents, humming as you went.

Hopefully, you’d be back on track soon.

“I’m afraid all the other courses are filled up,” She stated, her expression apologetic, her hands folded in front of her like a prayer. 

You felt your mouth go dry. 

Full? 

You could kiss early graduation and your money goodbye. How were you supposed to graduate on time and have your loans forgiven if you couldn’t even do this one measly course? 

“There’s gotta be something,” You offered weakly, your palms clammy as you tried to wipe your hands on your jean covered thighs. 

She pursed her lips, brows pinched in thought as she sighed. “Well there is one course. It’s got a few spaces empty. But it’s a music course and requires an instrument. It is for beginners though. You’d be at a disadvantage but…” 

You perked up, your heart pounding. You were notoriously bad at instruments. You had attempted to take up orchestra in middle school, only to find out that you had zero patience to practice and stick with the skill. Plus, cellos were heavy. 

But, you were desperate. 

A determined look fell over your face as you nodded. 

“Where do I sign up?” 

You had signed up for the course, your advisor vouching for you to the professor, who seemed a bit concerned at you coming in two weeks late but had decided to trust you. You rented a guitar from the local music store, The Ghost Note, and picked the cheapest option. 

The first day you had come into class you could feel your nerves tingling. You had gotten in, but now you just had to pass. You wouldn’t be too stressed if Professor Howard hadn’t told you about the in person tests they took, which essentially consisted of doing a short set of chords and proving that you could read the sheet music. 

You sat down, opening your guitar case and pulling the huge and foreign feeling instrument into your lap. You had settled in when a tumble of limbs and hair rushed into the seat next to you. You peeked out of the corner of your eye, seeing a tall and lean man with unruly curls pulled back into a loose bun throw off a worn out black backpack. He was quite a character, dressed in black ripped jeans, worn out combat boots on his feet, and a faded out Misfits band tour shirt, while a distressed and patched up black jean jacket lay over it. He wore a lot of chains and silver jewelry, his nails painted black in contrast. He seemed to settle into his seat, pulling out his guitar from a case customized in stickers just as much as his jacket, the white paint against the darker and well worn wood catching your attention. 

THIS MACHINE SLAYS Dragons, it read in sloppy handwriting, the last word not all in capitals like its predecessors, indicating that whoever had hand painted it had miscalculated how much space they had. You felt a smile tug at your lips. It was clearly a fantasy play on Woody Guthrie’s famous anti-fascist guitar. It was amusing and almost endearing that this very tall and intimidating alternative musician had referenced an old folk singer in the nerdiest way. 

You found your mouth opening before you could stop yourself. 

“A Guthrie fan, huh?,” You joked, catching his attention. 

He looked at you, and you felt your throat tighten and your face burn with heat. Oh. He was attractive. He had full brows set in a slight pinched expression over big doe brown eyes, and pink full lips, slight scruff on his face like he had just forgotten recently to shave. His eyes were scanning you, almost like he was trying to figure you out. You swallowed, your mouth drier than the desert. He opened his mouth to speak right as your professor came up to the front of the class, catching the mystery boy’s attention again. 

You sighed in relief, fidgeting in your chair to get comfortable with the large instrument once again and try to calm the fire alight in your chest. Maybe this class wouldn’t be too bad. 

You took it back. You hated this class. About 15 minutes in, you felt your fingers begin to cramp and the heat traveled from the back of your neck to the very tips of your ears. The cute man seated next to you had his nose scrunched up and lips pulled down in a frown at every dissonant chord you strummed. You couldn’t help but feel bitter, his fingers gliding over the neck of the guitar as if it was second nature. 

What the hell. 

By the end of the class, you felt like your hand was rusted metal, all creaky and stiff. You kept flexing your fingers and wincing. 

You noticed Professor Howard getting ready to leave and leaped up, walking over to ask about tutoring. You clearly would need help and as much as it killed you to ask for help to learn how to just strum a few strings, you couldn’t risk failing. 

“Hey…So I am so grateful you let me in this class, Mr. Howard. I know it’s late and all, what with me being behind two weeks. But I have to be honest, I am not… the most musically inclined. I just was wondering if you have any tutoring, or offer some help outside of class?,” You asked politely, trying to hide your nervous fidgeting. 

Mr. Howard furrowed his bushy brown brows, wearing his confusion as clear as day on his face. “Tutoring? For beginning guitar?,” He questioned, his tone suggesting that it was almost as ridiculous as suggesting that male media arts majors stop praising films like Citizen Kane as ‘gospel’. (You’d seen it yourself, once suggesting to a casual date your freshman year that it wasn’t your favorite movie, only to be met with a 30 minute rant about your taste in ‘films’ and how you were ‘uncultured’.) 

You felt the embarrassment sink in as you laughed a little, your hands making big gestures as you spoke, a nervous habit. “Yeah, I know. I just struggle with the chords and placing my fingers, and I really want to be successful in this course-” 

Mr. Howard cut you off with a gently raised hand and an apologetic look. “I’m afraid I don’t do tutoring. At least not for this course. You are welcome to rent out the space to practice on your own time. Otherwise I suggest maybe approaching a classmate for help,” He offered gently. 

Panic settled into your skin, you swallowed as your throat felt tight. You hated talking to strangers and didn’t know a soul in this class. You tried to smile, feeling it falter, your eyes stinging with unshed tears. Fuck. 

“Please, Mr. Howard, I don’t know anyone in this course and I can’t risk failing-” 

He frowned, eyebrows furrowed as he sighed, clearly wanting to help. “Well, I’m sure Mr. Munson would be more than happy to help. He teaches private lessons at The Ghost Note and my niece takes them. He’s probably the best student I’ve had in this class,” He gestured toward the classroom and you turned. It was the mystery man who sat next to you cringing at your playing the entire class, slowly packing away his things. The moment your eyes landed on him, it was like someone hit the gas in his brain, as he shrugged on his bag quickly and briskly walked towards the door. 

You nodded and thanked Mr. Howard for his help, backing up slowly to grab your things and race out of there. You grabbed everything, racing out the door, seeing him briskly trying to exit the building. You felt the flutter of nerves as you raced to catch up, your guitar case repeatedly hitting your thighs and definitely leaving a bruise, but you didn’t have time to concern yourself with it. 

“Hey! Wait!,” You shouted, the noise echoing in the hallways of the building. 

He winced at the noise, but stopped in his tracks, slowly turning around to face you. 

You stopped in front of him, your guitar case dropped helplessly to the floor as you were hunched over, getting out the words before you could catch your breath. 

“Look, I know I play like shit and my guitar is a very shitty rental, but I need to take this class in order to graduate early, because it’s my last non-major course, and all the other art electives are filled up. Professor Howard said you’re like the most talented student in the class and that his niece has you private tutor her at the music store, and I really really need an A in this class. So…Can you help me? Please?,” You breathlessly spilled out, huffing from having to chase after him, your hands on your knees. 

You looked up at him, seeing his clearly irritated expression, his mouth in that frown again. Your eyes begin to sting again as panic overwhelms you and your thoughts race, your hands shaking at your sides. 

Well, you're going to fail. You’ll fail, be unable to graduate next year, lose the loan forgiveness, and have to pay for everything out of pocket and maybe even drop out. Long gone are your hopes of being an independent adult and -

He looked down at you, his expression hard at first before softening as he saw you. He seemed to explore your face before biting his lip, looking away and rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. 

 “Alright. I’ll help you.” 

You exchanged numbers and details with the strangely attractive musician, him typing his name in your phone as Eddie with a little skull and crossbones emoji. You simply wrote Bug with a goofy caterpillar emoji on his very cracked and old smartphone. When he looked at you confused as he glanced at the contact, given that it wasn’t the name you’d told him, you shrugged. 

“It’s a nickname I’ve had since I was a kid. Short for lovebug, I guess. That or because I am actually deathly afraid of insects and everyone thinks that it’s hilarious,” You joked, smiling shyly. 

He nodded, a slight smirk on his face as he nodded and pocketed his phone. “Well, I gotta head out, but I’ll text you my schedule so we can find a time to practice and work on your fingering.” 

You felt your skin grow hot before you remembered that fingering was a term for guitarists talking about moving your fingers while playing chords. You could imagine that your facial expression was something of both horror and embarrassment because Eddie laughed, his eyes crinkling at the corners as his toothy smile revealed the dimples on either side of his mouth. 

He walked backward out the doors, giving you a mock salute, the boyish grin still on his face. “Later, Bug.”

You had texted Eddie back and forth a few times, learning that he messaged like an old man. Periods, correct punctuation and full sentences. It would be painful if it wasn’t so amusing. 

You had settled on meeting up on Friday afternoons after your shift at your second job, The Recycling Bin, a reused book store. Eddie sent you the apartment complex address and number, letting you know he’d meet you outside the building. 

You showed up after work, probably still smelling like old pages and dust, struggling to wrangle the guitar out of the backseat of your tiny car, waddling over to the building he was leaning against the outside of. He had one foot against the brick wall, and a hand rolled cigarette in between his fingers, leaning his head back against the brick to blow the smoke into the air. You felt your chest get tight, your thighs shaking a bit as you walked over. You hated the smell, but couldn’t deny the way that his head fell back, exposing his neck, didn’t make you feel some… things. 

He pushed off the wall, looking over toward you and smiling, throwing his cigarette down to put it out with the toe of his boot before walking over. He was dressed in an oversized black sweatshirt with the Hawkins University logo on it despite the mild weather, the elbows hand patched with green flannel to match the dark green letters across his chest. He had his hair down this time, allowing you to see the long curls. 

“Hey Bug,” He smiled at you, before glancing down at the guitar case in your hand as if it offended him. His nose scrunched up in a way that reminded you of a toddler grossed out by his vegetables. “You brought that piece of scrap wood?” 

You frowned a bit, glaring up at him. “I’ll have you know, Munson, that I rented this from your workplace. So blame your coworkers.” 

He nodded, smiling boyishly before taking the case from you, leading the way up the stairs to his apartment. “I actually do,” He joked. “I bet Rick let you rent this thing, he’s always stoned at work.” 

You recalled that the man who serviced you did seem a bit dopey, his eyes slightly tinged red. You had kinda written it off as him being tired. You should’ve known better. 

When he reached his door, he rummaged in his pocket, fishing out a key and unlocking it. He stepped inside, opening the door wider for you to enter. “Come on in, Bug,” He smiled, allowing you to enter the small apartment, your eyes exploring his space. “Shoes off, please,” He politely chided, toeing off his own combat boots. You did the same, taking off your sneakers to leave you in your socks and placed them neatly by his haphazardly taken off shoes. You looked over toward him, seeing that he was headed with your guitar to the couch, but something else caught your eye. The big scary alternative man who smoked and wore torn and patched up clothes had on black socks covered in red D20 dice, the die of choice for tabletop roleplaying game enthusiasts. You knew this because your friend had briefly been interested in Dungeons and Dragons, talking to you about the game when she had been trying to convince you to join her party. You felt a smile creep on your face as Eddie looked at you confused from the worn out gray fabric couch, his brows furrowed. 

“What’re you looking at me like that for?” 

You grinned mischievously, walking over toward the couch, and taking a seat. 

Eddie gave you a look that read ‘okay, you’re weird’, shaking his head and strumming the guitar while humming, turning the pegs to adjust the sound. 

“So…You’re a big fantasy and TTRPG nerd, huh?,” You asked innocently, laughing when Eddie’s head shot up, his cheeks dusted a dark pink. 

“What?”

You pointed down at his socks which were slightly hidden since he was sitting cross legged on the couch. “There’s D20’s on them. And your guitar says ‘slays dragons’.” 

Eddie huffed, a slight hardness coming over his face, walls coming up. You frowned, not meaning to make him feel self conscious, just wanting to lightly tease him because you thought it was cute. “So what,” he grumbled, paying attention to tuning your guitar once again. 

You shook your head, smiling softly, trying to fight the embarrassment you felt at the mistake while wiping off clammy hands on your dark jeans. “No, it’s just… It’s…cute. Like, you don’t try to hide it, even though your clothes read like you’re trying to be big and scary, I guess?” You shrug, feeling nerves swirl in your stomach. “Sorry, that doesn’t make much sense. I didn’t mean it in a bad way.” 

Eddie softly glanced up from his tuning of your guitar, eyes no longer hard but now a soft expression before he glanced back down, messing with the pegs once again. “ S’okay,” He softly mumbled, his cheeks now a soft pink. 

You allowed your eyes to travel the apartment as he finished tuning the guitar, his humming providing a soft background to your silence. There was a TV on a dark wooden stand in the middle, and a big progress pride flag behind it. A coffee table sat in front of you and Eddie, on it a few card decks and it seemed like board games underneath. There was a corkboard on the wall by you, covered in polaroids and photographs of Eddie and some other people. Occasionally you spotted places you recognized from town. 

On the right side of the corkboard was a white dry erase board that seemed to work as a weekly calendar covered in doodles and two different types of handwriting. You could just barely make out some of the phrases, like ‘Band Rehearsal’ and ‘Basketball Practice’. Some of the board seemed to state what chores were done that week, explaining why the apartment was probably the neatest you’d seen in a while. 

“I think I got it,” Eddie stated, interrupting your light exploration of the apartment. 

“Awesome,” You nodded, grabbing the guitar from him as he stood, turning toward the hallway. 

“Gimme a sec,” He called over his shoulder. “I’ll be back with Guthrie.” 

You grinned, amused by the fact that he named his guitar, and after an old folk singer at that. 

Eddie came back into the room, sitting down with his guitar in his lap, smiling softly towards you. “Alright kid, let’s get crackin’...” 

You had spent about an hour and a half just going over four chords. Your fingers were sore, your hands cramping. You sighed as you finished going over the G chord for the 20th time. Eddie was a much stricter teacher than you expected. He made you repeatedly go through the fingering over and over before even starting to strum, making you start over if you messed up. But it was paying off. You had ended the lesson by being able to go through four chords and barely mess up, only faltering a bit. 

You placed the guitar back in the case, sinking into the couch as Eddie chuckled and came back from the kitchen with a glass of water, handing it to you. You gladly took it, thanking him and taking a sip.

“You did good, Bug. Definite improvement from class,” He joked, flopping down on the couch next to you as you set down the drink. 

“Yeah, well, I had no idea my guitar was out of tune. Thanks for your help, by the way,” You smiled softly at him. 

You both sat for a minute in silence, unsure of what to say, when Eddie’s stomach growled loudly for what you swore felt like a whole minute, causing you both to burst out in fits of laughter, you falling over toward Eddie as he doubled over. His laughter was contagious and caused you to giggle even more, your sides becoming sore as your eyes filled with tears. Eventually, you two caught your breath and you sighed, smiling over at him. 

“Wanna go get some dinner? It’s on me.”

Taglist: @josephquinnsfreckles @corrodedcoffincumslut @kirisuteg0men

[fuzzystudios]

yk when I started reading toa I was kinda disappointed at the lack of power that apollo / lester had, bc pjo and hoo had their main characters be basically op, and this is literally a (former) god. apollo in tho made me cringe and reading his perspective was like looking at pills in an orange prescription bottle. but he was the whiny teenager that felt like an out-of-depth teenager more than the actually lived for years-in-teen-numbers, because they were more heroes and soldiers than teens, like they were supposed to be. he is simultaneously whiny child and responsible adult.

the moment I really latched onto him was when he basically dropped everything and tried to dive into the forest to go save his kids. bro wasn’t actually a selfish idiot like he kept making himself look like. bro was an emotionally constipated loving loser (affectionate) and loveable. he would risk the wrath of styx to save these kids. positively skrunkly

oh and his power! look guys the former protagonists always had some power to back them up, some good strength. this guy? first not demigod protagonist and he goes from straight up zero to launching a guy to the clouds with his bare hands. and tfw he uses his voiceTM. BEGONE SNAKE! and he acts so pathetic lol and if you look through whatever sunglasses he’s wearing and you look at the things from 3rd person pov dude what is he doing. he just flew off a road driving a car, and puts himself in front of the gremlin child to face one of those creepy zombie things that scream FOOD!!. bro straight up stabbed himself. bro sings the most heart wrenching song that even giant ants that don’t even understand what he’s saying get the point to the extent that they go catatonic with depression.

and holy cheez-its what kind of pain tolerance does this guy have?? dude??? you fell from the literal sky above the Empire State Building which like literal greek heaven (ouch) straight into a dumpster and then gets beat into unconsciousness by a pair of thugs under Nero like??? and with broken ribs, injured nose, hurt shoulder, etc. he walks up the stairs, runs through the woods insane. dude is literally insane. he gets flayed alive, forgets his other half, trapped in place by molten chains all at once and still trying trying to walk wth like this guy’s pain tolerance is beyond ouranos. idk how he does it I can’t even tolerate a hot summer day.

bro gives advice to a lost gremlin child who betrayed him anyway, helps her defeat her abuser the way he never could. and he grew, like everyone around him, to something better, something hopeful. “you’ve changed” heck yeah!! we love to see it

and humor?? like random mentions of things no one else in pjo would give you like playing the zither at 2am, godly toilet seat, ares roundhouse kick, waking up in Argentina. I love that they’re so offhand but they’re so funny and random

the haiku. they’re hilarious, works of art.

the characters. Chiron. Chiara. Damien. Austin. Kayla. Cecil. will. nico. Rachel. Lavinia. emmie. Josephine. heck even Commodus. lityerses. Abelard. Diana. frank. Jason. piper. the trogs. lu. reyna omg. meg. aaaaaaaaAAAAAAAA I love them so much! just how they fit in with his own journey of self and how they grow with him, like a garden, like an orchestra building its crescendo together, in unity. little things like reading frank’s admiration of apollo first in hoo, and now we get apollo’s side of it, and he’s so cute. Reyna’s whole journey of “finding the one who will heal her heart”. (gods I loved that thank you rick.) and will’s “dad!” and making apollo literally weep and meg: “the beast is dead. I killed it.” and taps her head and I'm just so proud of them.

“YOU ARE NO GOD!” he isn’t the same god who fell to earth in the winter. he likely won’t be ever the same ever again. ‘cause he’s gonna work to being better. he’s saving the world, but he’s also having a journey of his own self, rediscovering himself, building onto himself like everyone else, they’re all gonna be a better version of themselves.

k one problem: not enough content. I am starved for content. please feed pet. ty

[caplanbuckybarnes]

His Promises

Summary: he promised he wouldn’t make a big event out of wedding

Warnings: just fluff!, mafia Tony x reader

He promised.

He promised you that he wouldn’t go to the extremes. He promised you it wouldn’t be a damned city-wide event. But you knew your soon-to-be-husband was all for flair and extravagance. You knew he was goin’ to bring the damned president into the city for it. You knew he was going to invite every politician and royal family member possible to this event.

“You look amazing,” Natasha smiled at you as she gazed at your reflection in the mirror. “He’s going to swoon over you once he sees you walking down the aisle.”

“If he doesn’t cry at the site of me, I’m turning right around and going home to pack my bags.” you joked as you leaned into Natasha’s hand as she touched your cheek. “I told him not to make it so big. I can’t believe him.”

“Why not?” she chuckled. “You know he was going to invite everyone he could possibly know to this damned thing. He loves you and he wants the world to know it. You have him wrapped around your pinky finger. Everyone assumed he would die alone and powerful until he met you. He changed so much because of you and he’s become such a better man than the one I had met so many years ago.”

“I’m scared and I don’t know why, Nat.” you pouted slightly.

“It’s a big day,” Natasha assured. “You’ll do fine, Y/N. I promise. Just think about walking to Tony and being happy with him for the rest of your life. He’ll protect you from any harm. You know that. The man runs this damn city in tight quarters. You’d be a fool to think he wouldn’t protect his wife.”

“Okay.” you smiled at her, though you still felt so terribly nervous at the prospect of screwing up your wedding day.

“Just think about Tony.” she repeated before a knock came at the door and James Rhodes tenderly peeked through the doors, though he had covered his eyes to assure your privacy. “Is the bride-to-be ready?”

“Yes, Rhodey.” Natasha answered, with a smile before leaning over and carefully placing a kiss on your forehead and exiting the room quickly.

You grabbed the extravagant bouquet of flowers Tony had made for you before walking out of the room. Your heart was pounding in your chest. You felt nervous all over your body. But you concentrated on walking to the doors that would reveal the large room with politicians, your friends, and your family.

“You look amazing.” Rhodey complimented as you approached him. He had been a wonderful friend to you ever since you had started dating Tony and you had considered the man your best friend. It was a pleasure for you and him that he would be the one to hand over your hand to none other than the Mobster King himself, Anthony Stark.

“I feel like throwing up.” you admitted quietly. “What if he’s not there and his was all just a joke for him, Rhodey? What if he didn’t want to marry me? What if this was all a joke?”

Scoffing lighlty, he turned to face you. “You need to stop your worrying, kid. He’s standing there. Don’t you hear all the chatter and clutter going on behind these doors?”

Listening for a moment, you nodded. “Of course.”

“Then you would know that Tony wouldn’t have done any of this if he didn’t love you. He changed so much since you came into his life. You’ve no idea how lovesick this man is for you, even after all this time. He wouldn’t hurt you. Ever. So don’t think like that, okay?”

You nodded.

“Give me one moment to talk to the orchestra. Okay?”

You nodded once more before he quietly slipped through the doors in front of you. A few moments later, music had sounded, signalling for you to get on with walking down the aisle in front of all your family and friends. James had reappeared by your side as the doors opened. You clutched your arm around his own as you counted your steps.

He was calm besides you, gently rubbing his thumb along your hand, a gentle smile spread on his lips as he faced forward, staring at the husband-to-be Tony Stark.

You locked eyes with your mobster king and felt tears well up at the sight of him; he looks so incredibly handsome and all you had wanted to do was to run to him and plant a kiss against his lips. But you couldn't; you had to be patient and make your way over to him first. Soon enough, you had made the long stride to the alter, Rhodey softly kissing your hand before he stood by Tony’s side.

The wedding was as beautiful as you imagined it when you had been a little girl, dreaming of this day in your life. Tony was handsome as usual. He had a smile plastered to his face during your vow reciting. His brown eyes bore into your own, causing your heart to flutter in your chest.

This man had been so sincere to you and so generous. You couldn’t imagine your life without him. At first, it was a hard thing to discover when you had found out that he was a mobster king. But you had soon gotten over that fact. He always protected you, never letting you out of his sight unless Natasha or Rhodey were with you.

You remembered the first time he had unveiled his love for you and you always thought back to that night. The pair of you had been watching a movie; he had been sitting on the couch and you were sprawled out on the remaining seats, your head on his lap. You had felt his eyes on you and had looked up to see his big brown eyes staring at you, a sot smile lifting his mouth ever so slightly.

“What is it, Tony?” you asked. “Is the movie boring? I can-”

“I love you.” he mumbled, his finger tracing your bottom lip softly. “You’re so beautiful; I love you.”

“Tony, I-”

“Shh.” he placed his finger slightly firm against your lips before he nodded tot he tv. “You’re missing my favorite part of the movie.”

You knew at that moment that you couldn’t live your life without this man

[cosmic-crybaby]

Blue Skies - Tommy Shelby

Chapter 18: 'Like Real People Do'

Warnings: Mentions of blood, childbirth, last chapter

Masterlist:

---

Months had passed since your relationship with Thomas Shelby had come to an end.

You had someone by your side with every step of the way. Now just a few weeks away from your predicted due date, Ada, Polly, and Esme were there to help you when you needed them. Even Alfie and John had stopped by a few times when you needed them to. But the Shelby women were there through it all. Esme had made an effort to be with you almost every day, even while she was expecting her first child herself.

Esme also kept Thomas' name to a minimum when it came to conversations with you, although she had wished she could gossip about the recent things he had done. Your mind had drifted back to him from time to time, wondering what he had gotten himself into now or how he was doing in that big mansion all alone. You stayed strong and refrained from reaching out to him for your own sanity.

Esme wore she would never give Tommy any kind of update on how you were doing, but Polly and Ada gave him some peace of mind after answering his burning and persistent questions.

“She’s doing just fine,” 

“Her and the baby are healthy,” 

“Yes, she’s still working,” 

But that was the extent of it all.

Tommy really had no idea how you were really doing, and even though you wanted to keep it that way, he still refrained from stopping by your bakery, or sending a peaky boy or two to keep watch on you and the kids. An extra measure to make sure you were safe. He knew you were smart, and would have spotted them right away, but again part of him wished that was the case so you could talk to him again.

But it was better this way, it kept him up at night, thinking you were all alone now. He stayed awake at night with the regret of ever hurting you and jeopardizing your relationship. The one night with Lizzie Stark caused his heart to shatter every night he went without you in his arms.

You, on the other hand, continued to care for your two children and work on your own for the most part, even if you slowed down the further you grew into your pregnancy. You eventually gave into Esme’s request to help you out when the days got busy or when you simply needed to rest. 

Tonight was Henry’s first orchestra concert. You were adamant on attending, no matter what. You sat in the front row with Elizabeth in the middle between you and her Aunt Esme. Watching him on stage along with the other kids of all ages. You gushed to Esme about how cute he looked in his suit, but went silent as they began to play. Listening to the beautiful symphony of classical music. You proudly gazed up at him on the stage as he focused on the sheet music and the movements of the bow on the strings. It was times like this where you were thankful that Thomas paid for violin lessons so he could perfect his skills on time for the show. Your smile dropped as you felt a sharp cramp to your side, inhaling quickly. Your hand quickly flew to your stomach for a moment until the pain quickly subsided. You managed to sit through the concert in uncomfortable silence, not wanting to miss a second of Henry’s performance. You shift in your seat as you take slow and deep breaths while rubbing your side to calm down. 

Once the curtains close and everyone applauds, you turn to Elizabeth. 

“Why don't you meet your brother backstage when he’s done?” You asked her. 

“Okay mum,” She nods, watching her stand from her seat and skip off to the side of the stage. Esme looked over at you, worried.

“What’s wrong, love?” She asked, moving to sit in Elizabeth's empty seat. You groan a bit, attempting to stand up but sit back down with a shocked gasp. You feel around your dress, as the clear liquid spilled down to your knees and into the floor. 

"I-I think my water just broke," 

You knew your due date was nearing quickly but you didn’t think the baby would come this early. Esme rushes to help you stand, grabbing your arm as you hissed at the aching pain in your back. 

“Come on love, not much time now,” She guides you to stand up. Just as you pass the stage, Elizabeth and Henry walk out. Henry held his violin case as he looked at you. You halt your steps. 

"Oh, you did amazing sweetheart," You smiled at him as he gave you a tight hug. 

"Thanks mum," As he let you go, you reached out for their hands. You glanced at Esme as she nods once to make a call to John.

"Okay, listen..." You paused, taking a deep breath. "We will drop you off at Aunt Adas and then we will come pick you up in the morning when-" 

"Rather than staying with their own father?" A strong voice said from behind. 

"Dad!" The two shouted happily as they ran to him and hugged him tightly. 

"Alfie?" You stood up straight with a groan. After he greeted the kids he approached you.

“No way in hell you’re gonna let my kids be watched over by a Shelby,” 

"Alfie I-”

" Right, I will be taking them for the night, I insist…" He dismissively told you. 

"You really never miss their performances," You told him quietly with a small smile. 

"Of course not, I fuckin' love my family," Even past his burley exterior, you could still see the love in his eyes.

"Mum?" Elizabeth looked up at you. You glance down at her. 

"Right! We'll get you in the morning when the baby gets here. okay?" 

Their eyes brightened up. 

"Okay mum," They said. You slightly bend down to pull them into hug them and give them quick kisses on their cheeks. 

"Stay safe, mum" Henry whispered in your ear. You nodded. 

"I love you, I will see you in the morning," You handed your children off to their father. Just then Esme had returned, rushing to your side.

"Thank you, Alfie," You smiled at him, wanting to just reach to hold his hand, but Esme grabbed your hand first after seeing the sweat beading on your forehead. 

"(Y/n)," She whispered. 

"I wish you well (Y/n), may God protect you, Love...stay safe," 

That was the first time you had seen him show real concern for you in a very long time. 

"Love, the car's here we've got to go," Esme rushed.

In the car, Esme sat in the backseat with you, helping you breathe through the sudden increase of pain as John drove like a madman back to your flat. As planned, you had arrived home and John helped you out of the car and into your bedroom. Esme was quick to call Polly and had her rushed over, since she was the only person you had trusted to help you deliver the baby and she lived only a few streets away. As you sat on the bed, hunched over and panting, John rubbed your back. Even though he had seen this many times before and witnessed the birth of his many kids and siblings, he still felt anxious for you as his hands shook.

"(Y/n) Polly is on her way but we need to get you ready," Esme hurried into the room, holding clean sheets and a large, thin night dress. She had ushered John out of the room, sending him to gather blankets, towels, and water. She helped you undress and put on your nightgown as you finally were able to catch your breath for just a minute before the cramping started up again, this time a loud cry erupting from your throat as you gripped onto the bed sheets. 

"Fucking Christ!" You shouted.

"You're doing great love just keep breathing," Esme calmed you, trying to keep your breathing regulated. She moved your hair out of your face as it stuck to your face the more you began to sweat. 

"Esme, it hurts! I can't do this!" You cried. 

"Yes you can! Just hold on, Polly's almost here," She comforted you. You whine as John entered the room, bringing the things Esme ordered. 

"She's here," 

It was like everything was a huge blur, you had no idea what was going on until Polly greeted you. Hasty, and trying to stay calm as she ordered John to get more water. 

"(Y/n), you've got a fever, you need to stay awake so we can get the baby out, okay?" She spoke clearly. You tiredly nodded. She helped you onto the bed, sitting up as she rubbed your back gently. In the midst of your next contraction you held Esme's hand tightly as Polly checked your dilatation. 

"You'll need to start pushing soon okay?" Polly asked, standing up to wash her hands and grab the pile of linens and towels.

"N-No, I can't, it hurts," You cried, your words coming out like slurs and your eyelids getting heavier. 

"Shit, John! Where is the fuckin' water?!" Polly shouted. The room began to spin as everyone in the room began shouting and yelling at each other. You couldn't comprehend what was happening. Not until you heard him call your name. 

"He just turned up, I couldn't tell him to leave, Aunt Pol he has every right to be here!" John argued. 

"I don't give a shit, he's hurt her in more ways than one and right now she needs help not a fucking reminder of the man who put her in this situation!" She argued. 

"She doesn't even want to hear your name, what makes you think she wants you here?!" Esme spit. 

"(Y/n)," He called. "I need to see her, please," He begged as he tried to push past Polly. She glared at him, refusing to let him through. 

"Only if she agrees," She noted. 

"She's delusional, she can barely speak!" Esme shouted. 

"Tommy?" You mumbled. A whimper left your throat as you looked towards the door. A moment of silence filled the room as he was let in, much to Polly and Esme's dismay. Thomas stood by you and held your hand as you looked at him with a dazed look in your eyes. Your face was pale, your pupils wide, as the sweat drips down your temples and neck.

"Hi love...I'm here now, I'm here for you," He nodded. 

"Polly-" You quickly turned away from Thomas as you called for his aunt. She walked to the bed once again, lifting the sheet to check your dilatation. With a focused face she ordered Esme to help. 

"Give her water, try to keep her cool because this baby is coming now," She hurried. Drinking the water quickly and shutting your eyes as you felt the need to push. 

"You're doing great, (Y/n) just keep breathing," Esme encouraged you as she dabbed your forehead with a damp towel. You nod once as you try to focus on your breathing. The impending pain made you open your eyes as you frantically reached for Esme's hand. Esme held you close, looking up at Thomas to step up and do the same. He was almost frozen in his place as he stared at her.

"Tommy," You called for him again, holding your hand out as he tightly squeezed. You cried out in pain

"It'll be okay, keep going," He looked at you with wide eyes. 

"Fuck!" You cursed loudly as you threw your head back. 

"Almost there (y/n) almost there! One more!" Polly affirmed. It seemed like everything had gone by within the blink of an eye. One last push and one last cry from you and it was all over. The pain became numb as your legs trembled. The warmth of the blood drenched your sheets as Polly gasps in relief. Far too exhausted to lift yourself up to get a proper look at the little bundle as Polly cleaned them up. Your vision begins to double as you sink back into the pillows. The muffled sound of Esme and Tommy calling your name was almost deafened when you heard the coos and crying of the baby. You felt your eyes get heavier and heavier as the sweat and heat began to get too much for you. And with that, you were out. The room was worried for you. Trying to wake you up but the fever, the pain, and the blood loss had all hit you at once. 

That summer, Elizabeth and Henry were sitting on an old blanket on the grassy hills under the trees. The very same spot Thomas had taken them, chasing the ducks and flying paper airplanes over a year ago. The sun was warm and bright as the birds sang and the children laughed. A basket full of food and sweets sat beside them, Henry was restraining himself from sneaking a taste of the apple dumplings. You had approached behind them, the small baby in your arms as you set the small bag of necessities for the baby on the grass before you sat down. 

"Can we take Evelyn to look at the ducks, mum?" Elizabeth asked, the baby cooed and giggled as she grasped onto your fingers. 

"Yeah, let's go before Aunt Esme arrives," You nod as you stand up, and approach the small pond. She was still small, but her chubby hands grasped at the water, giggling as the little gold fish scattered whenever she wiggled her fingers. You chuckled as Elizabeth and Henry fed bread to the ducks, screaming and laughing as the ducks quacked and chased them around if they held the bread for too long. 

"(Y/n)!" Esme had called. You stood up, looking at the top of the hill, holding your hand over your brow to shade your eyes from the sun. She waved happily, the baby in her arms bundled close to her chest. John's kids greeted Henry and Elizabeth before they gathered to run about the hill. The two of you sat on the blanket, watching the kids kick a ball around, their laughs were carried with the wind. Behind you, in the car, John stood. Smoking a cigarette. 

"You alright, brother?" John turned to his older brother. Thomas leaned against the car. You didn't know he was there, and he didn't want to be known. He held the cigarette in his mouth as his hands were shoved in his pockets. He heavily sighs. 

"Yeah..." He mumbled. He hoped to get a glimpse of your new life. You looked happy, laughing with Esme as you held the baby by the hands as she took wobbly steps. The small glance he got at her, in her bright blue eyes. She looked just like a perfect combination of the both of you. It ached him that he had to keep his distance when all he wanted was to be next to you, holding the babe in his arms just as you were now. 

"Why don't you go talk to her?" John asked. He didn't completely understand why Thomas couldn't just man up and talk to you again. But it was more complicated than that. 

"I can't John," 

"Why not? Tom, you were meant to be, just give it a try," 

The days after Evelyn was born, Thomas tried to reignite that spark in you. And as much as it saddened you, you declined.  Your heart wanted you to go back to him, but every other part of you didn’t want to get hurt again. It just wasn't going to work. The amount of times he had hurt you was just too much to overlook the times he cherished you.

"Perhaps meant to be just wasn't for us, John..." 

You picked Evelyn up, lifting her up in your arms before bringing her down to give her a kiss. She squeals as you do it again and again. 

"That's bullshit," John muttered, flicking the end of his burnt out cigarette onto the gravel road. Thomas only took his hand out of his pocket to do the same. Shaking his head, swallowing thickly as he felt the lump in his throat grow the more he watched you. 

And you smiled, maybe not at him, but after all this time you still smiled, so he smiled too. He quickly looks down, licking his lips before pushing himself off of the car. 

"Let's go," He mumbled as he got into the driver's side. He gave you one last glance. Evelyn looked at you before turning her head to Thomas. Locking eyes with him. It was like he lost his breath at just how beautiful she was. Making him think, just how could someone as cold and deadly as himself make something so warm and beautiful. 

"What are you looking at, love?" You asked Evelyn, she looked at you then back to the road. Pointing a chubby finger in that direction. Confusion washed over your face as you looked over your shoulder. You both stared at each other, doing and saying nothing until you lifted your hand to give him a small wave, as a comforting smile formed on your face. Thomas returned the gesture before driving off. Your eyes followed the car until you couldn't see it anymore. 

"You still love him, don't you?" Esme calmly asked. You looked down, swallowing a bit before silently nodding. 

"That's okay...You made the right choice," She scooted closer to you, putting a comforting hand over yours. You nod again, your breath shuttering as you look up. The golden sun casting a glow on your skin as you wiped your tears. 

"We were always made for each other, just never made to last,"

---

This was the final chapter of 'Blue Skies' I really hope you all enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. I have another Tommy Shelby story in the works that will be posted soon! In the mean time if you would like a bonus chapter with Tommy x (yn) or Alfie x (yn), feel free to let me know.

Tag List:

Read Pinned Post If You Would Like To Be Added

@violet-19999 @micarinitodemiel @dilfsandtherapy @shelundeadxxxx @dragons-are-my-favorite @trixie23​  @babayaga67​  @iambored24601 @heythere-06 @lothbrokcore @joliettes @just-a-throw-away @mariaelizabeth21-blog1 @janeswrld @vikingqueen28 @mariaelizabeth21-blog1 @frozenhuntress67 @cursedalchemist